#told you to pray for her not to come but you all have summoned her

[sugarwarachan]

addicted to you

summary: Kirishima Eijiro's pretty positive he’s going to hell. You can’t listen to your buddy’s girlfriend cum that many times and not be on a one-way ticket to the fiery pits of doom. When he's at the end of his rope, one night might change the dynamic of his relationship with you. pairing: bakugou x reader x kirishima wc: 1.6k content warnings: smut mdni, threesome dynamics, fem!reader, dirty talk, degradation, voyeurism, oral, m!receiving, kirishima's raging size kink

Plap plap plap -

"Oh god, Kats..."

It should be fucking illegal for walls to be this thin, Kirishima thinks, staring up at his ceiling, willing his dick to soften. This is the fifth night in a row that he’s heard your guts getting rearranged by his best friend, and it’s starting to take a toll on the pro hero.

“Yeah, baby? Too much for ya?”

A soft groan emits from Kirishima’s throat at the high-pitched whine you make in response.

It’s not gentlemanly of him at all, but he pictures how gorgeous your face must look right now, mouth hanging open, eyes rolled up in your head—

"Not enough," he hears you shoot back.

He slams the pillow over his face and rolls onto his belly, rutting his dick across the mattress in one long drag.

Fuck.

When he first heard you two have sex, he really tried to do the respectable thing and not listen, he swears. When noise-canceling headphones didn't cut it, he went on long walks the minute you and Bakugou disappeared behind closed doors. It’s made for some very awkward late-night convenience store runs.

He lifts the pillow from his face. No noises sound from next door. He sighs. Time to address the raging cockstand in his pants, then.

The fantasy he conjures is familiar, well-worn. He starts in the middle this time, at the part where you’re already gagging on his dick, eyes welling with tears as be bullies his cock down your throat.

Kirishima grabs the lube from his nightstand and coats his palm. His hips buck into his hand as he works himself up and down, idly wondering how much of him you'd be able to take. He hates it, but the thought of your face scrunching up as you struggle to fit him all the way in shreds his sanity to ribbons.

"Kiri?" your voice sounds through the door while his hand is mid-stroke on his cock.

It’s like he summoned you.

"Yeah?" Even that minor syllable sounds like he’s fucking drugged.

"Can I come in please?"

His eyes bug out of his head. Are you fucking serious?

"Just a minute!" he shouts, shucking up his sweatpants and toweling off the mess between his thighs.

He hears Bakugou’s voice next. "Just let us in, idiot, she’s gotta ask you something."

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit—

He’s gonna die tonight. You’re probably outside thinking he’s a digusting pervert, in here fucking jerking off to you—what was he thinking?

Apparently not even the panic can make his dick cooperate though. He tucks it into the waistband of his pants and prays for a swift end.

When he opens the door, he expects to dodge a punch. But you’re standing there in a see-through red teddy, and all semblance of thought goes out the window.

“Did you finally hear me this time, Kiri?”

Huh?

He’s pretty sure he just splutters. Bakugou barks out a laugh behind you. "Told you this dummy was in denial, pretty girl."

His brain stumbles. "You wanted me to hear?"

You let out a husky giggle that goes straight to his groin. If possible, he gets harder.

"I like how you watch me, Kiri," you admit, eyes darting to his lips. His mouth goes dry. "I keep thinking about how you’d touch me."

He balls his hands into fists at his side to keep from hauling you onto his bed. "This is something you two have talked about?"

Bakugou has the audacity to look annoyed. "Doesn’t take a fuckin’ genius to figure it out. You’re always starin’ at her. Besides," he runs a hand straight down your back; you shiver and lean back into him. "Can’t deny this sweet thing much."

The good thing about being a pro hero is that you learn to adapt to situations quickly. Kirishima's brain is spinning with this new information, but he’s reacting before he realizes it, hand reaching out for your waist.

Your nipples tighten—he wants his tongue on them, sucking through the lace. He looks to Bakugou, but the man’s just sauntering into the room, settling into the desk chair with his legs kicked out, gray sweatpants tented.

“Go on, then.” He palms his cock. “Make her feel good like you’ve been wanting.”

Kirishima doesn’t need to be told twice. He picks you up and arranges you both on the bed, your thighs draped over his hips. You’re soaking wet; he can feel the slick dripping from your pussy fall on his stomach.

He’s so hard it hurts.

You’re not much better off, whimpering and rutting in his lap like a bitch in heat.

"Touch me, Kiri, please," you say, nosing at his neck and sucking on his pulse point. "Need your big hands on me."

God, you even beg cute.

His hands span up your back, pressing your tits into his chest and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You groan into his mouth, hands tangling in his hair, tugging at the strands.

"Wild little thing, aren’t you, baby?" Kirishima chuckles when you glare at him. "No judgment here, I fucking love it. Been listenin' to you long enough to have an idea of how you like it."

He looks over at Bakugou. "You just gonna watch?"

"Gotta make sure you do it right, Shitty-hair," he grits out, fist moving up and down. “Ya already need me to step in?”

Kirishima laughs under his breath. "Fuck you too, asshole." He cradles your face in one hand, tilting your lips up to his. "Come here, princess, let me see how hard I can make you cum, huh? Harder than he does?"

One breath against your clit and you’d probably scream for him right now. He can't help but puff out his chest a little at the thought.

Clothing comes off in a flurry. Every inch of skin exposed is a fucking godsend, more for him to touch, to caress.

When his cock bobs in between your bodies, he swears your mouth goes slack.

"Oh, Kiri," you breathe out, wrapping your hands around him. "You didn’t tell me you had such a pretty dick.” He chokes and rolls his hips into your fist. "You’re big, too. I don’t know if you’ll fit all the way."

He grunts. "Fuck baby, you can’t say shit like that to me, drives me fuckin’ crazy—"

The smile you give him is sinful. "I know." You shut him up by undulating your hips, sliding your pussy folds along the head of his cock.

"She's a little brat, Kiri, don't be afraid to put her in her place," Kirishima hears Bakugou say in the background. His voice is strained, husky. Both of you moan at the sound.

"Is that right, princess?" He nips at your mouth. "You think I'll give you whatever you want?"

You nod, the sweetest whine falling from your lips as he starts to inch his dick inside your quivering hole. You're so tight it's like your pussy can't decide if it wants to suck him in or spit it out.

"Stay fucking still," he growls, hold fast and hard on your hips. You squeal at his tone, gasping as he stretches you open, working the tip in and out.

Your hands scrabble at the sheets, his forearms, anything. He just holds you in place as your cunt gets sloppier and sloppier, lewd squelching noises filling the room.

"Kiri please just fuck me. Please, I've been thinking about it for weeks now—"

Bakugou kneels on the side of the mattress.

"You're mouthy tonight, baby. All because you're showing off for him?" He taps the side of your mouth. "Let's put that mouth to better use, yeah?"

If Kirishima wasn't about to bust his load, he sure as fuck is now, watching you greedily suck his best friend's dick as he works his into your sopping wet core.

When he finally bottoms out, the sound you make is pornographic, throat stuffed up with dick, humming out your pleasure...

"God that's so fucking hot, baby, look at you." He sets a rough, steady pace. Your tits bounce as your throat works to take Bakugou. Drool trickles down your chin; he wipes it away and squeezes your neck. It's driving him crazy, watching your tongue and lips work in tandem. "Takin' dick so well, there's a good girl."

Bakugou has a tight grip on the headboard, veins straining in his neck.

"Fuckin' hell, I'm close. Pinch her clit, Eiji, that'll make her cum quick. Get her there for me, let me see her fuckin' scream."

Kirishima rolls your bud between his fingers, and sure enough, your pussy starts clamping down on him. His rhythm gets erractic, wild. All he can think about is the sticky wet rush of slick between your legs, your channel milking his cock like you'd been waiting for weeks for it—

Bakugou slides out of your mouth with an obscene pop, spitting into his palm. "Dirty little slut, love getting used, don't ya?"

Kirishima keeps working your clit, dick jumping inside you. "There's our pretty girl, doing so well. Where do you want me to cum, honey? Can I cum here?"

He presses down on your tummy and pinches your clit at the same time. Slick gushes out of you.

"Cum in her, Kiri," he hears Bakugou bark out, hand speeding up. "I'll clean it up later, just wanna see you both cum with your dick in her."

It's embarassing, but that's really all he needs to hear before he's coming the hardest he ever has, cock twitching and pumping seed into you as Bakugou spends onto your tits.

Your own orgasm takes you over, bowing your back off the bed, mouth hanging open as incoherent babble falls from your lips. Kirishima fucks you through it, each small tremor of your subsequent orgasms like jolts of lightning.

He's pretty sure he knows the answer when he asks, "We get to do that again, right?"

You look at Bakugou, who just smirks. "Won't get rid of us that easily."

taglist: @luleck, @yesshayhere @grim-reapers-wife @dai-png @burgvndy

[saintobio]

₊˚⊹♡ daddy doctor saves the day!

pairings. zayne/li shen, fem!reader

tags. 1.6k wc, dad!zayne, mom!mc, domestic fluff, slice of life, established relationship, brief mentions of pregnancy, zayne in scrubs *phew* bc need i say more. divider by anitalenia.

if zayne were ever to have kids, he’d have liked two.  

a girl and a boy. not because he believed in symmetry or balance, but because he imagined them leaning on each other the way siblings in picture books did—arms slung over shoulders, shared secrets in the dark, always knowing they weren’t alone. that’s what he’d wanted for them. companionship and safety.

and that day, in the quiet lull following a ten-hour triple bypass surgery, he was reminded of that wish.

you sat on the little couch tucked into the corner of his office, the one he’d insisted on keeping even when they offered to replace it with something more suitable for the chief cardiac surgeon. but that couch had warmth stitched into its seams, and it reminded him of home. the kids were curled up beside you, both fresh from school, still in their matching navy sweaters and slightly crooked socks. your daughter, older by two years, had her head resting in your lap, while your son perched at the edge of the cushion, his feet swinging above the floor.

“mommy,” he asked, his voice sticky with curiosity, “how does daddy fix hearts?”

you smiled, smoothing your daughter’s hair back from her forehead. “well,” you began, your tone soft and thoughtful, “he does surgery. that means he opens the chest to get to the heart.”

they both stiffened with the delighted kind of horror only young children could summon. “he cuts people open?” your daughter gasped, her eyes going round.

you solemnly nodded. “yes. he makes a careful cut. then he opens the chest so he can see the heart. it’s very delicate work.”

your son’s face crumpled in awe and fascination. “like a... like a treasure chest?”

“kind of,” you said, chuckling, “only instead of gold, there’s a heart inside.”

your daughter shuddered dramatically. “ew! that’s so creepy.”

zayne stood in the doorway then, unnoticed. still in his navy scrubs, cap tucked into his waistband, his hair a little messy from hours spent in the OR. he looked tired, shadows carved beneath his eyes, but his mouth tugged into a quiet smile. you didn’t see him yet, but he saw you—all three of you—and it filled something deep in his chest he hadn’t realized had gone hollow during the hours of cutting and stitching and praying beneath the surgical lights.

“do people die?” your son asked suddenly, looking up at you with wide, serious eyes.

“sometimes,” was your honest answer. “but daddy works really hard to make sure they don’t. he’s the best there is.”

“so he’s like a superhero,” your daughter concluded. “but for hearts.”

before you could respond, you heard the subtle shift of shoes on linoleum, and turned your head to see the man of the hour. leaning against the frame of the office door, arms crossed, tired but watching the three of you with a soft, fatherly smile. you just couldn’t ever get used to the way your heart raced at the sight of your husband. 

“you guys talking about me?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse from hours of breathing through a mask.

“daddy!” and of course, his kids squealed in unison, springing from the couch and bolting toward him. he caught them both easily, pulling them against his sides like puzzle pieces falling into place. his hands were still cool from scrubbing out, but they didn’t seem to notice. or maybe they didn’t care. they were too busy clambering over one another to tell him everything you’d just said.

“daddy! you cut people open!”

“you open their treasure chest!”

zayne laugh came out raspy, and you knew that meant exhaustion. but the joy in his eyes concealed the tiredness he carried. “is that what mom told you?”

“uh-huh! and then you look at their heart and fix it like legos!”

you raised your brows at him. “legos? that didn’t come from me.”

your husband shrugged, adjusting your daughter on his hip. “not technically wrong.”

“do you use glue?” your son asked seriously, squinting up at him.

“sometimes.” zayne knew it was best to play along. “we have special glue for blood vessels.”

your daughter gasped. “that’s so gross.”

“no, it’s awesome,” your son countered.

zayne set them down gently before walking toward you, his steps a little heavy from the long shift. he leaned down, kissed your cheek, and murmured, “thanks for covering the debrief.”

you smiled up at him. “they had questions.”

he sat beside you with a quiet groan, his leg pressing against yours. the kids climbed right back into the space between you, curling close like this was just another part of their daily routine. maybe it was.

“can we be heart doctors, too?” your son asked, tucking himself into zayne’s side.

“if you want to,” zayne replied, brushing a hand through his son’s hair. “but i think you’d be an amazing engineer.”

“what about me?” your daughter demanded equal attention.

he leaned in and tapped her nose. “you? i think you’d be a writer. or a lawyer. or maybe an astronaut.”

“what if i want to be a bunny farmer?”

zayne thought for a moment. “then i’ll build you a bunny hospital.”

you laughed, covering your mouth as the kids began to plan their future bunny farm, arguing over weather conditions and carrot rations. zayne didn’t say anything more. he just leaned back slightly, one hand resting on your knee, the other curled protectively behind your daughter’s back. he listened to their chatter, his eyes finding humor in their animated conversations. he was probably thinking, ‘they definitely got that from their mom’.

in retrospect, he had fixed countless hearts in his life, stitched vessels, replaced valves, saved lives. but this… this quiet, chaotic, precious moment? this was the one thing he’d gotten perfectly right.

although, you did want to admit that it was difficult to have a decent conversation with your husband while in the presence of your hyperactive kids. thankfully, it didn’t take long until you heard the soft tap of shoes on the hospital floor. the door creaked open, and in walked yvonne, the hospital’s nurse and receptionist, smiling fondly at your little family. 

“hey, kids,” yvonne said brightly, “how about you come with me? i’ve got something special for you.” she paused, then with a wink, added, “dr. greyson’s got some treats in the breakroom.”

the kids’ eyes lit up, and without another word, they scrambled off the couch, practically tripping over their own feet in their hurry to follow yvonne. they were already chattering excitedly as they followed her down the hall.

as soon as the door closed behind them, you relaxed back into the couch and exhaled deeply. zayne, still in his scrubs from his long surgery, scooted closer and pulled you by the waist. he looked tired, but there was a softness in his gaze that was just for his wife.

“well,” you said with a light chuckle, “it’s nice to finally get some privacy.”

zayne’s smile was tender. “don’t get used to it.”

you laughed. “honestly, though, i’m surprised i don’t get jealous of yvonne. she practically has the kids wrapped around her finger. and she takes good care of you here.”

only then did your husband’s smile falter for a second, a brief moment of amusement flashing across his features. “jealous?” he repeated. “you’re jealous of her?”

“i just said i’m not,” you clarified. “but… well, she’s charming. sweet. she always knows exactly what to say.”

“you,” zayne cut you off, “are everything to me. i don’t need anyone else.”

you knew you’d always been his number one, but you always felt reassured when he said the exact words you wanted to hear. it was enough. and it always worked this way through your years of marriage—a little hint of jealousy could easily be fixed by reassuring words.

whatever zayne said, you believed. there was a sense of solemnity in his words that you’d be a fool to doubt him. perhaps, it was why your kids get scared when their dad gives them a little scolding.

“speaking of work,” you said, shifting slightly, “how did the surgery go? i heard it was a long one.”

zayne sighed at the remembrance. “it went well,” he started, “the patient is stable, but her family... they couldn’t pay the full fees. they just didn’t have the money.”

you frowned, your heart aching at the thought. “but you’re not charging them?”

“i waived my professional fees. i asked the husband to reach out to the government for financial assistance. they’re eligible for some kind of medical relief.”

you blinked in surprise, touched by your husband’s gesture. “you did that?”

he shrugged, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “it’s what i would want if i were in their shoes. i was never after the money when i practiced my degree.”

“if it were me,” you thought out loud, “what would you have done? if i needed that kind of help... would you have helped me?”

zayne turned to you fully, his eyes softening with sincerity. “i’d do whatever it took,” he firmly answered. “even if you needed a transplant, i’d give you my heart without hesitation.”

it might sound like a silly thing, but his quiet declaration tugged gently at your heart. there was a kind of love in his eyes you couldn’t quite put into words. and somehow, you were the one lucky enough to receive it. 

he’d fixed countless hearts in the OR, but you knew, in this moment, that the heart he valued most was the one beating inside you.

maybe that’s why now felt like the perfect time to bring up what had been weighing on your mind all day. the very reason you’d driven straight to the hospital after work.

“well, as it turns out,” you brought up, shifting slightly, “i’m not pregnant. i got my period today.”

zayne let out a soft chuckle. “well, two kids are enough for now, don’t you think?”

you pouted, feigning disappointment. “but i want one more.”

he grinned and kissed your forehead. “you can try again next month. i’m sure we’ll make a whole team of little heart doctors.”

[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

Loving Arms

Summary: The children of Viserys I from his wife Alicent Hightower had always been lacking in affection from their parents. They simply didn't realize how much until their widowed aunt was brought into their lives. (AU where Alicent has an older sister and her kids get the love that they deserve, takes place some time after the Driftmark event)

Part I: An Important Guest

A/N: No pairings as of right now as I want to focus on the familial and platonic relationships with Greens when they're still quite young. This is possibly only the beginning (credit for the divider goes to @kawaii-lau)

126 AC

Some months after the funeral of the Lady Laena Velaryon, wife of the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen there was much clamor in the Red Keep. For the eldest daughter of Otto Hightower had been summoned to court after more than a decade away from the intrigue and politics that surrounded the throne and her family. Not much was known about the sister of the Queen apart from what had been known from her previous shorts visits in the early years of her sisters marriage and births of the younger royal children. The elder Hightower girl had been married two years prior to Alicent's own marriage to the King.

Hoping for a future alliance with the house of his eldest daughter's husband, Otto had the girl married to the younger brother of Qoren Martell who served as the reigning Prince of Dorne. But upon the death of his son by law, it was expected by the Hand of the King that his daughter would return to follow her filial duty of remarrying once more upon her return. Only... the man had not accounted for how his grandchildren would come to react to the arrival of their long unseen aunt.

--------

Aemond was positively annoyed with his older brother Aegon, "You could not think to ready yourself for our guests arrival ahead of time? Must you always make the lot of us appear inadequate because you choose to drink yourself into a stupor?"

Halaena, Aegon, and Aemond were specifically told to prepare for an important guests arrival but because of the elder amongst the three not being ready on time, it appeared that they would be late in their greetings. In his haste to reach the throne room faster, Aemond almost stumbled over his own feet and he cursed quietly to himself as he attempted to avoid tripping.

"Need help walking, do you Aemond?" Aegon giggled.

"I can walk just fine," Aemond mumbled. "I simply need a bit more time to recover my sense of balance on account of my... my eye."

The younger Targaryens response quieted his brother and the elder turned his attention to their sister.

"Were you told anything about who our important guest is meant to be?" Aegon asked. "One would think that if they were such an important person, we would all have to be alongside our mother and grandsire by the entrance."

Halaena shook her head, "I think we've met them before, but I cannot be certain if it's who I think it might be."

"Oh and pray tell, wise Halaena. Who could it be?" Aegon mocked.

"Didn't mother happen to receive a raven some weeks ago that our uncle the second prince of Dorne, the husband of our aunt had passed from the sweating sickness."

"Why on earth would that woman come?" the eldest asked, "I don't think she has come to visit King's Landing since the birth of our dear Aemond. Not that I could begrudge the woman, I heard that it was a miracle our grandsire married her to a Dornish prince since she apparently was deformed and all found her a lost cause."

"Perhaps if you listened when Mother informed you about who our guest would be, then we would all know, now wouldn't we?" Aemond huffed. "And don't speak of our aunt that way! Show some respect!"

"It doesn't matter, we will know soon enough if it truly is her or not, and it's not as if our aunt will ever know, I doubt it could be her" Aegon grumbled.

The doors to the throne room were opened upon their arrival and all but one turned to look at the trio that had come into the room quite late. The children could see the frown that their mother wore clear as day when she looked upon them, her disapproval apparent at their actions. While their grandsire had a near equal downturn of his lips but it was more in his eyes that one could see the disappointment at the trio.

"Ah, so good of my grandchildren to finally make their appearance!" said ser Otto. "We had all wondered when you might grace us with your presence!"

Aegon merely rolled his eyes at the words of his grandsire, while Aemond and Halaena looked down in embarrassment.

"Oh come now Father, I am sure that my nephews and niece meant no harm and tried to make haste. They couldn't have expected that I would be the one to arrive."

Three sets of eyes were quick to look over at the person who spoke.

They could only see her profile, but it was apparent that the person could be no other person than their elusive aunt. The eldest daughter to Otto Hightower and his wife Alyrie Florten, widow of Prince Doran of House Martell, the Lady (Y/N) Hightower.

She wasn't an imposing figure, in fact, compared to her father and younger sister. Their aunt was not much, but... that is actually something that they appreciated about the woman. All their lives, the siblings had such imposing men and women that surrounded them or directed them at all times, but not (Y/N). She stood out in a gentle way, a steadiness to her presence. Unlike the prim and elegant hairstyles of the court, it was loosened and decorated with a few blossoms. Her gown was a pale green and embroidered with the symbols of both her own house and that of her late husband, with towers and suns. But most of all, there was no dismay in her gaze as she looked at them from the corner of her eye, rather she smiled affectionately and warmly.

"Come children," Alicent guided them closer. "Come and greet your aunt." And in a harsh whisper to Aegon said, "And don't even think about commenting on her appeareance!"

When their aunt fully turned to them, all held back a gasp when they saw her full countenance. A glassy grey eye stood out on the left hand side of her face that had obviously been burned. Carefully she stepped toward them and the three were ushered forward until they stood only a step away from her.

Unwaveringly she smiled at the trio and approached Aegon first, "You have grown much in the time since I last saw you."

Hesitantly, she reached to cup his face in her hand and the boy flinched, this stopped her movements and made her smile drop slightly. Carefully she waved her hand and asked, "May I?"

Tentatively, Aegon nodded and allowed his aunt to softly cradle his face in her hands. Her one good eye flickered across his face and she smiled at him once more, "Such a handsome young man. Must be the Hightower in you, because you and I seem to share the good looks."

His aunt's comment seemed to release the breath that the group was holding, because Aegon, Halaena, and Aemond couldn't help but giggle. A soft warmth settling in their bodies as they attempted to stifle their uncontrollable laughs.

Alicent saw their laughter as rude and intended on scolding them, but a raised hand from her sister was enough to have her hold her tongue.

Stepping away from her elder nephew, (Y/N) noticed how Halaena's gaze shifted away from her own and understood. She simply curtsied to the girl, "I look forward to getting know you more Halaena and perhaps you could show me your things of interest."

Halaena timidly smiled and curtsied in return, "I like all sorts of insects."

"I am sure you do, sweet girl."

And lastly, her gaze turned to her younger nephew that was shuffling nervously where he stood.

Quietly he asked, "Does it still hurt you?"

Her smile never wavered as she answered, "Thank you for your kind consideration, nephew. Sometimes, it does ache but I am fine now."

A gentle calm settled amongst them, but it was disturbed when ser Otto cleared his throat. "Come, dinner has been prepared and we have dallied long enough. I am sure you have needed a hearty meal."

"Of course, Father" (Y/N) agreed. "I am sure we can continue with pleasantries over a delicious meal."

The Hand of the King, carefully led his daughters out the room and so everyone else took this as a sign to clear the area. But the siblings stayed behind, a clear look between them that there were things they would need to talk about.

Tag List:

@minaxcarter, @hotleaf-juice, @pikomin, @deltamoon666, @cococrazy18, @firefairy, @dracaryxzs, @snowbunny58, @lacherrysouldy, @only4thefics, @queen-luna-007, @ambrivertenergy, @kayllineb12

[frostara]

To serve, my beloved

Cregan Stark x Karstark!Female

Synopsis: If you pray hard enough the Gods may listen in your words; or do not – they may decide what is better for you.

Wordcount: 1k

Tags: Overall fluff, female character insert as I don’t like “Reader” labels, mind you this is medieval time and character’s view on things is misogynistic and partly delusional

Notes: Well here I go, hopefully some of you will like it! I desperately lack Cregan content here so guess time to make some of my own!

Oh, to be a wife to a good man...

It had always sounded like a fever dream to her. Something that she could not reach in her position. Her husband will be same to her kin - bitter and harsh on tongue, not someone who would love her or their kids, perhaps. She would be stuck with him, and mistake her not, she tried to look upon her future, finding hope that she would love her kids and husband, but, evil thoughts would still come back.

Thus it felt like a blessing from Old Gods when Astrid's father, lord Karstark, took her to Lady's Summons in year 125. Lady of ten and five years was given a chance for a life bettered by the will of Gods. At first, she felt trully amazed, faces and pictures dancing vividly in her head as she tried to portray what would it be like in Winterfell? What things would lay upon her gaze and who would she meet?

Her father made sure that she would be educated on story of the house they had served for many years and it's head - Lord of Winterfell. Listening to the stories, she knew he was a real man, someone to take rulement in his hands and be a true leader, a man who would have thousands following him. Her father would tell her about Starks with so much proud, not forgetting to mention the ancestory they shared.

-Fret not, my girl, conduct yourself with honor and do not forget that we are of the winter sun.

And Astrid listened. When she reached Winterfell after all the days in travel, she could not hide away relief that soon changed for worry - the time had come. All the things she was taught and saw with her eyes were put to use by her. She smiled at people, tried to talk to many and get to know this place. Her father indeed was an example to follow along the teachings of her lady-in-waiting.

But could anyone prepare her for the man when she saw him? Lord Cregan looked like a real wolf in man's skin: dark hair and eyes black like burnt wood in fireplace with furs wrapped around him, or rather, sitting on him like a trophy of a freshly killed animal. Perhaps, wisperers were true. Once he was a boy that killed his uncle, now was of tough kind. His features were heavy with shadows that danced on his face. Astrid thought of how she would look standing in the place beside him - hair of wood colour and eyes of cold water in a river. Mayhaps, she was a match to him.

She in fact was. Were it the other lords or masters or Cregan himself, but he did look at her. And was pleased with her company, as Astrid was later told, because the look on his face was hard to read, and she was worried of herself. Nonetheless, three weeks after the Summon through wich she was in Winterfell, a wedding ceremony was soon to be prepared. She had quite some time to meet people who were serving here as well as some other nobles or rather their children. What really caught her eye was the weirwood tree.

She knew that it had some remnants of ancient wisdom in it. It’s red leaves and face – mesmerising look. Astrid came to it with wary at first, as if she was invading a sacred place and putting a dark spot on it. She only had enough courage to look at it. Then, she dared to touch it and beg for some advice. In hopes that Gods would answer her she would sit or stand there, trying to realise what awaits for her.

The day she was dressed in furs, with hair combed and heart full of excitement mixed with anxiety was she standing in front of him. They only met a couple of times and there still was a lot she wanted to know about Cregan. He looked like he knew it all: what is it like to take a wife and create a family; to be the Warden of the North and the Wolf. Astrid thought they will have lots of moons for him to share his knowledge and to ask each other questions.

And as for now, as his cold lips would be on hers and his hands will wrap around her she will stay quiet – words are left for later.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

NRC Family interaction idea: I'd love to see your take if Leona ever meets Maleficia! She would be so happy to meet one of her grandson's best friends at NRC according to what Lilia told her. And while Leona wants nothing more than to refute that statement he would still have to be polite because not only is Maleficia a woman, she's also an important political figure. Yes I'm living for Leona's suffering as well

Nobody:

Nobody at all:

Me: Leona Granny Killer Kingscholar

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

Hidden away in his secret garden, Leona thought himself free of Family Day. He knew of all the best hiding places in the Botanical Garden, the spots where the leaves and the flowers grew so heavy that they covered him entirely, body and scent. Cheka, Falena, Kifaji--none of them could hope to discover him here.

But then those lights started. Flickering green and gold, signaling the arrival of something ominous.

Leona immediately sat up, fixing his slouch. His fur stood on end, muscles tensing in preparation for a fight.

A blink, and a woman in black robes appeared before him. She was ageless, with skin pale and smooth as marble and shiny raven hair, a set of horns protruding from her head. The unmistakable mark of a Draconia. She stepped toward him, the plants surrounding her seeming to tremble and shrink away from her powerful presence.

"You're..." Before Leona completed his sentence, he was already lowering himself into a bow His voice became a silken purr. "Pray thee forgive my rudeness. I hadn't been expecting an audience with Briar Valley's reigning monarch."

"Be at peace, second son of Sunset Savanna... Leona Kingscholar." Maleficia raised a hand. "This is not a royal summons, nor a diplomatic meeting. I have simply come to witness my grandson's school companions."

Companions? Leona grimaced internally. He didn't much like the sound of it, especially not in relation to the lizard he so loathed.

"I'm honored by the suggestion that I am on equal social standing as the Malleus Draconia, but I'm afraid that isn't truly the case. Your grandson and I are on entirely different wavelengths."

She frowned. "Oh? But Lilia had informed me that Malleus has a close bond with a prince from the wilds. That is you, is it not?"

That little weasel...!! He spun all our arguments and grudge matches into THIS?! I'm sanding him the next chance I get.

"He says that you frequently have playful banter and compete in games together," Maleficia continued, her tone darkening. The air around her crackled with electricity--Leona could smell the stench of magic on her. "Are you insinuating that Lilia is a liar?"

"... No. No, of course not," he replied tactfully. "Begging your pardon, your majesty. I was overcome with bashfulness. Despite my looks, I'm a delicate, sensitive individual at heart. I don't enjoy airing my friendships publicly--what if some unsavory type were to slink along and attempt to manipulate our friendship in their favor? I would hate for it to come to that."

"... Is that so?" Satisfied with his answer, Maleficia visibly brightened. "I understand. My, Malleus selects such fine, mindful companions."

"You flatter me. I am not worthy of your praise."

"Fufufu. You're quite humble for one of noble descent yourself." Maleficia extended a hand. "I have a desire to hear stories of Malleus's school days with his dear friends. Will you care to enlighten me?"

Leona sucked in a breath through his teeth. This is for maintaining amicable relations between our kingdoms, this is for maintaining amicable relations between our kingdoms...!!

He forced a smile and offered his arm. "As the lady wishes."

[nohoney]

pt 2 for this dragon king! bakugou blurb

the bride that bakugou had stolen becomes his concubine, having you whenever and wherever it pleases him. he could summon you to his chambers at night and you were to go to him. if he finds you in the garden and wants to fuck you in the grass, you weren’t allowed to deny him. he beckons for you, you obey.

and you do so with enthusiasm, never denying your king as he takes whatever position he wants to fuck you in.

bakugou doesn’t care much for your affection and adoration, only really finding it useful that he has an easy hole to fuck whenever he wants to seek out some relief. it doesn’t even matter to him when you thank him for when you cum during frenzied and unloving coitus. all that matters is that he fulfills his own satisfaction and he does not owe you any scrap of tenderness.

his coldness does not cool the warming affection that you so clearly have for him.

no matter the degrading names he growls at you when he has you pinned to his bed, the rough handling of your hair when he fucks his cock into your mouth, he hadn’t even preserved your decency when others would occasionally stumble upon you when you were with the king—no matter the lack of courtesy he hardly gave you, you never once showed any resentment to his treatment.

if anything, you were always grateful.

it truly shows how much you must have dreaded and hated the man who would have been your husband had bakugou not come on your wedding day to slaughter every person on sight.

there was never any complaint from you, not when bakugou pushed you away once he was done, not when he looked at you sometimes in bewilderment when you gave him lovesick eyes, and certainly not when he allowed the rare times of you sleeping in his bed so that he could fuck you again later instead of summoning you again.

he never gave any thought to you being more than a warm body for him to use. it was his right as king after all, to determine your worth and what value you were to him.

but there’s day he’s cut with a poison knife while he was out in battle, writhing sick in his bed and sometimes screaming from the agony from the burning wound. he was tended to in all areas needed, everyone fearing for the health of their king and praying to the gods to expel the poison from his body and to leave their king in health.

bakugou was bedridden for more than a fortnight before he was finally feeling some semblance of relief. the cut had left a scar on his body but his health had proved stronger. still, he was advised to carry himself carefully for the next few weeks.

“that girl you picked up, the bride, you know she almost tried to kill herself?” kirishima told him one day when they were in the caves to look over the new hatch of dragon eggs. bakugou eyes him from the side and says nothing, but he’s curious to know why you were trying to harm yourself. “she thought you were going to die. kept on saying that if you were no longer on this realm then there was no point of her existence as well.”

bakugou makes no comment, only quietly nodded his head and picked up a green dragon egg, still slimy from being expelled quite recently.

later that night, you’re summoned to his chambers, resuming your duties and riding on top of him. it’s a relief to know that he is alive, to feel that he is well enough to have his desires taken care of, that he still lives on and that death tried so hard to take his soul but had been unsuccessful. your moans are soft as you move your hips, grinding deeply as you fully sit on his cock and feel the tip press into that weakening spot that has your eyes fluttering.

“oh! oh gods…!” you groan as you move up and down on bakugou’s cock, bouncing on top of him and bring him to the plane of pleasure that he seems to have entrusted you to at this point. it was the only thing he seemed to assign you to and you were nothing but grateful to have this role.

you’ve never bothered to announce when you could feel an orgasm rising up in you, bakugou doesn’t fuck for your pleasure after all; only his own. it’s rising up though, making you dizzy with pleasure and has you riding harder, the wet little squishes and splashes from where you are connected to your king making you so happy. because when you’re cumming this much, he’s not that much farther behind you. and you want to make him cum, you want your king to cum, just about to hop off so that you can finish him off with your mouth—such as the routine.

instead you’re surprised when his hands grab at your hips, lifting you off his cock. it slaps against his stomach, shining wet from what you can see from the candlelight and you’re confused why he had taken you off of him. had he been unsatisfied? perhaps he was in pain and he couldn’t finish?

“c’mere, up here.” he mumbles and directing you with a nod.

you hesitate at first, unsure what he meant for you to do. “my king?”

“want to taste you.”

it’s a first he’s ever said to you. in the entirety of you belonging to him since he had stolen you from your wedding day, bakugou had never bothered about your pleasure. he only acted in ways that delighted him—choking you, striking your rear as he fucked you from behind, even occasionally pushing a single thick finger into your asshole. you had never asked him to service you in anyway, you would never dream of making such a request.

but you hesitantly obey, hovering over him and yelping when bakhgou’s strong hands force you onto his face. his mouth messily licks at your cunt and it shocks you how good it feels, gasping up at the high ceiling of his room and throwing your head back. your hips move of their own accord, grinding against his mouth and his chin is slick from his saliva and your juices dripping from the pleasure.

an orgasm is rising up again, less intense than when you’re getting fucked but you recognize it getting ready to burst. you dare to grab onto his ashy, blond hair for stability. a drawn out, pitched moan is sung up to the ceilings as you cum. your body tenses and shakes, seeing stars litter your vision and you almost fall back but manage to catch yourself.

you try to catch your breath, blinking and keeping in your small little moans. and then you look down at bakugou, almost startled to see him just as overwhelmed as you. the flush on his face is something you had never seen before but you choose to make no comment. you slowly move off of him, still needing to do your duty and making sure that he’s satisfied but you find that he’s already done it himself.

his hand was on his cock, now starting to soften, and he had spilled his seed onto his stomach.

“clean me up.” bakugou orders gruffly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. you find your discarded dress on the floor and use it to wipe down his stomach and cock. you start to get ready to put the dress on so that you can return to your chambers but you’re given another order, “put that down and stay here.”

you’re obedient, letting the dress drop back onto the floor and laying back into the bed. the softness of it feels good against your back and it’s warm thanks to the heat of bakugou’s body. in the dim candlelight, you can see the scar of the cut that almost killed him. it makes you emotional almost, the anxiety and despair that had almost swallowed you whole had he not survived.

you chance moving yourself closer to him, closer to your savior, leaving the smallest gap that you feel would not offend him. “rest well, my king.”

bakugou grunts in acknowledgment, his eyes shutting and listening to your breaths become even as you drift to sleep first.

[queenothegeeks]

Hello! Sorry for the super long wait! This chapter is the prologue of the awkward creator series, which is based on a previous post I made which you can find Here!! I hope you enjoy!

Blah blah blah regular life with a Genshin obsessed probably neurodivergent gremlin gets hit by a truck blah blah blah Isekai shit happens. Let's skip to the good bit! 

You wake up with the most ear splitting headache known to man, feeling groggy and disoriented. Your limbs are hard to move and feel like jello, your ears are ringing, and to top it all off, you're seeing things. I mean, there's no way in hell you could actually be staring up at a 10 foot tall archon statue, right?

Just to be sure, you pinch yourself, hard.

“Ow!”

Yeah, not dreaming then. 

You know how in most stories the main character who gets isekaied is super calm, cool-headed, and just accepts their fate? How in most SAGAU fics the main character somehow balances playful banter and manages to not screw up the main timeline and spill everything about everyone? This apparently isn’t most fics, and you apparently are a horrible main character. 

“What the FUCK!?” HOW!?!? This can’t be happening ohmygodohmygodohmygod WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!?!?”

After a long while of screaming and hair pulling, you slump against Vanessa’s tree, trying to think of a plan.

“What do I do? I mean, I could stay here and try to wake up from this nightmare. Dream??? I don't know anymore. I can try and find town and pray that all of Mondstat doesn’t try to kill me… Maybe I should go to Springvale first. There's less people there, which means less playable characters, so maybe I can lay low for a bit longer. Then again, there's always the chance that they have no idea they are even in a game, and I'll just be a stranger to them…”

After much time spent thinking, you start to make the trek to Springvale. Taking in the sights and sounds of Mondstat, it’s more beautiful than you could have possibly imagined. No phone or computer could possibly do it justice. 

After what feels like forever, you arrive at the small and sleepy town of Springvale. Looking around, everything seems normal. No one is holding pointing swords or aiming bows at you. There's no cult meetings in the townsquare lit by candles, no elaborate summoning rituals, no ones preaching your life's history to the masses, demanding devotion to their “Creator” or “Decider”. It’s just a normal town. The hunters are just coming back from their day at work, Brook is still cooking her dishes, Myweiss is still singing songs of heartbreak by the windmill. It’s like no one cares about your existence.

~~Fast Forward a few weeks~~~

You've been in Genshin for about a month, and you've given up on the idea that you might wake up in your bed back home and realize that this has all been an elaborate fever dream or coma. You managed to secure a low stakes and low skill  job in Springvale, working as a meat and fruit vendor in the markets, as well as obtaining a low rent home on the outskirts of town. You've had contact with a few of Mondstats vision holders in the past, but nothing too serious.

 A passing glance at Kaeya when he did routine checks around Mondstat. 

A sale or two to Amber while she told you about her most recent adventures as an outrider.

Venti dueting with some of the other bards in town.

The distant explosions of Klee fish blasting in the pond.

Despite there being barely any signs that the playable characters have any knowledge of your existence, you can’t help but feel paranoid. The glances feel too long, the conversations feel too friendly and personal , the songs feel directed at you, with messages of reuniting and lyrics about longing.

You try to convince yourself that you're overreacting, and that everythings fine, but you just can’t seem to shake the feeling of being watched. 

You realize that you should trust your gut more often when you see a pair of eyes watching you through your window in the dead of night. You grab a sharp knife from the kitchen, but when you look again, there's no one there. 

Either they left, you stressed yourself out so much that you've started to see things, or whoever or whatever it was is just laying in wait.

Waiting for the perfect chance to make their next move…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Don’t be afraid to comment your thoughts!

This is my first fic so if you have any suggestions or notice any grammar mistakes please let me know!

[witless-winion1]

Do you think when Ody comes back, he is so immensely touch starved, like he is constantly walking around the palace fully wrapped around his family, climbing them, just fully around the palace staying as close as possible to them, asking Telecommunications to move back into the room w/ his wife and him so he can hold them both oh so tight so he can believe in his touch that they aren't going to be ripped from his arms, and he's back on a lil raft, alone, maybe even prays to hope like Hermes and Athena come over more often so he can hug them in thanks and like w/ how many friends lost, drags them into a cuddle pile on a surface of some sort (floor? Bed? IDK) so he can trust he isn't alone and those who helped him and those he loves are still there, passing out, and all they can hear is screams (begging for them to not leave please pleASE PLEASE) (I'm coming back for more once I have more ideas, but yeah)

why the hell did this take me so long to answer. Why have I been letting one of my precious few asks rot in the box. I am so sorry my fren, my brain saw the wall of text and activated both the EXCITEMENT and OVERWHELM buttons at the same time. But anyway. Yes.

Odysseus Absolutely clings to Penelope every chance he gets (and she does the same). Remember that comic with his empty throne while he just snuggles up with Penelope on her lap on her throne? I’m a big supporter of that. It’s canon.

He’s a bit more nervous about touching Telemachus, because he doesn’t know his son’s boundaries as well as he knows Penelope’s, but he learns pretty quickly that while is son is mostly unused to constant physical affection, he is very open to it.

In my mind, Telemachus doesn’t sleep with his parents unless it was a bad night for one of them (Tele and Pen suitor trauma, Ody…everything trauma), but they do frequently have cuddle piles in the evening, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they constantly fell asleep like that.

Also now that I’m considering it, I do think Telemachus moved his bedroom to directly down the hall from Penelope when he was a teenager to protect her, just in case. So he stays close even on regular nights. Though he does have to invest in earplugs.

Also, I LOVE the idea of him summoning Hermes and Athena purely to spend time with them.

When he prays to Athena, she’s there in a snap, and is initially rather confused. She’s not very used to physical affection or ‘cuddles’ (a term she does not use), but she finds she enjoys it more in her owl form. Although she refuses to participate in the “physical closeness sessions” when Hermes is there after the first time. She didn’t want him spilling to the rest of Olympus about how, in a sleepier owl form, she started arranging the blankets and pillows of the wedding bed into a nest around the edges of the bed. You know, to keep the chick (Telemachus) from falling off.

Hermes just laughs and dives into the bed, remarking that it’s somehow almost as soft as the ones on Mount Olympus! and playfully sits on Telemachus’ legs and says stuff to get Penelope to whack him with a pillow (or olive tree branch, depending on how bad it was). He also occasionally offers them moly. Odysseus always declines, but Penelope and Telemachus both tried it once out of curiosity.

Penelope then sat down and weaved a tapestry (magnificent enough to make Athena notice and ask about it later, leading to a very fun and intelligent conversation). She then fell asleep (passed out) at the loom when it was done. Odysseus carried her to bed, and she had no recollection of the night before or of weaving the tapestry.

When Telemachus tried moly, he just started mumbling about how he missed Argos. And then he stood up and started rambling about the legends Penelope had told him about Odysseus when he was a young boy. Odysseus nearly cries from both sentimentality and laughter at his son’s clumsy recollections.

But after a while, after some speculation with an old healer in the palace, Odysseus tried microdosing (am I using that word right?) moly in hope of helping with his nightmares, because of every night’s a repeat of “captain”, “but we’ll die”, “this life is amazing,” “waiting,” “get in the water,” “thunder bringer”, etc. He finds his dreams to be more chaotic, but less intense and traumatizing…? Like fever dreams? He decides to only use it on the worst nights, because he’d rather not see Polites and Eurylochus dressed up in winion and lotus-themed drag every night.

[theeternalwomb]

what you need to hear right now: channeled from spirit

message: I love this type of art, I have tons of it on my Pinterest but anyway that's sort of beside the point, I feel called to do a message but I feel very low on energy within as of late. I want to try and keep this one short, sweet, and clear. As you know, especially if you're a light worker or intuitive, shifts within the collective, within energy however it comes are always felt first by us. If there is a symptom of change, I'm feeling it 10x over so that I can prepare to relay that information to the collective because I would honestly consider myself to be a vessel. As I cope with my life and my own human experience I am also in the process of collecting important information so that I can guide the collective effectively and let me tell you, I've been through some SHIT with the opening force of 2024. Anyways, enjoy the reading and I pray that you find what you're looking for and what you need with me in my space today.

-

I.

"we've been watching you juggle both the physical and the spiritual within your hands for the past couple weeks, you may feel as though your worlds are colliding your the sky and the ocean has folded over with you in the center. There comes a time in one's life when the elements that make up their world must come into alignment and fuse with one another. You were told to learn what it meant to be a balanced individual, and so as you completed and closed off karmic lessons and overcame blockages you became closer and closer to equilibrium and these moments now are crucial as what you had needed all long is on its way to be delivered to you. You've been learning what it means to manage your time, manage your energy, and spread yourself where needed to obtain the results you desire. You have one foot in the spiritual realm and one foot in the physical world. Your development as of now is so incredibly important and we're supporting you in your journey forward.

Things may appear to be slow, backed up, or difficult at this time but movement is coming in quickly and to be expected soon. You've planted your seeds to receive and as you deserve, you shall. within the next two weeks for some of you and even a couple of days for a select few of you, things will begin to move forward or pick up momentum. Set your intentions straight and make sure that they are unwavering. there is success on the horizon, whatever is difficult or isn't working out for you that will change. You've grown so much, and your only job at this time is to nurture yourself and your manifestations, show yourself grace, ask for healing, ask for closure, and ask for the necessary tools to care for yourself as one should. And become clear and aligned with whatever you are manifesting, and put yourself in the position to receive by doing the work on your end and meeting us in the middle with your will and your gratitude. If there's a will there's a way even if you don't have everything in the world to offer in exchange. Come to terms with your power and the part you play in your world.

A select few of you are royalty within the spiritual realm you are kin of spirits who are highly respected and praised in the beyond and that is why the pile you chose depicts the divinity of a matriarch holding her child. Look for gold jewelry and gold trinkets and items if you choose to go out shopping or collecting. You feel called to build something or may have an idea, honor your ideas, and put actions behind what you desire to reap. Those of you who know that you are divinely protected are being heavily watched over and shielded, there could potentially be gossip by those of whom you've left behind or parted from but their tongues will be stilled when they speak of you they summon your spiritual court ( your ancestors, your spirit guides, guardian angels and all deities who call out to you and respect you.) their karma is sharp. Pay no mind to any negative energy sent to you by others. They talk only because they want to be paid great attention to but the audience lies in front of you and the universe's love and support is more than evident on your side.

You are about to succeed heavily, many things will be given to you, prosperity and congratulations are in order, the people will see. you are in a position to receive well in your finances, so well you will be able to give to others or keep your abundance in full cycle forward and back to you. We once told you that you would be compensated greatly for your hardship and the spiritual council has spoken and reached a solid verdict on your reward and the size and volume of the gifts you're about to receive. Do nothing but nurture thyself and expand from this point forward. be easy with secureness in your good fortune, do not let your fear or your anxiety eclipse you there is no purpose for any of it."

-

II.

"You asked to be free of the things that threaten to hold you hostage and one of the biggest of those things happens to be you. It's time for change and it's time for growth. As you step into the new year you have no choice but to be reset now after years and months and weeks of being broken. You need to be able to heal properly. It's time to come clean and be honest. There are many things within your life that have made lasting impressions on who you chose to be or what you chose to do for your survival even at the expense of others, even those you held dear to you. The process of living an honest life is not an easy one. It is easier to be deceptive, to use your pain as a weapon, or to do what you need to do to survive even if it means stepping on others in the process or not meeting the needs of those you've awoken to you. It is hard work to be in alignment, it is hard work to always take accountability, it is hard work to look at your shadow and truly acknowledge it, you know more than anyone."

interception: I'm getting the energy of the film "warrior" with tom hardy in where he plays a character named tommy who ends up having to fight his brother for a large reward in a wrestling championship. He was a marine in the military and has childhood trauma that shapes the way he presents himself to others and navigates in his interpersonal relationships and of course what his goals and purpose are in the film, I'm not going to spoil it for you but if this is your pile, I recommend you watch it. it's on Netflix. it also really does a good job of highlighting an aspect of ourselves that we carry in our spirits to marry ourselves to our trauma or particular factors of it to hide from troubling or conflicting emotions or circumstances. things that are "inherently" bad or negative in theory but can look "desirable" or "acceptable" to us because our motivation for accepting it happens to be a heavily skewed one.

" It's time you finally free yourself from your karma, from your vices, from your shadow, and from aspects of yourself or your life that threaten to keep you stuck or stagnant. You can't take with you all of these things into the new year, into the new world, into your new life. The devil is in the details and he has done nothing but hold onto your ankle this entire time. It is your responsibility to make the changes that you've been asking for or craving. You may fear loss or the reality of the damage you've caused, the opportunities you've put yourself in the position to lose. You will sit with yourself, you will look at yourself in the mirror or you will suffer and continue to do so under the hand of your own decisions. What you are owed in compensation for a hard life cannot be received if you cannot put yourself in the position to receive them. There's a need in life for personal given grace as well as accountability for the part we play in events and circumstances that take place in our lives, take time to self reflect, forgive yourself, show yourself grace and in turn find the courage to communicate with those you've wrong and/or begin your journey forwards.

In our lives, the consequence we bare the burden of however heavy the weight is never the full and eternal end there is always something after. You've proven yourself to be resilient, to be a force. Use your strengths and allow them to will you forward into the next chapter of your life. Someone significant in your past could've heavily admired you or seen in you things you could not see in yourself as they were able to sense higher beings in others however troubled their karma was. The love they had for you is the love you are about to receive from yourself. The things they saw in you that you could not see you are preparing to embody in full. Ace of pentacles upright for you here signifying abundance coming to you when you are able to open yourself up to receive it all. remain committed to your cause."

-

III.

"You're seeking out personal closure or looking for solutions to an issue that you don't have on end. Don't make the mistake of running from completion or leaving doors ajar because it is difficult to close them shut you know what you need to do. You need to make the proper investments for your life, you need to work for your improvement or to receive the life you have felt you were entitled to all along but the mistake you've made along the way all this time is attempting to take short cuts and be strategic, deceptive or ingenuine in your method to try and deceive. You are used to putting on a mask or trying on costumes to appeal what others desire from you so you can receive the result you prefer from them, their approval, their support, their validation. Your biggest enemy is the closet full of masks you've accumulated they work against you, they push people away, they scare people of value, and they mislead as you've asked them to. Your life and it's events however unfortunate or difficult have existed to serve you a purpose and put you on your righteous path forward in alignment with your highest self and the life they live but instead you've sharpened it and allowed it to be used as a weapon against others and against yourself.

put your strengths and your adaptability where it's needed and not into being a sheep in wolves clothing or traveling through the night in such a way in which you won't be seen. Abundance will come for you and doors will open up for you where you set your intention and where you are unwaveringly honest and true. Reflect on your choices, your habits, and your behaviors in order to decide what needs to be changed and what needs to be improved and do it honestly this time and set the intention to change it not make another mask of it and store it away for another time. It is not your place to control the way everyone looks at you and how you are perceived or if they are willing to give to you or not. You control or manipulate what does not belong to you from places of fear you store deep within you and it is time to heal and ready yourself to move forward and leave a karmic version of yourself behind. Pack up the things you need to bring with you and be rid of the rest. Do not be resistant to change you must move."

[beware-of-pity]

Sunny's Masterlist

Started: 01/12/2024

Last Updated: 02/04/2025

The Batman (2022)

Sins of the Father(s) ִֶָ . ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

Summary :

Bruce and you had known each other for as long as you could remember. His father and yours had been best pals and business patterns before Thomas Wayne and his wife Martha had met their demise in that dark ally when Bruce was just nine. You, on the other hand, were not privy to what he had gone through after your father was mysteriously assassinated while conducting his political campaign as he ran for senator of the state of New Jersey after years as Gotham's mayor. Upon the demise filling both of your lives and that of the people of Gotham, Bruce swore vengeance against all criminals, an oath tempered by a sense of justice for which he trained himself physically and intellectually, all to become Gotham City's guardian and protector. Now, two years into this project of his, which you've been kept in the dark of, you've both lost sight of one another. In hopes of getting closer once more, you invited him for Sunday's lunch. Unbeknown to your doubts, he comes. (Formerly titled as 'Bury me at Makeout Creek')

Chapter I: The Deal

Chapter II: You are here (and so am I)

Chapter III: You kicked and cried like a bullied child (A grown man of 25)

Chapter IV: Super rich kids with nothing but loose ends (Super rich kids with nothing but fake friends)

Chapter V: Is Pius pious 'cause God loves pious? (Socrates asked whose bias do y'all seek? All for Plato, screech)

Chapter VI: People say we're alike (They say we've got the same hair, it's you and me on the coin)

House of the Dragon

𓆰𓆪 You believe me like a god (I destroy you like I am) 𓆰♕𓆪

Summary :

Your family was dead; everyone had been killed. The war had been fought, many had died, and the victor had ascended the throne in the name of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Everyone was dead…..except you, your mother and your little niece, Jaehaera.

TW: Mature. Self Harm/Implied Self Harm. Self Hatred/Emotional Hurt. Hurt/Comfort. Complicated family relationships. Reader is a Targtower.

Chapter I: I fell in love with a war (nobody told me it ended)

Chapter II: Strangers

Chapter III: Cathedral where you cannot breathe (no need to pray, no need to speak)

Chapter IV: "Angel" he calls me (does he know that I'm falling?)

Chapter V: Not a lot, just forever (Intertwined, sewn together)

Chapter VI: What fear a man like you brings upon a woman like me (Please, don't look at me)

Chapter VII: Trust in me, I will rise (Through the fire, in the sky)

Harry Potter

𐙚 Cinnamon Girl ⚯ ͛

Summary:

Only dreams can awaken consciousness. As the final battle between him and the Dark Lord draws nearer every day, Harry attends his sixth year at Hogwarts, warped by strange dreams, which he's sure someone is having a hand at. Hidden away by the shadows of the darkness in which those hands are summoned, he finds a girl not in synch with the world she dwells in. A seer, a siren, or perhaps just a girl he finds himself madly intrigued by.

Prologue: Oh, my life is changing everyday (In every possible way)

Chapter I: Oh, Who is she? (A misty memory, a haunting face)

Chapter II: I know you; I walked with you once upon a dream (That look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam)

Chapter III: But then she noticed me glance at her (I had no choice but to dance with her)

Chapter IV: This is a happy house (We're happy here, in the happy house)

Chapter V: You're starrin' in my dreams, in magazines (You're looking right at me)

Chapter VI: Oh beautiful poison tree (Let your power grow in me, Let your sorrow flow in me)

Law and Order: Special Victims Unit

Native New Yorkers

A year into joining the squad, you find yourself embroiled in the murder of four women whose lives resemble too closely your own. Amidst your growing relationship with a certain detective, will you survive unscathed or fall at the hands of that which wants to hurt you?

Chapter I: Where did all those yesterdays go (When you still believed love could really be like a Broadway show)

[artist-kreating-stuff]

Leave her, Johnny

Clone Trooper x GN!Medic Reader

Warnings: mentions of bodily injury and death

—————

You were only barely out of medic training when the summons came through for more medics on the front lines. You, along with other medics, some being fresh graduates like yourself, were sent to various outskirts of the war to provide support in the med bays.

You were barely there a day before things quickly fell by the wayside.

The Droid Army attacked in the middle of the night, catching everyone by surprise. The clone troopers were forced into the fight, and you and the other medics were forced right along with them to provide whatever backup you could.

As inexperienced in combat as you were, you tried to keep to the outskirts of the battle. So far you had only come across troopers that were already dead, smoking holes decorating their armor. Each sighting caused the guilt to weigh heavier and heavier on your shoulders, and you quickened your pace, praying to whichever deity that was listening that you would at least be able to save one trooper before the battle was over.

Finally, you spotted movement. The trooper was lying prone on the ground and wreathed in blaster fire smoke, but he was visibly twitching, which meant he was still alive. You thanked whatever deity had listened and asked them to keep the good luck going as you slid to your knees beside the trooper. “Don’t worry, trooper - I’ve got you!”

You whipped off the clone’s bucket, revealing the prominent cheekbones and sharp military haircut that all clones shared. His skin was pale and clammy, but he flashed a weak smile up at you. “D-dang, are you a s-sight for sore eyes…” He drawled, though the tone fell short on account of his constant wheezing.

You offered a tense smirk of your own as you went about checking the damage. “What’s your name, trooper?” You asked him, trying to keep him talking in case he had a concussion.

The trooper coughed harshly before answering, “D-don’t have one… I-I was released from Kamino about a week ago… I-I’m a Shiny, as the c-commanders call ‘em…” He flashed you another strained smile. “T-this was my f-first battle… and a-apparently my last…”

Panic shot through your system at his nonchalant words, but you tried to keep calm. “Don’t say that, trooper,” you told him as you attempted to pry off his damaged chest plate to assess the skin underneath. “You and I are going to get out of this hellhole together, you hear me?”

The trooper laughed again, but there was no mirth in it this time. “D-don’t lie to me, Doc,” He told you, though there was no heat behind it. “I-I can already t-tell it’s bad…”

You wanted to tell him otherwise, but you couldn’t deny what you were seeing. The droids had managed to clip him with a shot right to his abdomen, charring the skin around the injury and turning the exposed muscle black. From what you could see, you guessed they had hit one of his kidneys. A kill shot.

You thought back to the dead troopers you had seen on the battlefield and resigned yourself to the fact that this trooper would soon be joining them. “I-I’m sorry, trooper, but…”

“I-it’s okay…” He said gently, gently touching one of your hands, both of which were still clamped around his chest plate. “I-I knew this would happen eventually… we all did…” His voice was pained, but his deep brown eyes were full of acceptance. “I-if not our first b-battle, t-then later on… We d-didn’t expect to see the end of t-the war…”

Like his previous statement, you so desperately wanted to rebuke this one, but it was true. Even among the medics, it was a widely held belief that most of the clones wouldn’t live to see the end of the war. And where one clone fell, several more would soon take his place. This trooper was shiny and new, fresh off of Kamino, yet already living (or rather, dying) proof of that fact.

They were viewed as expendable, every last one of them. The unfairness of it cut you to your core.

“I’m so, so sorry…” you admitted redundantly, slowly lowering his chest plate as you tried in vain to fight off tears.

“I-it’s okay,” He repeated, moving his hand to gently grasp your forearm. “A-at least I w-won’t be alone… t-that’s more than most t-troopers can say.”

That statement was the only one you wanted to say was true, but you heard an anguished cry and were reminded of your job. There were other troopers fighting and dying, and you had already spent too much time on this one. You knew you had to get back in the field, but the thought of leaving this trooper alone while he was in pain twisted your stomach.

The trooper seemed to sense your inner turmoil, tightening his hold on your hand and causing you to look back down at him. The naked desperation in his eyes nearly broke the dam on your tears. “P-please… stay with me?” He asked tentatively, as if he was already fully aware that you had to leave.

After that small plea, there was no force in the galaxy that would make you vacate his side. Without speaking, you changed your hold on his hand to a more secure one and hoisted his body into your lap, mindful of the gaping hole in his abdomen. The trooper seemed to feel better now that he was sure that you weren’t about to leave him, smiling and relaxing into your hold. “Thank you,” He mumbled into the armor of your medic uniform.

You simply nodded and held him a fraction tighter, wanting to convey as much comfort as you could during his final moments. The conversation took an uncomfortable lull as you both waited for death to arrive, punctuated only by the distant sounds of battle and the trooper’s labored breathing. The silence was unbearable, so you were thinking of ways to fill the void when an idea struck you.

“You know,” you started softly, feeling the trooper’s hand shake in yours. “I came from a mostly ocean planet, like you. It had several landmasses, though - it wasn’t fully ocean, unlike Kamino.”

The trooper scoffed wetly, sounding like it was more from pain than amusement. “S-seeing is b-believing…” He said lightly.

Not that I’ll ever get to see it.

Both of you heard the unsaid words, but neither decided to comment on it. “Because there was so much ocean, most of our trade was seafood-based,” You continued. “I grew up next to the harbor, and everyday I would watch as fishing ships came and went on the water. Every time a crew came back from a particularly long trip on the water, they would sing a little song as they unloaded their ship. It was their own special way of ending a journey. I could sing it for you, if you’d like.”

To your surprise, the trooper nodded his head vigorously. “Y-yes… yes please,” He begged, clutching your hand with a new energy. “A-anything to fill the silence…”

You nodded in return and readjusted the trooper’s body against yours, keeping his ear close to your chest so he could at least feel a human heartbeat as he passed. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, pulling the verses of the song from memory. You were in no way a professional singer but you started to sing softly…

I thought I heard the Old Man say,

“Leave her, Johnny, leave her!

“Tomorrow you will get your pay,

“And it’s time for us to leave her.”

Leave her, Johnny, leave her.

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!

For the voyage is long and the winds won’t blow,

And it’s time for us to leave her.

Oh, the wind was foul and the sea ran high.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her.

She shipped it green and none went by,

And it’s time for us to leave her.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her.

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!

For the voyage is long and the winds won’t blow,

And it’s time for us to leave her.

I hate to sail on this rotten tub.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her.

No grog allowed and rotten grub,

And it’s time for us to leave her.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her.

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!

For the voyage is long and the winds won’t blow,

And it’s time for us to leave her.

We swear by rote for want of more.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her.

But now we’re through, so we’ll go on shore,

And it’s time for us to leave her.

Sometime after the first verse, your eyes opened and you took in the sight of the trooper as he listened to your song.

His eyes closed after the second verse.

His lips curved upward into a smile after the third verse.

His breathing started to hitch after the fourth verse.

His grip went lax after the fifth verse.

He stopped moving altogether after the sixth verse.

By the time you finished the seventh verse, your fingers had wandered up to the pulse point beneath his ear, and you had confirmed that he had finally passed.

The dam bowed and shifted, yet you still refused to let it break just yet. You resolved to finish what you had started, for the trooper’s sake. You barreled forward and sang the last verse with something akin to a broken cry:

Leave her, Johnny, leave her!

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!

For the voyage is long and the winds won’t blow,

And it’s time for us to leave her!

With that, the dam finally shattered and your tears finally started to fall with an unbridled ferocity. You slumped forward, cradling the trooper’s body closer to your chest. You mourned the life you had just met and now would never get to know. You lamented the bright light the galaxy didn’t deserve yet was given anyway, only to snuff it out without a second thought.

He didn’t even have a name yet…

The sound of a throat clearing startled you out of your mournful reverie, and you whipped around to see the head medic standing behind you, hands on his hips. You were suddenly aware of the very compromising position you were in, with a dead trooper’s body in your lap and his limp hand in yours, his chest and abdomen exposed.

“I-I… h-he was…” You stuttered, attempting to save any face you had left. “H-he asked me to…”

“No need to apologize,” the head medic told you; it was only then that you realized he was smiling. “As a medic, your main job is to provide the troopers comfort in their darkest moments. And from what I can see, you provided whatever comfort you could during this trooper’s final darkest moment. Be proud of yourself for that.” His expression tightened as he pointedly glanced at the surrounding terrain. “The battle is over. Come - we must count the dead and treat the injured.”

You nodded decisively and looked down at the rapidly cooling trooper in your arms. You didn’t understand how anyone could appear so peaceful in death, yet he looked as if he was only sleeping. You took some solace in knowing that you were the reason for that peace, that you gave him a comforting memory to leave with. With trembling hands, you gently lowered his body to the ground and folded his hands above his blasted abdomen. You hoped with all of your heart that someone would come by and give him the burial he deserved. Well, you could get his serial designation number and find out for yourself later.

With one last sigh, you got to your feet and made to follow the head medic. At the last second, you glanced back over your shoulder at the deceased trooper and sang one last line under your breath:

It’s time for us to leave you.

—————

I want to believe that at least some troopers were comforted during their final moments. They deserve that much.

Here’s the song:

[senselessviolets]

"so come on, mess me up."

Cassian Andor x Original Character

Rated M (Smut/Angst)

Word Count: 4.1k

AO3 Link

WARNINGS:

Unprotected sex, age gap/difference, power imbalance, rough sex, oral (f recieving), taunting, lots of arguing.

Author's Notes:

Song title (and fic very loosely inspired by) "Come On Mess Me Up" by Cub Sport. I'd let this man snap me in half like a toothpick, what more can I say?

Nyla Haccard is the 23-year-old daughter of a high-profile senator from Ralltiir and has secretly joined the Rebel Alliance fight against the Empire. She figures her overly-protective mother would annihilate her for joining the band of rebels, but Nyla knows she'd absolutely implode if she knew the kind of man her daughter had been working closely with for months now.

There was something delectably frustrating about him. It was innate as if his sole purpose in life was to throw me off balance. Our relationship hadn’t begun to take shape until we started being assigned to the same missions. We were efficient and always managed to get the job done relatively unscathed. Our case officer, General Draven, saw value in Cassian taking someone like me under his wing. I’d shown enough promise or they wouldn’t have recruited me in the first place. My family ties to the Senate gave me access that they couldn’t afford to lose. 

We represented Ralltiir, hailing from a long line of masons who became wealthy mining the endless deposits of marble embedded in the planet’s core. Regardless of what riches we’d come into; a long successful lineage was the truest indicator of wealth in the Inner Core. It’s why my parents shelled out every last cent they had to send me and my five other siblings to the finest educational institutes across the galaxy. My brothers and sisters all attended university on Coruscant. They dreamed of securing cushy jobs in the Senate all the while playing dress-up as politicians. I made a point of getting as far away from that way of life as I could, begging my mother and father to let me attend Theed University on Naboo. I’d said I wanted to pursue the arts and embrace my creativity. Of course, this was all a lie and a cover to join the Rebel Alliance in the fight to overthrow the Empire.

It was a relatively simple facade to maintain. Due to me being the ‘middle child’ and the most average of the family, I was able to fly under the radar rather easily. The vast amount of space in between us didn’t hurt either. I would have to take the occasional holotransmission and pray they couldn’t hear the loud metal clanking sounds of X-Wings being repaired in the background. Every family gathering—a bornday, Life Day, or some Imperial soiree—was an opportunity. At least that’s what General Draven told me back when I initially joined. Did part of me feel some intense pang of guilt in my stomach every time my mother would wrap me in a big embrace, knowing I was secretly siphoning intel off of her personal datapad? 

Of course. But that was a small price to pay for the cause. 

Gods know people had given up far more to get to where we are now. Cassian never let me forget that. Any hint of ungratefulness from me and he’d chew me out like there was no tomorrow. This latest briefing was no different. Me, him, and several other rebels were summoned at mealtime. We were meant to be discreet and to keep things strictly on a need-to-know basis which Cassian also hounded me for on the way to the briefing.

“...Draven means it, Ny. He does not want any chatter about this. It stays on the ground floor so no gossiping to your friends about it. Do you got it?” he chastises. 

“Oh, I’ve got it,” I say, my eyes finding their way to the ceiling, “Thanks for the much-needed reminder though.”

I pivot through the doorway of the mostly vacant strategy room. Draven, Vesti, Amon, and Zu-Lee stand waiting quietly around the holotable. A figure adorned in white walks into view, right out of the corner of my eye.

“Senator Mothma, I-I wasn’t expecting to see you,” I say, caught off guard by her appearance. 

Her presence was rare due to her being an incredibly busy woman but when she was here, you could feel it everywhere else. The energy becomes different. Things felt more certain and objectives became clearer. Mothma was more than pivotal; she was practically the lifeline of the cause.

“...how is your mother?” she asks, giving me a modest smile. 

“She is well,” I nod, “Thank you.”

Draven stands up straight, casting the blueprint of an unknown building onto the holotable. 

“Well, now that we’re all accounted for…let’s begin.”

///

“This is not gonna work,” Cassian mutters to himself, moments after exiting the strategy room.

I don’t think he had intended for me to hear him because when I intercept him in the hallway, Cassian feigns ignorance. 

“What did you just say?” I frown. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he says, even quieter.

“Don’t do that. Don’t be like that,”

“Don’t be like what?”

“Like a damn child! If you’ve got a problem with something, how about you speak up and come at it like an adult? Instead of this grumbly mumbly shit you love to pull whenever something doesn’t go your way,”

I can see something snap behind his eyes. I’m sure being deemed a child by someone so much younger than him had to be a major blow to his ego. He takes me by both shoulders and pulls me out of the flow of foot traffic and over to the side. We’re better secluded in the nook we find ourselves in. He briefly looks over his shoulder, ensuring we haven’t caused any disturbance. 

“I’ll have you know I didn’t have any expectations for this mission! Any! I didn’t know what base we were meant to infiltrate or which Imperial Officer we were supposed to track down!” Cassian says through gritted teeth, “How could I have any idea what this would entail?”

“Gods, you know what I mean. Just say you don’t think I can handle it. Just say you don’t think I’m good enough for the job—”

“You know that’s not how I feel!” “Then stop acting like that’s how you feel, asshole!” 

I storm away from Cassian, not giving so much as a glance back at him. But suddenly my movements are halted and I find a firm hand around my wrist. It’s tight, not enough to hurt or bruise but hard and swift enough to send a shockwave throughout the rest of my body. 

“Let go of me,” I say, lowly.

I hardly struggle. His jaw is clenched and brown eyes attempt to pry open my soul. We’re so close, that our breaths repel off of each other. A loose lock of umber-colored hair falls in front of his face—just above his eyelashes—and I try to suppress any sort of expression that follows. I’d be panting from the sheer tensity of the argument but pride tells me to keep it together. I can’t afford to unravel in front of him. Then I’d only be confirming his seemingly preconceived notions of me; that I’m not good enough. 

That I’m not cut out for the job. 

“Let go of me, you bastard!” I yell, far too loudly.

Silence overtakes the hallway and several passerbys stop in their tracks. I recognize one of them being a sentry from the recon-tower above base. He must be off for the night. I bet this altercation he’s just witnessed will worm its way into his and his pals’s topics of discussion in the Mess Hall later on. My mind is going a mile a minute. I can feel the blood thumping in my ears and the warm red hue that floods my cheeks. Embarrassment was an understatement. 

“I said, let go…” I say, sighing as he releases me. 

I speed off in the other direction, heading straight for my quarters. I don’t look back until I’m safe and secure behind the sliding door of my barracks. My heart still beats with vigor. A puff of air escapes my lips as I take a few steps forward and let myself fall face-first into my sleeper, groaning into my pillow. Cassian must really be that exhausting because, after a moment, I find myself drifting off. 

And away I go.

///

“Ny…Nyla? I-It’s me. Are you in there?” a haggard voice asks behind the door of my quarters, “Nyla?”

My eyes snap and I lift my head begrudgingly. 

“No, I’m not. Come back later perhaps?” 

“We need to talk. Sooner would be preferred,”

“Maybe I don’t care about what you prefer. Or what you want. So piss off.” I spit. 

The doors slide open before I even have time to react. I scramble to my feet as a silhouette–a mere blur in my peripheral—strides towards me. I pivot so I’m facing him. In my sleep, I must have shed a few layers. I’m only left with my bare essentials; attire he’d seen me in plenty of times before aboard his ship during particularly long journeys. I’m not entirely sure how much time has passed since we last saw each other but Cassian’s still wearing the same clothes. His jaw is clenched. There’s a fervor behind his eyes. 

Clearly, he came with an agenda.

“Oh, did you not hear me correctly? I believe I said…‘scram’,” I mock, making dramatic gestures in front of his face. 

“Enough of that,” he grunts, “You did a real good job making a fool of yourself back there. But then again, you’ve never been the most subtle, have you?”

“Subtle? You wanna talk about subtlety? How many bodies have I had to drag out of sight because you couldn’t show some damn trigger discipline, hm? And you want to paint me as the brash, impulsive one. That’s cute,”  

He paces across the room, letting his emotions drive his movement. 

“I should never have taken Draven’s offer. Evidently, it was a mistake. Us being assigned together. You’re impossible. You’re immature, spoiled, selfish, and have no grasp of what we’re up against,”

“Don’t you say that! Don’t you ever say that! I know what’s at stake. I know the risks. I’m not in it for the same personal glory you are. Who are you trying to impress seriously? No, seriously. Who? The other girls on base?” I scoff, “Please. If only you knew what they had to say about you,”

“I don’t care about that,” Cassian tries to convince himself.

I saunter closer to his position. His feet stay firmly planted. He doesn’t turn away. Our eyes are locked on one another. I don’t think I’ve ever held someone’s gaze for this long, much less a man’s.

“Sure you don’t,” I say in a drawl, “...y’know, it’s a big galaxy, Cass, but word travels fast. I know your type. I know how the second you see a married woman…you do cartwheels. You’re a complete and total skeeze. Through and through,”

Something shifts within him.

“...what else…what else have you heard about me, hm? Do you think a man like me…the type of man you think I am…would be able to stand this close to a beautiful woman and not be able to resist her?”

“W-Well, I’m not married so…I wouldn’t do it for you, I don’t think,” I say, lowly. 

I notice a stray piece of lint on the shoulder of his jacket. Nonchalantly, I go to brush it off of him but Cassian’s reflexes beat me to it. In a split second, his hand has encased itself around my wrist. His reaction startles me so much, that I laugh from the brief terror.

“Gods, would you relax! There was something on your jacket, I was just–”

“Don’t laugh at me like that.”

“...why not? I thought you didn’t care about what women thought of you. Mm, but maybe…maybe I’m the exception…am I just that irresistible, huh?”

I notice his eyes dart slightly down several times. It wouldn’t be until later that I’d realize he was fixated on my lips. His grip on my wrist doesn’t loosen but I’m not exactly itching to get him off of me. 

“Well…,” he begins.

“Well, what, Cass?”

“...aren’t you going to yell for me to let go?”

Ignoring the heat from somewhere deep within me, I decidedly pursed my lips, simultaneously sealing my fate. Leading the way, I pull us in the direction of my sleeper. He follows along as if my wrist were his guide. I sit on the edge of my bed, scooting back until we’re both completely on it. He props himself up with his free hand, pinning my hand to the mattress. A slight roll of my hips brings my thigh right into the front of his pants. This simple manuever has rendered him breathless it seems. Those frantic eyes don’t know whether to land on my own or my lips. I choose for him, leaning upwards into a firm but passionate kiss. His eyes flutter shut and I feel his lashes brush against my own. I swear I hear the slightest rasp of a whine in the back of his throat but before I know it—his two hands have found purchase on both sides of my face. He takes charge, his tongue ghosting across mine. I swear I feel lightheaded, even though I’ve done nothing strenuous enough to warrant such a symptom. 

“We…,” he moans in between kisses, “...we can’t be doing this,”

My lips find their way into the crook of his neck, grazing my teeth against the firm flesh. 

“Why?” I immediately challenge, “Because you’re older…because you’re my superior…because if they found out, they’d find the nearest moon and dump me there? No chance. They don’t give a shit. Are you even listening to yourself right now?”

“Less talking,” he says slowly, dragging his cold calloused hands up my stomach, “...fuck. You’re warm.” 

The fabric of my tank top catches on his fingertips and he pulls the shirt above my chest, exposing myself to him. Maybe a more decent man might take a delicate pace but Cassian wastes no time exploring my body. His hot wet mouth is everywhere. I don’t stifle my whimpers in the slightest. 

“It’s wrong….it’s wrong to want the things I want from you,” he growls, mouth full of flesh.

“What do you want from me then?”

In an instant, he’s off the bed and using my hips as handgrips to tug me to the very edge so my rear is hanging limp off of it, only held up by his shoulders. It’s a swift and seductive show of strength that I quickly try to take a mental snapshot of, knowing I’ll be thinking about it later. I wonder briefly if it's a technique he mastered over the years spent with many lovers. Beyond the obvious slick gathering between my thighs, my level of excitement only blooms at the thought of what else he might have in store.  He makes quick work of my bottoms, speckling my thighs with kisses all over as he traverses upwards to where I want him the most. Sometimes those kisses turn into gentle little bites. I practically squeal at the sensation, giggling as I feel him smile against my skin. I’m too shy in the moment to look down in his direction but I let my hand wander until I feel his umber locks, stroking softly when I find him. And then two chilled fingers run from the top of my mound downwards, pausing to circle my opening.

“This wet already, hm? What? Am I just that irresistible?” he playfully mocks me. 

I yank on his hair roughly in protest, to which I receive a light slap on my thigh.

“Hey. Behave,” Cassian says, dipping his tongue into me.

The whine that emits from my lips is so pathetic, that I expect him to give me a hard time about it—maybe do another hilarious impression of me. Instead, he has found far more productive uses for that mouth of his. That mouth I’ve wanted to slap him because of more times than I can count. The same one I’ve fantasized about absolutely devouring me ever since we first met. It was exactly as I’d imagined it.

The heat of his tongue, followed immediately by his cool breath as he inhales before diving in again. Before he inhales me. His head locked between my thighs, driving my lower half upwards as his strong shoulders rise. Clearly, his confidence is growing. I finally am feeling bold enough to look down. All I can see is a head of hair moving rapidly, desperate to keep up with the gyration of my hips. As if he can sense me looking down, he looks up, palming around for my other hand. I give it to him and our fingers interlock.

The intimacy brings me even closer to the edge. Before squeezing my palm tightly, Cassian then brings my hand to his scalp. For a moment I’m confused but then I realize that he wants me to use both of my hands to drive his head further into my cunt. So his hair momentarily becomes reins that I use at my discretion. I’m not gentle, but I’ve more than gotten the impression by now that he doesn’t want me to be. I’m erratic. I’m frenzied. I’m certainly not doing anything to dispel the “selfish” accusation he lobbed at me maybe ten minutes prior. 

That feels like a lifetime ago at this point though.

The pleasure growing from my depths is a warm and angry one. I didn’t know I could feel like this; I didn’t know I would like feeling like this. That same pleasure nearly spills over before Cassian positions me once again using my hips. This time he turns me over onto my stomach. The hand he has pressed into the small of my back keeps me in place. His other one is trying to free himself of his trousers desperately. Struggling to undo the buckle one-handed, I sit up, reaching back to offer him a hand of my own. My head bounces down onto the mattress as he swiftly pins both of my wrists to my back and with a grunt, manages to finally rip the belt and his pants off. 

“Not going to lie, I figure you’d make me finish,” I pant, “...but only so you could lord it over me ‘till the end of time,”

“Oh, baby. You think I’m done with you?” The combined use of baby and the intrusion of his cock entering me have me moaning wantonly. Cassian slowly bottoms out, jutting his hips so he’s as deep as physically possible. He’s almost flattened himself on top of me, the scruff of his beard prickling at my left ear. 

“Would the type of man you think I am go slow like this?” he coos, “Huh, baby? Or would he fuck you hard and rough like he paid for it?”

Cassian’s teeth nip the edge of my ear and I gasp. But the sudden punishing pace that he rails into me with practically has me winded. Every time he collides with my core, I’m left seeing stars. It’s indescribable. Like a flick of spark a flint and steel would give you. It’s hot and blinding and gone in an instant. Over and over again. 

“Touch yourself if you need,” Cass rasps, “but I’m not stopping.”

He gives me back one of my hands and I immediately go for my clit. My smaller more acute thrusts are a nice contrast to his more broad, all-encompassing ones. Meanwhile, he’s now moved on to grabbing my shoulders and using those to propel himself rapidly. It’s all so blissful and brutal. I don’t want it to end but I know if he continued like this for an eternity, I’d be broken down to a speck of nothing in no time.

It was almost a guarantee that I was going to be sore tomorrow. Future-Me was probably cursing the Present-Me for allowing him to go at it so hard but that was her problem to deal with. My only objective was to finish myself off before he could. I did not want to give that bastard the satisfaction. But the scent of myself in his facial hair made me realize what a lost cause that was. Before I know it, I’m spasming around him, cursing his name in a series of sobs. My mind goes blank and I’m pliant as he continues pushing into me. 

“Where d’you want me?” he says in a tone so husked I can barely understand him at first.

“Want you?”

“Want it. Where do you want it?” he reiterates.

“In me,” I murmur. 

“In you? Are you sure?”

“Did I stutter?” 

Cassian presses down on me hard as he cums and I groan. I can feel him throb inside of me. His hands now trace along my jaw, finally halting his movements whilst giving me a bit of reprieve. My quarters’ steady silence is soon deafening. We can hear everything; our rampant heartbeats, the wetness connecting us, the sound of skin simply brushing against skin. If he were a lover, it would be a beautiful moment. A moment of reflection, mutual understanding even. A reminder that what we were doing was okay and that we both cared for one another and we were safe.

With Cassian, these were partial truths. I have to suppress the part of me that wishes we were whole, that we had something beyond this shared neverending fight for survival. He gives me a feather-light kiss on the back of my neck. Something so tender that could only come from a partner. Maybe we could pretend. Maybe we would pretend. Show each other a brief devotion and chase off the doubts that swarmed us constantly. Outflank the regret and shame and make them both go darting off in the other direction.

Our greatest fears would fear us instead.

It was a nice escape from the happenstance. Is it strange that it wasn’t until this very moment that I fully processed Cassian being inside of me? Witnessing my most inner self. The man who I’ve wanted to punch more times than I can count. I burst out laughing at the thought. 

“What? What is it?” he smiles, lifting off of me.

“Nothing,” I giggle, “It’s nothing, it’s just…you.”

I turn over, sighing a sigh that could only be sighed from a girl who’d just gotten her brains fucked out. Cassian rolls out of my bed and I’m able to finally get a good look at his physique. He’s about as toned as I’d expect him to be and his chest hair is trimmed and neat. It’s a brief spell of sightseeing as Cassian is quick to redress. I hardly have the energy to make myself neat again, instead opting to use my bedding to obscure my lower half. Once I get the notion that he’s about to depart, I stop to query him. Not because I was hoping we would cuddle afterward (I never saw him as the type), but because I was curious what kind of shenanigans he was going to get up to before we’d have to leave in the morning. 

“...the U-wing. There’s some upkeep I have to do if we’re to make it off the surface successfully…for the mission,” he answers with a small smirk.

Color me surprised.

“W-Wait, so…you’re gonna let me go through with it? You’re not gonna blab to Draven like you said you would?”

“After having some time to reconsider…and to…cool off, I have had a change of mind,”

“Yeah, I wonder what spurred that,” I scoff, bringing the sheets up over my chest. 

“That’s not what I meant, Ny. I-I hold out on you sometimes…because I don’t want you getting hurt. Or killed. I have a lot I carry with me but…I’d rather not add you to that list if you know what I mean,”

I swallow thickly. Finally, some insight. Some clarity into this man’s thought process and psyche. But part of me questions if it’s unveiled itself too late. The damage was done. I lean forward and swing my legs off the side of the bed, looking up at him with doe eyes. He tenderly brushes a few stray locks of hair away from my face. 

“...t-that’s fine, Cass. But for this to work, I need you to believe that when the time comes and it's down to the wire and things are looking dark…that I’ll be able to handle it. Handle myself. Handle whatever gets thrown at us. I’d ask you to trust me but...we both know how little weight that word holds in this pursuit. So I’ll ask you instead…can you believe in me?”

A moment of stillness passes.

“Yes,” he says, firmly, “but that doesn’t mean I’m still not gonna do everything in my power to save your skin when the time comes. No matter how much you drive me crazy.”

End.

[chaoticbasicallyuselessbisexual]

Butterflies

listen, should I be sleeping? yes. was I supposed to be studying? also yes. did I write this instead of studying for the exam I have in like eight hours? also yes.

so please, appreciate the genius of my sleep deprived, tired brain (because I really have no idea what this is either)

Common symptoms of “Stomach butterflies” include: increased dopamine levels, elevated heart rate and tension in the abdomen.

Tension in the abdomen

Everyone knows the feeling; there’s a pretty girl sitting in your lap and you just can’t remember whether you locked after yourself when you were leaving your room. You’re going on a first date and can’t stop stress-sweating. You’re scared of heights and are looking down, where it just doesn’t feel comfortable anymore. And that’s when the feeling starts. With a squeeze on your stomach, the fear comes with hands ice cold and grips and will never let go. There goes your heart, beating like crazy, screaming at you to just haul ass. Sammy read somewhere that such fear is also tied to increased dopamine levels… Seems kinda hard to believe, doesn’t it? Isn’t dopamine supposed to be one of those happy-go-lucky hormones? Yeah, well, I don’t know about that stuff.

What I do know is that this kind of fear never ends well. Not when you drown in it, anyway. If the pretty girl just gets up and leaves, sometimes it’s better than the situation getting awkward and you sweating your balls off (at least you get to check if you locked the door). Sometimes it’s just better to down a shot before your first date, to get that extra confidence boost, instead of stressing about it so bad you can’t eat anything the whole night. And sometimes it’s just better to shut your eyes and pray to whatever’s listening, than to look down an endless pit and freeze in fear.

Being who I am and doing what I do, I’ve felt all kinds of fear. I know fear like the back of my hand. I know the feeling it gives you when it curls around your insides, stealing all your warmth and making its home there. I know it like I know my gun, like I know my car. I know the feeling it gives me just before I’m about to do something stupid. Something I shouldn’t do. (Like walking into a nest of vamps alone. Like going on a potentially really bad hunt without calling Sam, or without calling Bobby. Like summoning an unknown, possibly very dangerous creature that we know nothing about into an abandoned warehouse.) I know when it’ll come for me and when I can count on it to keep my senses sharp - to keep me alive.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. Right. Never believe that, kids. Always listen to your fear. And if it tells you to stab the guy that just caused a poweroutage in the warehouse you summoned him into, you fucking stab him with anything you’ve got.

And my fear told me to stab him. So I did.

Fear curled her freezing hands around my insides and squeezed. It leaned deep into me, one hand pressing on my chest, and whispered in my ear.

Run. Hide. He’s gonna burn out your eyes.

I probably should’ve listened. But oh well, I hardly ever do.

When he walked in, sparks raining down on him like stars, he walked with a determined air about him, eyes staring deep into my soul.

You can’t run. It’s too late to run. If you can’t run, at least put up a fight.

God, it was the eyes, wasn’t it? The way too calm, way too focused eyes. Eyes that were focused solely on me and nothing else.

When I stabbed him, he hardly batted an eye. Looking down at his chest, he just smiled lightly and pulled it out without as much as flinching. When no blood spilt out of the wound, my knife was already lying by his feet. Before I could bring myself to react, blue light filled the gap in his chest and sealed it shut, as if no knife ever pierced his skin.

When Bobby tried to bash his head in, he was looking me in the eyes again. He caught Bobby’s baseball bat with a look that almost looked annoyed, but he was still looking at me.

I asked questions, he answered. His answers were… mostly satisfactory.

“I’m an angel of the Lord.”

… right. Because that’s a thing.

And he was still staring right at me. Those insanely blue, dark eyes pierced the veil of physical bodies and stared down at my soul. His eyes were calm. The kind of calm you can never reach unless you’ve seen things worse than death and came out of them sure that God is with you and no one, nothing can hurt you. It was that kind of calm people with deep-rooted faith have. Calm and steady, piercing and immovable. Demanding to be trusted, to be believed.

That day, I felt the fear take root. I felt it nestling beneath my lungs and making a home there. It never really left.

Elevated heart rate

It was at times like these when I felt it moving around the most. The fear.

I don’t understand why people call it that. Stomach butterflies. It’s a way too pretty name for something so ugly. I hated it. I hated how it made me feel, how scared I was because of him, for him.

Castiel never really stopped scaring me. Only the kind of fear shifted. Changed into different clothes, hid behind different motifs, but it was still fear. It was still Cas.

What did it matter if I was scared of him? If I thought he would hurt me? If I thought he ever could hurt me. It didn’t make much difference when the fear shifted from being scared of Cas to being scared of what he makes me feel. None of it mattered because nobody would ever know my feelings and how much they terrified me, other than the bottom of a bottle. What did it matter if I suddenly stopped wanting to run from him? What did it matter if I held myself back from running to him? None of it mattered. He should never know; it wasn’t right. I wasn’t right. I should’ve known better.

When I lost him-

…no.

When I failed him, the world crumbled around me. I slept, and there he was, in my dreams, looking at me. His eyes never changed. The world around us could’ve burned to the ground, and his eyes would still look at me in the same way they always did. Calm. Steady.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ and for once, I wanted to believe.

I never understood the way he looked at me. His eyes gradually lost their faith in the divine; the holiness of it all was now replaced by pain. A pain so human, I had trouble remembering he was something more than we were. Someone bigger than I was. Yet he always looked at me. Eyes full of something I couldn’t quite see, speaking languages I couldn’t really understand. Still, every time he looked into my eyes, I saw how calm and steady he was. Someone to lean on. Someone calm but sturdy, immovable but trustworthy.

He believed in me.

He believed in me, and I failed him. I left him there, I couldn’t pull him through with me. He stayed abandoned, and I was left without him.

The world should’ve burned, it should’ve crumbled and fallen to its knees and cried with me. Why didn’t it? Instead of burning to the ground with my rage, it stayed. Instead of shaking and crumbling under the weight of my feelings, it stayed firmly put, as it always was. In the golden sunlight and green, never-ending forests, my grief seemed inappropriate.

I still saw him. Every night, I would relive the moment I let him go, the moment I failed him. Every day, I would see him standing there. Close enough to call on, never close enough to reach for. Never lasting long enough to believe this time I wasn’t hallucinating.

Grief mingled with fear and pain grew out of them. The sun stopped shining. Everything was grey, and I was cold.

And then he was there. Right behind me, appearing out of nowhere as he always did.

“Hello, Dean.”

My heart almost leapt out of my chest. He was right in front of me, real, solid. The butterflies in my stomach swirled in my empty chest, and suddenly, there was my heart again. Beating faster than I ever remembered it beating, louder, livelier. The fear came back tenfold; I can’t lose him again, it screamed so loud I was afraid someone might hear.

Once more, I understood fear, a different one today than all those years ago. Not for my life, not for the life of my brother. But for the life of an immortal creature, someone who was here before me and someone who would guard the world long after I’m gone. For the life of someone I…

The butterflies in my stomach never stopped twisting, and now my heart accompanied them with a melody of its own. 

Increased dopamine levels

The butterflies never truly left, but they grew quieter. Sometimes anyway. With more than enough averted apocalypses on our hands, I grew tired and my fears with me. I was still afraid something could happen to Sam, now less than before. I was still terrified something could happen to Cas. More than ever before, I was afraid I could hurt him. So I stayed silent.

Coming to terms with the love that presented itself as an ever-present fear wasn’t easy. Not when every time I looked at him, I saw him looking at me, too. Not when those eyes held everything I could ever ask for, everything I would never deserve.

I looked him in the eyes and in the deep, dark ocean found my future. I saw grey hair on our heads and wrinkles around our eyes, and I felt the warmth of a home I didn’t get to have. Yet.

I looked him in the eyes and I saw my reflection. I saw the heaviness my face carried, something that could never be shaken off or washed. I looked at myself in his eyes and saw the blood on my hands, how it pooled at my feet and rose all the way to my knees, hips. I was drowning in blood, and there he was-

“You asked what about this was real. We are.”

I never knew what to say, when to say things.

How can I tell you without hurting you?

How can I love you without losing you?

In a world where nothing is real, my hopes are gone forever. What is love without freedom? Scripted lie without any real meaning. Is my love for you real, or is it another form of torture hand-sewn to fit me perfectly? How can I trust myself that I love you because I want to and not because some damned god wanted me to? Or would my love for you mean a threat to him? Would I ever know what was real from what was manufactured in the mind of a cruel god that made us to entertain his boredom?

The butterflies in my stomach grew sharper wings and started thrashing around. I can not contain them much longer. One of these days, I’m going to burst, and all that’ll be left of me will be a couple of butterflies blindly following after you in hopeless search of the familiar warmth of your grace.

I looked into his eyes, and they were still the same. A little bit older, with more wrinkles around the edges. Still deep and dark and terrifying like the ocean. With just a little bit more pain hidden inside of them, just a little bit more human than a few years ago. They still held all my future, they still felt calm and steady. His gaze enveloped me in a way his arms never did, and I’ve never felt more unworthy of a gentleness than when I was with him.

Even with everything that I ever knew and felt turned upside down, when I looked into his eyes, I came to understand that this was us. Not some wannabe all-powerful god set on us being his forever favourite toys.

No.

When I looked into his eyes, I knew that this, this was on us. And I may have lost all hope and everyone I’ve ever known and loved, but not him.

With the pounding on the door growing heavier, so grew my anxiety. My heart beat in sync with Billie’s fist on the door that Cas tried so hard to keep from budging.

I couldn’t look him in the eyes. We’ve lost everything, and why does it feel like it’s my fault.

I knew we were going to die there, together. It was my fault, I led us there. I never wanted anything more than I wanted his forgiveness for this.

When I looked into his eyes, he was smiling. He was smiling and he was crying and-

What are you saying?

“Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

Please, please don’t do this.

“Because it is.”

The butterflies that dwelled in my stomach since the moment I met him morphed into a snake that crept up and coiled itself around my heart.

“I love you.”

No, please, not like this.

[evans23]

Daughter of mine V

Pairing : Judge Turpin x Daughter OC

Summary : Richard's daughter fell ill just before Christmas and he can only pray for a miracle.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : A bit of angst. Mention of prostitution and death. Awkward father. If I forget something, please mention it to me !

A/N: Hello dear 😁 Merry Christmas to all of you !

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

It had not taken more than one day for Catherine to fall ill after having spent the whole day outside, playing in the snow. Not a small cough or a low fever. No. A severe pneumonia.

Richard, beside himself, had threatened to fire the governess for having let his daughter rolling in the snow like a dog. Snow angels ! Only uneducated children enjoyed making snow angels. Not his daughter who had then stayed out the whole day with her damp clothes until his return.

If it hadn't been for the intervention of Anne and the butler, Richard would have fired her immediately.

"My lord, think with care how much Catherine likes her. it would break her heart to know that because of her and her illness, her governess was fired," Anne said, among a hundred other pleas that had had no effect on Richard decision.

This one, however had shaken him a little bit. Enough to make him change his mind. He didn't want to upset his daughter, not at a time when she didn't even have the strength to hold a glass of water in her hands.

It had started with a slight cough at the end of supper, a cough that had turned into an interminable coughing fit before bedtime. By the time it was time to go to bed, Catherine was burning with fever and Turpin had ordered for his doctor to be fetch urgently. The man had arrived in a hurry and had ordered that Catherine stay in bed until further notice.

"If she doesn't feel better in the morning, send someone to fetch me," he told Richard.

In the morning, Catherine was shivering, her fever had not gone down and she couldn't even stand the light of the day as her eyes made her suffer.

"Dad, it hurts everywhere in my body. Make the pain ebb away, dad," she begged Richard.

He had pretended to be indifferent to his daughter's plea in front of the servants, but as soon as he had reached his office in the Courthouse, his usual mask of coldness and stoicism had fallen, letting the worry etched on his features.

A servant had come during the day to tell him what the doctor had said. What should have just been a cold had evolved in less than one night into pneumonia. The child had to stay in bed and drink as much fluids as possible. She also had to eat a little, even if it was painful for her sore throat. It was the only way for her to keep her strength and recover.

That day, Richard had been more severe than usual, if it was possible. He had not temper justice with mercy at all. And if the man summoned to the bar had no good excuse for being sent to the Australian colonies, or better yet, hanged, he trusted The Beadle to make up an excuse so that he could administer the harshest sentences. However, for the first time, lashing out his anger in this way had done no good to him.

On his way home, he had stopped at the doctor's place to hear from him what he thought of Catherine's condition.

"Richard, she is frail, smaller than a child of her age should be and her constitution is much more fragile than normal," he had kindly answered.

"What does that mean ? She's not the first child with a weak constitution to fall ill. Many of them recover and reach adulthood. Look at that idiot of James, not only has he reached the more than respectable age of eighty years, but on top of that he has managed to reproduce himself and his son managed to do so after him, forcing me to have to put up with that bumbling of Matthew !" Turpin fumed.

It wasn't in his habits to let his emotions dominate him, but he knew that the doctor was right. Catherine was weaker than children of her age. No doubt it was due to the poor conditions in which she had grown up until she was seven, the lack of food that could have helped her grow and strengthen her immune system, the lack of time spent outdoors breathing fresh air and being in contact with other less serious diseases. Or maybe it was simply bad luck. After all, some children, even in the upper class, were born more delicate than others. At least in a rich family they were lucky enough to be treated by the best doctors and to have the best possible care. Catherine didn't sleep in a bed with rags for a blanket but in a big warm bed, in a room with a fireplace that her maid made sure to keep lit day and night. She would recover. She had to recover or Turpin wouldn't survive it, he knew it even though he tried so hard to lie to himself.

"The truth is, Richard, I cannot predict whether Catherine will recover or not. She is very young and the disease has spread in no time. It is one of the most severe pneumonias I have ever seen."

Richard looked at the doctor, disillusioned. The man had decades of experience, if he said that Catherine's condition was more than worrying, then he was telling the truth.

"But can she recover ?" Richard asked, his mask of stoicism still in place even if inside he was boiling with fear and rage.

"Of course. But I can't promise anything. Only time and the evolution of her condition will tell us if we can hope or not." the physician replied while handing over other bottles of a syrup that was supposed to help Catherine feel better.

Richard plunged his steely gaze into the doctor's ones, to probe his sincerity, but he saw no deception in them. When he returned that evening, Anne told him that the little girl's condition had deteriorated a little more and that she had swallowed nothing, neither water nor food, as her throat was causing her horribly pain.

Richard immediately went to her side, only to find that his laboured breathing and coughing were making it impossible for her to fall asleep.

"Da...dad," she spluttered.

"Catherine, you need to eat," Richard ordered as he saw an untouched plate on the nightstand.

"Not...not hungry," the sleepy child replied.

"My informants also told me that you have been refusing to drink. You will not recover if you do not hydrate yourself properly and regain your strength by eating."

With that, Richard took one of the toasts that rested on the plate and brought it to the child's mouth.

"No, daddy, please," she whined.

Helplessly, Richard put it down, but when he brought a glass of water to her mouth, he remained unyielding until she finished it. He then placed a hand on her forehead to see that it was burning, even more than in the morning. Her nightgown and sheets were soaked with sweat, so he ordered the servants to prepare a bath and change the bedding.

Catherine's maid took care of her in the bathroom, putting various essential oils including peppermint in the bath water to try to relieve the child's muscular aches and milder symptoms.

When she took her back to her bed, Richard was still there, a pitcher of water at his side. He was determined to see Catherine hydrate herself properly and eat a little. This took a great deal of patience, a patience he didn't know he had. He finally managed to coax her by promising to read for her if she ate half her toast, finished the whole pitcher of water by the end of the day, and took her medication without complain.

Later that evening, when she interrupted his reading to complain that her head was killing her, Richard rubbed diluted peppermint oil on her forehead and told her to sleep. Unfortunately, the poor child got no rest that night, the cough keeping her awake all night, making her vomit, and making the pain in her chest unbearable.

By the end of the week, Catherine's condition had not worsened, but it had not improved either. She was paler than the snow that had delighted her so much a week before, and her wheezing did not bode well.

The doctor was still unable to say whether Catherine would make it or not and could only give her the proper medication and ordering that she be kept in bed, kept warm, and forced to drink plenty of fluids and eat a little every day.

"Would a trip to the seaside do her any good ?" Richard asked.

He remembered his mother being sent to the coast when he was a child to recover from a similar pneumonia. But his mother was much better-built than Catherine and had a strong will.

"If it were summer, yes, but travelling in this changeable weather is not advisable. You might get stuck in the middle of the English countryside in the snow. Besides, the journey might be too tiring for her," the doctor had replied, "it would be best to keep her nice and warm here."

Two weeks later, Catherine was still not feeling better, and Richard was a bundle of nerves. Anything could send him into a fiery rage, even The Beadle had experienced it several times. At the manor, none of the servants dared to upset him. They scattered like mice as soon as they heard him arrive, only to disappear before suffering his wrath. To add to his bad mood, the festivities for the end of the year were beginning to be in full swing throughout London.

Richard had always hated Christmas. This holiday was linked to too many bad memories. Only bad memories. Despite Catherine's presence, it had not occurred to him to celebrate this cursed holiday or to decorate the house. He might have done so if she had asked him to, but she hadn't had the chance since she had fallen ill before. And now she might not even survive Christmas.

"My Lord, you need some rest," Anna said authoritatively.

Turpin gave her a dark look that didn't disturb him in the least.

"You will be of no use to anyone if you fall ill too. Catherine needs you by her side, in good health. Go and get some sleep, My Lord."

Richard told her coldly to mind her own business and the old maid left, but after she had gone he sighed heavily and listened to her. She was right, if he continued like this it was not one Turpin but two who would need to be taken care of and he couldn't afford to falter when his daughter needed him most.

Catherine would ask for him whenever he got home from the Courthouse. For the first time in years, Richard made a point of coming home before eight o'clock, his daughter's official bedtime, although she only slept fitfully now, when her persistent cough offered her some respite.

He would read her a few pages every night, put a few drops of peppermint on her forehead and a few drops of eucalyptus on her throat in the hope of helping her breathe to go better. He would kiss her on the forehead, wishing her some rest before retiring to his own rooms, where he would doze off like a log every night. Every morning, he would wake up hoping that she would be feeling a little better, but so far his hopes had always been dashed away.

However, there had been a glimmer of hope one morning, two weeks before Christmas, when her cheeks were slightly flushed and she seemed more awake than she had been before. She had eaten, not that much but at least three meals and had drunk water and tea with lemon and honey throughout the day, much to the relief of the household and her father who thought this was the beginning of her recovery.

That evening, when Richard had gone to join her to read her a few pages of a new book he had specially bought for her, she had talked to him about the hated holiday, as he had dreaded.

"Dad, when are we going to decorate the manor?" she had asked in a hoarse voice.

He hadn't answered. Instead he had asked her if she usually celebrated Christmas with her mother. She had answered that she had and that she had received gifts every year even though she knew that it was her mother who put them under the tree and that it was not much. A comb, an old second-hand book, a dress that her mother had taken up for her. Nevertheless, on Christmas Day, Elena didn't work and spent the whole day with her daughter making gingerbread cookies and reading her stories and that was all it took to make Catherine happy.

Because that day Catherine had been a little more lively and because she had worried about whether Christmas would take place or not, to her father's great disappointment, the whole Turpin manor had thought that the following days would see the child's recovery.

Unfortunately, the next day, her fever was higher than ever and she was coughing so much that she had ended up coughing up blood. The doctor had been called immediately and his diagnosis was not good.

"Richard, I don't want to be a bad omen, but you have to prepare for the worst..."

The doctor didn't have time to add anything before Richard's voice thundered throughout the manor as he ordered him to leave the premises immediately, which the man did but not before entrusting a list of medicines and herbs that should relieve the little girl to Anne.

Richard, who was drowning himself into his work to forget that his daughter was dying, hardly spent any time at the manor anymore. It was now Anne who took care of reading her stories and making her take her medicine. Catherine hardly ate anymore, and she, who was already not very thick, was now nothing more than a pile of flesh and bones. All the employees of the manor prayed to see the little girl recover while she did not stop asking for a father who didn't have the courage to see her waste away.

Colder and harsher than ever, Richard's judgments terrified even his colleagues, but not one of them would dare to make the slightest remark to him. Even The Beadle trembled when his boss called him into his office for fear of incurring unjustified wrath.

"You're an idiot," Anne told him one evening when he came home almost past midnight.

Richard had frozen, his eyes flashing. Anyone else would have shrunk in fear before him, but not the old woman who had seen far more worst.

"It's very cold outside and fresh snow will probably fall in a few days, it's to be feared, but trust me, I will have no mercy in throwing you out if you speak to me like that one more time," he had hissed coldly.

"I have no doubt. You have no heart, my lord. Only a heartless man would let his child call him in vain day and night."

And with these words being said, she had left him on the threshold of the still open door. Indeed, day and night, Catherine cried, screamed, begged for him to come and join her, but he couldn't bear to see her like this. He was going to lose her, he knew it and he cursed himself for having allowed himself to let her cross the walls he had erected all around him and the barrier of ice around his heart that had protected him all these years from the sorrow of life.

"Sir ?" said the butler's voice.

Richard, who was in his parlour, raised his head to acknowledge his presence. The butler brought him something to eat and a brandy, his favourite. He placed the tray and the bottle of alcohol on Richard's desk, but as he was about to take his leave, he hesitated, biting his lip.

"Something askew ?" asked Richard arching an eyebrow.

Upstairs, Catherine tossed and turned, her fever having soaked her sheets once again. She had vomited several times after having uncontrollable coughing fits and her fever was making her delirious. She had called her mother several times and had even mistaken her governess for the late woman several times, begging her to relieve her of her ordeal.

"Sir... I believe you must know something," the butler finally said in a cautious voice.

"And what ?" Richard thundered.

"You should ask Anne about that night in March when your mother asked to meet your Elena," and with that, the butler left without asking for more.

Surprised, his mouth hanging open, Richard remained unresponsive. The butler couldn't know about his past with Catherine's mother, since he didn't work for him yet. What on earth had Anne told him about ?

"You asked for me ?" asked the old maid he had immediately summoned.

"I don't know if I'm mad with rage or just disappointed. A bit of both, I guess," he hissed, his voice cold and sharp as a blade.

"What do you mean, my lord ?" asked the old woman, confused.

"What right do you have to talk about my private life with the employees ? You're not paid to spread gossip !"

Anne immediately understood what he was referring to.

"No one else knows except your butler. I told him because..."

She fell silent, hesitant, but Richard's look made her understand that she had no choice but to tell him the truth.

"He and I are having an affair. I know he can be trusted, and I confided to him because my heart ached for you, my lord, and for little Catherine," she said in one breath.

Richard, stunned by the news, might have been amused about the new of his head maid and his butler having an affair if his daughter were not struggling and losing the fight for her life upstairs.

"And what did he mean about that March night?"

"That night, my lord, I confess, I eavesdropped at the door..."

Richard was not ready to hear the maid's confidences. Because they called to question everything he had believed until now.

That March night, Richard's mother had had Elena brought by force to the manor where she lived with her husband near Windsor. There, she had threatened her on the purpose to force her to leave Richard. She, a girl of nothing, from a family of nothing, without a name, without a title, without money. Never could the Turpin name have been more sullied than with this whore who had given herself to their son without even being married. But the young woman, unyielding, had refused to accede to her mother's request. Elena had resisted, even when she had been threatened to be brought to Turpin's father, a violent man who would beat her until she listened to reason, or who would have killed her.

Seeing that nothing could convince Elena to give up Richard, her mother, perfidious, vile creature, had adopted another tactic. It was not Elena she was going to attack but her own son. She would have him disinherited, something she would have had no trouble to convince his father to do, she would have him disowned and he would lose everything. His title, his prestige, his job at the Court of London, his brand new wealth and his brand new manor whose he was so proud. If Elena refused to leave Richard, then she would destroy her son. And Elena, madly in love with Richard, had agreed to sacrifice her own happiness for the man she loved more than anything in the world. More than her own life.

"You know your parents would have done it without a regret," Anne said at the end of her story.

Oh yes, he knew it. His parents, those cold and distant beings who only lived for appearances would have had no regrets in throwing their one and only heir in poverty, only because he didn't meet the standard of his rank.

"Did she know ? About the child ?" Richard asked, his voice betraying his dismay.

"I do not know, my lord. No pregnancy was mentioned that night."

"Thank you Anne."

Without a glance at the maid, Richard, his gait stiff, left his property without even bothering to put on a coat as the wind whistled all its rage outside, making the windows of the manor shake.

Air, he needed air. Elena. His Elena. The one he had cursed every night since she had left him without a word, disappearing like a shadow in the night, his Elena had acted out of pure love for him, to protect him. And when he had the chance to help her, to bring her back on the right path, to give her a roof over her head and a decent life, that night when he had seen her in that brothel, he had preferred to look the other way and leave her for what he thought she was then : a common whore who deserved nothing better than the life of a slut she was leading.

Richard fell to his knees on the steps of St Paul's Cathedral.

"Oh, Elena ! What have I done !"

For the first time since he was eight, the age at which, after having been beaten to a pulp by his father for having stolen a cupcake from the kitchen, he had sworn he would never cry again, Richard began to sob.

His Elena had died because of her family. Because of him. And now his daughter was going to die. Turpin, that name was cursed ! It was cursed ! Everything that was beautiful and brought him a little joy and love was destined to wither and die at his side.

"Sir, are you all right ?"

Richard jumped. In front of him stood a priest.

"I... I..." he stammered.

It was the first time Richard was speechless. The man of God invited him to go inside the cathedral to get out of the rain.

"Do you want to talk ?" he offered.

"No. Not with you," Richard replied coldly.

"With him then ?" the priest offered, pointing to the cross of Christ.

He gently squeezed Richard's shoulder before leaving him alone with himself and his thoughts. Richard didn't know if he was a believer or not. He had been raised as an Anglican, but his profession had long since led him to believe that he himself was a god, with the power of life and death over those brought before him in the Courthouse.

No, Richard did not believe in any god. If there was a god, he would not let gentle women like Elena end up selling their bodies and dying in poverty. He would not let children be beaten for things they did not do, he would not let women be raped in the dark streets of London. He would not take his daughter from him. But just in case he was wrong and a higher power was there, ready to listen, he prayed for Catherine. Just in case.

He returned to the manor several hours later, soaking wet, and Anne immediately ordered a bath for their master while she brought him a hot drink and wrapped him in a thick bath towel.

"Anne, ask the servant to have the manor decorated," Richard asked, his voice less steady than usual;

"My lord?"

"Catherine asked me if the manor would be decorated for Christmas. It will be. Ask the servant to get to work on it tomorrow," he ordered before heading to the bathroom.

"Yes, my lord," the servant replied, amazed.

Never since she had worked for him had she seen the manor decorated for the holidays. Yet, the next evening, when Richard had returned from the Courthouse, the entire manor was breathing the festive spirit.

He had gone to his daughter's bedside, a plate of gingerbread cookies and a cup of warm milk in his hands. Too happy to see her father care about her, she had made the effort to eat a little and drink the whole cup, just to please Richard.

"You must try to sleep now," Richard told her, placing a kiss on her forehead.

He shivered as the fever that had been gone for the last two days and had now returned. During the night, a servant came to wake him to tell him that Catherine was vomiting blood and was barely breathing. The doctor had come as quickly as he could, but there was little more he could do.

"If she makes it through the night, then there's a chance she'll live," he had told Richard before leaving.

That night, Richard had returned to St. Paul's Cathedral. It was the day before Christmas Eve. Two days before that cursed day he hated more than anything in the world. His daughter, the apple of his eyes, could not die on the day she loved so much. She would not be one more bad memory to bear during this cursed holiday.

He came home late that night and went straight to her side to watch over her. Richard must have fallen asleep because the last thing he remembered was covering Catherine with an extra blanket after she complained about being cold, and now something was shaking him. He groaned in displeasure, cracking his eyes open to see what was disturbing his sleep.

"Catherine ?"

The little girl's eyes were wide open and the gray veil that had accompanied them for the last few weeks had faded. Beautiful colour had returned to her face and her fever had definitely broken.

"I'm hungry, dad," the little girl said hoarsely, her throat still scratchy from her days of coughing nonstop.

Richard laughed heartily, the joy invading him almost too much to bear. Food was immediately brought in and he watched her eat with gusto to his delight. The doctor had come once more, only to state that the worst was behind them.

"She must not go out. She must stay warm, but she can leave her bed. But no strenuous activities. And she must continue to take her medication until I say she can stop," he had ordered.

That afternoon, wrapped in a thick dressing gown and a woolen blanket, Richard had carried her around the manor to show her the decorations, Hector trotting happily beside them. The little dog had not left his little mistress's room during her bed rest and he seemed as happy as the rest of the household to see her recover.

Catherine's eyes lit up when she saw the many gifts waiting for her under the tree. She had never had so many presents just for her.

"But you can't open them until tomorrow," Richard reminded her kindly.

"Thanks, dad," she said, pressing her head against his neck.

Richard laughed, telling her to wait and see what the packages contained before thanking him. After all, she might be disappointed.

"No, I'll like them. I've never had anything new before."

Once again, Richard's heart sank at the child's words. He held her a little tighter, then carried her back to her bed. Early in the evening, she was again allowed to get up and accompany him to the parlour, where he made her comfortable on a sofa in front of the fire. He read her a Christmas Carol until she fell asleep.

When he had finished the book, he carefully lifted the frail, undersized body and carried his daughter back to her bed. He pulled the blanket up to her chin, making sure she was warm, Hector at the foot of the bed was watching over her. The fire crackled in the fireplace and fresh water had been brought along with more gingerbread cookies.

Richard stood for a moment watching his daughter sleep when the sound of bells startled him. He walked over to the window to watch London spread out before him, the moon reflected in the Thames, the church bells announcing Christmas. The bells of Christmas, which brought him good news with the unexpected recovery of his only child.

"I will take good care of her Elena," Turpin whispered into the night, "I have failed to be the husband you needed, but I will be the father Catherine needs. I will take good care of our daughter."

With that he turned, walked briskly to Catherine's bed and kissed her forehead. He blew out the many candles, leaving only one lit, and left the room, not without one last glance at the child's sleeping form.

"Merry Christmas, daughter of mine."

[twstfanblog]

about your manwha AU before you had my curiosity now you have my attention, how will the three act now that they realized that Yuu was really important to them, will they try to become friends again, and will Yuu continue to ignore them? it would be funny if she ended up getting even closer to other characters like Vil, Idia and Leona and making the three jealous, because it's like that saying goes "you only value something when you lose it"

@iamsoconfusedallofthetime

Marina, you nearly got the three new playmates that Yuu gains once she's fully detached from the boys.

The first was Leona. His brother had brought him along for some type of fitting he was doing with Crewel, and he's left to wonder the estate. He finds Yuu reading in the home library. For a second, he didn't even realize who she was because, at this point, everyone thinks Yuu is deathly ill or already dead since she refuses to leave the house or accept visitors.

Leona feels connection with this fellow sad child and he offers his hand in friendship. They spend the rest of his visit reading together in the library (Leona told his brother he met a ghost once they were back in the carriage)

Mallues, hearing Yuu's befriended KINGSCHOLAR of all people, summons Leona to the palace to intimidate ask him questions about Yuu.

Leona, loving being superior to anyone and everyone is mocking Malleus through most of the visit.

Leona: Why should I stop spending time with my friend?

Malleus: Don't put yourself on the same level as her.

Leona: Why not? You don't even like her.

Malleus: Yes I do! We're friends!

Leona: Oh? I wasn't aware friends call each other 'aggravating pests'...

Malleus:

Idia is asked to be Yuu's study partner, and the Shrouds agree at lightning speed because they've been trying to socialize Idia more. Yuu is still kinda a bully, but she's more subdued than she normally would be, so Idia doesn't mind her so much. They even become pretty good friends.

Azul is also one of Idia’s playmates and loses his damn mind hearing that Idia is now friends with Yuu. He starts yelling, saying that Idia can't be friends with Yuu. Idia yells back, because he's actually MET Yuu now and she isn't this roaming figure of maliciousness that Azul made he out to be. Idia straight just says that Azul is a bad friend and he'd be sick of him too at this point.

Idia does apologize the next time they meet, he didn't mean to make him cry but he meant every word he said.

Since Yuu isn't answering Kalim's requests for playdates, his family sets him up with a new playmate in RIDDLE. (They're praying Riddle's attitude will rub off on Kalim. It does not). But while Riddle and Kalim have their playdates. Jamil listens to Riddle's attendants Ace and Deuce talk about how Riddle wasn't such a hardass at Yuu's house. So he drafts a letter and asks them to deliver it to Yuu next time they're at her house. It was literally just a simple letter apologizing and inviting Yuu back to the Asim house. He'll cook for her and Kalim, they can play restaurant.

They agree but the next time they come Riddle has to keep them both pulled back from causing a damn scene, they're trying to get at Jamil to punch him. Kalim asks why they're so mad and Riddle recounts that they tried to deliver a letter to Yuu from Jamil only for her to tell them to get out.

Jamil: I…I just wanted to talk to her… Riddle: Well, it's probably for the best you didn't.

Yuu ends up meeting Vil because during her break from society, Yuu actually does get pretty ill. In an effort to give her some at-home entertainment, they hire actors to perform in their home. And Vil is STRUGGLING to keep his character because a fever-delirious Yuu is yelling about how cool the villain is and cheering every time he does anything. He can't hold in his blush when he's 'defeated' and Yuu starts booing and saying how the villain should have won. Their relationship in this AU isn't so snippy as it is 'two sassy bitches giving you side eyes.' Vil says Yuu is his #1 Fan and he sends her free tickets to his shows in an effort to get her out of the house but she never goes.

Literally...for ten years, the trio only has second-hand info about Yuu because she hasn't been in the public. Unfortunately, the events of the OG timeline start fading. So when she does make the bold choice to re-enter society it's around the time the FL shows up.

[countrymusiclover]

1 - The Day Everything Changed

Part 2

Star Crossed Enemies

@severa-kane @100foreverfiles @ocappreciation @ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @lover-of-books-and-tea

2 years ago

“Get your hands off me. I haven't done anything wrong!” I screamed and kicking my legs about while having guards drag me down multiple hallways until we got to one of the pod launch bays. “What the hell do you think you’re doing to me!”

Footsteps came up behind me and the guards where I sharply turned my head around seeing my mother Dr Abigail and father Jake Griffin coming up to us. “Remove your hands from our daughter now please.”

“Counselors. We are just following your orders that you sent us Dr. Griffin.” One of them spoke, removing their hands from my forearm.

I elbowed the other guard in the stomach and he stumbled backwards into the nearest wall. “Orders. What orders have you told them?”

“Cassiopeia, honey there isn’t another way to ensure they won’t kill all three of us. I’m sorry, but we are sending you to the ground.” My mother explained beginning to take steps towards me till I harshly slapped her hand that reached out to touch me.

“You kicked me out of the house at sixteen to lower suspicion of you possibly having two kids but now you’re saying that isn’t enough!”

My father went around the corner escorting someone by the arm where it took me a minute before I recognized who he had alongside him. “Jake! We can’t let anyone else know what we are doing.” My mother gasped seeing my best friend.

“Cass! Why are they sending you down there? It isn’t safe yet. It hasn’t been a hundred years yet.” Glass Sorenson came running to me with her blonde hair and blue eyes, flinging her arms around my neck and began to cry.

Wrapping my arms around her I sobbed into her shoulder not wanting to be forced to leave her. “I don’t know why they’re doing this. I don’t want to go, Glass.”

“Dr. Griffin, please don’t do this. She’s my best friend.”

Mom sniffed through tears that were welling up in her eyes. “Glass, it’s family business-“

“Oh for god sake. I have a sister. Her name is Clarke and we are twins and nobody knows about us. That’s why they are sending me to the ground without knowing if it's survivable or not!” Throwing my hands up in the air I shouted getting frustrated that she was avoiding the truth.

Glass grasped my hand closest to hers. “Can I at least say goodbye before you send her down?”

“Yes. You can say goodbye, Glass.” My father nodded with a very weak expression.

Glass spun around on her feet, throwing her arms around me a second time. “I’m going to be praying that you make it. Because you are so much stronger and tougher than anybody thinks you are…may we meet again.” She sniffed back some tears once she had broken the embrace.

Squeezing her shoulders underneath my fingers I wiped away falling tears. “I will see you again, bestie. May we meet again.” From that day forward anyone else that came from the Ark couldn’t be trusted in my eyes.

I was born in space, but I became a Grounder.

Two guards drew the tent curtain opened on either side of me as I strolled inside with my shoulders back and head held high knowing who I was standing in front of at this very moment. The woman I now considered to be my Commander was seated on her throne of trees spinning a dagger in one hand until I paused in my step directly in front of her presence. “You summoned me, Heda.”

“I have an assignment for you. You are my best tracker and fighter in the ones up to take my place when my fight is over.” The Commander began speaking.

Brushing some of my loose hair from my eyes I had twisted one side of my hair into a braid and left the rest of it completely loose. “How have you chosen me to serve you today, Heda?”

“Anya has informed me that one of her scouts has stopped reporting the number of the sky invaders on our lands. I want you to set up camp near their camp and find out all you can about these sky people.”

Nodding my head in understanding I bowed my head down to her. “It will be done, Commander.”

“When you landed in our territory years ago I had many of my advisers tell me I should have just killed you right then and there.” I spun on my boots about to leave till she called for my attention again making me peek over my shoulder back at her. “I’m very proud that I made my own decision and kept you alive. You may have come from the sky but you’ve proven to be a true Earthborn, Warrior Cass.”

“I appreciate that I have your respect, Commander.” I smirked back at her spinning on my feet leaving her tent and heading off onto the assignment I had been given.

Days later I had moved into one of the nearby caves not too far from the sky camp. I sat on one of the middle ground branches hearing a small group of them coming in my direction. Wearing a pack of knives that were attached to a leather strap I scanned the area seeing a group of four guys running from one of the traps Lincoln had set up to catch reapers.

One of the guys that was wearing goggles on his head was screaming in the direction of some clan members that I knew about. “They can kill us whenever they want. Then they should get it over with! Come on! We know you're out there!”

“You want to kill us…” The second guy with long black hair grabbed the goggle wearing guy and slapped his hand over his mouth trying to shut him up.

“Bellamy!-“ The other sky person hollered to the one I was guessing was the leader of the group. I leaped down from the tree drawing out a flute with multiple darts inside of it, blowing into it I shot the other three in the neck and they collapsed out cold.

Raising myself up from my knees I bolted towards the last standing guy with curly raven hair. He tried to run at me but I twisted one of his arms around his back shoving him against the nearest tree. “I wouldn’t bother trying to call for help if I were you.” I whispered a warning in his ear, pressing a dagger to the back of his neck.

“You don’t scare me, grounder girl.” He growled back, doing his best to not show me any hint of fear.

Spinning him around pushing his back against the tree I soon realized that he was slightly taller than I was so I had to angle the blade up more than I originally thought I would have to. “I’m guessing you're their leader. I’ll give you a bit of advice, don’t put yourself out in the open unless you have a death wish.”

“Like I’ll ever take advice from the enemy.” The guy I heard them call Bellamy spat in my face. His dark brown eyes locked onto my green gaze.

Stepping away from him I tossed the dagger in my hand downwards towards his boots hearing a foghorn from somewhere else off in the distance. “Keep the blade you’re gonna need all the help you can get, Bellamy.”

“How the heck do you know my name? What the hell is yours, grounder?” He raised his tone, shifting his gaze from mine then down to the dagger at his feet.

I smirked hearing the horn noise getting louder telling me it was time to go. “I can’t give you the answer right away. Otherwise that gives away the game. See you around, Sky Boy.” Twirling on my feet I bolted into a run through the terrain leaving him too stunned in shock to chase after me.

It had been a few hours since the acid fog had cleared, meaning I could leave the entrance of Lincoln’s cave when I wanted to. Quietly entering the rest of the way inside Lincoln’s cave I saw a girl with dark black hair beginning to wake up. Hearing other footsteps running in I slipped behind the available space in the wall, making sure she or Lincoln didn’t see me watching them. The sky girl had managed to grab the keys and the group of boys that were with Bellamy helped her off the cave floor. She jumped into the goggles guy's arms. “How did you find me?”

“Followed him.” He chuckled in relief, hugging her back.

The girl broke the embrace and ran into Bellamy’s arms until he saw a spear laying beside a passed out Lincoln on the stone floor. “We should go. Now. Before he wakes up.”

“He's not gonna wake up.” Bellamy picked it, gripping the spear tightly in his hands.

The girl attempted to grab his wrist. “Bellamy, stop. He didn't hurt me. Let's just go.”

“They started this. Finn. Move.” He ignored her.

The guy that was bent down by an unconscious Lincoln noticed the horn he was wearing on his hip before Lincoln woke up and stabbed him in the belly where he collapsed onto the ground. “Foghorn.”

Bellamy raised the spear about to hurt Lincoln until I leaped out from hiding and up onto the older boy's back. “Argh! Get her off me-“ He struggled to grab a hold of me where I made him drop the weapon before he gripped my thighs throwing me off and onto my back harshly.

“Stop! That's my brother!” The young girl cried out moments after Bellamy and Lincoln went fighting over the spear till my friend grabbed it. He knocked the sky boy down pushing the weapon against his throat until she screamed.

I gasped sharply but wasn’t fast enough before the other guy hit him over the head and he fell unconscious. “Lincoln! - uhh you son of a bitch..” Scrambling to my feet I attempted to rush over to him but I felt a dart go into my neck making my vision blur, seeing Bellamy holding the dart flute up to his mouth seconds before everything went black.

Comments really appreciated ❤️