#the fields flower like never before and no harm touches them

[foolish-fran]

Dahlia Hawthorne's name was based on the short story "Rappaccini's Daughter" by Nathaniel Hawthorne, about a young woman who was poisoned by her own family and became poisonous herself as a result. I finally got my hands on the book, so I wanted to read it through the lens of "what does this story say about Dahlia?"

Thoughts:

- Beatrice Rappaccini is a beautiful young woman, the daughter of an affluent scientist and the member of a noble family that has fallen into ruin. She has spent her entire life in an idyllic garden of flowers, which was once prosperous and thriving, but has fallen into decay and disrepair as the years have passed. This reflects how Kurain Village was once prosperous, but the village and Fey Family's reputation has crumbled since DL-6.

-It's clear from her dialogue that Beatrice knows nothing of life outside the garden. She is incredibly sheltered, having never left the garden before and knowing nothing of worldly things outside of her small bubble. Similarly, most spirit mediums in Kurain (Pearl and Iris in particular) have never left Kurain Village, growing up sheltered.

-Beatrice is beautiful, delicate, and virtuous, but anything she touches, whether plant, animal, or human, will decay and die by poison. She doesn't *want* to be this way, but her nature cannot be changed. Even when she attempts to take an antidote to her poisonous breath, it fails.

-The author goes out of his way to depict Beatrice not as a monster but as a product of her environment. Beatrice does not *want* to be dangerous, but she was *made* this way by her father, who kept her confined to his garden and used her as a pawn for his own schemes. Her father Giacomo Rappaccini raised her not as a daughter but as a tool, a pawn, a weapon for his own plans and experiments, and turned her into who she is today. Cough cough Morgan Fey

-There is a beautiful purple flower in the garden that Beatrice considers her "sister”. The two have an almost symbiotic relationship, with the protagonist noting that Beatrice and her “sister” seem as if they could be two sides of the same coin. Sounds like Irissss

-The protagonist of the story, Giovanni Guasconti, is a young man who falls in love with Beatrice despite her lethal nature. Through it all, he is desperate to believe in her, hoping against hope that the relationship can work out and that Beatrice is truly good despite the deaths he’s seen her cause. Hmm, a man who wants desperately to believe in people even at the cost of his own life….Feenie?

-Giovanni’s mentor, Baglioni, holds a longstanding grudge against the senior Rappaccini, and Beatrice by extension. He fears for Giovanni’s safety if he keeps seeing Beatrice, but his main priority is seeing Rappaccini fall for the sake of his own revenge. He's a good person, an intellectual with years of experience in the field of science. But his anger consumes him and leads him to harm both Beatrice and Giovanni, seeing them as tools in his plan rather than anything else. Godot?

-When Beatrice asks her father why he made her poisonous, he responds that the poison can function as a defense mechanism. If Beatrice is poisonous, than nobody can hurt her. It's better to be dangerous yourself than to be vulnerable to danger. It’s just like Dahlia!

-This whole exchange:

“”Wherefore didst thou inflict this miserable doom upon thy child?”

“Miserable! What mean you, foolish girl? Dost though deem it misery to be endowed with marvelous gifts, against which no power nor strength could avail an enemy?” Reminds me of how Morgan and the Feys saw spirit channeling as a gift, but Dahlia and Iris seem to see it as a curse

[r0-boat]

Yandere!Lighter Hcs RAA

This is pure rambling word vomit I just need him.

*drops all of my ZZZ Yandere headcannons* Oh no please I beg you don't read them 👀👀👀

Wise and Belle are next

Cw: Not healthy relationship, NSFW, non-con, kidnapping, implied that he is going to harm you, He is not okay, do not read if you are not okay.

Lighter is sickly sweet to you like candy, He's close to the sons of Caledon but they would never understand how he feels for you. Everyone else outside the people he respects he doesn't care. Without you he saw the world in black and white. It might sound cheesy but you are his everything. And like hell he was going to lose his everything without a fight.

It doesn't matter if you love him or not, would be easier if you just accepted his love and stayed with him.... Not going to lie it hurts, It fucking hurts The fact the one person he fell in love with his first love does not feel the same. He never felt like this before nor he'll ever in his future.

Lighter we'll never just straight up admit his feelings for you He's too scared that you'll reject him. And he is downright terrified that you'll find out about his obsession for you that feels too damn good to stop.

You will never know that with his connections he has hired a few people to take a few pictures of you. Pictures that He uses the touch himself to every night.

You will never know how pathetic you make him feel when he can't have You in his field of vision for a single second.

Threatening anyone who is close to you, using intimidation alone at the others around you to make sure he's the only one you need. To you your friends and family we'll just think Lighter is a bad influence and a bad boyfriend, You none the wiser we'll think they're not looking past his looks. Because how could he be so deplorable and possessive when he's just so sweet?

Lighter when snaps he tries to calm has already spiraling mind, His shaky hands trying to fish in his pocket for a jawbreaker for him to suck on as his anxiety starts to spike and he makes a spontaneous decision to kidnapped you, He was never one for big plans or manipulation or anything. But he has you now and... He doesn't really want to let go of you. He knows full well that you don't like him It still hurts every time he's reminded of that. But he's so so sure that he could make you fall in love with him. All you have to do is... Stop being bad.

Lighter acts like the delusional yandere, Even though he's fully aware of how you feel about him. I think he just chooses to ignore it.

Believe him he doesn't want to punish you, He doesn't want to chain you down, or tie you up, or lock you away. And he certainly doesn't want to hurt you. He wants to protect you. Protect you from everything that can hurt you outside. But he will if he has to, It's the only way to make you see reason. you'll learn your lesson... One day.

Lighter is still sweet to you, maybe even sweeter now that he knows he gets to come home to the love of his life, You come home with flowers, candy, anything you like. And as soon as he sees you his tired face will lighten into a smile as he drops on his knees to your level to kiss your face and gently touch you.

He can't keep his hands off you "Hey baby~ how was your day today?"He would mumble against your neck pepper and kisses on your collarbone, He knows full well how your day has been and What you have been doing. But he wants to hear you say it. He wants to hear that voice he's been aching to hear all day. He really needs it.

He wants you on his cock so bad, when he has you in his lap stroking your thigh with his hand, you could feel something poke into your butt. But he can't take you; He wants to make love to you, And he can't do that when you don't realize how much He loves you.

He's not sure how long he'll last since the more you push him away the more he just wants to say "fuck it, You want a villain? you'll get one." to train your cock drunk self to take him everyday. But he wants you to love him; He doesn't want you to lust for him. He wants to come home and cook dinner with you, have a casual conversation, and cuddle by the fireplace before he makes love to you right there as the dancing fire casts your shadows on the walls.

He wants you to feel loved in his arms, He wants to be all mushy gushy and romantic with you. He wants all these things that he's afraid that he'll never have in his life. And he rather just force it on the one person he fell in love with.

[refeverie]

crystalfly of his heart.

fluff. gn!reader × xiao. wc 962

summary. crystalfly sight-seeing !

you care about xiao. you care about him to a great extent. for this reason, you yearn to spend this very afternoon with him.

there is this place you found while wandering through liyue, you were sure he had to catch a glimpse of. it is slightly selfish of you to drag xiao along since he is not one to waste his time on mortal customs. 

you kindly ask him, fully prepared to plead—to come with you; to appreciate the beauty of this world he never truly cared about until you came into his life to brighten it up. to your surprise, he does agree to go quite instantly. 

xiao does not know where you lead him, does not even have a hunch. sometimes he can guess whether it is stargazing, caring for stray cats, jumping through rain puddles, or sunsettia fruit picking, though, not this time. 

when you finally reach one of the caves of qiongji estuary, xiao gets his guard up. “i sense a fair amount of living elemental energy there,” he remarks. 

by now, you are already aware, so you whisper (to not scare the previously mentioned beings inside) exactly that. he is not assured, taking the first step further and walking in front of you the entire time. you think it is silly of him, understanding that the elemental beings there possess no harm to you nor to him; he was the one in the dark thus far. 

the road in the cavern is swampy and icky to go with shoes on, so the idea of going barefoot lingers in your mind. at one point, xiao started to lay out medium-sized flat rocks he found on the sides, gesturing to step on them instead. you were grateful, more so, when he offered to hold onto his wrist if needed. 

as the cave widened, it opened to the sight of its magnificent core. there are little flowers all around the shiny fresh grass field, covered with dewdrops. those were coming from the prodigious tree, prospering with water droplets of changed leaves. it is a magical view. 

all the more when you notice a myriad of crystalflies, engulfing the branches of the tree; taking land on small blossoms on the meadow; flying towards both of you and swirling around. 

xiao lowers his jade spear before long. the creatures are harmless as of now. 

what actually surprised you, was that the crystalflies were not solely formed from geo energy. there were different ones; all of the elements. 

the anemo crystalflies, those storming around you the fastest—making you feel the most pleasant to your skin winds. it makes you more free than ever. 

geo crystalflies, the ones most familiar to you both, carry the dreams of everyone in this nation, calling out to xiao to live in prosperity; to fight alongside his people. 

migrated from inazuma, the electro crystalflies brought a variety of stolen ideals of humans, scattered around to choose what to fight for. you know your beliefs well as xiao his. you do not need to opt for new ones. just yet. 

dendro crystalflies bear so much liveliness with themselves that you want to breathe in that earthy smell of vitality—hoping for xiao to see that being alive is an invaluable trait. 

hydro crystalflies are so pure the tears prick your eyes, you feel free of flaws. you tried gently catching one, seeing how xiao felt way more at ease of his sins. it felt just right for him; was meant for him to experience it. 

pyro crystalflies are warm to touch. standing by them is like being at home as well as with the right person. the passion coursing through them, nearing you both, is almost like love and protection being expressed in silence. 

cryo crystalfies brought the cold the world needs sometimes. they are fragile and short-lived, it is sad. you think they are the prettiest in spirit—living to die yet having the most meaningful life, dancing with such vigor. it made you look back at the existence of humans. 

there are also peculiar ones, you would believe they are coral-colored. they are unlike others. those made you feel strange, mystical. you are not used to them as they are not used to you. though, you love them plenty as they convey allure not of this world. 

it makes you think that this cave is special since these pure forms of life are formed from the natural elemental energy, specific to the prevailing region. you guess, the tree is the one that contains the elements of all the teyvat for contrasting crystalflies to manifest altogether. each of them is lovely and unique. 

you turn your head to xiao, noticing that his golden eyes sparkle and reflect the beauty in front of him meticulously.

he is not a man of many words. that does make him a great listener, no matter if you like to ramble or if you are as quiet as him—any time you want to express your opinion, he will be there attentively listening. you can count on that. so you speak. 

you share how you came across this place; how various crystalflies make you feel, how you, too, expected him to feel. he paid attention to your thoughts, where you were looking, explaining each individually; he observed his own state as well. 

to him, crystalflies feel like gifts of this world; benevolent offerings, given by elemental energy to the living. they are sending a message eternally, no matter which is your favorite, it can be used as a favour for anything and anyone, and anytime. 

today he felt like you gave him all of the blessings, carried by them, at once. simultaneously, he considers you his exclusive crystalfly of his heart—the blessing of his heart.

[elinormakara]

Shades of Blue

Portgas D Ace x Fem!Reader Chapter 3

~ Previous Chapter ~ ~ Next Chapter ~ ~ Master Post ~

NSFW / Mature Content / Could possibly contain themes not suitable for minors.

Warnings for Chapter 3: None

~~ PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ~~ You can also find Shades of Blue on my Wattpad & AO3 accounts, click the links to go straight to them! Enjoy!

Chapter 3 - Lovers Day Storm

"The butterflies tell me of your arrival, now, the question is, have you come here in peace?" arising from the shuffling mound a deep grumble shakes the earth. Soil crumbles to pieces as a large reptilian head emerges. Lightning strikes across the sky over head as dark grey clouds loom behind Y/N. Light from the electric bolt causes the scales of an ancient dragon to shimmer. Its body has been laying in place for so long the creature has become part of the island. Roots from the surrounding plant life have become one with its scales and body. The ancient creature turns its head to face the lioness, it's eyes blind. Though, thanks to the surrounding wildlife the creature can feel her presence nearby. Whispering of nature guides him.

"Well?! Speak! Do you wish to cause harm to this peaceful land?" Raising his voice, a tone of threat rumbles vibrations through the earth. Y/N's bones shudder while she stands motionless in disbelief to what her eyes can see. The lioness attempts to move her stunned mouth, but no words are formed from her lips. Far too petrified to speak to such a creature, that, until mere moments ago she never thought existed.

Accompanying the ancient creatures rumbling voice is the aftermath of the lightning bolt. It tears through the earth like a giant has landed. The surrounding flowers startle as their stems shake. "My friends, a storm is coming, please find shelter and keep safe, let me deal with this intruder" a calmer tone in the dragons voice. All the creatures of the forest had surrounded the vast field, they glare at Y/N. Their glowing eyes peek through the vegetation. They watch her, not fooled by her lion form. Y/N's ears pin back sharply. An ominous feeling looms, no light of day touches where she stands. The lush field of bright pollinating flowers now feels empty. Grey petals shun her. The ground beneath turns black like a pit, her body feels weightless.

Ace, help! Is this where I die? This can't be the end?! Should I have stayed? I'm such a klutz!

A large droplet of clear water trickles upon her fur. Her body instinctively lowers close to the ground. With a rapid pumping muscle in her chest her panic grows. She thinks of running but her body is frozen in place. Like a statue she stares at the creature. "Your silence tells me you're no friend to us, so let this be a warning-" abruptly the dragon is interrupted, a distant shout from the forest catches his attention.

From behind Y/N a man yells out frantically. "Y/N!! KITTY!! PLEASE! WHERE ARE YOU?! Y/N!!!" The man's yelling becomes louder as he pushes himself through the brush and out onto the vast field. Y/N turns her statue gaze. "Y/N!!! HOLD ON! I'M HERE!" Ace shouts while sprinting. A brief cold shudder washes over her from hearing his voice and seeing his figure. Fluttering emotions boil up from inside her belly, rushing to her chest. Her watery eyes blur the sight. This sight, this voice, gives her the courage to lift her body from the ground.

He came. No one has ever done this for me. Ace!

Unable to shout for him, she lifts a paw. The tears upon her cheeks merge with the pouring rain as the grey clouds move in. Changing back to her human self, a paw turns to a hand. In the heavy pummeling rain, her arm stretches out to the man approaching, to Ace. Her hair becomes drenched under his orange wet hat. Ace rapidly closes the gap between them while also reaching his drenched arm towards her. Suddenly, a shot of lightning pierces the ground between them before their hands could meet. The sudden rush of nature's fury causes Y/N's body to fly away. Fortunately, she is stopped by the dragon's mound. The creatures soaked reptilian face peers down to the sudden motion against him. Terrified, Y/N doesn't spend any time thinking about the pain from the impact, she stares up into blind eyes.

Is he about to cook me alive?!

Without thought, her instinct to run away from the dragon drives her onwards as shuddering legs move on their own away from the ancient beast and towards Ace's direction. The rumbling aftermath causes her body to fall into thick mud. She doesn't give up, on all fours she crawls, the thick clay sticking to her skin weighing her down.

Please, body, don't tire now! I need to get to him; I need to get to Ace!

A warm arm suddenly lifts her from the mud. Ace pulls her into an embrace. Within his arms the warmth of his body sends a relief down her spine, her arms wrap around his torso as she tears into his chest. Though one weight is lost as the rain washes away the clay another replaces it, the rain gets heavier. Ace keeps her stable as he gently holds her head upon his chest while his other arm keeps her body close to his firm stance. "I-I'm so s-sorry A-Ace. I-I didn't mean to run off so far, I-I just wanted to explore, I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I-I'll never run off ever again. Please, d-don't leave me" she weeps a whisper of apology, adding to his already drenched skin. "I'm not leaving you, Y/N, you've done nothing wrong, but you did have me worried" Ace comforts her with a soothing deep voice while patting atop the orange hat. "Y-You were worried, about me?" "Who was it that brought you here? If something had happened to you, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself. I may be a pirate but make no mistake that doesn't mean I don't care. It doesn't mean I can't" he grits his teeth as though the next word he's about to say will leave a sour taste on his tongue.

A fierce wanted pirate like him acting so gentle and caring for a nobody like me. Is he truly a pirate?

Their bodies stay embraced while the storm fiercely batters their skin. Ace turns his gaze towards the ancient beast. An aggressive glare sends a powerful aura through the surrounding area. Y/N's teary eyes attempt to glance up. Though, Ace hides her glance from reaching him with the orange hat upon her head. Not wanting her to feel frightened of him as he feels his violent tendency boil from his stomach.

The wind and rain from the storm won't give any moment of rest. From above the heavy rain pummels, from the sides the freezing wind pushes her but Ace keeps his grip. He stands firm. She feels his body heating as this uneasy aura engulfs.

No, he's without doubt dangerous. This feeling is like I'm being held in the claws of a feral beast. Even the ancient creature under the mound didn't feel this violent. Am I truly safe with such a man?

"A-Ace, you're frightening me" she speaks from his heated chest with a nervous tone. Her warm breath sends a mist into the air. From hearing the frightened tone, Ace suddenly dissipates his boiling rage. To reassure her everything is ok he glances down with a soft smile, lifting the hat slightly to let her gentle gaze meet with his.

"Ace? Is that really you?" the dragon suddenly asks. Ace turns his gaze back to the creature. "I thought you'd be dead by now old geezer! But here you are still watching out for this island, huh?" Ace grins fiercely with one eyebrow arching further up his forehead. For a time, they both glare at each other when a bolt of lightning strikes. Y/N clings to Ace tightly, she feels that if she lets go, she'll be swept away by the storms strong hissing winds. Suddenly, to her surprise, Ace and the dragon let out a loud laugh.

What's going on?! Do they know each other? Can't they see there's a bad storm happening right now?! I'm going to get swept away! And yet, Ace is laughing.

Y/N attempts to peek further from under the orange hat that Ace continues to hold upon her head. She catches a small glimpse of his laughing face, though, his face looks fierce not soft and reassuring which she has become accustomed to. Ace notices her curious eyes from under his hat as he passes a glance down. His laughing stops and his lips crease his wet skin as he gives her a soft smile. His grip around her tightens. "See, we're fine, everything is fine" he whispers to her but it sounds more like reassuring himself.

"Please, both of you, come, my body will provide shelter" the dragons voice much friendlier as he welcomes them under his mound. Without hesitation Ace picks up Y/N, his legs move quickly.

Inside the mound he places Y/N down, her back against the dragon's rooted scales. Forgetting the fact she had changed back to her human self and right now her body is exposed to him. He peers over her briefly before a bright blush pours over his drenched face. He darts his eyes around nervously.

"I-I didn't look! I swear! I-It's dark in here, I can't see, I promise!" His flustered voice makes Y/N giggle quietly before she reaches out a hand towards his face. Gentle fingers push away dripping strands of hair from his eyes. She leans towards him. Upon his cheek she kisses softly. Ace's eyes widen from the silky touch. "Thank you, Ace, for coming after me" her gentle voice captivates him as he swallows a nervous gulp. He fights the urge not to peer at her exposed body parts. Turning away suddenly, he lifts his hand holding onto her clothes.

"I brought them for you, they'll be wet though, I-I could start a fire to dry them if it's ok with Durin here" Ace speaks softly while tapping a finger against Durin's scales. "That's fine with me, anything to help" Durin responds kindly. Ace places the wet clothes next to Y/N before using a fiery finger to light up the darkness. He collects some dead roots into a pile before setting them alight. The whole time he keeps his back to Y/N. She watches him, his muscular back catching her attention. "Will you be ok, Ace? Your clothes are soaked too." Concerned of him getting ill she asks. "I'll be fine! My pants are made with material that dries quickly. I can also use my flames to dry myself off" he replies as his flames set his skin alight. Y/N observes his power in awe.

I want to touch him. Feel the warmth of his skin against mine. Slide my fingers across his slippery muscles. Will he think it's odd that I feel this way? Will this push him away if he finds out how close I want to be? Someone so free won't want to be held back, right?

A gentle hand reaches out toward his tattooed back, but she hesitates. The blazing heat of his flames radiates to her hovering hand. Flames soon vanish in an instant when Ace feels his body dry. "Is this your mate, Ace?" Durin asks suddenly, his neck curls around allowing his face to peer at Ace. The dragons scaly wet face lights up with fiery hues from Ace's small fire. "Uh-well, uh-" caught off guard by Durin's question, Ace stutters out his words. Her hand so close to touching his warm back, she stops herself. Lowering her hand away she sits back against the scales of Durin. The dragon senses her movements. "I would like to sincerely apologize for my actions, young lady, you see I only wish to protect this island from any wrong doers, I do hope we can start over?" Durin speaks softly. Still in shock that dragons even exist Y/N pauses to stare at Durin for a while before answering.

"I-I understand. Ace never mentioned a dragon lives here; I never knew dragons even existed" her voice carries a nervous tone as she speaks to Durin. "I guess it slipped Ace's mind, but it would have been nice to know." "Well, I didn't think you were that eager to go off on your own. You were the one who wandered off" Ace speaks with a snappy tone. "But a dragon, really?! It just slipped your mind to mention, 'by the way there's an old dragon that lives here'" her voice too gentle to be as sharp as Ace's. "I knew Durin wouldn't have hurt you, at least not in your lion form. Besides I thought the old geezer would have been dead, it's been some time since I last came here" "Oh thanks, so, if I wasn't a lion then something much worse could have happened?! Great to know, Ace" she crosses her arms in a huff. "OI OI, I WOULDN'T HAVE-" Ace's voice raises into a shout. "Please, young ones, there's no need to argue, all is right. It was a minor misunderstanding. But, oh how you both remind me of my sweet late mate, she was a fierce one-" Durin halts any further arguing. "Ace is NOT my mate, we only met yesterday" Y/N huffs as she interrupts Durin. "Ah but tell me, young lady, then, why did you make such a decision to join him on his small raft out at sea?" Durin asks with a smile. "What? How did you know that?" she looks at the dragon's kind face with a confusing gaze. "Durin here can read minds, your thoughts, but only if you speak to him" Ace explains as he glares into his small fire. Y/N glares at Ace's back before facing away from him again. Durin keeps his kind smile while sensing the built-up tension between the two.

The wind fiercely howls past Durin's mound as the three of them stay silent. In the distance, sounds of creaking and snapping trees pierce through the pummeling rain. Ace's small fire crackles as he keeps it alight. The lightning doesn't rest as its sharp electric bolts crash violently against the ground; the thunders rumble shaking Y/N's cold bones. She gently peeks over at Ace who is unfazed by any of it.

Gently she stands up and begins to hang her dripping clothes over strong roots between Durin's scales. "A-Are storms like this normal at sea?" Y/N's stutter breaks through the silence as she pats down her dripping clothes. "Yeah, they can happen a lot, you get used to them" Ace speaks calmly. "I'm sorry, Y/N, for not saying anything. I'm so used to being alone that-" "It's ok, Ace, I shouldn't have wandered off, it was silly of me"

He's used to being alone? How can that be, isn't he part of a pirate crew? Come to think of it where is his crew?

"No, it's my fault, Y/N. I need to be more responsible, I put you in danger and that's not what any man should do to a woman" a tone of guilt weighs on his voice. "Ace, honestly, it's ok, not like I was a damsel in distress, right?" she tries to pull a small joke to lighten the mood after knowing she wasn't really in that much danger. Ace stays silent.

Honestly, compared to him I'm a weak newborn on the sea. I'm going to be such a hindrance to him. Perhaps going with him was a bad idea after all.

She sighs loudly. Ace attempts to peek over his shoulder, wondering why the loud sigh? He meets with her eyes and quickly turns away from the exposed woman standing behind him. "If I may ask, where is your pirate crew?" she wonders, attempting to find out more about him. "You don't need to worry about that, I'm out here on my own mission, that's all you need to know" Ace avoids the question, a tone of guilt still lingers. She sits her cold body back down against Durin's scales while gazing upon Ace's back, the silence takes over for a brief time before Y/N points her attention to Durin.

I wonder what Ace is thinking. I want to know him more. We had our first small argument so soon, are we not compatible? Will he want to leave me here now? I'm too much of a burden for a pirate like himself, perhaps that's what he's thinking. Perhaps, he's staying silent because he doesn't want to say it. I'm a hindrance.

"So, uh, Durin, you can read minds, right? Tell me, what intentions does Ace have?" Y/N asks with a curious tone. Ace glances to Durin who's face is already in his direction. "Ace has no bad intentions, young lady, as that appears to be your most concern, he has no intention of leaving you here, however, he will if it means your safety and he does indeed have the intentions of a young male" Durin responds. "What does that mean?" Y/N eager to know more. "He wishes to know you, he's curious to find out how it feels to love and be loved but for someone with the blood of a demon in his veins, he questions if he deserves to feel such an emotion and because of this he's never mated-" "OI! OI! I think you've said enough, Durin! Who's side you on?!" Ace stands up so quickly he hits his head against Durin's scaly wing which now looks like thick tree roots that hold the ceiling of the mound together, he causes some debris to fall on top of him. "Ouch!" Ace rubs his head. His flush cheeked face peers over to Y/N, he nervously gulps. She laughs softly while watching him. Her cold shivering body catches his attention, but he quickly averts his gaze.

What does Durin mean by the blood of a demon? I want to know.

Y/N continues to watch Ace curiously as he pats the debris from his head. He crouches back down to his diminishing small fire. She's about to speak but Durin stops her. "It's only fair that I let Ace know of your intentions too, young lady" the dragon turns his face towards her. "Huh?! Wait! I-" she tries to stop him with a slightly raised voice.

No! Stop! What I think will push him away! He'll think I'm too needy, too clingy.

"She wishes to touch you, to be close to you, Ace, but she fears that this need, after only meeting yesterday, will push you away. She too is highly curious of you having never found someone to love on her island and today is the day her island folk call 'Valentines' a day of lovers. She has some fear of you but her need of being close to you is stronger" Durin smiles at Y/N while speaking.

Y/N shakes her head at the blind dragon, it's no use, he keeps talking. She turns her glance to Ace who is staring into the fire. A flustered red blush pours upon her cheeks before she quickly turns her body away from the pirate. Ace peers over his shoulder, the fiery hues from his small fire barely warming her skin. Over her shoulder she slowly peers at his curious gaze, she gives him a glare. "I-I wasn't looking at your, I mean, I'm sorry! I'll face the other way!" Ace quickly turns his face back to the fire. Y/N watches with a small smile, her glare dissipates.

The cold damp hat on her head slides down her wet hair. She takes his hat off. Her body turns to lean towards him. Reaching, she places the wet orange hat next to him. Ace notices the placement and gazes at her hand. With a nervous gulp Ace quickly grips her wrist. His eyes falter, the want to look at her, strong, yet he respects her signs of not wanting his peeping eyes on her body.

"Y-You can, if you want. T-Touch me. I'd like that." Ace speaks with a slight nervous tone. His gentle grip releases from her wrist. Her eyes glance over his tattoo before shifting her gaze to his muscles. She examines their lines for a short time before lifting her hand slowly towards him, there's no hesitating. Soft fingertips meet with the tips of his wavy black hair, she catches a strand around her finger and starts to playfully curl it. Soon, she moves her fingertips closer, coming into contact with the warmth of the back of his neck. Ace's skin shudders from the shivering cold touch. Noticing, she pulls her hand away.

Why did he suddenly shudder like that? Did he not like it after all? Was I too quick?

Ace feels her touch distancing from him. Suddenly, he turns to face her, gripping her hand within his. "Your freezing, let my body warm yours" his eyes peer deeply into hers. "B-But Ace, I'm-" "I don't care that your naked. I mean, I do! It's very difficult for me not to look but trust me I'm not going to do anything" his voice gentle but insisting. He lowers Y/N's body down as his body follows, lying next to her. Ace's torso twitches from the contact as her soft cold breasts rub against his torso. He pulls her head into his chest; her flushing red cheek presses against his muscles.

"Why didn't you say something, you're so cold" Ace shudders while regulating his fiery body temperature. "I don't want to be any more of a hindrance, I've already caused enough trouble" she whispers.

"You're not a hindrance, not for me, please tell me if there's something on your mind, no matter how small, or if there's anything I can do. You're the first woman from an island to never run away or scream at the sight of me or instantly fight me, Y/N" Ace's grip on her head is gentle while his other arm rests upon her waist, keeping her close to him. "A-Ace" she whispers while peeking up from his chest.

So warm. He's able to control himself so well too. I always assumed pirates claim what they want, no matter the cost but he's different. He's right though, I let my curiosity take over when he came to my home island. I felt no need to run when others always scream and run from me. We have that in common.

A flustered bright red face greets her peeking eyes. Suddenly, she feels something poking against her belly, she glances down between their bodies. Ace rushes his arm from her waist to his black pants covering his erection with his hand.

I spoke too soon, he's not able to hide how he feels.

"Oh dear" Y/N giggles while watching the flustered fierce pirate fondle around. "S-Sorry, it just happens sometimes, i-it's not that I want to. I mean, not right now, I mean, if you ever want to-" Ace starts to lose his composure. "I won't ever do that, no, not ever" he shakes his head. "Ace, shhh" Y/N reaches one of her soft hands to caress his freckled cheek. "You're fine, it's ok, I know you're not going to do anything." Ace listens to her captivating voice, she calms him. He focuses on her gentle fingers brushing along his freckles. Calming further, he removes his hand after adjusting himself and back to her waist.

"You said you won't ever do that, is that because of the demon blood thing? Why do you think you're not deserving of love?" she gently asks while continuing to brush her fingertips on his cheek. She peers at his silly blushed face while letting out soft giggle. His gaze turns heavy when suddenly Ace's body becomes limp, his arm on her waist becomes heavier, his head meets the ground softly. "A-Ace? ACE?!" Y/N panics as she stares at him in shock, his eyes close. "Touch me, some more" a small whisper escapes his lips before a loud snore, followed by another.

Again?! He must have some kind of medical problem, falling asleep so randomly like this. And, he avoided my question. But, wait, he wants me to touch him?! My need doesn't put him off?

With a cold fingertip she pushes back his black wavy strands from his face. For some time, she watches him snore while running a finger through his hair, curling a strand around his ear.

How lucky I am, to have met such a gentle soul such as you, Ace. What adventures will we have? Do our futures entwine?

Can we stay like this? You and I?

Durin, having listened to the whole commotion, lowers his head to the ground with a smile. He closes his mound slightly, leaving only a small gap for the fire's smoke to escape. "I do hope there's nowhere either of you plan to be, this storm looks as though it's here for a while longer" Durin speaks calmly. "We're fine, thanks Durin, looks like we'll be resting here for a little while" she gently responds through Ace's snoring so not to wake him. She comfortably lowers herself further into Ace's embrace, accepting his warmth as she rests safely next to him.

My heart is fluttering, is it too soon?

She takes one last glance at Ace's snoring face as her eyelids get heavy. A soft kiss is left upon his chest. They both lay in slumber.

"What a wonderful thing, the blossoming of love, if this is my last time witnessing such a spectacle, I'm happy it's for you Ace" Durin murmurs peacefully.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------- Elinor's Comments:

Thank for reading chapter 3! I'm aiming to make this story with Ace a sweet, awkward kind of relationship because neither of them have fallen in love before, I hope you enjoy and look forward to chapter 4! There will be smut later on, in case anyone is wondering, I'm getting them there lol! Remember to scroll back to the top for more chapters and for the master post which contains all chapters.

[thatkinkyyqueer]

Kinktober Day 30

(Using @absurdthirst prompt list)

Weight Gain/Object Insertion/Sex Pollen

“This is beautiful Dr. Bradly!” Susan says as I take her into my solarium. I invited her over for dinner after today’s test with the smokey tentacle monster. I told her it want to further discuss a plan for how to proceed, but if I’m being honest I’ve been so horny since the test. I haven’t been able to shake the images of Cameron’s look of ecstasy as the creature made him orgasm over and over. We still haven’t been able to get him out of there, but he definitely doesn’t seem to be suffering.

“Thank you.” I reply after a long pause, realizing I’ve been staring at Susan’s ass for too long. I walk her through the room showing her all of my plants. “And they’re all carnivorous?” She asks, admiring my largest pitcher plant. “Mostly. Some are here to fill the space and help with the overall ecosystem I’ve created in this room, but yes most of this plants are carnivorous.” Susan nods thoughtfully. “Would like to see my favorite plant?” I ask with a grin and she nods.

We walk to the center of the room. There’s a pole that reaches the ceiling and hundreds of small dark green vines wrapping around it, some of the vines ending in bright blue flower bulbs. The vines start to move as we approach. I stay back a couple feet and Susan steps closer to examine it. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She watches as the two of the buds start moving like charmed snakes.

“That’s because they came from the lab. It’s the only one we’ve ever found. I call it a monster-era.” I laugh at my own joke as she turns to face me. “I think I remember reading the file about this. I don’t remember much, but that vibrant blue and the moving vines are hard to forget. Is it safe?” I choose my next words carefully and smile at her, seeing the buds come around either side of her head. “It’s not dangerous.”

Right on queue the buds come into her field of view and puff it’s fine blue pollen into her face. She shrieks and stumbles back into the mass of vines. “Just relax. Everything is fine.” I say mostly so she won’t fight so hard and damage my plant. She’s panting hard, which will only make the pollen work faster. “What was that?!” I can feel my cock hardening in my pants, Susan notices too. “Pollen. Don’t worry it won’t hurt you.” The vines start wrapping around her wrists and ankles. “It’s works like a very powerful aphrodisiac.” Her face is flush and she’s having trouble keeping eye contact with me.

“I can tell it’s taking effect. Your body temperature is rising.” I say in a low voice. She bites her lower lip as I look her up and down. It looks like she’s squeezing her legs together. The vines quickly tighten around her limbs and tie her firmly to the pole. “Get me out of it please!” She begs me and I wonder how wet she is. “Sorry, but I can’t do that. The vines aren’t going to release until you have an orgasm or I cut them off.” I step a little closer now that it’s safe. “Then cut them!” She yells, getting frustrated.

I stand directly in front of her. “No.” I say plainly and she whines loudly. “Listen no matter what the plant will make you have an orgasm in an hour or so and it will release you on its own. No harm done.” I look into her eyes and palm my cock through my pants. “Or I could help and you’ll be out of there quicker.” Her brows furrow. “Fuck you.” I shrug at her, before reaching out and tracing a single finger along her jawline and under her chin. She lets out a shaky breath as her whole body trembles. I lean in close to her ear, without touching her and whisper. “Remember that when you’re begging me to fuck you in a couple minutes.”

[neil-for-me13]

Growing Pain

Chapter I - Sowing Sorrows

“I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.” ― Edgar Allan Poe A typical Nevermore student, that's what you are. Most of your free time grossly consists of anything that is flora related or your other interests. During your third year you practically lived either in the greenhouse or out by the garden fields. Merrily you were whistling a tune out in your own little field that you cultivated at the far edge of nevermore forest and away from the lupin cages. It was early spring just in time for your germinated plants to peak out from its pot and to be transplanted to the rich plot of garden soil. The afternoon sun was out and just enough to beamed through the canopies. The wind was perfect to ease the grueling labor that awaits you. You were excited to plant your new varieties of belladonnas and foxgloves, maybe this time the new fertilizer would finally let them bloom. The last one made hydrangeas wilt even though the rainy season was perfect for them to thrive. Perhaps he’s it's a little acidic for the poor flower. This time you took the time to observe your compost for any potential inadequacies before processing him the plant food. Months of preparation and research with a little bit of footwork; You hope this fertilizer was worth the effort. Everyone was so invested in him, you’re a little bit curious as to why. You were digging small holes for your germinated belladonnas, when you sensed a presence behind, quietly approaching. You continued whistling and transplanting the first of your plants, now fully aware that a heavy platformed-shoe wearing individual would actually talk or threaten you before going for the kill; and even then no one can harm you in your own garden. No one. “Y/N, did you kill the hyde?” Oof, first name call out. 3 meters away and the forest breeze still carried her scent to you. Then you thought about how her scent would perfectly pair with the plants that you were in the midst of growing beneath you. Of course her scent would be perfect for your deadly wild greenery. A large inhale with the light breeze would cause your eyes to visibly dilate, thankfully she can only see your back from behind. 

“Hello to you too, Wednesday.” You continued to shovel the soil for the next plant in the row without turning around to face her. Knowing that  her temper would grow sour when you deliberately ignore her opening inquiry, you can’t help but smirk a little when she stomps a little bit closer to you. “Answer the question, Y/N.” Her tone clipped and the question loaded with accusation. You note that you didn’t need the breeze anymore to smell her scent, although a little bit sharp you relished it anyway. This has got you thinking if the body can produce enzymes and proteins based on emotions; would a horrible, tortured, and fear-stricken fertilizer be good to your plants’ nutrition. You were suddenly deep in thought that you forgot to answer her question or is it an accusation now? Because the next moment you were reminded how impatient Wednesday can be. With rushed paces she closed in on you, grabbed your sweaty collar and made you face her. “What was the question again?” you smiled coyly. “I will not repeat myself, Y/N '' she snarled, brows furrowing and deep brown eyes narrowing. Oh wow, in your squatting position she looks towering but not the city skyscrapers more like red wood trees. The sun was filtered through the leaves leaving specks of sun rays reflected upon her freckles. If you hoped she didn’t see your dilating eyes awhile ago, that hope is long gone now. You shamelessly took your time to take in all of her facial features from her fiery eyes, to her nose, to her cheeks, the hidden eyebrows, and then her lips. You softened your eyes and adjusted your position to inch closer to her ear. Careful not to touch her with your soiled gloves. “If I said no, would you believe me?” you say as you notice her shudder a little. “No. The possibility that you have caused the hyde to disappear is higher than any of my other suspects.” she uttered without moving away or inching closer while she still held on to your collar. I could live forever in this moment, Wednesday, your scent is heavenly and you’re holding me like you’re afraid that I’ll fall off the earth once you let me go. This moment in my garden (our) garden is to die for. You are to kill for. 

“I take offense that you have others in mind, Wednesday. Although I admit I am quite curious on how I became your number one and had the privilege to be visited miles away from the comfort of your writing desk. And minutes away from your writing time I might add.” you inch closer again to the reddening shell of her outer ear and puff out a breath, restraining yourself not to bite;not yet.

Your breath seems to jolt Wednesday to life, she lets your collar go and then you plop down the ground. You let out a chuckle. Knowing the effect you had, to make Wednesday elicit such a physical reaction. 

You smile and look up at her, ah the bliss of seeing her cheeks tinted light blush with embarrassment mixed with the tumultuous red with fury; the privilege of witnessing such displays of outward emotions can be only yours. Mine. My privilege. Only mine.

“May I interest you for some tea while you unfold how you think I did the crime you think I committed?” you slowly dusted yourself off then stood to collect your unplanted flowers and garden tools. Leaving your half-done grounds for another day. 

“I don’t have coffee beans yet; I’ll have them planted by the summer.” You stretched your back and turned to wink at her. “For your coffee addiction.” And to keep you from going back to that fucking Weathervane.

Wednesday blinked at your invitation, still seemingly flustered from your antics. You stood waiting for her to gather her walls and consent to your impromptu tea-party.

“I still have some arsenic and cyanide if you want a little kick to your tea.” you entice. “Cyanide.” she nods. She stood still, eyes tracked your next move. You offer a small smile and then walk towards a small shed to stow your baggage and store your gloves and apron. Beside the shed was a small awning with a table and two chairs. You ushered her towards the chair, aware that her eyes were following you and still vigilant with your movement. “Staring at me like you’ll devour me. Why darling, I’m flattered.” You continue to put away your tools and begin to prepare the water for boiling and locate the stored tea leaves. “You know if you were to kill me, the tools in your shed wouldn’t suffice.” she misdirects your last statement, while eyeing every equipment hanged meticulously in your tool shed like an arsenal.

“That much I know, Darling.” you smirked. She proceeded to walk over to one of the chairs to sit. While you lit the flame of a small camping burner by a small counter.

“I’ll make the tea just sit there and in a while we’ll begin to talk about your deductions; Well.. you’ll talk and I’ll listen.” You say as you begin to pour the boiling water into the tea pot. 

You picked out a half emptied Earl Grey tea leaves, dark and well suited for the caffeine levels that (your) Wednesday craved. The powerful aroma of bitterness and bergamot wafted when the leaves were submerged into the teapot. You paused and looked at her as she was taking in every little detail of your garden, her head pointing to the direction of the section she wanted to scan. The plot lands, the fruiting trees, the numerous bushels, the small diy greenhouse for the herbs as well as the seedlings, and the compost processing pit. 

It was a rustic garden that was almost a homestead that you did all by yourself and she respected that, and your collection of poisonous plots elicits a tiny warmth in her heart remembering how her mother would have adored talking your ear off all day about them.

The afternoon light bounced off on her face just right that even a godless stranger would call her divine. Her perfectly weaved braids, posture so straight that you’d swear she had those corrective braces if you’d only just met her, her smooth cheeks that's sprinkled with constellations of freckles, her lips slightly pursed for when she’s formulating thoughts inside of her sharp-witted mind, and her eyes; the most luscious brown of leather patina that reflected her sentiments. You know this is true because her eyes are now glowering at you.

“Might you be steeping it a little too long or is this one of your delaying tactics? She speculates now fully facing you, which made you smile.

“Darling, if I intend to keep you here for a long time I’d be thinking of doing other fun activities rather than drinking tea wouldn’t you agree?” 

You place your tea set and a small vial of cyanide onto a tray and make your way toward her. You arrange each cup on the table neatly and set aside the platter. 

You sauntered behind her with the tea pot, leaned down close enough for you to sneak a glance at her, poured out a decent amount of darkened tea and sprinkled a teaspoon worth of the almond flavored toxin.

“And I happen to know you preferred your beverages darker and deadlier than most. Although you can say the same if you tried some pepsi or cola.” your head turned to her to gauge out her reaction.

“ Surely, you jest.” She turned toward you to scowl at the idea of her ingesting anything that was sickeningly sweet. Your faces so close that a strong gust of wind can knock you off your feet and your lips might accidentally collide with hers.

“Don’t knock it until you try it.” you shrugged, walking back to your seat and settling down to your seat across from her. You served yourself some tea and took a sip to ease her growing suspicions towards the drink.

“Okay now we’re set, you have the floor. Cara mia.” you smiled deviously. Author's Note: My first ever delve into fanfiction territory. Long time reader but amateur writer. Suggestions and questions are welcome.

[theanoninyourinbox]

The Stars and the Afterlives

Starclan is the Afterlife of the Clan Cat. But what Roles might a cat have in the starry lands above? And where do non-clan cats go? Where do Traitors go?

STARCLAN

This is where every Clan cat wishes to go, a lush land of greenery and peaceful days. Where kits become the adults they were meant to be, mentored by their ancestors. Where elders shed their aches and dance in the meadows. The prey is endless, the predators nonexistent, the trees forever blooming. Honey drips where industrious stingless bees gather, and deep glens give privacy and comfort to the traumatized. Borders are gone, and those banned from relationships, either cross-clan or Healers, may find love.

Starclan cats have white four-pointed pupils, and small stars scatter in their fur. Scars they chose to keep gleam like the night sky, and they nearly float with each step. Starclan cats have four major roles, though others do exist, and any cat may change to any other role if they wish.

Star-Guide: these cats are the prophecy givers, often cryptic and mysterious. They plant signs like Herbalists plant Poppies, and divine the future in a great Crystal in a pool of starlight. Yellowfang is a Star-Guide, one that refuses to be any more cryptic than she has to.

Kit-Shaper: these cats guide the Faded, those long forgotten even by Starclan cats, into their final form - the next living generation. The Faded will fall apart into motes of light in a Sacred Glen, and Kit-Shapers will take these gleaming shapes and create kits. They fashion tiny noses and triangle tails, paint stripes and spots and patches, and set starlight in their eyes, before sending them to a laboring queen or king. Lionheart is a Kit-Shaper, spending his time molding the perfect kitten for each queen or king.

Path-finder: these cats periodically wander the living world, seeking to bring lost cats home, whether living or dead. They tirelessly search for Spirits who are missed, and often will guide lost or abandoned kits to the clans. Whiteclaw is a Path-Finder, knowing what it’s like to feel lost himself.

Comet-Claw: the Brawlers of Starclan, that patrol the line between the Stars and the Dark. Moonlit claws and sunbeam teeth savage any intruder, and rescue any living soul they may find lost. Swiftspirit is a Comet-Claw, always watching for Tiger”star”.

THE KITTYPET AFTERLIFE

Often referred to as the Twoleg Starplace, kittypets go to the same afterlife as their owners. There’s always food out, the toys are endless, and just about every twoleg wants to pet you. If their twoleg was abusive, kittypets will find a new loving twoleg to pet them and help them heal.

LONER AFTERLIFE

Referred to as the Quiet Hunting Grounds, loners go to endless fields and evening skies. The prey is plentiful, or as challenging as one wants, there’s company and shelter if one wishes, and the rolling fields and hills go on forever.

Those who chose to wander the lands of the living from these places are Spirits - they cannot touch another, save other Spirits or Star-Blessed cats. They can move items, so someone moving the prey you caught might be a mischievous Spirit.

THE DARK FOREST/MIRETREES

Where those who believed in Starclan go if they break the Code’s major rules (do not harm others needlessly, never harm the helpless, and kill not thy clanmate without true need) and do not atone in some way. It’s a dark and moonless place, with a variety of landscapes - all twisted from what they once were. The river where Rushtooth died is constantly writhing like worms, grasping at any who draw near. The clearing where Tiger”star” died is full of pain wails and the feeling of being betrayed. There is a shady Healer’s den, that’s covered in deathberries and thorny vines with yellow flowers.

Cats from The Dark are twisted and monstrous, often with bloody pelts and twisted limbs. The older a Miretree can is, the more insane the mutation. The dread One Eye, the first cat of the Dark Forest, is missing much of his face, all of his claws, and most of his guts. In comparison, Tiger”star” just has a flapping belly full of noxious dripping ooze and twoleg chains.

Those who escape the Miretrees are called Geists. They are near-universally malicious, and often haunt the place of their death. They DO have some power over the living, with their aura poisoning the spirits of the living.

For Example, the Geist Mapleshade poisoned almost the entirety of Crookedstar’s family, only sparing his brother and two of his kits. It took the Comet-Claws days to drive her back to the Mire, and having lost most of her power, she now plots vengeance.

[valyalyon]

2 Roadside Rhapsody

Previous Post | Next Post SEA MASTER LIST OR #LYONSEA DIVIDERS

CW: explicit language, descriptions of sexual intercourse in public where couple is nearly caught. MDNI. 3.1K words

The Red Highway isn’t the same when you stay out of the dark. There were deserts, and high cliffs, winding mountains and endless nothingness. Then it opened into the Lilac Gorge.

A flatter area within a valley, with the road exiting up a steep hill. Rocco and Angel stopped here for a few days, as fall weather conditions continued being absurd and dangerous that year.

The Lilac Gorge was a safe haven from the crime found along the Red Highway, with three tiny towns occupying the entirety of the valley floor. The gorge was named after the abundant lilac fields, throughout the towns and all over the valley floor.

It was a little piece of paradise among the vast scariness that was the road of Angel’s nightmares. She wondered if maybe it was the Lilac Gorge that she always dreamed about ending up with Lazarus in.

Still, she didn’t try to ponder too much on that thought. Whenever she did, her world would spin out of control again.

Rocco parked the van in a little lot, “this trailer park is gorgeous, Star, there’s flowers everywhere.”

Angel got off the bed and made her way to the passenger seat of the van as Rocco got out and opened her door.

She hopped out onto a field of green grass that was trimmed short for the lots to be easily distinguished. Then, just outside the trailer park there was a field of lilacs beside one of the high mountains that isolated the valley.

The trailer park was pretty empty, and no one was awake to play in the fields, so maybe that’s what made Angel want to go out there. She looked over her shoulder at Rocco, “I’m going to go walk through those flowers.”

“Looks like there’s paths in there, so you just might be able to,” Rocco said, closing the van and locking the doors.

Angel made her way across the grass trailer park to the open field of lilacs. The field was pale pink, and the smell of them was so strong that she was hypnotized.

She walked along the edges between the flowers, occasionally touching a petal and letting the smells fill the air.

Rocco chuckled from behind her, and Angel turned around with her furrowed brows, “why you laughing?”

He pointed at her and smiled, “you’re adorable. You’re so excited to be here and be outside. You’re one with nature and it’s cool to see.���

Angel softened up, realizing he meant no harm, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She was on her toes to reach the tall man, but dangled her arms gracefully, “Want to get closer to nature?”

Rocco raised his brows as he looked down at her, holding her waist in his strong hands, “I’d have to get a condom out the van.”

“You want to fuck nature?” She asked curiously, further teasing him.

He laughed and pushed against her, kissing her as his grip on her waist tightened, “don’t act like you aren’t offering your body to me.”

She stared up at him with her sweet green eyes, her bottom lip pouting, “I’m a good girl, I could never…”

“That you are, but you definitely did,” Rocco agreed partially, and then squeezed an ass cheek in his hand tightly.

“Oww,” Angel moaned helplessly.

“You need it, don’t you?” Rocco asked, kissing her lips with an open mouth again.

“Mmm… just a little,” She whimpered out, holding onto his collar and pulling him down to her.

“You taste amazing,” he let it out in a groan, grabbing her by the back of the hair and pulling her into another kiss.

He squeezed her before letting one hand search his pocket, then switching to search with the other hand. Finally, he said, “score. I had one in my pocket.”

Angel guided him through the field, then she knelt down in between the bushels of lilac. She looked up at him as her hand felt his bulge through his pants, her hand tightened around the print of his length.

He groaned from the pressure, looking around and then unzipping his pants, getting his cock out for her.

She took his cock into her throat, her tongue sliding along the 9 inches happily. She was moaning and her tongue worked wonders along his throbbing shaft.

Rocco’s voice was lowered into a grumble, his joyous groans muffled by his choice to bite on his lip, but finally, “fuck, Angel… my Star…”

She looked through her dark lashes at him, and then closed her eyes to get him deeper in her throat. She loved the way he felt, she loved having sex and she hated admitting that.

She definitely felt like a whore, having jumped so quickly from loving Lazarus to deep throating another man in a field… She told herself that it was inevitable though, she couldn’t live hoping to rekindle anything with Lazarus.

Why wasn’t she allowed to move on? She was more than confident that he would be moving on soon anyway.

She didn’t feel any need to wait around for Lazarus to find her again, she wanted to enjoy her life. And Rocco… he was beautiful, his voice amazing, he was kind, and he felt easier to trust and believe in than Lazarus.

Of course, there was no shortage of attraction between Rocco and Angel either. They each found the other sexually appealing and were very hungry for one another.

That was one thing, of course, that it was always less aggressive with Rocco. Not to say he didn’t squeeze her or smack her ass, but he couldn’t slap her face. He’d happily choke her though, so he started to pump his cock deeper into her throat, holding her in place by the head.

“Mmm,” Angel mumbled hotly against Rocco’s cock, and her tongue swirled on his tip as her head moved in a rhythm.

His breathing hitched and he held his cock all the way down her throat, as his balls started to lurch with his orgasm. He sighed heavily and then let out a laugh, “you’re amazing.”

Angel lapped up all his cum, sliding her mouth off his cock and opening her mouth to show him the prize she’d won. She swallowed his hot load and looked up at him from her knees, “you’re not done, though…”

She was right, Rocco desperately wanted to fuck her in that field. He got down on his knees with her and the two shared a passionate kiss, as Rocco’s hands began to lift Angel’s top.

Her breasts came out and Rocco moved down, sucking on the nipples and playing with them, before leading his hand down and removing her pants, “you’ve got such a fat ass… You need to start wearing dresses to make fucking you easier.”

“It’s getting cold, I can’t,” she moaned in protest, as his index and middle fingers began to enter her pussy.

“It’s not that cold here, remember? We won’t be leaving for a little bit… I want to see you walking these streets in summer dresses, I want to be able to lift your skirt and fuck you anywhere,” he explained his needs and desires to her, spitting on his fingers and lacing the spit along her wet pussy.

Her clit was throbbing and her legs shook as she felt him touching her, “Let me feel your cock, Rocco, please…”

Everything came out like choked moans, her hips grinding to the rhythm of his finger fucking.

“You’re so fucking horny,” he called her out, ignoring what he had previously said, and lining his cock up with her entrance. She was wet and ready for him, so he just pushed himself in, groaning, “fuck… you’re still so small…”

“Do you hate it?” She moaned.

He chuckled and pulled her hair, “I could never.” Then, he slowly began to fuck her, pulling his cock out nice and slow.

Rammed it right back in, pulled it out, rammed it. His precious Star was a moaning mess, and Rocco wanted so badly to finish inside of her.

He played with her tits and then smacked her ass real hard, quickening his pace to speak, “can I finish inside of you?”

She wasn’t thinking, busy enjoying every rough thrust he shoved deeper into her gut. Her eyes were half closed, her mouth hungry for more of his lips.

He kissed her and pulled her hair, harder, this time his voice slightly meaner, “can I finish inside of you? Yes or no?”

“Will you be mad if I say no?” She asked him in between thrusts, her moans loud, her legs trembling.

“I won’t be,” Rocco promised her, loosening his grip on her hair and patting her head gingerly, “I want you to want it. If you don’t want it, I’ll just cum in your mouth again if you’re okay with that.”

“That sounds better… Too soon…” She tried to explain, not wanting to say no but not wanting to argue with him either. If it had been Lazarus, and if Lazarus had kept going, she would have let him have her way. She thought she’d probably feel the same way about Rocco soon.

He just nodded his head, kissed her on the mouth affectionately and continued slamming his hips rhythmically into her, leading her into a first and second orgasm simultaneously. As she came, her cream covered Rocco’s veiny cock and painted it white.

Rocco groaned, just brought to the brink by the hot sight of her cream all over him, he pulled out quickly, moving Angel onto her knees again.

He stood back up and slipped his cock back into Angel’s mouth, pulling her in close as he finished down her throat.

She gagged, then moaned, taking it all down her throat as soon as she adjusted herself. She held her head firm, making sure to suck him off as he pulled back out of her throat.

“Perfect,” Rocco said, and reached down for her, helping her off the ground, “You’re fucking perfect… Okay, breakfast?”

“I already had so much protein,” she teased him, kissing him happily after she had swallowed his load, “but breakfast does actually sound really good. We’ve been working up a sweat.”

“That, and we go into each town until we find a place to get you dresses,” Rocco added to the itinerary, smacking her ass then making sure she was dressed.

“My legs are going to be cold,” the girl protested, following Rocco back to the van.

“I’ll make sure to keep you warm,” Rocco promised her.

…

There was one store that sold exclusively clothing, and luckily it was a short walk from where they’d left the van. Rocco and Angel were always going back and forth with song ideas.

Rocco usually started it with some kind of abstract sound or rhythm, a guitar chord or a drum beat done on the floor of the van. Quickly, she would add lyrics.

At first, the lyrics were just a hum, a word or two, a hum. The more they spent time making songs though, the quicker he began to notice a sharp light in Angel’s eyes.

By the time they were walking to that store, Angel was nodding her head to a rhythm that he had made the night before when he couldn’t sleep.

Rocco glanced at her, “I thought you were asleep.”

“No, I heard you… I was pretty exhausted so I couldn’t move but I heard you doing that before you came to bed,” she tried to explain, and then ignored him again as she tried to place the lyric.

Her eyes seemed to bounce through so many stories, and she finally seemed to come to one, “In my bones mmm… burning me close mmm… Do you hear what I’m hearing?”

He nodded his head, remembering the sound and beat-boxing a similar sound rhythm for her. He liked surprising her with all the things he knew, and her eyes grew wide in excitement.

“I didn’t know you could beat box! You sing, play guitar — you must play drums too? And you can beat box too?” She swooned all over him, hugging his arm.

Angel’s affection always spun his heart. Rocco didn’t know what got into himself, barely having spent two weeks with this girl. She wasn’t fake, she fell into the pleasures of life and lived it freely. He admired that about her.

He wanted to know so much about her, but he realized how much he had done knowing so little about her. She was a transient, and so was he but — it wasn’t the same.

“I can do a lot of things… before me, Angel, who were you with?” Rocco asked curiously, and then explained, “I lost my virginity to my first girlfriend. We broke up a year ago and I’ve had sex twice since.”

She stared up at him, a little confused about his line of questioning, then coming to understand his worry. Clearing her throat, “I lost my virginity to my gang leader ex-boyfriend, and I got raped by a gang member the night before I met you.”

“How did you get to the convenience store?” He asked, his face displaying his concern for her. There was no judgement on his face.

“I walked through the woods all night until I arrived there that morning,” she explained, her fingers lacing in between his.

“You’re really brave,” Rocco told her sincerely, hugging her tightly and then kissing her head, “maybe tomorrow we go to a doctor together and we both get STD tests.”

She actually liked the idea of that, as well as have the doctor touch around to make sure she still had an implant in her arm that would help her not get pregnant. She nodded her head, and agreed.

Rocco opened the doors of the store as they walked in, and instructed Angel to pick out nice dresses, a puffer jacket she really liked, and some cute boots.

Angel went through the selection of dresses, picking out a lilac pink dress, a lavender dress, and a third more blush pink dress. She moved on to picking out a white puffer jacket, with cute white boots that were slightly fluffy on the outside.

Once everything was picked out, they went to the changing rooms and Rocco noticed immediately that there wasn’t an attendant, so he told her to go and that he would follow.

Angel picked out one of the bigger rooms so they’d have space, and she hung everything up as Rocco sat down in a chair in the corner of the room.

She started to undress, taking her top off and setting it down. Next she took her shoes off, followed by slipping out of her pants.

She tossed the first dress over her head. It was a lilac baby doll, and was mid thigh length, her fat ass barely covered by the dress, “this one is definitely a no.”

“Why is that?” Rocco asked, reaching out to touch her, “come here, lemme see you.”

She turned to face him, and his eyes were hungry and warm, beckoning her forward. She walked a couple feet forward and gave him her hands when he asked for them.

He admired her bare legs, looking up her frame in the dress, finishing on her cleavage and hard nipples, “look at those tits, Star… fuck… let me touch them.”

“Feel the dress, focus on why we’re here,” she told him, but she leaned forward for him to play with her tits.

He groped each breast from outside the dress, his grip hard and hot, but then he forced her tits out of the dress, and started sucking on her nipples. He bit a little and she moaned, her fingers curling in his brown hair.

“Mmm, Rocco…” her legs shook a little, but he let go of her suddenly. She looked confused at him.

Rocco chuckled and pointed at the dresses, “finish up. You’ve got more stuff to try on.”

She slid off the dress right in front of him, making sure her fat ass touched his knee, then standing back up slowly. He smacked her ass roughly, but stayed sitting, watching her.

The next dress was pink, the top a corset of flowers, and the skirt short tulle again barely covering her beautiful ass.

He watched the dress come on and saw the way it hugged her curves, just in awe of her. Rocco grabbed her again, but this time lifted her skirt and lowered her onto his lap, where she could feel his bulge.

“Fuck… I don’t think we should, Radio Boy…” she pleaded with her lover, hoping that using his nickname would level him.

His greedy hands were feeling the boning of the corset, and then feeling her breasts. He squeezed her tits firmly and sighed against her neck, “you feel the way your ass rubs against me? How could I ever stop craving you?”

“You have to learn restraint,” she moaned, rubbed her ass against his cock one more time, then got up and started to change.

The next dress was more purple, and the sleeves hung off her shoulders. For this one, Rocco already his cock out of his pants, and was stroking it as he watched, “come give me head, Star.”

She couldn’t say no to him. She turned around and kneeled down in front of him. As she took it in her mouth, her tongue came out, licking the base of the shaft. His veins were exposed and his cock was throbbing.

As she happily slurped him up, she heard someone coming into the changing room. Rocco, not perturbed, sped up his assault on her mouth, cumming in her throat just as they heard a voice clearing their throat from the mid way point of the room.

He pulled away and fixed his pants immediately. Angel stood and switched into her pants, throwing on her shirt. Rocco stood from the chair and she sat down to put on her shoes, as a knock came to the door.

Rocco opened it, playing it cool, “yeah?”

“Are you two done in here?” the store clerk asked, irritated by Rocco.

Angel nodded her head, tying her shoes. Rocco grabbed all the clothes off the hanger for her, and said, “we’ll be getting everything.”

The store clerk nodded her head and walked away from them. They followed suit momentarily, Rocco handing the lady cash to pay for their items.

Then they headed on their merry way.

Not sure how I'm feeling about author's notes and polls at the end -- kind of a fan of the polls but not sold on the author's notes, excited to see what you all prefer. Hope you enjoyed the story <3

[bunsdans]

“Of Thorns and Threads”

Word Count: 1,700~

Trigger Warning!!

This story will include suicidal attempts and thoughts , bodily harm , and some angst!! If that’s not to you’re liking you’re more than welcome to click off this post ^^

Chapter I

“Humans are so… pathetic.”

The words echoed, hollow and distant, like something I’d once believed—until I saw her.

I remember only fragments, like petals caught in the wind. A woman stood alone in a sea of wildflowers, bathed in golden light. Her hair shimmered like sunlight caught on water, and her skin, pale and radiant, seemed softer than the blooms that cradled her feet.

It felt like home.

Like I had always belonged there—beneath her gaze.

For the briefest moment, her eyes met mine.

And in them, surprise bloomed. Not fear. Not anger. Just… recognition.

Then, a smile—so gentle it felt like a lullaby in my chest—and she lifted her hand toward me.

“Come here, Sylara.”

Her voice was warm, but the air had grown cold.

So cold.

The warmth I craved lived only in her. I needed her touch, her presence, to feel like anything more than a shadow.

“Momma…” I whispered, reaching for her with trembling hands.

But the wind began to howl, cruel and hungry, tearing the flowers from the earth in violent spirals. They danced around her like a storm of memory, as if the world itself was trying to rip her away from me.

My fingers ached with frost. My chest, hollow. My soul—desperate.

And then…

She was gone.

I gasped awake.

Before me stood not a field, not a woman, not warmth—

But a mirror, shattered into a thousand gleaming truths.

Each shard held a piece of me…

Or someone I no longer recognized.

My hand shook. Blood beaded at my fingertips, curling around the jagged edge of glass I hadn’t realized I was holding. The silence rang louder than any scream—

I wanted to scream.

Scream louder than the world could handle.But the only sound was the soft, rhythmic drip of blood painting the sterile floor.

It hurts.

Not just the cuts, though they burned like someone peeling back my skin, inch by inch.

But something deeper.

Like a grief that had been waiting for this moment to bloom.

The warmth of the blood was nothing compared to the cold, clawing ache beneath it.

I could smell it—agony.

Sharp and metallic, clinging to the air like poison.

It curled in my throat.

I wanted to cry out, not just from pain but from all the words I’d never said.

Then I was on the floor.

I don’t even remember falling.

My back pressed against the wall—cold, sizzling with frost that licked against my spine.

My thoughts spun out of control, blurring like a storm:

I could’ve fought harder.

I should’ve spoken up.

Saved more people.

Chosen a different path.

Maybe I was never enough.Maybe all the strength I pretended to have was paper-thin.

My hands trembled as I pressed them to my stomach.

The blood was everywhere—too much.Warm, thick, and terrifying.It soaked through my fingers like my body was desperately trying to let go of something.

And maybe it was.

Maybe I was.

I looked around the room, the white walls already forgetting me.

Will anyone even know I was here?

Will they remember how I used to laugh too loud? How I always stood behind others even when my knees shook?

Will they remember me—the real me—not just this ending?

Maybe this is it.

Maybe I’ll drown in it—

A sea of my own making.

But if anyone’s listening—

I tried.

I swear I tried.

“Oh, Doll… you were always enough.”

The voice was soft, but it cut through the silence like it belonged there—like it had been waiting.

Sylara looked up from the cold, blood-slick floor. Her arms trembled as she pushed herself up just enough to see the source of the voice.

A little girl stood just a few feet away. No—floated. Her feet hovered inches above the ground, untouched by the blood pooling beneath her. Her outfit was strange: a gothic dress layered with black lace and bright pink ribbons, like a doll dressed for a masquerade.

Her eyes were wide, innocent at first glance… but something sharper hid behind them. She looked at Sylara not with pity, but curiosity. Like this was a game she’d seen play out before.

Sylara didn’t have the strength to speak. The pain in her side flared again, sharp and twisting. Her hands were soaked in blood, her vision blurry with tears.

The girl tilted her head, amused by the silence.

“Poor thing. You really tried, didn’t you?”

There was something strange in her voice. Gentle, but off. Like a lullaby sung just a little out of tune.

Sylara gasped softly, trying to ask who she was, why she was here—but the words wouldn’t come.

“I’ll give you a second chance,” the girl said. “One you won’t regret. My Doll.”

Before Sylara could react, the girl stepped forward and gently placed her small hands over Sylara’s eyes.

Everything went still.

Then a breeze wrapped around her—warm, comforting, like someone pulling a blanket around her shoulders. The pain slipped away, replaced by something softer. Something that felt like the beginning of something else.

“Nghh… my head…”

Sylara groaned, her voice barely above a whisper. Everything felt too quiet. Too still.

Why was she still alive?

And more importantly… who was that girl?

She tried to piece it together—the pale face, the ribbon-laced dress, the eerie smile that felt both familiar and foreign. The girl had looked at her like an old friend. Like someone who’d known her for years.

But Sylara had never seen her before in her life.

Why had she floated like a ghost in the bathroom, whispering promises Sylara didn’t understand? Why did her touch feel like both an ending and a beginning?

Nothing made sense anymore.

Before she could spiral further, a soft sound touched her ears.

Chimes.

Light, delicate—like they were caught in a gentle breeze. The kind of sound that belonged on a quiet porch, swaying lazily under the afternoon sun. Her chest tightened. It reminded her of her mother. Of being small. Safe.

The chimes grew louder.

And then—stopped.

Sylara’s eyes flew open. She gasped, so sharply and hard that it caught in her throat. She coughed, choking on the breath she’d dragged in too quickly. Her body jerked forward as she sat up, hand clamped over her mouth.

“Shit! H-Huh—?”

Her breathing slowed, but the panic didn’t fade. Blinking against the sudden light, she squinted and looked around.

This wasn’t the room.

This wasn’t the mirror.

This wasn’t even the same world.

She was surrounded by trees—tall, ancient, towering like giants. Moss clung to their bark like a second skin, and soft grass blanketed the forest floor beneath her. Little white flowers bloomed in clusters, dotting the landscape like stars scattered across green velvet.

A breeze rolled through the leaves, brushing gently against her cheeks and tossing strands of her hair into her face. It was warm. Soothing.

But Sylara couldn’t relax.

“What is this place…?”

Her voice barely reached her own ears.

Slowly, cautiously, she rose to her feet. The ground felt strange beneath her—soft, almost too soft, like standing on a dream.

She turned in place, taking in the vastness of it all. The forest seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. No walls. No mirrors. No blood.

Just silence, and something watching her from somewhere unseen.

Sylara stood frozen beneath the towering trees, her breath shallow and quick. The forest was beautiful, yes—but it was also wrong. Too quiet. Too perfect. Every breeze felt like it was watching her.

Just minutes ago, she had been lying in her own blood. The bathroom tiles cold beneath her spine. The mirror shattered. Her hands shaking.

Now she was surrounded by life that didn’t make sense.

She slapped her palms against her cheeks, the sting sharp and deliberate. “This has to be a dream,” she muttered, voice trembling. “Wake up. Wake up, Sylara.”

But the sting did nothing.

The forest didn’t fade.

Her shoulders tensed at the sound of something—footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Coming from the shadows between the trees. They were soft at first, but growing louder, heavier, like something impossibly large was trying to stay silent and failing.

Her heart picked up speed, but strangely… she didn’t move.

Fear didn’t freeze her. It was something else—something colder.

What if this is it?

In her old world, she had been terrified of everything. Of failure. Of being too much. Of not being enough.

But when she had finally stopped caring… it had almost felt like freedom.

Maybe this was just the end playing out in a prettier costume.

Let it come, she thought. Let it—

A soft meow broke through her thoughts.

Sylara blinked, startled, as a small figure stepped out from the brush.

A cat.

Its fur shimmered with strange, shifting colors—white and black and orange and something iridescent in between. One eye was green, the other blue, and they glowed faintly in the shade.

She stared at it for a long moment, then let out a weak, nervous laugh.

“Oh. Just a cat. That’s… that’s good. That’s—”

“I do apologize if my appearance startled you, Miss Sylara,” the cat said pleasantly.

Sylara’s breath caught mid-laugh. Her eyes widened.

“You… did you just talk?”

The cat inclined its head, as if bowing slightly. “Indeed I did. I understand this may be disorienting. But I assure you, it is perfectly standard procedure.”

Sylara took a step back, one hand rising to her chest. “You know my name?”

“But of course,” the cat replied with a soft swish of its tail. “You’re registered. You were expected.”

“I—I was what?”

“Expected,” the cat repeated patiently. “Not early. Not late. Just… in that beautifully human way—exactly on time.”

Sylara blinked hard. “What is this place?”

The cat settled gracefully onto the soft grass, tucking its paws beneath its shimmering body. Its eyes blinked slowly, like it had all the time in the world.

“You’re in Etherea, Miss Sylara!” it announced with a bright, polite tone—far too enthusiastic for someone explaining the collapse of someone’s known reality.

Sylara stared at it, wide-eyed. Her pulse was still racing. Her hands trembled in front of her, fingers twitching with leftover panic. Everything felt wrong—too vivid, too clean, too still.

“This has to be fake,” she muttered, stumbling back a step. “It has to be… right? Right?”

The cat tilted its head. A sigh escaped its mouth, light and weary, as though this exact conversation had happened more times than it cared to count.

“This is real, Miss Sylara,” it said, gentler now. “You are in Etherea—a world of many wonders, and magic, and, well… possibilities.”

Sylara blinked at it.

Magic? Possibilities?

This couldn’t be real. It felt like something torn straight from the pages of a fantasy book she would’ve rolled her eyes at years ago.

She opened her mouth to respond, her voice unsteady. “Wait—magic? As in—” “It’s exactly as I said,” the cat interrupted, this time more firmly. “Magic.”

Sylara flinched, shutting her mouth on instinct. There was something commanding about the cat’s tone, despite its size—like it had more power than it let on.

The cat rose to its feet with elegance and gave a flick of its tail. “Now, if you’d be so kind—follow me, Miss Sylara. It’s getting dark, and I’d hate for the creatures to find you in such a… vulnerable state.”

Before Sylara could ask what creatures, the cat darted off into the trees, vanishing between shafts of amber light.

She stood frozen.

Creatures? Possibilities? Magic? None of it made sense. It was too much, too fast, like she’d fallen through a dream that wouldn’t let her wake up.

Her eyes drifted down to her hands.

The cuts were gone.

The blood—gone.

And the clothes she’d been wearing—familiar, stained, real—were no longer clinging to her skin.

Instead, a dark cloak was draped over her shoulders. The fabric was thick and soft, the sleeves long enough to nearly swallow her fingers. She hadn’t felt it appear. It was just… there.

She stared at her reflection in the glossy curve of a nearby leaf, her face pale beneath the shadow of the cloak’s hood.

What is happening to me?

Her gaze shifted back to the forest, where the cat had disappeared. She didn’t know what was out there. Or who—or what—had brought her here. But for the first time in a long time…

she hesitated.

Do I really want to live?

The question surfaced like oil over water. In her old life, the answer had always been no.

But now, the silence buzzed differently.

The wind rustled the trees. A soft, distant howl echoed—low and not quite human.

Sylara took a breath.

“Ah—wait!” she called out, stumbling forward. “I’m coming, I—just… wait.”

And she followed.

Hey!! Author here , if you made this far then I just wanna say thank you so much!! This is my first official series that I’m starting here on tumblr ^^ more will be coming soon and again tysm!!

<3

[scftrebellion]

how Seeder won survived her Games — (part I)

up until the 65th Hunger Games, a timid young girl from District 11 held the title of youngest ever Victor. fourteen when she was reaped, fifteen when she was pulled from the arena, Seeder Howell had perhaps some of the lowest odds of winning. so how’d she do it?

reaping day.

Seeder Howell was reaped alongside Admon ‘Monie’ Griffin. Monie was seventeen years old, had spent all of his time in the fields since he was ten, and could swing 50-pound bags of potatoes from one end of a row to another. rumor had it that he slapboxed with the other boys for fun, and could throw a mean left hook.

in comparison, Seeder was fragile. she was short for her age already, made even smaller from malnutrition. and though she could lift a woman nearly twice her size & had well enough knowledge of herbal remedies, she didn’t stand a chance if it came to a fight. her Mama had kept her from the fields until she was old enough for reaping age. she had three years working, and most of it was spent climbing high in the trees to pick fruit.

before that day, Seeder had only ever held a blade to cut an umbilical cord. she didn’t know the first thing about hurting anyone, and she truthfully didn’t want to learn.

do no harm, but take no shit. that was always what her mother had told her about surviving in District 11. and after tearfully hugging her family goodbye, Seeder knew that she would do just that. do no harm to any of the other children, and take none of the Capitol’s shit.

train rides.

their mentor, Oleander, had already begun to lose half of his mind from old age. Seeder & Monie both made a pact to try to stick together, trade whatever information they could find with each other. she knew that she would never make it home, so she promised to do everything she could to make Monie look like the viable contender. if anyone was going to spend their money on District 11, she wanted it to be for him. she didn’t know anything about him, had never even seen him before, but she knew that his family needed him more than hers would need her.

chariot rides.

they were dressed in potato sacks, with sad stale flowers pasted their chests. Seeder’s potato sack dress was tight even on her thin frame, and could hardly come down over her thighs. Monie hadn’t even been given the luxury of a shirt. she hated their outfits deeply, but figured it didn’t matter much what they looked like because no one would be paying attention to them anyways.

during their Chariot Rides, she kept herself tucked behind Monie’s broader frame for some modesty. she didn’t want her Mama or her sisters to see her wearing that no-nothing dress on national television. she hid from the jeering crowd while he crossed his big arms over his bare chest and smiled at them. inadvertently, Seeder had made him look both strong and kind. likable. it was the only instance throughout her entire time spent in the Capitol that she played a hand in the smoke & mirrors involved with the Games.

she was more than happy to let Monie wave to the people, while she did her best to hide her face from them. she didn’t want any of those people looking at her, sizing her up, trying to calculate how she’d die pretty for them.

training days.

after their Chariots, Seeder bowed out further from participating. during training, she would spend hours at the plants section. learning how to dig underground for root vegetables and the best ways to differentiate between poisonous and edible plants. things that she’d already known from her time spent in the fields, but knowledge that might be useful in keeping Monie alive. she didn’t touch the weapons, despite her fellow tribute suggesting that she try to find at least one she liked. and she didn’t talk to the other kids, not even when Ollie found enough sense to encourage an alliance.

Seeder did watch the Careers. she watched Monie interact with them—arm-wrestling and laughing and playing pranks on the other tributes. she hoped that they would invite him to an alliance, at least at the beginning, so that he could stand a better chance.

training scores.

when she was sent to show the Gamemakers what she’d learned, Seeder knew better than to make any real attempt. they barely had any interest in her, and she certainly had no interest in proving anything to them. they’d set out a long banquet of dinner for the Gamemakers—back when they still felt safe eating near the tributes while they scored them. Seeder walked right up to one of the vases, emptied the centerpiece of its flowers, and sat down to make daisy chains. when it became clear that she would do nothing else to grab their attention, the Gamemakers dismissed her. she took her daisy chains with her, but they were confiscated when she got back to her floor.

Monie scored an 8. he said he’d shown them how good he was with his fists, taking one of the dummies to beat it to stuffing in front of them. Seeder scored a 4. when asked what she’d done to earn such a low score, she shrugged and said, “I didn’t do nothing.” which was about as much truth as it could’ve been.

the interviews.

by this point, even Ollie had given up on her. their escort, their stylists, all of them had written Seeder off as a lost cause. no one wanted to sponsor her, no one thought she was worth the effort. Monie was their Districts big hope, and Seeder was happy for him. for the interviews, their escort encouraged Seeder to play down her intelligence—make it seem like she was mentally handicapped or even just not that bright, so that perhaps there would be someone willing to throw her a few dollars out of sympathy. but she was really encouraged to talk up Monie. Seeder was just fine with that.

for her interview dress, she was placed in a floor length gown with floral embellishments & a basket weave corset. it was hand me downs, apparently, from two years before. but standing in the bright red fabric, Seeder for the first time felt worth something. and she felt a small spark of hope. not that she would win—she knew she could never win—but that she still could at least still make her name known. she didn’t want to win, but she wanted to do something to tell the world that what was happening wasn’t right.

so Seeder did what any reasonable girl would do. she did as her escort was told, played into the idea of being ditzy District bumpkin who didn’t know her right from her left. when Caesar asked her what she thought of the chariot, she pretended that she had no idea what a chariot was & said she liked those horse drawn carts well enough. when Caesar asked her how she enjoyed Capitol food, she admitted that she hadn’t known half of the things they gave her could be edible. when he asked about her District partner, she complimented how Monie could lift her right over his head with just one arm. called him brave & strong & funny to boot.

and when Caesar asked her if she had a strategy—or if she even knew what the word strategy meant—Seeder pretended to be surprised and said, “oh, i didn’t know this was some kind of strategy game! i thought we were just supposed to kill kids!”

the Capitolites ate it up while she pretended to be a dunce. but she made sure to look in the cameras, so that Snow and all the rest that knew better could hear it for what it was loud & clear: a direct condemnation of people turning the massacre of innocent children into a game show.

Monie & Ollie knew it the second she stepped off that stage. she’d signed her own death warrant. Seeder quietly advised him to stay away from her in the arena, should the gamemakers see to it that she was punished for such insubordination.

night before the games.

the token Seeder had from home was an embroidered handkerchief. it was rare that her mother could get her hands on colored thread, but she made a point to find some each time one of her girls became reaping age. the handkerchief had yellow & red carnations embroidered onto it, with Seeder’s initials and birthday. four days from that night, she’d be turning fifteen in an arena. if she could make it that long, if she could survive to her fifteenth birthday.

the next morning, when she’d found that her arena outfit consisted of a coat and winter boots, Seeder knew that she wouldn’t be seeing that fifteenth birthday.

at the very least, she was comforted in one thought. District 2 had given Ollie a ring before they’d gone to bed the night before. they wanted Monie in the Careers. so he’d be safe in the arena; safer than Seeder ever would’ve been.

end of part I.

[shimmerbeasts]

The demonic powers sustained themself on the lifeforce of many things, such was the rules of the arcane. To give and take, to pull and pluck in order to offer renewed service. He took a bit at every touch, inadvertently or not. To feel Swain's magic- to feel his touch- was to part with pieces of one's soul and essence. The Matron's roses were no exception. One prick of the red bristling arm, and the bouquet wilted and dried, leaning over miserably. Swain's brow quirks, the act so involuntary he had barely noticed. "Mh?" Sure enough, petals had wilted near his hand, drained of all their life. He recedes the arm, though is not quite feeling apologetic to his enemy with benefits. "Take it as a metaphor of our relationship, dearest Matron."

The nature of the exchange, which the arcane ran on, but especially when it came to demonic powers was something, LeBlanc was well versed in. Not just because of her sorcery and elusive magic, but because of her very being. Swain was not the only one, carrying a monster in a cocoon of fibres of flesh and tendrils of muscle. Of course, one of them had been born that way, the other one had outfoxed a demon.

LeBlanc admired that about Swain, even if she did it begrudgingly. Cunning, guile and tricks were her bread and butter, and she respected anybody who could use it effectively to some extent. Swain had proved himself as a strategic genius, not just on the military field but in the shady labyrinth of politics as well. No wonder, he represented vision. Of course, even with all the secrets in the world, he only saw what he wanted to see. After all, even now so many years later, LeBlanc's most important and oldest secrets were still guarded safely in her chest.

Golden eyes flashed thoughtfully as they roamed across the crumbled petals on the floor. The bouquet had been given as not necessarily a sign of goodwill. If there was one thing, LeBlanc had learned from her time under Mordekaiser, it was that relying on goodwill did not carry you far and even got you killed. It had majorly influenced her partnership with Vladimir, which some bad tongues might even call imprisonment. But then LeBlanc was only doing what had been done to her. Never again!

"I see." Shadows enveloped her body, completely encasing it before they dropped down and a masculine, commanding, cold voice spoke as the imposing, yet aged figure of General Boram Darkwill stared at Swain. "Does that mean you seek to uproot me and snuff me out?" Another drape of shadows before the male voice was traded for that detestable, commanding, arrogant, yet also seductive voice of that wretched thorn called Ambessa: "Or do you seek to crush me underfoot like you have done with so many of your opposition before?"

She slowly circled Swain, Ambessa's powerful and measured stride rolling ominously across the hard stone floor. As she walked, LeBlanc once more shrouded herself in the comfort of the shadows. This time, no new face appeared. Instead, she spoke with that quiet echoing, distorted quality in her voice: "All I can see in that little metaphor of yours, is a capacity for unspeakable violence and the threat of harm. Of course, that is if we merely focus on the crushing and wilting of the flowers. If we focus on the nature of the exchange in the arcane, one has to wonder, what is it that you get from me and I get from you? After all, I scratch your back and you scratch mine. Is it not so?"

@carmencxgni cont. from here.

[memento-morianon]

"chapter 12" scenes, Memento Mori: Blood.

[this is another area of the story where i have no idea what's going on. there's time between the festival and k'arik's big ritual. revisions are gonna be rough. this chapter will just be another pile of unconnected scenes.

masterpost of excerpts over here.

scene 1: meditation

Evarin and Morian hiked up the hill overlooking the lake and into one of the meadows. It wouldn't be long before the place was bursting with flowers, but until then it was all grass and leaves and moss covered stones that jutted out from the landscape. K'arik was sitting on one of the stony outcrops, and he waved when he saw them coming up the hill. Sitla scurried ahead to paw at his leg, tilting her head expectantly and craning her neck to sniff at the pouch on his belt. He shooed her back, though he looked amused.

"He doesn't keep treats for you," Morianon chastised, stepping in to make Sitla lie down a few paces away. Evarin gave a short huff of a laugh in response.

“Are your meditations going well?” she asked K’arik. He nodded and patted the stone beside him, inviting them both to sit.

“I feel ready for [the ritual], though it is still some time away. I know my ancestors are proud of me and I trust in their guidance to protect my soul from harm. You will both come as witnesses, of course?” He titled his head, and Evarin rested a hand on his knee.

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” she replied. Morianon hummed hesitantly.

“I’m nervous to watch, but I want to be there for you.”

“Your presence will bring me comfort,” K’arik assured him. Morianon nodded and settled in place as K’arik and Evarin both began the calming breath exercise to prepare themselves for a meditative session. Evarin kept her eyes open, watching her husband. He mimicked their postures, matched their breathing style, and entered the meditation with them while Sitla crawled forward to sit at his feet. Satisfied, Evarin allowed herself to enter the depths of her own soul.

She withdrew her senses one by one, focusing only on the immediate sensations of her breath, and the feeling of the stone beneath her. She focused her mind on the touch of the pendant hanging around her neck, letting it become her anchor. Gradually, like the edge of a wave seeping into the sand, she stretched out from her soul and tried to feel the living energy around her. There were the moss and lichens on the stone, small and simple, drawing life through their fractal structures. There, the grass, there the dormant flowers holding their energy and waiting to bloom. Insect life all around and beneath; other life so tiny and odd Evarin could scarcely understand it, all filling the cold void with their own fervent colors and warmth. And beside her, K’arik, his soul like a bonfire in comparison, burning with power and experience.

She drew back from his brilliance and sought out Morianon, reaching for the familiar strangeness of his soul. Whether it was the lingering scars of trauma, or the way his whole self had become divided, she could never tell. His soul gleamed like a faceted gem and trembled like a candle flame in a cold breeze. Part of it almost seemed to trail away like smoke, obscured from Evarin’s senses. Below him, Sitla was stranger still. Evarin pointedly ignored it, but the dog’s cold presence made her stand out amongst all the other warm life in the field. Morianon was more important. Evarin could feel the way he strained to meditate. His hesitation, his fear. His soul pulsed like a heartbeat, reaching tentatively outward but never quite connecting with anything else around him. Evarin could feel K’arik reaching for her, feel the warmth of his soul strengthening her own, but Morianon’s soul remained distant, like a flinching hand avoiding the burn of a comforting fire.

Reaching further into her husband’s presence, Evarin tried to lift him, to strengthen him. The edge of her soul found his, and a cold darkness slipped between them, pushing her away. She drew in a deep breath and blinked back to the outer world, dizziness striking her as her senses returned. Morianon was still sitting in meditation, his brow furrowed in frustrated concentration. Evarin sighed, regret prodding her heart. It was not her place to try and pull his soul to her level, to step in and lift him where he was not prepared to go. She could heal his wounds and soothe his pain whenever he asked for it, but her songs could not heal his soul.

All her senses settled again, and she prepared to enter a second meditation. Before she could venture far, she felt Sitla’s cold presence and glanced up to see those blank white eyes staring her down. There was no malice, no anger in that steady gaze. But Evarin shivered and turned away, shaking her head. She pushed away the outside world and entered the warm pools of magic within herself, leaving her companions to their own meditation.

[and uh idk, once I have actual context to insert this scene into, I’ll have a better idea of where it should go. How long they meditate, what they do afterwards. Etc.]

Post meditation:

K’arik looked refreshed, and Evarin felt the same. The flow of energy through her soul was as soothing as a warm bath after a long day. “Thank you for letting us join you,” she signed to K’arik. He inclined his head, returning the gratitude.

“We might be able to join you again, before your ritual,” Morianon interjected, “it’s always nice to be with you, especially on such a lovely day.”

“I welcome it,” K’arik replied. [anyway they say goodbye and move along, going separate ways.]

“I wish I could handle it the way you do,” Morianon muttered, tucking his wings close to his body. “You and K’arik. This sort of thing comes so naturally for you, and here I am. Most people my age can at least use meditation to relax, and it only stresses me out,” he huffed, looking up at the clouds. Evarin took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Someday, I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable with it. But you don’t have to try and keep up with me and K’arik, really. We’ve been studying and practicing with magic techniques for years, we don’t meditate the same way other people do.”

“And I can’t,” Morianon grumbled. He tensed, and his expression shifted. His mouth fumbled silently, like he was searching for something to say. Evarin waited, but her husband only shook his head and swallowed his unspoken words. “You’re right though. I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it.” His other hand reached into the open air and Sitla immediately jogged forward to shove her snout into his palm.

scene 2: weaving

Her father’s craft room always felt the same. The warm smell of wool and cedar brought her back to her childhood, to that little boy sitting in the corner with a ball of scraps, looping yarn over a hook and listening to the steady clacking noise of her father’s loom. Stepping through the memory, she glanced around and admired the stacks of yarn on the shelves. Her father collected it from every spinner he could contact, and some of it was even imported.

“Oh, I almost didn’t notice you!” Izune paused his work, leaving a row half woven on the loom. “Come in, here, I’ve got the hooks all set out, I’ve got my pattern books–” he scooted a basket of scraps aside with his foot and waved Evarin over.

“I haven’t figured out yet what colors to use,” she mused, sitting in the old armchair where she used to learn weaving on her father’s lap. He carried an old stool over and sat himself beside her.

“No matter, you can practice with any color you like until that inspiration hits. Here, thicker yarns are easier to work with, and this is some very soft wool.” He held up a ball of fuzzy yarn dyed a soft green and unrolled it a little to show her the texture. “Combination of mountain goat kid and [backpack dog]. Has a bit of a smell when it’s damp, but it’s gentle on the skin.” He passed it over and Evarin ran her hands over it, admiring the fluffy fibers. It felt almost like the downy feathers close to Morianon’s skin.

“Do we have anything less fuzzy to practice with? I worry I’ll lose track of my stitches with this.” she laughed. Izune nodded and pulled over a different basket of yarn, much more compact and densely twined.

“Standard mountain goat wool, much longer fibers than the kid wool so it’s less inclined to fray. It does get a little itchy though.” He passed her a ball of it dyed in mottled blues and light reds. “Won’t take much more than a few balls to make a baby sized blanket, I think. The pattern I used for your first blanket is over here.” Izune picked up a book from his stack and opened it up to a well-worn page, showing old handwritten instructions marked up with notes in a different hand and hasty sketches of row patterns along the margins. “It’s easier than it looks,” he assured her. She hummed, pressing the ball of wool to her nose and basking in the comforting smell. It had been so long since she last picked up a hook to weave, but she found her nerves settling in the nostalgia of soft yarn between her fingers.

“I hardly remember how to begin,” she lamented, “can you show me?”

“That’s why I invited you over, Evy,” Izune said, eyes crinkling in amusement. He retrieved a pair of hooks from his collection and exchanged Evarin’s sample yarns for two balls of solid colored wool, one grey and one pale yellow. “Now, I usually hold my hook like this,” he demonstrated, taking the handle of a hook like he was picking up a table knife, “but you could hold it this way if that’s more comfortable,” he showed her an alternate grip, as if the hook was a pen. Evarin took the second hook and practiced both grips, settling for the knife hold as it felt more stable.

She at least remembered how to tie a slip knot and poked the hook through the loop. Watching Izune’s expert hands, she mimicked his actions and created a chain about the length of her forearm, catching and tugging the yarn through the loop on her hook over and over. It snagged a couple of times, and her chain looked uneven, some of the braided links sitting quite loose while others were tight and small. “There, you’re remembering it all just fine.” Izune ran his hand down her awkward chain. “You’ll have your old skills back in no time.” “It’s a mess.”

“Ah, the base chain only needs to be long enough for your project, it’s not really important to make it look pretty.” He waved a hand dismissively, though of course his own chain looked perfect to Evarin’s eyes. “Next step is just relearning the basic stitches, and then you’re set to follow any pattern, really.”

“Maybe just the easy patterns,” Evarin replied with a wry smile. “All patterns are easy if you know what you’re doing.” Izune scooted his stool closer to her and leaned on the armchair to show her how to make the first stitch, sliding his hook through the yarn and bringing it back with a new loop. She followed his steps, drawing the yarn through itself again and again. The hook caught several times, but she persisted. Her hands remembered the motion, but it was like looking at the world through a dusty window. She turned the work and began a new row, wiping the dust away layer by layer, stitch by stitch, row by row.

“My edges are horrible,” she groaned, holding up the short rectangle and frowning at the way one side sloped and curled while the other side was oddly uniform. Her father’s rectangle was larger and straighter. He took the practice work from her hands and looked it over with the astuteness of a jeweler appraising a gem.

“Tension problem,” he explained, pointing out how much tighter the top rows were compared to the bottom rows. “But you’re already getting better.” He handed the piece back with a proud fatherly smile. “Now, let’s practice a couple other stitches, and then if you have time, we can look over the pattern?”

“I think I’ll have to look at the pattern tomorrow, I’m not confident with this work yet.” Evarin rolled the yarn between her fingers. “Show me the other stitches, and I’ll try to practice them at home tonight.”

“They’re easy, don’t worry,” Izune chuckled, “they’re actually easier to work with than the first stitch, in my opinion. Taller, for one thing. Though for this stitch, it looks cleaner if you start the row with a few chains and then skip over the first stitch of the previous row.” He showed her the method, looping yarn over his hook before he created each stitch. Evarin copied him, but quickly grew annoyed as the yarn slipped off her hook a few times. Izune slowed down and showed her how to turn her wrist to keep the yarn in place.

Short stitches, tall stitches, stitches that slipped across the row and barely added any height. By the time Evarin felt she could remember the steps well enough to practice on her own, her wrist was sore in a way she had forgotten it could be. The rectangle of woven wool in her hands was uneven, curling up, and sloped on the side. But it was getting better. The top most rows were more aligned, the stitches a little more uniform.

“It’s a start, I suppose.”

“A very good start,” Izune rolled up his ball of yarn and set it in the basket alongside his sample work. “Don’t be afraid to unravel it and start over, though. You’ll get a better feel for it that way."

“What is the pattern you wanted to show me?” Evarin folded up her work and shoved it into her bag. Izune’s ears perked up and he walked to a cabinet, pulling out a bundle of weaving.

“You might find it easier than that rectangle, honestly,” he laughed, “you see, this blanket is the same pattern, it’s very very simple.” He unfolded it and sat back down, shaking it out over his lap. It was made from a deep green yarn, much thinner than the yarn they’d been practicing with. Evarin pulled a corner of the blanket into her lap and found that it was made with clusters of stitches that slotted into small gaps in each previous row, all spreading outward from the center of the work.

“Oh, I do know this pattern! You made me a blanket like this when I left for university. I keep it on the couch now.”

“It’s such a common pattern. I’ve made my own variations on it as well, of course, as you can see in my notes on that page,” Izune mused, “but you work it from the middle and put the stitches in these chain spaces, so you don’t even have to worry about going into each stitch or missing any edges. It’s still good for you to learn how to make something from the bottom up, of course.” He folded the blanket back up and set it aside. Evarin reached out and laid her hand on his.

“Thank you, adda. I can’t tell you how much it means to me that I’ll be able to make a blanket for my own child.”

“I already know how it feels, Evy.” Her father lifted her hand and kissed it, pulling her to her feet and over into his arms. “And I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you want to learn all this again. Maybe I sound a bit silly for this, but I do miss having you in here, playing with my scraps.”

“Give it a few years and you might have a grandbaby playing with them instead.”

“I really hope I do,” Izune chuckled and let his daughter go. “Alright, alright, you have things to do, I have things to do. Go on home, and I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

“See you, adda.” Evarin picked up her bag and stepped carefully over the baskets on the floor, leaving her father to his work and smiling at the sound of the loom’s treadle clacking against the frame.

scene 3: mori alone during a storm

Every part of Morianon was itchy. His wings, his back, his head. Pin feathers poked through his skin everywhere the old feathers had already fallen out. He scratched at them, removing the flaky keratin to free the soft new feathers as they grew in. But only the shortest feathers, the ones on his torso and the upper parts his wings, were losing their sheaths. All the longer feathers would remain covered for a while.

Outside the study, the rain was pounding and the wind howled; a perfect spring storm. Between the noise and the itching, he found his eyes skimming words without reading any of them. Centaurs, he was trying to study centaur history. He tapped his pen on the blank notepad and frowned at the book in front of him. Some chapter on the wars that broke out when the centaurs decided to take revenge against the orcs.

Waves of rain slammed into his window, making his feathers stand on end and sending a shiver through his memories. Sitla, curled at his feet, whuffed quietly and sat up to paw at his knees.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he hissed, standing and kicking his chair back. His mind felt like it was in two places at once; the warm study and the cold ruins of a small house torn by the wind. Shaking his head and pulling his ragged wings tight against his body, Morianon left his desk and moved to the center of the house, stumbling through the hall until he found the door he needed. A tiny room, hardly more than a closet, full of pillows. He curled up with Sitla and slammed the door shut, panting heavily in the darkness. Thick walls silenced the raging storm outside, though they couldn’t quiet the one that haunted his memories.

“No! No, you leave me alone!” he growled at the clutching shadows that pulled his thoughts deeper, “I have so much going on, you cannot do this to me right now!” Desperately, he tried to close the gate on the new visions threatening to flood his mind, tried to wrest control back from the panic that had taken over him. It was joined by grief and the sound of gasping final breaths, faint images of the dead flickering through his thoughts.

Sitla whined and pushed her nose into his face in an effort to calm him. He held her tight. Before the horrible visions grew worse, a more powerful shadow at last pulled the gate closed on the haunting images, and left behind a feeling of guilt.

“You don't get to apologize,” he hissed, glaring at nothing in the dark little room. “Just leave me alone.” The shadows did not retreat. They couldn't. Morianon sighed and focused on slowing his breath. The itching sensation of every pin feather agitated him but it was real. Real itching feathers, real trembling breaths. Sitla, real; the walls and his pile of pillows were all real. He clenched his toes around a very textured pillow, feeling the embroidery and beaded shapes.

“One. Two. Three,” he counted under his breath, “four. Five.” He left the memory of the storm in his mind and reached for the door. As his hand landed feebly in the middle of it, too low to reach the handle, he heard a muffled voice and a gentle knock.

“Mori? You in there?” It was Kaen. The door opened just a crack, letting in a sliver of light. Morianon blinked and squinted, frowning at the nickname. It didn’t feel right. It wasn’t his name. He got to his feet carefully, letting the wings on his back settle in their neutral position. Everything itched.

“I’m here,” he mumbled, leaving the little room. Kaen sighed and stepped back to let him out. The sight of him briefly startled Morianon, as he was only wearing a few strands of bone beads and a fur wrapped around his waist. Every decorative scar on his body was fully exposed, including a few bandages over the newest ones, and what looked like a shallow but fresh cut on his thigh. His curly red hair was still in its tidy hunter’s knot, held together with a thornbeast quill.

“I came upstairs and heard the storm, went to find you and saw the trail of dandruff.” Kaen gestured at the flaky keratin mess all over the floor. “Sounds like the storm’s calmed down a bit, but if you want, you can keep studying down in the basement, with me.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Morianon replied. The wind was still howling outside, but it was softer than it had been. Or perhaps he was just more tolerant of it for the moment. He hummed, glancing around and reorienting himself. Kaen watched him, long ears twitching, tail flicking around his knees. Morianon hummed and glanced down the hall, back towards the study. “The storm isn’t really over yet. I think I will move.” He made his way to the study, keeping Sitla right behind him. Kaen got ahead of him and started gathering things from his desk.

“I know the basement isn’t as cozy, but at least you can work in peace.” Kaen paused and hummed thoughtfully. “Well. Peace from the storm. I’ll try to keep my work quiet.”

“Thank you.” Morianon picked up his notebook and followed Kaen out and down. Every time they passed by a window, his body shivered at the sound of the rain and wind.

“Don’t mind the mess,” Kaen apologized as they entered the basement, “I promise it is organized, I have a system. Nothing outright dangerous is laying around, you’re perfectly safe down here.”

“If anyone else said that to me, I might be more worried,” Morianon replied sarcastically. Kaen chuckled, leading him to a desk that barely had space between piles of notebooks and fur pelts. He set his things down while Kaen removed a few of the piles.

“Just ignore anything you might hear from the other side of the room,” Kaen chuckled, “I’m fine. I can even get you a pair of earmuffs if you think it might help.”

“That won’t be necessary. But thank you.” Morianon sat down, awkwardly repositioning his feathered appendages over the back of the chair. He absently reached through the fluff by his cheeks and found the ridges of his ears, frowning at how small they felt. “I’ll be alright over here,” he assured both himself and Kaen.

“Call if you need anything.” Kaen stepped back, nodded, and walked through the heavy hide curtain that divided the basement. True to his word, he did try to keep his work quiet. Morianon smiled at the hushed sound of his brother-in-law’s guttural voice, chanting in some ancient tongue. It was strange and sent a tremble up his spine, but even Kaen’s odd rituals were more comforting than the storm.

Morianon studied, taking notes here and there. He had more important things to focus on than the darkness that plagued his mind; things to prepare for, things all of him had been looking forward to for months and months. Everything else would just have to wait.

[starcrossedspirit]

A kiss while someone watches

For the trouple 👀💚

✧. ┊    fluff drabble two ! pairings: könig x fem!oc x krueger original characters: liliya belyaeva tag warnings: n/a - it's just fluff ♡ prompt: 32. a kiss while someone watches

“And to you, my bride, I crown you a queen.”

Eyes like summer, so warm and earthy green, danced with a certain gentle sparkle as the man before her placed a crown of woven daises upon her head. Dark tresses blew gently in the wind and she could feel her cheeks warm as her heart fluttered, König careful as ever as he brushed strands of dark hair out of her eyes to look into them better.

The couple sat quietly among the flowers, the hidden estate only minutes away behind them, and they found themselves lingering in the wildflower field like angels lingered in heaven. They were close, König kneeled before her as she sat against Krueger who sat behind her, his eyes watching the two closely as they played at heaven. He was quiet but watchful- he always was.

Fingers slid against her cheeks, soft and tender and very mindful of her features, and not once did he move his eyes from hers. They were blue, endless, and for each soft movement she could feel the love tenfold resonate from within his soul. Oh, how he loved her so.

In return her own hands found their place in holding a small bouquet of wildflowers that they had collected from around in the field, today had been a sunny day and they had seized it. It felt lush, warm, and most importantly alive as the two lovers pledged their hearts to one another.

“You shall only know happiness, only love, and never shall I bring harm to you.” Her cheeks flushed and her heart only beat faster as he vowed himself to her. “My heart is entwined to yours, my soul bound to your being, and for all that I am you shall have as yours forevermore.”

Lips turned upright into a smile and her hands held tighter to the bouquet, her face leaning in closer to König’s slowly. “And to you, my King, I vow that you shall only know my heart, my mercy, and above all else my love. Endlessly and mercifully, I am yours entirely.”

Fingers lingered upon her cheeks and as she stared into his eyes, his fingers moved the shroud upward so that they could seal the pledge with a kiss. He leaned in as well, both of their eyes closing just before their lips had touched.

They were warm, soft, and she could feel the smile curl his lips as he pulled her in closer to further deepen the kiss. His hands brushed tresses behind her ears and pulled her closer, the kisses themselves tender and sweet. It almost brought a tear to her eye knowing that this was true love.

Krueger smiled from beneath his own shroud, it was something akin to fulfillment, and his fingers glided through the grass beneath him. Where König was heaven, Krueger was earth. So grounded, so without contempt or even malice, and she felt just as safe with him.

Pulling away then, their love sealed with a kiss, she gave a soft giggle and then lay back into Krueger whose hands rose from the grass to pull her closer. His body was firm but welcoming, it felt right against her own and she let the bouquet fall to her side.

Hands lifted upward then and grabbed the crown from upon her head, the feeling of the daises and their stems quaint upon her fingertips, and in one careful but swift movement she reached backward and placed it upon Krueger’s head. König’s eyes looked towards to his and he himself relaxed into a softer position, a chuckle of amusement coming from beneath the hood as he relaxed into the field beside them.

“And to you my lovely Sebastian, I shall wed you at night beneath the stars so that the moon might envy us.” She whispered as her fingertips fell to his face as she turned to nuzzle into him. “For your heart is only mine now, and she might yet envy me stealing you from her.”

Krueger cradled her then, his arms wrapping around her to hold her close to his heart. “I have never loved the moon, nor shall I ever. So let her be jealous of something she has never had.”

The matter of fact in his tone made her smile only widen further, her eyes turning to his once more as she rested into Krueger’s touch. König nodded and stared at them both, only love lacing his eyes.

Oh, how he loved to see heaven reflect in her eyes.

[mylightsatnight]

I don't want anything but...

When I die, the same day I do, or the day before and after,

You can take my car keys. My wallet, phone, flashlight, and guitar. Feel free to raid my house for any valuable fine china, expensive computers, and electronic thing-a-ma-jigs. It's all yours.

But the poems underlined, from the books with dog-eared pages, I will keep.

The image of a flower, weeping by the sun, prayers for rain under it's lily-hood. That, I will keep.

The mountain adventures I had, where I conquered, climbed, summited, and surmounted my mental and physical fears. This, I will keep.

The memories, of the family members who were never there, when they had every opportunity to be...Regrettably, these I will keep.

The songs, note for note, and chord transitions like snow fades in spring...I will always remember these, for they are synonymous with my very essence of being and they can't leave me.

I will forget the names, some faces, the days we saw each other, the food I bought, the drinks I sneaked sips of, the books that went unread, the cinema films that peaked no interest in me, the countless wasted nights in front of digital horizons, always forever-expanding, the albums of jeweled, crystalline glory, but never found, lest you open your ears, the electric spark of technological advancement, the deers in the field that noticed me, and I, them, but neither of us had the broken heart to do harm to the other, the quilted blankets, the clocks from a time long passed, the drunken bar nights, bad jokes I made, and pool shots that were easy wins, and my 2 dollars lost, the curry that was made more mild than I would have liked, the burgers made fine, just fine, nothing more to say, the idolizing of past generations, and the way I know that Allen knew me, even though he never could have, the way jesus never came back, the way that my heart somehow did, the way that physical exercise was a burden and a blessing in every stage, the spelling bees I lost, the few chess games I won, the forgotten lore for the indie video-game, the riverside fishing trip where I learned nothing new about him, but at least it's more time spent together, the hospital bed cotton that is not easily forgotten, the corner smiles, the nickel dials on bowling alley candy dispensers, the halloween costumes worn once, then stored into Totes for another 362 days, the coffee cups thrown in dumpsters, the ceramic ones made with care, then forgotten with apathy, the love the love the love the love that I always knew was out there, and the lifetime I spent searching for it.

Some things in this life are obvious, others require a touch more subtly and nuance to make happen...I'm still not entirely sure what my existence is supposed to mean, all that I can say for certain, is even when the universe apparently wants me to perish, that's when I make the case for my survival, all other times...

All other times...

I breathe, I write, I stay alive.

Not for you, not for me, but because my heart needs it.

[wingedblooms]

The Cauldron seemed to realize what she’d done, too, as his head thumped onto the mossy ground. That Elain … Elain had defended this thief. Elain, who it had gifted with such powers, found her so lovely it had wanted to give her something…It would not harm Elain, even in its hunt to reclaim what had been taken. (acowar)

We know the Cauldron (ie, the flower of life in the divine trio) adores Elain, but we don't know why. I like to believe it found her so lovely and gave her such powers because it could see the way she nurtures life and brings forth beauty wherever she goes. She may have even reminded it of the Mother, as @silverlinedeyes and I discussed:

It began with a cauldron. A mighty black cauldron held by glowing, slender female hands in a starry, endless night. Those hands tipped it over, golden sparkling liquid pouring out over the lip. No—not sparkling, but … effervescent with small symbols, perhaps of some ancient faerie language. Whatever was written there, whatever it was, the contents of the cauldron were dumped into the void below, pooling on the earth to form our world… (acotar)

There is a well-known prayer about the Mother that reminds me of Elain holding her sister, Feyre (which might be taking it too far, but please humor me):

"Cauldron save me," she began whispering, her voice lovely and even--like music. "Mother hold me," she went on, reciting a prayer similar to one I'd heard before, when Tamlin eased the passing of that lesser faerie who'd died in the foyer. Another of Amarantha's victims. "Guide me to you." I was unable to raise my dagger, unable to take the step that would close the distance between us. "Let me pass through the gates; let me smell that immortal land of milk and honey." (acotar)

-

Before I could turn back, Elain threw her arms around me. I did not remember when I began to cry as I felt those slender arms hold me, tight as steel. [...] But I did remember lying down on the bearskin rug once it was done. How I felt Elain's slim body settle next to mine and curl into my side, careful not to touch the bandaged wound in my shoulder. I had not realized how cold I was until her warmth seeped into me. (acowar)

My love for the sisters, imperfect as they are, knows no bounds; this scene always makes me emotional. The Mother's prayer also reminds me of the Ironteeth's belief about the Mother's Womb and how that connects to the three sisters' rebirths.

Now, back to my point: Elain is described as a rose bloom in a mud field, a bloom of color and sunshine in winter, and a glowing sun at dawn on the longest night of the year. In the Maasverse, we know that like calls to like. So, maybe it was the gentle gardener’s hope, her ability to find beauty even in dark and barren places, that called to the Cauldron.

Elain nodded, smiling up at me, and it was tentative joy—and life that shone in her eyes. A promise of the future, gleaming and sweet. [...] "What now?" Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel's shadows across the room. "I would like to build a garden," she declared. "After all this...I think the world needs more gardens." (acowar)

And maybe, just maybe, it will be her loving hands that heal the land and builds gardens in places we never expected them to grow.

Flower of life

The flower of life is part of sacred geometry, which is the underlying form or geometry in nature (mindbodygreen). It symbolizes the balance of male and female energy in creation and contains the secrets of the universe.

The flower of life is another sacred geometric form. It is the symbol of creation. It is created by forming a circle then moving to the edge of that circle and forming another one. Each circle begins one radius away from the surrounding circles and is of equal size. (uoregon)

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The striking visual is meant to represent creation, the sacred masculine and divine feminine, and cycles of life, death, and rebirth. Some believe the flower of life is also a key that can unlock hidden knowledge of time and space within its petal-like structures. (mindbodygreen)

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“It is thought that the flower of life holds a secret within it—a circle, which in many cultures, is considered the 'zero point' or the 'origin' of us all," Dale says. "This is the Oneness that ties us together.”(mindbodygreen)

Sacred Geometry in the Maasverse

In the Maasverse, Sarah also uses sacred geometry to create balance between opposing forces and characters use this balance to channel power. Sometimes it’s a symbol, like the six-pointed star @silverlinedeyes highlighted in this post. She connected the six-pointed star to the three brothers and three sisters in theory because they bring together opposing forces—light and dark and female and male energy—and create balance.

“Ithan angled his head. “A six-pointed star,” he said. Like the one Bryce had made between the Gates this spring, with the seventh candle at its center.

“It’s a symbol of balance,” she explained, moving away a foot, but keeping the dagger at her side. Her crown of cloudberries seemed to glow with an inner light. “Two intersecting triangles. Male and female, dark and light, above and below … and the power that lies in the place where they meet.” Her face became grave. “It is in that place of balance where I’ll focus my power.” She motioned to the circle. “No matter what you see or hear, stay on this side of the candles.” (hosab)

When they come together, as we saw with Feyre and Rhysand in the original series, they may be able to channel their combined energies to achieve powerful creation or healing (e.g., reforging the Cauldron, creating a baby who’s named for a deity and is probably going to be unique, etc.). As Rhys said in acowar, the sisters are in his court for a reason, and Mor might have hinted this long before as @lesolehabitantdelalune pointed out in relation to the six-pointed star:

Mor stayed overnight, even going so far as to paint some rudimentary stick figures on the wall beside the storeroom door. Three females with absurdly long, flowing hair that all resembled hers; and three winged males, who she somehow managed to make look puffed up on their own sense of importance. I laughed every time I saw it. (acomaf)

The three Made sisters and the three winged brothers are all blessed by fate and seem to be even more important together. Six is a perfect number and seven—the point where they all meet—symbolizes completion.

So, how does this relate to the flower of life? The flower of life contains circles that create a six-pointed star (see below) and there is a circle in the middle where they all intersect.

Source: uoforegon

The flower of life also contains other symbols Sarah has used across worlds:

Throne of Glass Series

Aelin wore an amulet that warned and helped her when needed. It was called the Eye of Elena, which Manon corrects as the Eye of the Goddess. It is the symbol Blueblood prophets tattoo on their hearts to indicate that they are Goddess-blessed.

A large circle—and two overlapping circles, one atop the other, within its circumference. “That is the Three-Faced Goddess,” Manon said, her voice low. “We call this …” She drew a rough line in the centermost circle, in the eye-shaped space where they overlapped. “The Eye of the Goddess. Not Elena.” She circled the exterior again. “Crone,” she said of the outermost circumference. She circled the interior top circle: “Mother.” She circled the bottom: “Maiden.” She stabbed the eye inside: “And the heart of the Darkness within her.” (eos)

A Court of Thorns and Roses Series

The Bone Carver drew interlocking circles to represent the death-god siblings, two of whom were worshipped by the fae before they were trapped. Two out of three siblings helped Prythian in a bargain with Feyre and Rhys.

The Carver traced three overlapping, interlocked circles in the dirt. “You have met my sister—my twin. The Weaver, as you now call her. I knew her as Stryga. (acowar)

Crescent City Series

Bryce wears an Archesian amulet with entwined circles that keeps her hidden from those searching for the Horn.

Bryce zipped a tiny golden pendant—a knot of three entwined circles—along the delicate chain around her neck. (hoeab)

In the space between, I discussed all of these interconnected trios, including the sacred trio which I believe this all stems from (Mother, Cauldron, Fate) and the rose amulet chosen for Elain. Although it is not described in circles, Elain’s amulet glows with three colors—red, pink, and white—in the Faelight, mimicking Azriel’s observation that she glows like the dawn in the Faelight earlier in that scene. We don’t know if it contains any protective properties or whether it will even make a reappearance. But out of all the symbols we’ve seen with the divine number three, it is the only one in the form of a flower…except, that is, for the Cauldron.

The Cauldron as the Flower of Life

In hosab, the Under King hinted that Urd, the goddess of fate, might be Mother, Cauldron, and the Forces That Be all in one.

A pyre smoked atop a black stone altar in the center of the temple. A stone throne on a dais loomed at the rear of the space. No statues ever adorned Urd’s Temple—no depiction of the goddess had ever been made. Fate took too many forms to capture in one figure.

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The Under-King rose, black robes drifting on a phantom wind. “I thought the Fae bowed to Luna, but perhaps you remember the old beliefs? From a time when Urd was not a goddess but a force, winding between worlds? When she was a vat of life, a mother to all, a secret language of the universe? The Fae worshipped her then.” (hosab)

As I’ve explained with help from @silverlinedeyes in this post, mother to all = Mother, vat of life = Cauldron, and a force = Forces That Be (which seems to be used interchangeably with Fate in acotar). Mother, Cauldron, Fate. Three interconnected parts of a whole.

If we’re to believe the Under King, the goddess of fate isn’t actually a goddess. It is the Cauldron, which moves like a force, is a mother to all, and possesses the secrets of the universe. The Cauldron is Sarah’s flower of life.

The Cauldron shattered into three pieces, peeling apart like a blossoming flower—and then she came. (acowar)

And it can be controlled through spells in the Book of Breathings. Those spells must be uttered by someone who is Made because like calls to like.

“When the Cauldron was made,” the Carver interrupted, “its dark maker used the last of the molten ore to forge a book. The Book of Breathings. In it, written between the carved words, are the spells to negate the Cauldron’s power—or control it wholly. But after the War, it was split into two pieces. One went to the Fae, one to the six human queens. It was part of the Treaty, purely symbolic, as the Cauldron had been lost for millennia and considered mere myth. The Book was believed harmless, because like calls to like—and only that which was Made can speak those spells and summon its power. No creature born of the earth may wield it, so the High Lords and humans dismissed it as little more than a historical heirloom, but if the Book were in the hands of something reforged … You would have to test such a theory, of course—but … it might be possible.” (acomaf)

The pieces of the Book seem to contain void, or cold cunning, and chaos.

Life and death and rebirth

Sun and moon and dark

Rot and bloom and bones

Hello, sweet thing. Hello, lady of night, princess of decay. Hello, fanged beast and trembling fawn.

Love me, touch me, sing me.

Madness. Where the first half had been cold cunning, this box … this was chaos, and disorder, and lawlessness, joy and despair.

Light and dark and gray and light and dark and gray (acomaf)

And these seem to be the same beings (forces?) that Apollion mentions in his own creation.

“Do you not know where I come from? My father was the Void, the Being That Existed Before. Chaos was his bride and my dam. It is to them that we shall all one day return, and their mighty powers that run in my blood.” (hosab)

If the Cauldron contains both Void and Chaos, which I believe it does as a bowl of life and death, then the Book of Breathings allows the wielder to control those forces. In the tog series, higher beings are forces that are part of the same consciousness. They are interconnected parts of a sacred whole. And we’re told early on, and repeatedly thereafter, that the Cauldron is the origin of everything.

Inside the Cauldron was nothing but inky, swirling black.

Perhaps the entire universe had come from it.

Azriel and Cassian tensed as I laid a hand on the lip. Pain—pain and ecstasy and power and weakness flowed into me.

Everything that was and wasn’t, fire and ice, light and dark, deluge and drought.

The map for creation. (acomaf)

Feyre put together the two pieces of the Book and as Amren predicted, there was a great, noticeable blast.

“You put the pieces together,” she clarified when Rhys gave her a questioning look, “and the blast of power will be felt in every corner and hole in the earth. You won’t just attract the King of Hybern. You’ll draw enemies far older and more wretched. Things that have long been asleep—and should remain so.” (acomaf)

So, it’s also probable an old and powerful enemy might come calling (ahem, Koschei and/or the Asteri). Does that mean someone might need to wield the Cauldron again, but to help and protect Prythian instead this time?

If so, that someone would need to be Made. All three sisters are Made, so I personally dream about all three of them wielding it together like the witches they are. But I also think it would make sense for Elain to wield it on her own or with her love interest. When she emerged from the Cauldron, Sarah described her appearance in detail—pale, delicate, beautiful, glowing.

More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water. And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown. Her legs were so pale—so delicate. […] Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer. And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me— Nesta began roaring again. Pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair. (acomaf)

She has been described as wise, gentle, and kind, but doesn’t hesitate to do what is necessary to protect life and restore order, like a gardener whose glowing hands won’t hesitate to get dirty for a pretty result.

A Gardener’s Hands

It began with a cauldron. A mighty black cauldron held by glowing, slender female hands in a starry, endless night. Those hands tipped it over, golden sparkling liquid pouring out over the lip. No—not sparkling, but … effervescent with small symbols, perhaps of some ancient faerie language. Whatever was written there, whatever it was, the contents of the cauldron were dumped into the void below, pooling on the earth to form our world… (acotar)

Elain isn’t just connected to a flower amulet. She is a blooming flower in an army camp, a bloom of color and sunshine even in the middle of winter. She is Hope shining in the Void on the longest night of winter.

The River House had finally fallen quiet after the raucous Winter Solstice party, the Faelights dimming to cast little pools of gold amid the deep shadow of the longest night of the year. […] He knew he’d be swallowed by it if he went up to his bedroom, so he’d remained down here by the dying light of the fire. […] Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was. The Faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. (Azriel’s bonus chapter)

Tell me, who is better positioned than the Cauldron-blessed gardener and seer to wield the flower of life? Sarah essentially set her up to defy Nesta’s command below, meaning she will not stay away from the Cauldron and might tend to a garden on a greater scale as a result.

“Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“Then go off on adventures,” Nesta said. “Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron.” (acosf)

The issue, of course, is that the Book of Breathings is now in Midgard under the care of a sorceress whose past is a mystery and the name we know her under, Jesiba Roga, isn’t the only one she possesses. Now that the two worlds are connected, though, it seems like only a matter of time until the Book is (re)discovered. But will it find the right hands?

There are more immediate ways for Elain to defy Nesta’s order and engage the Cauldron even without the Book. In hosab, mystics combine energy from a male, female, and the space where they meet—both male and female—to achieve perfect balance. It is perhaps this balance of power that allows them to become the Eye of the Goddess, mapping the secrets of the universe and influencing others from afar. Mysticism involves achieving a higher level of consciousness and uniting with the divine. Similarly, the flower of life can be used as a tool for meditation and enlightenment.

Elain seems to have used mystic ability on her own when she located and appeared to the Suriel across the world, and it’s possible she could use Rhys’s orrery as to expand her map in future books. Since these are romance books, I think it’s important to mention that we’re told Azriel is fascinated by the orrery. And like a sacred vision as @offtorivendell, @merymoonbeam and @psychologynerd have pointed out, Feyre witnesses perfect balance between Azriel and Elain: her immaculate hand meets his scarred one in the space between where light and dark, life and death, and female and male combine.

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection…that knife. (acowar)

Elain may not need anyone to navigate the space between with the Cauldron. But I have a feeling she will need something or someone to help keep her grounded as she expands her Sight and maybe even peers into Hel. If she does need to form a sacred trio to move beyond their world, then she, Azriel, and the Cauldron (which is both male and female), would suffice. As Feyre’s vision of the lovely fawn and Death seems to foreshadow, they would create perfect balance together. And maybe, just maybe, their bargain tattoo will represent that balance in the form of a blossoming flower where the Eye of the Goddess, her heart of darkness, remains half-hidden in the shadows with the secrets of the universe.

Read more about Elain’s arc and powers here.

[lunarmoonmoth]

Suffocation at its finest

My pulse feels weak as you pull away from me with ease

I gaze at once was admiring what it has that i don't

Constantly craving the touch and validation in which will never be received

Late night texts spiking my anxiety of what could be a terrible fate

Old feelings linger back into this broken heart of mine

It feels as though you don't care

Wishing for happiness to embody me whole so i can finally feel at one with myself

Not constant hatred for what looks back at me

I'm not him but at times i very much wish i was

I feel as though your seemingly bothered by me

I just wanna feel whole again

Unlike i've ever felt before because then i can feel eternal happiness

My brains scattered and broken into millions of pieces and i search allover to find whats missing

Nothing ever fills that void

Nothing ever will

Or at least i think nothing ever will

This shattered heart aches and aches for something in return for what is taken

You don't feel like i do

Do you

Do you feel saddened in a sense when i'm not around

Or does it not affect you

Shutting out the noise in my head by drowning in a field of dead flowers

Constantly hearing the happiness around you tends to slowly tear apart your mind

Brain constantly scattered and drifted

Can't tell if i feel anything really

I feel numb to any feeling

I feel the tears as they run down my face but i am in shock of their origin

Why must they shed

I feel nothing until this sudden burst of sadness reaches its hand out to me

Pure pressured i take its hand let it lead me afar because that is all i've known

All i will know truly

Suffocating and drowning in this void at times

Feeling swallowed whole against my will

Sucked into a void of melancholy music and fucking up my life because thats nostalgic for me

Offer me some help and i'll turn it down because its my problem so i must rescue myself

Not before the others

Never before them

As they matter more than anything

I'll still be here

Maybe not as full but its more important that i'm still here

I don't bother

I don't want to be a bother

Nobody wants someone who complains or vents when shit gets tough because god is that annoying

We all have problems so get over it

Choose an outlet

Or a place all your hidden secrets lay

Where no one can judge

No one can hurt you

Act fine until they cant see the reality

Punch, hit, yell

Anything to stop the noise of it all

That suffocating and honestly annoying sound that follows you everywhere

Playlist after playlist

Only 10 ish songs cause no way i could do anything more than that

Raising my mother at times wishing she would return the favor

Getting let down again and again without fail

Trusting you

I should trust you

That would be a mistake

You'll run if you learn of what's inside the notebook i keep hidden away

Away from harm

I wish someone knowing i loved them would be enough at times

It never is though

What was i really expecting

Truly

Could i be more of an idiot to think that would ever be enough

That id ever be enough

I told them

I told them to keep you safe

And selfishly to keep you here with me

I love you too much to leave you to rot like i am

You deserve better than that

It's scary

The thought of having to bury you

I should've said something sooner

And i hate how no one else cared that you were suffering in this big black hole

But me.

I needed you

Selfishly

I know

Why'd you tell me you love me

Unexpectedly

No reasoning

Just those three words