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

[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

[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.

[theeternalwombtarot]

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."

[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.

[artistinquestion]

The Empress of Rome

Part Four

Emperor Geta x OC

Warnings: pregnancy, childbirth

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: the time has finally come for the birth of Rome's heir. While the emperor is out celebrating the coming birth of his child, the empress labors and prays she doesn't let her husband or her country down. But will her prayers be answered?

Author's Note: finally the part you've all been waiting for, you shall have your answer as to just what the baby will be! but for those uncomfortable with the idea of childbirth, you can just skip this part and read the next when its posted! Geta does not make any appearance this chapter, but he is mentioned once or twice! he will reappear in the next part! Thanks again for enjoying my work thus far!

As the hours passed, the empress’s determination only grew stronger. Through the pain and discomfort, she focused on the task at hand. Listening to the midwives and physician as they guided her through giving birth to the new heir to Rome. Cassia’s chambers filled with the sounds of her labor, echoing off the walls.

Morning had come and went with the empress still laboring, hours passing meaning nothing to Cassia as she tried to breathe through every pain.

Julia and Lucilla had come to Cassia’s side as soon as they were informed of her labor, both having supposed to attend the day's gladiatorial games celebrating the coming heir at the colosseum, but instead chose to remain at their empress's bedside.

As Cassia recovered from her most recent contraction, Julia took a moment to look over at Lucilla, their eyes filled with worry as they shared a look of concern for their empress. They both knew that Cassia’s pregnancy had come with plenty of complications, the fact that it was taking so long only adding to their concerns.

As another contraction hit Cassia grimaced, her hands gripping the bed sheets as she felt her body being pushed to its limits over and over again. At this moment she wished she were a man. Her husband out celebrating her labor at the colosseum, watching gladiators beat each other bloody, she would much rather be there than here. But here she remained, unable to do anything but breathe through the pain, as she waited with everyone in the room for the inevitable. On top of the pain, the fear still lingered that she may deliver a daughter. The anxiety only lingering the longer her labor took.

The day soon turned into night, the empress's efforts being made for nothing it seemed as the labor went on and on. The physician's nervousness grew the longer the empress labored. Many labors had lasted for days, it wasn't unusual, what had worried the physician was whose baby he was delivering at the end of it all. There was a cruel emperor known for a short temper as the father, if anything should go wrong it would be the physician's head.

Another painful contraction took hold of the empress, Cassia gritting her teeth as the pain began in her lower back, pressure building inside her. The midwives on hand watched intently, albeit nervously, their every move calculated and precise to ensure the best outcome.

"It won't be long now, Augusta" a midwife stated as she and another midwife moved to help the empress from her bed to lead her to the birthing chair nearby.

Cassia whimpering as she tried to walk, her legs shaking as her body had grown tired from the hours of labor.

"We will try pushing again," The physician told the exhausted empress.

Cassia nodded wearily, summoning what remained of her strength for yet another round of pushing. With the midwives help, she lowered herself onto the birthing chair and braced herself. Julia and Lucilla followed and stood by Cassia’s sides, Julia running a hand through her daughter in law’s sweat soaked hair.

"You are doing wonderfully, child. Just a little longer and it will all be over" She murmured in her ear.

Julia's words meant to comfort only sent chills down Cassia’s spine. It would all be over soon, that thought scared the empress. Once this was over she would either have given Rome an heir, or she will have failed and will pay with her life.

Cassia bit her bottom lip, determined not to scream in pain. The midwives urging her on, coaxing her through each contraction as the physician guided the baby down into the world.

"Come on, Augusta! Just one more push and your son will be here!" A midwife tried to encourage the empress, but her words made the young woman shudder.

A son. Gods she hoped it was a son.

The midwives watched as the baby’s head emerged, followed quickly by the rest of the child’s body falling into the physician’s waiting hands. A cry was heard as the infant took its first breath.

The room fell silent then, the only sound being the heavy breaths of the empress and the cries of the newborn. Tension suddenly filling the air as the attendants grew gravely silent, the color draining from their faces.

“It’s a girl.”

Cassia’s heart dropped, she looked to everyone in the room. The midwives, the physician, the two women beside her who had coached her through this, they all wore pale expressions.

"No..no it cannot be. Let me see them!" Cassia shook her head as she denied the fact she had birthed a girl, her arms reaching out to take the child from the physician and his grave expression, but he instead moved away from the empress to tend to the infant.

Cassia’s heart sinking as she caught only the smallest glimpse of her daughter as she was taken to the other side of the room. A sense of fear and dread washing over her.

She had failed.

Failed Rome, failed her husband, and failed their daughter. Geta would be furious, and she feared for their lives. The world began to spiral around her and she felt like she would be sick.

"Let me see her," Cassia uttered, her whole being terrified of what came next, but she wanted to hold her child for just a moment before anything else happened, before it all goes wrong.

The midwives all gave each other knowing looks, exchanging glances with the physician as he placed the baby girl into a soft blanket. Not yet cleaning the child as it had to first be claimed first by the father, as was tradition.

"Please, just let me hold her!" Cassia begged as tears began to pour down her face.

Lucilla and Julia remained by her side, both offering empty words of comfort as the physician ignored the empress's pleas. A servant was called into the room, the physician now turning his attention to tending to the mother now, handing the child to the servant to be brought before the emperor.

As the servant turned to leave with the child in its trembling arms, everyone terrified of delivering the news to their emperor that he did not in fact have an heir, Julia spoke up calling out to the servant.

"I will take her!" She offered suddenly, her heart aching for her daughter in law, and her new granddaughter. Standing from Cassia’s side, the matriarch crossed the room to the servant, collecting the child in her own arms.

Looking down at the screaming newborn in her arms, Julia took a moment to take in the sight of her first grandchild. The little one’s face scrunched up as it cried, its skin still slick from the mess of birth, wet orange curls clung to the baby’s head that gave no doubt to their parentage. With a sigh of sadness, Julia began to slowly walk from the room, her head bowed in sorrow as she held the child to her chest. She knew this would not sit well with her son, he had so desperately clung to the idea of a male heir, but that was not what the gods had given him. There was nothing left to do now but deliver the news to her son, to bring him his child and hope that he would spare her life.

Whatever Geta's decision was, will be, but atleast Julia delivering the news would soften the blow.

[crushribbons]

𝕙𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕪𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕝𝕖

summary: Poppy Sweeting is a little naïve in all the right ways.

cw: 4.2k words, fluff, friends to lovers (i have a problem), smut (18+ ONLY), f/f sex, oral sex, i used a second-person POV bc there would be a lot of shes and hers getting mixed up LOL, fem reader

a/n: i may have a thing for girls who ramble and care about stuff :') also i know panties weren't invented yet shut up she's sexy! happy pride month xx laney

The early September sunshine was warm on your neck as you raced down the Hogwarts lawn to the lake. Steep downward steps carried your legs faster than your body, and you fell flat on your face when your shoe caught on a loose stone hidden on the bottom step. “Ack!” Your arms flailed wildly, attempting to break the fall. Your face got there first.

“Are you alright?” squealed the girl you were in such a hurry to meet. Poppy Sweeting hopped up from her position lounging by the side of the lake and ran over to check on you.

You stood and brushed off your robes nonchalantly. “I actually needed that. Nurse Blainey told me to add more gravel to my diet.” While you cleaned the dirt from your forehead and hoped the bruise you could feel blossoming around your nose wasn’t too horrible, you searched around for the leather traveling bag you’d been holding. It remained unscathed on the bottom step where you’d dropped it. Poppy giggled.

“There’s less dangerous ways to go about that, you know.” Her voice–Merlin. It had a light rasp and a musical quality that sounded like the windchimes that hung outside the Beasts classroom–coincidentally the first place you’d laid eyes on the most beautiful girl you’d ever seen. 

“I brought you something,” you began, trying to open the clasp of the bag without sustaining another injury in front of her. “She made me work for her.” You reached inside the bag and rummaged around for a moment before your hand magically summoned a little squeaking ball of fur into itself. “Ah, here we are.”

You held out the pink and purple puffskein to Poppy, whose face transformed into a ray of sunlight. “You DIDN’T! Look at her coloring! Oh, thank you, she’s so beautiful, I love her, I love her, I love her!” she cried in pure delight as she held the disoriented puffball to her cheek and spun around with her. 

One hundred thousand, you decided in that instant. You would catch approximately one hundred thousand puffskeins if it meant you got even a tenth of that reaction from her in the future. She looked happy enough to burst into one of her spirited rants about the properties of puffskein fur and how a well-cared for Puff could actually be used for levitating properties if you overfed it just the right amount, and God, you hoped she would. 

The two of you walked over to the secluded spot that Poppy had laid out a pale blue blanket over. The grass was soft beneath your knees as you knelt next to her and watched her fuss over her new pet and the air smelled like honeysuckle. Or was it…

“You smell so good,” you breathed, forgetting yourself entirely. “I mean, is that a new soap or..?” You prayed that your lecherous remark had come off as a friendly compliment, but Poppy wasn’t paying attention yet.

“How about Alberta? Hm? What do you think?” she asked the puffskein, tickling it’s belly with her pinky finger. “Is that your name?” 

You could have watched her for hours. The clear day offered a breeze that was wafting her short black hair around her shoulders and occasionally causing pieces to get stuck in her mouth. She spit them out without ever turning her attention from the beast, making an adorable “pthhbt!” noise when she did so. You realized you should probably be looking at and thinking about something other than your best friend. 

“So,” you grinned, as Poppy finally set Alberta down in her lap to stroke her coat. “Anything amazing happen over your summer? I can’t believe it’s our last year already.” A bitter lilt had found its way into your last words. 

Graduation. Sure, it meant the beginning of the rest of your lives, but would it also mean the end of seeing Poppy? You were friends, of course, but friends met up once or twice a year in Hogsmeade to rehash old school days then went back to their separate lives. You were excited for what the future and adulthood held. You were terrified they wouldn’t hold her.

Poppy shrugged. “Nothing spectacular! Gran’s doing well, and I got to see–OH.” 

Her story slamming to a dead halt made you look up, and you saw that her mouth was open in a perfect “O” and her eyes were glittering like the surface of the lake as it rippled and undulated in the wake of the giant squid swimming laps. “You will never guess who asked me to go get a butterbeer with them. The second I walked through the castle doors today, no less.”

Your stomach twisted into a Celtic knot of green, writhing, jealousy. It wasn’t as if you could get upset; you’d had two years now to do the same as whatever Lothario she seemed bursting with excitement over. The only thing stopping you was, well…

“Who?” you asked through a tight-lipped smile, trying to pretend you were interested in this juicy bit of gossip. 

“Imelda.”

If the giant squid had suddenly risen up out of the water and performed the climax to Carmen, you doubted you would have been more stunned. “Wh-uh, well, uh…huh, I, uh. Hm.” You searched the empty expanse of your mind for a single word. “Wow.”

“I know!” Poppy giggled again, placing her hand over her full lips as she did so. “Who would have thought she was so soft for me, deep down.” 

Hearing the words “soft for me” fall from precious, pure, and innocent Poppy Sweeting’s lips made your head spin like a top. You inwardly bemoaned your filth-ridden mind and tried to shake it straight as you made sense of the whole situation playing out in front of you. “So…” you started, slowly, not trusting the words to come out of you in the correct order, or frankly, language. “Are you going to go with her?” Poppy’s expression fell a bit, and she looked down at the grass.

“I dunno,” she said. She started ripping up chunks of grass and casting the blades into the breeze so they floated away. A nervous habit of hers, you knew. “I mean, well. She’s a girl.”

And there it was. Your heart was a blackened lump as it sunk to the bottom of your feet. “Sure.”

Poppy was sweet. Poppy was kind. Poppy rambled when she got excited, and Poppy was the only person you’d ever pictured being by your side after you left Hogwarts. Doing what, it didn’t matter in the slightest to you. As long as she was there and she was happy, you would be happy. But Poppy had been raised by a witch with traditional values, and part of her values included explaining to Poppy that one day she would meet a wonderful wizard and fall in love, and that was the only possible happy ending for her storybook. Gran wasn’t hateful, if anything quite the opposite, but she hadn’t taken the time away from her beasts to explain the more delicate natures of love and sex.

You could still remember the time in fifth year Poppy had found you in the library studying and pulled a chair up, dropping down in it to announce somewhat loudly and without a trace of shame, “Did you know that two witches could technically have sex without a wizard being involved?” Her expression had been completely serious. You had glanced down at the book you had been reading to see if it happened to contain the correct thing to say in this instance. Potions and their Properties had stared blankly back at you. 

“I mean, I suppose she’s pretty,” Poppy was musing, jerking you back to the present. “I like her enough, but she’s a bit mean sometimes.” Her brow furrowed and she looked up at you. “Plus, I’m not sure if I could kiss another girl. I don’t know if I’d enjoy it.”

Your gaze was fixed on Gryffindor tower. You were almost certain it was tall enough for the fall to kill you. 

“Have you ever kissed one?”

Blood rushed into your cheeks and you struggled to find words. Or rather, you struggled with the idea of telling the truth or not. The truth was that no, you hadn’t kissed another witch; the only kiss you had experienced was a reluctant and simpering one with Leander at a New Year’s celebration in the Three Broomsticks as the clock struck midnight. It wasn’t nice for anyone involved. But you were absolutely sure you would enjoy it if you got to kiss the girl you dreamed about nightly. However, if you told her that you hadn’t, the conversation would most likely be tabled in favor of discussing Alberta’s family backstory (Poppy had to assign a fictitious past to all her pets) and you’d lose the opportunity to execute the horrible plan that had just formed in your mind.

You were awful. Awful. If you opened your mouth and said what you were going to say, it would be a gigantic breach of Poppy’s trust, and her naïveté was something delicate that you never wanted to take advantage of. If you did this, it would be unforgivable.

“Yes,” you said and shrugged. It was surprising how easily the lie wormed its way out of you. “Once. I fooled around with an older Hufflepuff up in the Astronomy tower after a party. She was lovely and the firewhiskey made it seem like a wonderful idea.” Oh, you absolute wretch. Adding elaborate detail to the lie now.

Poppy’s eyes were wide as a mooncalf’s. “Really?” she breathed. She was studying you with rapt devotion, like you were a creature that she’d never encountered before. If you hadn’t been betraying her trust completely, you would have been swooning.

“Mmhmm.” You decided to cut it there and hope that this conveniently graduated Hufflepuff girl never got brought up again. “So, who knows? I say give Imelda a chance.” Poppy chewed her bottom lip, its pinkness giving way to white as she contemplated your idiotic suggestion. Give her a chance? You’d just blown the perfect opportunity to help your dear friend with a tough situation by snogging her senseless. As friends do.

“Maybe I will…” She seemed to have more to say, but she trailed off and looked out over the lake once more. Hogwarts loomed over the both of you, and it suddenly felt like the end of your seventh year couldn’t come fast enough. If Poppy did enjoy her little date with Imelda, you’d have to watch the two of them walking to breakfast together, watch Imelda tuck the strands of Poppy’s hair that always distracted her during Charms class behind her ear for her. The thought made you want to be sick all over the blanket you both sat on.

Poppy cleared her throat, once more rousing you from your sullen fantasies. “What if…if it’s not too strange…” Your heart plummeted backwards up from your feet to your throat and started hammering there. Was she really going to suggest…? 

It was her turn to blush now as she yanked three more handfuls of grass out. “Come on,” she muttered, too embarrassed to meet your eyes. “What if we tried it?”

You tried your absolute best to not jump up and start doing Garreth Weasley’s Quidditch victory dance, which involved a lot of gyrating and hip thrusting. You smiled. “Well, alright, Pop, anything for you. It’s fine with me. It could be useful, right?” Alright, calm down, your brain hushed. You’ve sold it, now shut up and kiss her.

“Alright,” she agreed, starting to look excited. “Maybe this will be fun!” It wasn’t the exact conditions that you’d one day hoped to kiss her under, but it maybe being fun was as good a reason as any for you. 

You cleared your throat a little and scooted across the blanket until your knees were touching. The sun, which had been high in the sky when you met up with her, now hung lazily around the three o’clock position, and shadows were being thrown across Poppy’s face by the oak tree you sat beneath. They speckled across her nose like the freckles you spent hours daydreaming of.

“Just a friendly kiss, right?” Poppy asked, and she leaned forward until your noses were touching.

How was this happening, especially so soon after you’d put your entire foot in your mouth with that Hufflepuff girl nonsense. “Of course,” you murmured. Your eyes fell from her ash blue ones to her lips, pink and perfect and then they were pressed against yours. 

You couldn’t help it. A soft moan tumbled from your mouth to hers as you brought your hands up to her hair and wove your fingers against her head. Her lips tasted like every delicious summer fruit you could think of, and you confirmed that the wonderful honeysuckle smell was indeed her hair. The two of you kissed and twisted your heads to slot lips closer for several seconds before Poppy pulled away and her huge eyes stared back at you. You could tell you were panting, but nothing in the world mattered to you anymore. Only kissing her did.

“Oh…wow,” she said. You opened your mouth to brush the entire ordeal off as a nice neighborly favor and hopefully save whatever of your dignity you hadn’t left in her mouth when she launched herself forward and kissed you again, much harder this time. You rocked back on your heels as your hands steadied her by the waist. What? What was happening? Your brain chased answers while your tongue chased hers and you felt her thin frame quiver under your fingertips. “Wow,” she moaned again, breaking just for a second to catch air. You whined at the loss of her lips. “You kiss wonderfully.” A hysterical little laugh bubbled up from her chest and you tugged her back to your mouth. As long as she wasn’t actively shoving you away, you were going to spend the rest of your days kissing this woman. 

It was her turn to thread her hands into your hair, and she actually pulled the locks with a sharp tug. “Pop!” You shrieked in indignation, but she just giggled herself giddy and moved her kisses to your jawline. You wanted to remain indignant, but truth be told, the hair tug had sent a shockwave to your core and you felt wetness pooling between your legs. “Poppy,” you panted again, trying to break her concentration, but she was determined to kiss the entire length of your neck, it appeared, and you lost the will to even try and stop her. But decency won out, and you pulled her by her chin back to eye-level and said, “Do you want to keep doing this? I mean, are we going to talk ab–”

“No,” she huffed, cutting you off with several small pecks. “No, let’s just…Merlin! I enjoy kissing girls!” The statement was just sweet enough and just funny enough and just Poppy enough to make the both of you dissolve into laughter. You laughed for several seconds before you sobered up from the high of her body pressed into yours and you wondered if you should keep at this. Your hands were still holding her waist, and hers were wrapped lightly around your neck. “I know kissing Imelda won’t be like this. This, this is…” She grabbed your bottom lip in her teeth and pulled it, relinquishing it with a pop! Gods, was this the same Poppy Sweeting who asked Sebastian Sallow what he meant by saying he’d like to take her for a ride on his broomstick, because “Sebastian, we’re in Hogsmeade. We can’t fly here!”?

You nodded. You’d agree to signing up for NEWT level Arithmancy at this point. Anything to keep her in your arms.

“Lay down,” you whispered, and she complied instantly, pulling you down with her into a mind-decimating snog that had you instinctively shedding your house robes and swinging your leg over her waist to hover above her. Frenzied lust was making the decisions for you at this point. Poppy wasn’t protesting, or pointing out the fact that this was still technically her first girl kiss; on the contrary, she was unclasping her own robes and shimmying them out from under her, then yanking you back down. 

“Hey, Pop?” Poppy replied with an unintelligible string of “mmmm”s that, judging by the way she was moving her hands down your back to your backside, seemed more like moans.

“Did you know two witches can have sex without a wizard even–”

“Shut it!” she cried, her voice raising in adorable anger. You’d teased her lightly in the wake of that question years ago, and how could you not bring it up in such a perfect moment as this? She ran her fingers down the back of your skirt, then, using her fingernails in a delicious scrape that made every nerve in your body dance, and pulled it up over your ass. Her nails dug into the soft flesh there and you groaned before moving your knee in between her legs. 

“Aaah!” Poppy gasped in sheer delight as her core bumped against your knee and she realized that you were pleasuring her. Your kisses grew sloppier as she began shamelessly grinding on your leg. Her thigh-length skirt was impeding the process, so you flipped it up as she had done yours and saw…You closed your eyes and said a quick prayer of thanksgiving. Merlin, she was wearing white lace panties. And–

“Fuuuuck,” you whined, your finger ghosting over the embroidered poppy at the top of them. “You’re so fucking sweet, Sweeting!” 

But Poppy had devolved into a needy mess by now. She was barely holding onto her composure as she demanded, “Please, please! Show me how to do this, I want this, puh-leeease, I want this!” You’d never seen Poppy demand anything in her life, let alone sex. You couldn’t have imagined the sight being as perfect as it was. Her cheeks flushed, hair splayed out behind her on the blanket, her chest rising and falling rapidly as a dark, wet spot on her panties rubbed against your leg. Then her words really registered in your lust-addled mind. 

Show me how to do this.

Fuck. 

The last thing on Earth you wanted was for this to end, but the one remaining shred of decency that hadn’t escaped when her underwear was exposed forced you to choke out, “Ok, wait.” Poppy wanted to do nothing of the sort.

“Talk later, do this now,” she breathed, attempting to pull you back into a kiss, but you climbed off her fully and sat back on your heels. She pulled herself to a half-sitting position and pouted with swollen lips, “What? What’s wrong?” 

You swallowed. Your throat was dry as sand as you attempted to get the words out. Everything had been going so well, like a dream you never wanted to wake up from. But your idiotic lie had come back to bite you, and you had to come clean now.

“I’ve, uh…I’m sorry, Pop. I lied.” You couldn’t meet her eyes and looked instead at the bald patches of grass where she’d earlier done her gardening work. “I’ve never done this before. I’m so, so sorry, but when you asked, I thought maybe–and I’ve wanted this for ages, to be honest, so I made up that stupid story about the older girl and—when really, I only wanted to kiss you but now I’ve gone and–well, you never want to see me again, I’m sure of it, so I’ll keep out of your way, and again, I’m so sorry, I–”

Poppy’s laugh went from a low chuckle to ultrasonic. It was so intense and so overwhelming, no sound was issuing forth from her mouth. She clambered onto all fours and promptly fell over again, doubled over from the apparent hilarity of it all. Your brow furrowed.

“Poppy.”

She was still beside herself, her normal giggle replaced with a raucous hysterical belly-laugh that was shaking her entire body. “You thought–” She gasped between breaths, but then laughter overtook her once more. If you hadn’t been so dreadfully nervous that you were about to lose the love and the great friend of your life, you would have almost been annoyed. 

When she finally managed to sit up and form a few sentences, they were, “You colossal git! Oh, really, there was not actually a suave older witch who showed you how to explore a woman’s body?” Poppy clasped her hands on either side of her head in mock shock. “I can’t believe this. You’ve utterly betrayed my trust.”

You sputtered. “What? Well, haven’t I?” Poppy descended into laughter again.

“Of COURSE not! Come now, you bellend! I knew you were lying the second you opened your mouth! As if I wouldn’t have heard about this little Astronomy tower encounter the second after it happened? Please. I had to hear about Leander Prewett missing your lips entirely for a month after it happened.” You gaped at her. 

“Then why–?”

“Because!” Poppy threw her hands in the air and smiled at you, prettier than a sunset. “I wanted this, too. I didn’t know what to say.” She reached for one of your hands and took it in her own. “You are everything to me, darling. You’re my best friend and confidant, and you make me feel strong and beautiful, and like I can do anything.”

“Well, you can do anything,” you whispered, smiling now too. She waved off your sentiment and continued,

“Not to mention, my God. Your ass is downright heavenly!” Your jaw dropped at precious little Poppy Sweeting’s words. All this time, you’d been being ogled, even as you were ogling?

It seemed you were an oblivious pair, well-suited to each other.

A thought occurred to you. “So, Imelda…?” 

Poppy blushed, bashful at the extent of her own deception. “Er, no. She did not ask me to get a butterbeer.” She leaned forward and kissed the tip of your nose, twisting a strand of your hair around her finger at the same time. “But you get jealous easily.”

“Fucking hell, Poppy!” You were writhing under your best friend, whose second and third fingers were currently sunk knuckle-deep inside you, curling up into a spot that made your view of the top of Poppy’s four-poster swim. You clutched the sheets beneath you until your knuckles were white, her fingers pushing in and out in the most perfect way you could imagine. 

“Am I doing alright?” She purred, knowing full well the answer. 

After the feelings between you were confessed, you’d been unable to stop from stripping one another bare and fucking repeatedly behind the gigantic oak tree at the edge of the lake. Her body was everything you’d dreamed and more. Small but perky breasts that you were addicted to kissing, grabbing, and biting at every available opportunity, long legs that kept pulling you in for a snog when you were trying to finger her, and her tongue…fuck, that tongue. When she’d first dropped herself between your legs and looked at your drenched cunt, she’d murmured, “Well, here we go!” and bumped her nose against your clit, causing a twisted cry to fly from your throat. 

You’d both quickly figured out the pros and cons of two witches having sex; one of the pros was that Poppy was a tease of a top, on the rare occasion she did not feel like fulfilling her duties as resident princess of the pillows. They were precisely no cons. You ate her out a minimum of once a day, sometimes twice if you could manage to pull her away from the beast paddock long enough. Her taste was sweeter than anything at Honeydukes, and you were surely addicted to it. Even after two months, you couldn’t get enough.

You two were currently wrapped up and sweating in her bedsheets and praying that no one would notice a lock charm on the Hufflepuff girl dormitories in the middle of an unseasonably warm November afternoon. 

“Come for me, baby,” she giggled. She fucked her fingers in and out three times in rapid succession then slowed her pace greatly, causing you to thrash and whine with want. 

“T-tease!” You choked out.

“Only a tease if I don’t make you come,” she reprimanded, and as she continued moving her fingers, brought the heel of her hand up to rub against your clit. Stars sparked in your eyes and you screamed, pleading with her for release. She bumped and ground against your clit repeatedly until–

“Shit, baby, Poppyyy, I’m–!” Your orgasm crashed over you. A tidal wave would have been gentler. Poppy kept moving her fingers gently, a self-satisfied smile that she always wore when she got you to scream playing across her lips.

She collapsed next to you, watching your chest heave with the effort of catching your breath and coming back to Earth. Gods, this woman was so much more of a minx than she had ever seemed to be. “Hey,” she said softly as you panted. “My gran wants to know if I’m coming home for Christmas.” You sat up on one elbow. “Oh? Are you?”

Poppy chewed her lip, and you could tell she wished she had a handful of grass to rip up right about now. “I’d like to,” she began, “but I really only want to go if–”

“I’d love to, Pop.” And her face broke into that honeysuckle-sweet beaming smile that made you want to keep it in place forever.

masterlist

[happyhauntt]

stay, i pray you — nikolai lantsov.

series masterlist | writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: nikolai has a decision to make. anya makes it for him.

─── pairing: nikolai lantsov & anya kamenev (original character.)

─── warnings: takes place during seige & storm just after sturmhond reveals himself to be nikolai. angst, hurt/no comfort, pre-established relationship. this one's gonna hurt.

─── word count: 2.1k.

     "I've had an idea."

     The military encampment at Kribirsk is as familiar to Anya as the freckles on Nikolai's nose, the garden of her father's estate, the brittle ache of her injured knee. Crashing the Hummingbird had not been part of the plan — and her body had certainly not appreciated the impromptu swim in the nearby lake — but the First Army officers had recognised her and Nikolai, affording them all the honours of their stations and escorting them to the commander's tent.

     Anya hadn't felt all that comfortable with it. She may have been Lieutenant Corporal before her discharge, but it has become increasingly difficult to love the army that raised her while it serves the country that abandoned her. General Raevsky had once been her commanding officer. She and Nikolai had served under him on the northern border, oh, how many years ago now?

They'd both been green as grass, infantry grunts who'd never handled a rifle, never fired a shot or seen a battlefield begin to bleed. Raevsky greeted her like an old friend when they stumbled onto shore, asked how she was fairing as if he hadn't seen her only a few months ago, before she helped the Sun Summoner flee Ravka by smuggling her onto a ship bound for Novyi Zem.

     The tent Anya finds herself in is small but serviceable, with clean, fresh clothes laid out on the bed and a small plate of food waiting on the table. Nikolai disappeared shortly after their arrival, most likely to offer up an explanation to the commanders, but when he finally reappears, he finds Anya combing out the knots of her damp hair with her fingers, changed into a clean, loose shirt and army-issue trousers. She feels as if she never left the army and the thought makes her nauseous.

     "You have an idea?" She raises an eyebrow at him as he steps tentatively inside, allowing the tent flap to fall closed behind him. A playful smirk dances over her face. "Given that your last idea sent us crash-landing into a lake, I must admit I feel a little apprehensive."

     He huffs at her, an almost-chuckle that sends alarm bells ringing in her mind. A jibe like that would usually send him on a ranting spiral, fussing all about how his invention hadn’t been the reason they crashed and had, actually, worked exactly as intended for the majority of their journey.

     Teasing him is easy, and the way he smiles when she does sends warmth pouring through her. Seeing him so subdued is… troubling, to say the least. He hangs up his sword and crosses the tent to perch on the edge of her bed. His eyes remain fixed on the floor the whole time.

     Kneeling in front of him, she allows her fingers to graze over the bruise blossoming on his cheek. His eyes fall closed for a moment. "She really got you, didn't she? Our dear Sun Summoner has a mean right hook."

     "Believe me, I know. Scrappy little thing." Nikolai flexes his jaw and opens his eyes, and all once, Anya knows. It's written in the tiny lines between his brows and the quirk of his mouth and the ache in his eyes.

     "What is it?" she murmurs. Her fingers linger on his face, and he leans into the warmth of her, just slightly. Her knee protests, but she doesn't dare try to stand up. "What's happened?"

     He swallows roughly. "I've told you before, haven't I, about coming back here and helping Ravka. About fixing it before it's too late."

     Whispered conversations in a dimly-lit cabin flutter through her mind. Wishes pressed against her skin with kisses, hopes and dreams caught up in a lover's embrace. I could be better than Vasily, he'd said, and she had believed that, the way she believed the sun would rise in the morning. I could save Ravka.

     She hadn't told him the truth, then. She'd taken his dreams and folded them up into her own chest, to keep safe beside her heart, but she hadn't wanted it the way he did. Anya would sooner see Ravka burn. She cannot bring herself to feel mercy, not where this Saints-forsaken country is concerned. Not after it abandoned her when she needed it most.

     Now, she nods. A damp tendril of hair falls past her eyes. "I remember. You said you... you would find a way to convince Vasily to step aside, and your father would make you the heir. But it wasn't a plan. You said you didn't know how you'd do it, yet. Just that you wished you could."

     She may never forget it. The panic that struck her, bone-deep. The way his ambitions have haunted her ever since. He may not have known it then, but a ticking clock had been set that day. Anya never knew when their time would run out. Only that she would never be ready for it.

     He smiles, now. A rueful thing. There is no need to hide with her, no need to put on that winsome devil-may-care act he wears like armour. She is not a politician he can sway to his side, nor a danger he can charm his way out of, and yet he smiles at her. She is so beautiful, and soft, and she's not wearing her armour, either. Not here, not with him. There is nothing to smile about, and in a few moments it will all be different, but right now she is his, so he has to smile. He has to.

     He may weep, otherwise.

     "Kolya." Her voice is so quiet, barely more than a whisper, and he is so sure that she knows, already, without him having to breathe a word.

     His throat goes horribly tight, an invisible hand wrapped tight around his windpipe, as if that will stop his confession. His eyes flit to the roof for a moment. They start to sting.

     "Alina's power is the key to Ravka's survival," he says. Every word feels like lead on his tongue. "The Apparat has turned her into a living Saint, and the people love her. If I'm to make a bid for the throne and convince Vasily to step aside, it can't just be that I'm the best man for the job. That won't matter. But an alliance with the Sun Summoner might sway the odds in my favour."

     Anya watches him for a long moment. He holds his breath as time stretches, and eternity seems to pass before she even blinks. She withdraws her hand, allowing it to rest lightly on his thigh. The absence of her touch lingering in his face burns like a fresh bullet wound.

     He wonders if you can die from missing someone who hasn't gone anywhere yet.

     "An alliance with Alina." Anya narrows her eyes as the pieces click together in her mind." You mean—"

     "I'm going to ask her to marry me." His throat feels rough as sandpaper. "A political marriage, in name only. The game has changed and Alina is the only one who can level the playing field."

     He keeps talking, but Anya can hardly hear him. Her brain began to buzz with white noise the moment she heard the word marriage, as if her skull is home to a thousand angry wasps and someone suddenly decided to shake the nest. She can feel her blood rushing in her ears, her heartbeat thudding in her throat, but she doesn't dare give herself away.

     Anya Kamenev is a soldier, but she is also a future duchess. Her mother would be proud to learn that all those etiquette lessons didn't go to waste. Summoning a decade of training, her old governess' instructions rattling through her mind, her face remains delicate and empty. Not a muscle twitch or a quiver of her lip, not a hint of sorrow flashing in her eyes. She might as well be carved from marble. Her heart sits in her chest like a stone.

     "Nastya." The nickname he gave her in their army days is salt in an open wound. Nikolai reaches for her, grasps her hands in his as if she is all that can anchor him to this world. "I don't know what to do."

     "Of course you do." Somehow her voice is gentle, even though she feels jagged at the edges, like touching her might make him bleed. An instinct tugs at her, to curl her fingers around his own and hold him just as tight, but she can't bring herself to move. "You wouldn't bring it up to me if you hadn't already thought it through. You're a clever man, Nikolai. The cleverest I know, and don't let that go to your head. You know what you have to do now. You just want my permission to do it."

     Is it crueller, somehow, to ask for permission? To hand over her heart, and the knife too, as if that will make it hurt less when he carves it from her chest?

     A wet laugh bubbles out of him. "Trust you to keep my ego in check even now, Anya."

     "Someone has to," she says. She heaves herself into a standing position, wincing as her knee cracks and tiny bolts of lightning spike up her leg. "Although I think Alina will do a brilliant job. I don't mind handing over that responsibility to her."

     "Don't." Nikolai is on his feet in a moment. One hand remains in hers, his grip tight as a vice, but the other curls around the back of her neck. His thumb brushes softly over her cheek. The warmth of it makes her shudder. "Don't say that like you're going anywhere. I'm not sure I can do any of this without you."

     "Of course you can," Anya murmurs. Saints, she isn't sure the torture she endured at the hands of Shu Han's scientists hurt this much. If she closes her eyes, she can almost believe he's taken a blade and gutted her right here, like a fish on the deck of his ship.

     A ragged breath tears out of him as he says, "Alright, perhaps I can. But I don't want to."

     When he kisses her, it doesn't feel like a kiss goodbye. It doesn't feel like their last kiss in a thousand. There's a ferocity to him as he clutches her, teeth clashing, but that doesn't change the truth of it. He can hold her as tightly as he wants, but they both know she has always been smoke in his hands.

     “I would give you anything,” he says against her mouth, pressed together like hands in prayer. She feels his breath stutter against her tongue, hitched with a sob he will not set free. “Name it. Palaces and jewels, the moon, a temple built in your name, the heads of every man who ever harmed you served on a silver platter. Name it and it’s yours. Just stay.”

     Your heart. The tear slides down her cheek unbidden, and he kisses it away as he has done a thousand times before. She catches his lips with her own and kisses him again, fingers tangled in tendrils of his hair, still rough with saltwater no matter how many times he washes it. Your heart, your hand, a life with you away from this Saints-forsaken country.

     She’ll stay. She will, because Anya is a soldier, and though she no longer has any loyalty to Ravka, she still believes in him. And there is no pain in the world that could hurt more than abandoning him now, no matter how much she wishes she could.

     “Anything.” His voice, barely a whisper, a plea to those forgotten saints who have never seen fit to bestow a miracle upon them. “Anything, my darling.”

     He sinks to his knees before her, presses his forehead to her stomach. She leans and kisses the crown of his scalp, lingering a moment to breathe in the salt and sea of him. Ravka will never know how lucky it is to have a prince so loyal. She doesn’t know what they’d done to earn such devotion.

     “I know.” Despite the tears, her voice is deceptively still. Your heart. But he had already sworn it to his country, long before he ever loved her. “I want the same as you, Nikolai; peace and prosperity for Ravka.”

     He snorts against her stomach. His arms wrap tightly around her middle. “Liar.”

     “Always.” Pushing him away would not be the worst torture she has endured, but she worries it will scar her far longer than any blade could.

[bettyfrommars]

hi hey hello i am here to humbly request a sexy lil stevie blurb where he’s getting his succu bussed by demon babe.

go nuts. go wild. maybe steve is a good catholic boy maybe he’s not i dunno the evil power is in your hands.

goodBoy!Steve x demon!fem!Reader

18+ONLY - MDNI - smut, Steve falls in love, unprotected p in v, hint of dubcon but only for a moment, demon sex, oral for all, hints to religious trauma, heaven and hell, mention of demons, curses, star-crossed lovers. wc: 2.9k

Good Boy

Steve Harrington was on his knees that night, praying at the foot of the bed, waiting for the all too familiar rustling sound to come from inside the closet.  He prayed louder, faster, but he knew you were coming for him, just like you had every night since he found The Book and accidentally summoned you. 

He’d tried to throw the book out the window, he’d tried to burn the book, but every night it returned to his bedside table, right where his bible used to be.  His family farm had fallen on hard times; the dirt was dry, and the crops were dying, and an old woman in town sold him a book with a spell inside that would bring life back to the land.  Steve had always been a very good boy; he worshiped at church, and he worked from sunup to sundown on the farm.  He had sexual relations with women before, of course.  Once right out of high school, and a couple times with his first girlfriend, Dora, but she always told him he was too big, and it hurt.  Steve didn’t want to hurt anyone, and so he’d been saving himself for marriage ever since.  

That is, until, that first night the demon came to claim him.  

It’d been 7 unholy days full of sins unimaginable since the night he drew the symbol on the floor, dripped blood from his pricked finger, and recited the spell from the book.  7 days since the rains came and the diseased crops glowed ripe and plentiful like an overnight miracle. The book itself was tanned leather, made from some type of skin, embossed with three symbols on the spine but no other distinguishing markings. At first, he cursed the day he was stopped by that old woman in the street, peddling her wares in a pushcart.  

Her wrinkled hand snaked out from under her black shawl to take his wrist with a touch that was hot with fever.  “You’ll never know if you don’t try it,” she rasped, hunched over, her face in shadow.  “Many people have been cured by my spells; many roses have bloomed in my wake.  A good boy like you deserves to be rewarded.”

He didn’t even remember buying the book, but suddenly it was clutched under his arm, wrapped in newspaper, and he was on the other side of the street.  He looked around, searching for the old woman, but it was as if she’d never existed.  He adjusted his glasses, lip curled in confusion, running a hand through his unruly hair.  When he unwrapped the paper to see what he had, he realized the pages in the book were, indeed, not the word of God, and so he threw it away in the nearest garbage can.

That was the first time it ended up back on his nightstand.  He tossed it out the window and into the pond, only to have it materialize minutes later.  He recited the lord's prayer and begged for God to remove the book, but it was no use.  

That night, he lay in bed shirtless, one hand behind his head, kept wide awake by the compulsion to perform the spell in the book the old woman had told him about.  In a half hour, the spell was done, and he was wiping the chalk and blood off the wood floor, shaking his head, sucking back tears at the idea of a lifetime in purgatory.  

But, the next day, he realized the spell had worked, and maybe the woman was right: good boys deserve to be rewarded, and Steve was a very good boy.

That night, after an afternoon of celebration at the farm for the miracle that had clearly been a gift from God himself, Steve crawled into bed with a smile on his face.  Under the covers, he jerked himself off, riddled with shame as he did so, moaning a bit to himself, worrying his parents would hear him downstairs.  Blind in the dark without his glasses, he reached for the box of tissues with his cum-covered hand, and touched The Book instead, wiping his seed across the symbols on the spine.

That was the first time he heard the noises coming from the closet: a swoosh, and then a stomp, and then the rattling of the doorknob as something worked it open from the inside.  

When Steve snapped the light on, there you were, standing at the end of the bed.  Looming formidable, smooth red skin tight against your muscles, two horns curled on either side of your head like that of a ram, eyes wide and glossy black. You wore a harness on your neck, breasts bare and firm, nipples hard.  From the waist down, there appeared to be dark fur, as if you had the hips and legs of a goat, complete with the glimpse of a hoof just before it morphed into a human foot, and a human leg.  

Steve scrambled back against the headboard, too afraid to even scream, struggling to get his glasses on.

“Begone demon!” His voice quivered.  But why did he like what he saw so much? You sauntered around the corner of the bed to get closer, long, pointed tongue flicking out to touch your cheek. There was a purring, or a clicking noise happening in the back of your throat

His cock was rock hard, the tip sticky against the inside of the blanket. 

“Do you want me to help with this?” You asked, in the same tone a snake might speak with, finishing with long S’s.  

Steve gasped when you pulled back the cover to reveal his generous length curved tight up his stomach above his white boxers.  You sat down on the bed near his leg, the springs squeaking, and his cock twitched, aching as he watched every flick of your tongue.  With a snap of your fingers, the bedside lamp went out, so now the moon through the thin curtains was the only witness to the weight of Steve’s desire.  

Your teeth were sharp, but your lips were soft, and it was all Steve could do not to buck his hips in his eagerness for you to take him.  This had to be a dream, and in dreams, you can’t be held accountable for the things you take part in.  Maybe he’d even forget it by the time he woke up.  He kicked the blanket all the way down with his socked feet, and you ran your pointed nails along his hairy shin, all the way up to the hem of his shorts, making him shiver.  You scratched at his balls gently with the tips of your nails through his boxers, tapping tapping, causing more pre-cum to dribble from his tip.

“Are you…” Steve stammered.  Sweat shining on the skin under his chest hair.  “...what do you want from me?”

“I want to taste you,” you told him, eyeing the tip of his cock hungrily.  Knowing full well you could take him even if he said no, Steve nodded, bracing his hands on either side of him.  

You bent over but kept your black eyes on him, dropping your long, pink tongue down to taste the sweet skin of his shaft and the fresh juice from his hole, concentrating on the ridge under his flesh tip.  You wrapped your lips around the head, moaning as you did so, softly grazing the skin with your teeth. Steve threw his head back, his balls aching to do their job again. Your mouth was so wet, your tongue like velvet. He really did not want to like this, but dreams were funny that way.

"I need more,” you swallowed, rubbing your lips together.  “You're such a good boy, so patient.”

“I- I- I don’t want to hurt you,” Steve stuttered as you pulled his boxers down and made your way onto the bed to straddle him.  He was concerned with you taking the generous nature of his girth.

The sentiment made you close your eyes, roll your head back and growl, imagining the seed of such a good boy feeding the darkness inside of you.  You took his hand, bringing his fingers to the slick slit between your legs.  

“Holy moly,” Steve gasped.  “Is that…because of me?” His eyes were so innocent when they found your dark orbs, it made you line his cock up with your hole and sink down, pinching the tip with your tight inner muscles, hovering there.

“Remember what I told you?” You waited to hear him whimper with need before you sank all the way down.  “Good boys deserve rewards.”

The speed and strength with which you rode him had his eyes rolling back so that only the whites were visible, neck muscles straining when he turned his head to the side and squeezed his eyes shut.  

“Look at me,” you told him, demanding.  You took one of his hands. “Circle your thumb right here,” you brought it to your clit.  “Rub it fast, just like that, so I can cum too.”  

“Wait, women can cum? Like men do?” Steve blanched in between grunts of pleasure, raising his hips in jerky movements to meet the way you pounded down on his cock.  “I don’t think I’ve ever been inside anyone this deep before.”  He frowned in concentration, rubbing your clit like he was told, experiencing waves of pleasure he never thought were possible.  

“You fill me up so good,” you assured him, bottoming out and then rocking back and forth.  Every time you rose, you milked him with your tight walls.  

Steve barely had time to bark a warning that he was cumming before the whip cracked inside of him and he was pumping all he had inside of you.  

“Oh good boy, good boy,” you repeated, thighs making a smacking sound as you helped him ride his high.  “All of it, give it all to me.”

You waited until he was done, head back breathless on the pillow, before you slipped him out of you and got on your belly to lick him clean.  Your tongue worked under his balls, tickling at his ass, thinking you’d like to stick more in there one day, enjoying his moans as he discovered sensations he liked but had never explored before.

Steve wasn’t sure what you were doing when you moved up to straddle his head, positioning your dripping pussy above his face.  But, then you lowered yourself to his mouth and he understood, throwing his tongue around in your folds as best he could while cum dripped out of your hole and down his chin.  

You wanted to fuck that sweet mouth until the end of time.  Grabbing the headboard, you cursed in your ancient language, cunt rippling against his full lips as you came.  You let out a growl that was animalistic, and Steve realized that the sound triggered a lust deep inside and turned him on, just like everything else about you.  

The day after that, Steve had a spring in his step.  The best sex of his life had been with a demon in his dream, but still—he felt as satisfied as if it had happened in real life.  His parents did say they heard him up late walking around his room, and swore they heard a coyote whining right outside their window, but he brushed it off after he apologized profusely for waking them. 

But, that very next night, he was forced to come to the cold, hard conclusion that, not only were you real, but he was starting to have feelings for you.  

Fully dressed, Steve took his glasses off and threw water on his face in the bathroom sink, trying to wake himself up when you appeared out of the closet the next night.  “No way, no how, no sir,” he shook his head.  “There’s no way this is happening.”

He faced you and jabbed his finger at the book, water dripping from his hair and nose.  “God will smite me if I continue to fornicate with you, and this book is to blame.”

You were not forced to fuck Steve because of a curse.  That first night, yes, he had inadvertently summoned you. But, after that, it was  your own free will that had you polishing your horns and sharpening your claws, wanting to look good for him.  Steve had free will too, and he could’ve told you at any moment that he didn’t want  you there, but he never did. 

On that second night, the two of you kissed for the first time, and then you sucked him off, swallowing him deep inside, making his legs shake and his knees buckle.  Every night was a new sexual experiment, a new avenue of lust to pave Steve’s way to hell.

On the fifth night, you were next to him in bed, silicone strap-on harnessed in place, still slick with lube, and he took your strong, red hand in his.  “You know what? If you’re in hell, I don’t think it would be so bad.”

You turned your head on the pillow.  “There’s something I should tell you.”

The sound of your voice made Steve afraid.  He turned on his side to face you, tucking his hands under his head like a pillow.  “I’m listening.”

You kept  your gaze to the shadows of the ceiling.  “I’m only here for seven days,” you swallowed hard. “And then I have to go back.”

“Back? Back where? In the closet?” Steve pressed.

‘Back…where I’m from,” you said softly.

“Wait, back to hell?” 

You gave a crooked grin.  “If that’s what you want to call it.  But I am not of your world, clearly,” you used your hand to gesture to your body and your horns.  

“I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he offered, sincerely.

You blinked a few times, almost shy under his earnest gaze.  “There’s a portal in the closet and it’s going to close on the seventh night,” only as you said the words did they start to sink in for you.  “We’ll never see each other again.”

The two of you sat in silence for most of the rest of that visit, trying to come to terms with the weight of your realities.

On the seventh and final night, there were tears from both parties.  You let him see you that night, in your actual half human, half beast form, and he did not turn away from you. Steve filled you up while on top of you, kissing you, missionary style.  It was the most vanilla of all of the positions, but it was quickly becoming your favorite as you wrapped your furry legs around him.  You drifted in and out of sleep in each other’s arms; you could only stay till midnight and Steve wanted you there until the last second.  You’d had plenty of lovers in your day, back in your world, but none of them had been as tender as Steve. You worried that you cared about him enough to make the separation very painful.

“What will happen if you don’t go in?” Steve asked, holding your hand outside the closet.

“I’ll probably cease to exist,” you shrugged.  “I’m not really sure.”

Fair enough, Steve didn’t want to take any chances.  If he could summon you once, he could summon you again, and he’d work every spell in the book until he figured it out.  When the time came, there was one last tearful look and hand hold before the door shut, but just as it closed flush with the wall, Steve flung it open again, needing one more kiss from you.

But, you were already gone.  

You were not the only thing missing.  To Steve’s horror, he realized he was no longer in possession of The Book.  There was an empty space on the nightstand, and it was not under the bed or in any of his drawers. 

The next morning, he tore his room apart, rummaging through the tiny closet, groaning in frustration, flipping shoe boxes over his head and ripping coats off of hangers.

“What’s going on up there, Stevie? We’ll be late for church.” His mother’s voice called from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m not going!” Steve barked, but then he collected himself. “My apologies mother.  I’ll be right down.”

The sermon by Pastor Wilson was particularly long and torturous that day for Steve in his button down shirt and tie. He desperately wanted nothing more than to go back to his closet and find a way to get back to you. Pastor Wilson asked the congregation to stand for a hymn and that was when Steve caught sight of a familiar sight out of the corner of his eye: it was the hunched over figure of the old woman he’d bought the book from.  She was standing outside the church window, looking in, her black scarf over her head, bracing against the wind. 

But, she was moving now, turning and walking away.

Steve followed, excusing himself, he pushed through bodies as fast as he could without knocking people over while the congregation sang about begging for holy protection from satan.

Steve broke through the church door and out into the daylight just in time to see the older woman disappear around a street corner, shuffling her cart with her.  Steve ripped his tie off and unbuttoned his shirt, preparing to run the distance to catch up with her.

“Leaving now?” An elderly man shouted after Steve from inside the church.  “You’ll go to hell for that, son.”

“God, I hope so,” Steve barked over his shoulder, arms pumping as he lit out across the street, running toward the devil with all his might.

[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 ❤️

[ageofzero]

Yuna is the antagonist of a potential Final Fantasy X-3, thank you for coming to my TED Talk

edit: okay I'll put it under a read more since it'll be a long post (but not as long as my entire conversation was), but what's promised is due.

Now that I have to make the post for real I had to do some wiki reading on what the actual Things going on in the novella were, and… well, a lot of my theorycrafting was based on incomplete and kinda inaccurate information. BUT I can’t read Japanese, the book was never released here, and I am going to go with rule of cool for a little bit of this even as I keep the stuff that sounds kinda dumb on the surface. I’ll be the first to say that Tidus exploding from a bomb he thinks is a blitzball is dumb (true), and Chuami thinking she’s Auron’s daughter is a dumb plot beat (petty), but I’m weaving this bridge and I’m not going to rewrite those. I am going to change some contexts and make them exist in a narrative that I hope is compelling. That’s my disclaimer, now I’m gonna get into it.

SO.

The scenario from the novella and audio drama is thus: Tidus died again in an accident, and Yuna brings him back. But he’s not back in the same way that the Fayth gave this dream a real living body at the end of X-2. The official term for it is “beckoned”, but I probably won’t use that to describe him based on my previous understanding. No matter if he’s beckoned or not, or whatever terminology you want to use, the thing is that Yuna summoned him back. She’s holding him to life, and he can never know. It’s been a year since the moment Tidus died, and Yuna has seemingly regressed into patterns that put her into what was once Yevon’s circle. Tidus is looking injured/weakened (“Chuami: It wasn’t just [Tidus’s] words that felt hollow. When I shook his hand, his grip felt weak and lifeless... I think he’s injured. Or maybe he’s sick or something.”), and people are looking to Yuna for help or information regarding the strange not-quite Unsent (the beckoned) that are appearing in places in Spira. Help she is not capable of giving. Wakka and Lulu are protecting her as she prays in Besaid Temple. The world is seemingly acting out, with a second shoopuf appearing in the Moonflow and its energies overflowing and drawing more illusions into reality. (“Yuna: The Moonflow energy is responding to the will of the living. It’s as if… we’re in the Farplane.”) And it’s more vivid than what the Farplane is capable of, even breaking the rules of “beckoning”. This is something new, something worse. Something worse enough to bring back Sin (which I thought was just me extrapolating a potential, but they actually mention it in the audio drama that it happens). Yuna promises the people that she will defeat Sin, but Wakka tries to keep her from being made to promise such a thing at first, which is an interesting choice (“Wakka: Yuna, let’s go back to Besaid. They’ll push this all on you… Sin is for summoners, in their minds.”).

Where does the world go in this present circumstances? Why IS Yuna seemingly content to do what chafed her in the Eternal Calm short movie and stay praying in Besaid and helping the elders who are lost now that Yevon as they knew it is in shambles? Why are Lulu and Wakka enabling and protecting her in that? Why is Tidus looking injured and weak and why is Yuna keeping him at arm’s length? Why does she tell him that she’s fallen in love with someone else?

I know the typical story beat interpretation is “Yuna told him that and pushed him away so he wouldn’t be in danger for what she needs to do, bc defeating Sin caused his death last time”. But hear me out. Yuna knows Tidus isn’t alive. She knows that revealing that information to him will cause him to disappear again. She’s actively summoning him back to life and he has no idea (but he must suspect something is wrong, even before Yuna formally pulls away from him, he’s weakening and he probably doesn’t feel right in his own skin). I posit that her maintaining Tidus’s life is what she’s really doing praying in the Besaid Temple. She doesn’t want to get involved with the Moonflow situation, the shoopuf or the overflowing energy of the Moonflow itself. She doesn’t even really act when seeing all the ghosts in the crowd, and actively stops Kurgum from acting (plausible deniability: she and everyone else decide that sending them in that moment would be the wrong call and riots would break out, but that density of ghosts means that’s a significant amount of pyreflies that could become fiends at any moment).

I posit that Yuna’s powers are working, that people close to her think her powers aren’t working (Lulu and Wakka), and she’s hiding it from everyone else. That her powers aren’t working because she’s currently using them to maintain Tidus’s existence. And this maintaining is breaking the Farplane in half, because she’s powerful but has no idea what she’s doing. (Why would she really know what she’s doing or the consequences? Who has any information of what she’s doing and what will happen if she does it?) I posit that Yuna’s love for Tidus is so strong that it corrupts her sense of right and wrong. X-2 is Yuna largely going on a personal quest, and incidentally helping people but separating herself from the title of High Summoner and doing something she wants to do. Rikku encourages her to do something for herself for a change right before she agrees and runs off to become a sphere hunter. She still saves the world, this time from an ancient danger Old Yevon buried and an Unsent is threatening to use (for love, notably), but she did it in the course of looking for Tidus. Who the Fayth return to life, who she hugs and is so so relieved to have in her arms again.

She’s not going to let him go, she couldn’t let him die again so much that she called him back to life.

(side note: I never truly knew how this happened so I had to consult the wiki page on the novella, and I suspect what original information I was working with was misrepresented and misinterpreted. I openly admit that the wiki page doesn’t really help me fully understand what happened, aside from explaining how Tidus ended up in proximity to a bomb. My understanding from someone’s explanation was that an Unsent summoner on the island Yuna and Tidus got washed up on after a storm told her she could call back the dead if she wanted, as a summoner. They’re all made of pyreflies, Aeons and Fiends and People and Unsent alike, and summoners are in the business of manipulating pyreflies. Either calling them from the Fayth to form an Aeon, or Sending them to the Farplane so they do not become Fiends. A summoner with enough power could summon someone back from the dead, could they not? And this Unsent summoner knew how it worked, and told Yuna how to do it. But I don’t know how real that scene could be, or how accurate it is to what’s written in the book. It’s my rule of cool moment, though, and I worked with that as my understanding when I made this theory. We have to make our peace with that, if you’ll allow me this extrapolation of Spira’s rules and a summoner’s powers.)

(The meme is Tidus kicking a blitzball and it turned out it was a bomb and his head gets blown off, but wiki says they ended up on a vision of a Besaid from 1000 years ago, and the bomb was something neither Tidus or Yuna had seen before and to them it looked like a blitzball. So, Tidus approached what he thought was a blitzball, wondering who’s ball it was, and it exploded as he reached it. I still think that’s really dumb but I’m not editing it out bc Tidus’s death creates very interesting consequences.)

So, if Yuna is summoning Tidus back to life, and she desperately doesn’t want him to find this out so she avoids him and pushes him away through any means necessary, but he’s still weakening and fading enough to be noticeable by people… perhaps also himself… Yuna returning to Yevon in some capacity could just as likely be her looking for a means to keep feeding power to this summoning she’s doing so she doesn’t lose him. And what kind of consequences does it have to do this? He’s being summoned, but he’s not actually an Aeon. He’s not an Unsent, he’s not just being beckoned. He wasn’t even real, he was a dream in a summon held together by the raw power of Yu Yevon turning into Sin. The Moonflow overflowing and seeing a long-dead shoopuf is the least of the consequences. The Farplane is delicate, it requires careful maintenance, and here Yuna is shoving her foot in the door and holding it open for a solid year! And no one knows she’s doing this! Spira’s past is full of history, some of that long-buried secrets that no one was supposed to find again. Sin wasn’t supposed to be able to come back, but the ghosts aren’t staying ghosts anymore (“Lulu: I mean Sin came back, right? What’s to stop anything else from coming back?”).

Even people who only know her by reputation seem to think she’s acting strangely (“Kurgum: I thought Lady Yuna was… a righteous person.”), because something is wrong and no one can put their finger on what. Who would have the pieces to put any of this together, and who would even suspect Yuna in the first place? She’s actively not getting involved in politics, she’s locked herself in Besaid, she seems reluctant to answer someone she worked with and should be amicable with now (Baralai).

I think the story should follow down this path, I think it should find Yuna at the end of it, once savior and now destroyer. She’s willing to let the world rip apart in order to keep Tidus, and I think that’s a compelling premise for X-3. The past surging forward like ghosts, vengeful and lost and wanted and terrifying. Who sides with Yuna (Wakka, Lulu) and covers up the problem? Who bands together to face down the High Summoner (Tidus, Rikku)? Who doesn’t know where to place their allegiance, or who changes sides when they realize the extent of what Yuna’s hiding? What does she do when she’s faced with her friends, and the person she loves so much, telling her to stop?

There’s a line in Eternal Calm where Yaibal (named in X-2 but not in the movie itself), after asking about whether or not she’d be joining one of the factions, if she’d be making a faction of her own. And I think in this potential X-3, she’s making her own faction through the actions of becoming antagonist. She’s made Wakka cover for her, she acts in a way that make Lulu and Wakka both protect her regardless of whether or not they know what she’s doing. I think it would be so fascinating to make this a conscious decision on her part. Things have broken so utterly, and she’s desperate to hold them together, and becomes the antagonist in the process.

Squeenix would never do it, they’d never be so bold as to make Yuna the antagonist and follow through on this trajectory of her lying to people to hide that she’s the one breaking the world in half (up to returning the ghost of Sin itself to terrorize Spira). Sin isn’t the final boss in this one, it’d have to be Yuna, we have to stop her and fix what went wrong. It’s not ever gonna happen, but I still think Yuna should be the antagonist of X-3.

[fox-bright]

I'm playing TotK again, and wondering. After all is said and done, villain routed, battle won--do you think Zelda ever prays to Hylia again?

I mean, imagine being her.

You devote yourself with fervor to the worship of your grandmother goddess, she whose golden blood runs through you. You know, you know that she is real; her mark is visible everywhere on the face of the world. You meditate and you sacrifice and you pray, you pray so constantly that it comes and goes like breathing. Waiting for the still small voice your mother told you stories about, before she died; waiting for the touch of a golden hand. For comfort. For purpose. For peace.

And all you get, ever, is silence. Not even the quiet of a held breath, the hollow ears-ringing of an empty room.

And then Calamity comes. And you do everything you can, and it's laughable how quickly your defenses break. A straw against a sword. Your army dies, most of them in the first few minutes of the fight. And your family dies, your father, aunts and uncles, cousins every one destroyed inside the same forty-five minutes. And your friends die, everyone who pledged themselves to you--they die first, and in pain, in full view of their people.

(And then their souls are trapped for a century, waiting for you to finally fulfill your fucking promises.)

Your warrior, your most devoted, your silent watcher, dies in your arms.

And then She comes to you. A drop of Her spirit, too little, too late, only just enough to preserve your knight until his body could be healed. And you scrape together every other bit of power you can summon and every scrap of knowledge you've ever managed to learn about wards and magical defense, and you walk into hell, and you curl around the devil and you go to sleep for a century.

And you have some power, now! Enough to fight him when he wakes. Enough to put him down, for a little while. And you think, maybe it's over, you can gather up your scattered people and rebuild at long last. And you start, and you get five or seven years at it before the real enemy shows up.

And again, you do what you have to do.

And again, you sacrifice...everything. All you have. More than you knew you could, because at least when you petted the devil to sleep for a century you were still yourself. Now you have to lose even that, and for an unimaginable amount of time. What's a century next to a hundred millennia? What's the eyelid-flicker of your mortal life, that mere couple of decades--you don't even notice decades anymore. Centuries are seasons to you now.

And here's the real bitch of the problem, that could only become clear to you from this height; you could never get Her attention in that mortal lifetime because you'd already been in perfect communion with Her for scores of thousands of years before you were born. Because anyone who is Goddess-touched gets torn out of time, and good luck putting your feet squarely on any forward-stretching path ever again.

Because the Dragon of Light is never out of Her sight, not ever, not for an instant, and what does some bit of chaff, some mortal mite, have in comparison to that accord?

What do you think it's like, to realize that the reason everyone you ever cared about died, was because they already had? Because when you went back, the ever-watchful eyes of Hylia learned everything you knew, and would not act to change it?

What do you think it's like, to know that no matter how hard you struggled, every single bit of effort you ever put toward saving the world was wasted? That there was nothing, nothing you could have done? If you'd known, you could have told them all to get away from you, and that's the only way you could have saved them. But you didn't know, and She didn't warn you, did she. No matter how much you abased yourself, begging for knowledge or aid.

And now at the end of all of it, returned again for a second time to her little, mortal self, tiny body, tiny lifespan, how do you think Zelda feels? She's been Goddess-ridden for longer than every civilization on her planet has existed. She has had Hylia's voice in her ears for every moment of eons. She has access to knowledge now that not one of her line of Priestess Queens has ever imagined.

But I think. If I were Zelda. I'd get my feet squarely back on the ground, and I'd commune with Her one last time, and I'd tell Her. "You got what you needed from me. And I guess I got what I needed from you. So we can call it even; we're quits. I'm done. I'll leave the key under the mat."

[suyaaachin]

ALMOST

if you will ask me what is the most tragic word, I would say almost, why? because...

nanami x reader

warnings: angst, blood, death, m*hito

blood.

screaming.

people.

curses.

y/n!

Nanami can be seen panting and frantically looking everywhere, looking for the h/c headed female.

he's worried sick, it's been a few hours since they last saw each other in this war and he's worried for the state of the woman right now.

"darling, please be safe and don't die on me." he thought.

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

grunt.

panting.

blood.

Nanami..

Mahito.

"bitch." you thought as you grip your sword tightly in your right hand, your left hand can be seen few meters from you as you cutted it before mahito's curse spreads in your whole body.

your bloodied body, limp legs and arm continued to fight the blue haired curse.

"if I'm gonna die right now, I'll be sure to drag your corpse with me in hell." you laugh maniacally, eventually coughing blood.

"for someone who's about to die you sure are full of energy huh, got someone who keeps you going?" the curse taunts you as you recall the faces of your loved ones, Nanami's face shows in your mind lastly.

"yeah, and I'm willing to protect them no matter what!" you screams, "I don't wanna do this, I know I'm gonna die but not that painful, geez."

you form a summoning stunt, your blue curse energy turning red, then black.

"I told you, didn't I? If I'm gonna die,"

you smirks.

"you're coming with me."

a burst of energy surrounds you as you chant,

"hollow death."

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

everyone felt that, even Gojo who's still in the shadow realm.

"she actually used it, huh. I guess it's a see you later, y/n, though you could've waited for your favorite senpai to be unsealed before going." Gojo let out a pained laugh as he closed his eyes, ignoring the pain in his chest, "greet the others for me."

------

"y/n! where are you!?" Nanami screamed, looking for any signs of the female.

"no, no, no, that's not her, please Kamisama not her, please." Nanami prayed, hoping any God would listen to his pleas.

finally spotting a familiar h/c woman, Nanami rushes to where you are, "y/n! no, no, no! why did you use it!"

Nanami asks, tears forming in his water line knowing that he was too late, "no, darling, my love, please don't leave me.." he pleaded.

with every remaining strength you have, you open your eyes, wanting the image of your beloved be the last view you'll have before you take your last breath.

"Kento… forgive me," you started, tears already falling from your bloodied face, "we almost got married, we almost had a happy life, I almost became a Mrs. Nanami," at this point you're both a sobbing mess, you continues, "we almost…we almost become a parents, you almost become a father, I almost become a mother,"

"no, no, no, please no more, the others are on their way, they will heal you,"

Instead of stopping you continued,

"we almost had a child. I'm so sorry, Kento, it's my responsibility to protect life but I failed to protect the one we created." you cry.

"y/n, love, please hang on."

"I'm tired, Kento. will you let me go?" you ask calmly, starting to feel numb and sleepy.

"I love you, y/n. wait for me okay, maybe in that life all of our almost will finally come true."

"I'll be waiting then, I love you, so much. don't come here too soon okay?" you laugh and kiss him one last time before succumbing into the darkness.

"see you later, my love."

[heavensarcher]

*spoilers* SOTE Lore/story Thoughts

I'm not through it all yet - I'm avoiding various parts of this DLC which is, I might add, beating me black and blue - but I do have some lore thoughts.

I don't hate the idea of Miquella being a lil fucked up - it matches with every other member of their family at this point - but I have really enjoyed all the St. Trina stuff! The cross in the fissure saying I abandon here my love then finding the remains of her slumbering in the depths was actually beautiful. This other aspect of them, this part that represented their love and kindness for others - abandoned for their greater plan, praying for you to stop their key aspect

This deepening of charm to bewitch and sleep to eternal sleep of death has done some wild things to their characterisation. I don't know if I vibe with it fully but its certainly changed Miquella from being this kind of do no wrong figure to someone who has always had darker aspects, even if they chose mostly compassion

It puts into question a lot of the relationships we have thought Miquella has had with others (family and otherwise) because now its a little unclear to what extent they wanted to have that relationship or to what extent it was overexaggerated by Miquella for their plans.

This all said it now means the entire Marika/Radagon line is pretty irredeemable in various ways so born it all down I guess

Messmer is a little depressing in a way. Here's a child who did as their Mother told them, only to be locked away in this endless war growing crazier by the moment and becoming beholden to the Abyssal Serpent. His lines when you die, particularly in 2nd phase, tell you this man fully thinks he's damning himself to kill you. Even if he is questioning his Mother's plan, it's only in the way that lets him carry on with the last command he actually heard from her. Her blessing says shes now entirely abandoned this child that destoryed entire civilisations because she asked for it. Its sad as fuck

Rellana is interesting to me because her remembrance states she was a Carian princess that ditched to stick by Messmer's side - seemingly because she knew his path following his Mother would lead him to ruin. I wonder if she followed pre-Radagon betrayal? Like Messmer in his looks felt very Radagon/Renala child to me and boy howdy another one off with the snakes - Rykard clearly had an inspiration. It also solves the mystery of why snakes were so hated before Rykard became snake - they were either tied to Messmer OR the Abyssal Serpent (hi I'd like to know more about this outer god please and thank)

I really like that the hornsent have the ability to chant into existance these powerful forms. Like, together they lift up others of them to demi-god status. The Dancing Lion being this actual piloted beast (a la Chinese lion dances) with 2 priests(?) controlling it, chanted into existance by the Hornsent Grandma is this awesome idea and it was terrifying continuing to summon new elements which scared me :D

Hey who the fuck are those massive tanky bitches everywhere and what's the lore on those lil bastards. Just them and their fucked up dogs. Seemingly very Mohg and the Omens coded? Like some of them have a "leader" with something reminescent of Mohg's trident which implies a connection to the formless mother and they have started like eating each other which seems her vibe.

As a sidenote - Easter Eggs abound which I really enjoy. The fact you can drain the Church District a la DS1, there's an auto crossbow a la gael's, those beast claws are bloodborne, there's a few armour sets that are black knight coded or fume knight coded, the monk moves are very reminiscent of the senpou monks, Gaius is very Gyoubu Oniwa

I didn't really want FINGER LORE but here we are with FINGERLORE THANKS YMIR. So the fingers being born is horrific to me. I did think Ymir had some interesting takes on the fingers being led astray and having come from a mother that was wrong (and then getting dropped on Mother Of Fingers was....horrifying). They in themselves are very bloodborne-y which is neat.

It was always very prominent in the base game, but this continuing narrative of conquest and destruction is still very satisfying to me. (Its very christianity coded oops). I think it was more...hazed over in the base game? Not in a bad way but in a "lot at all this literal gold! we'll plaster it over the blood and bones so you can't see them" kinda way that made it all the more dark. Like for the most part this is a conquest that won so completely there's little left to say otherwise. In the DLC we see the extremes of that war. This is a conquest still on-going. There's blood, ash, bone, and fire everywhere. The entire continent is covered in GRAVESITES. It's this incredibly violent "we haven't had time to rewrite history as the victors yet" and it is entirely narratively satisfying that in this shadow place, all the cracks are showing.

[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.

[fqrcefields]

edge of seventeen. ಇ.

summary _ , death meets the witchkiller. a.k.a., how i truly hoped agatha all along SO1EO9 would go.

⋆ tags : fluff and angst, hurt/comfort, salem flashback agathario! ⭑ࣶࣸ 

read on ao3.

 ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀────୨ৎ────

The forest lies silent.

Silent, save for the panting breaths of a young witch.

Over bodies she stands, her heart beating with such fervor that she can feel it in her ears, in the fingers that tremble by her sides, in the knees that nearly give way as she stands. She is full of terror, of panic and sorrow for the mortality that she has brought this eve, but beneath all of that grief, there hides excitement. She is only grown more formidable, taking what was meant an attack as a gift, now holding the power— the lifeforce— of countless witches in one young body.

Power is a terrifying thing for a young woman to have.

Agatha Harkness stands still in this power, in this electric current that has swept over her, causes her body’s hair to stand at attention, a simultaneous fatigue and alertness brewing in her mind. She is exhausted from screaming and begging, yet is overflowing with vitality. She has never once felt verve nor passion for life, never seen herself as anything more than her mother’s failure, never felt destined for a life better than the one she’d been shackled with. Here she stands, standing over her own mother’s corpse, the whole world’s possibilities staring at her down the barrel of its gun. However, she does not stare back. Agatha’s vision is glued to the shriveled face of her own mother, the image she’d envisioned so frequently finally come to fruition. It’s odd, how, after praying for a death so often, when finally faced with that death, one does not quite feel relieved.

Agatha is only but a girl, standing alone at the edge of seventeen, motherless, covenless, the trees her only friends.

Even they wilt in her presence, the winter’s cold air having turned what was once green and full now pale white, crooked branches. She resembles them, Agatha thinks as she continues to cast her bewildered gaze toward her own mother. She is disconcerted not that she’s killed her own mother— she has known herself to be the cause of Evanora’s downfall for far too long. She’d been told by the very woman what evil she sensed on Agatha from the very beginning. No, it’s not the death that shocks her heart and causes the tears in her eyes. After being reminded all too habitually that she is not a good enough witch, that studying for the rest of your days will not help you, Agatha had lost hope of being a skilled spellcaster all too early in her childhood.

Those last few seconds of shock and awe that danced upon her mother’s face as she died were all too delicious for young Agatha. She was no longer failure, but something to be revered, to be feared, to be worshipped. Though, there is no one left to revere her now. Every witch in Salem is dead at Agatha’s hand, and the rest of the town’s residents look to her as the Antichrist, the ultimate sinner, the next to be strung up. Agatha must leave before they can do their stringing, she realizes this. But she is stuck in time, gazing upon the cadaver of mother. The image is somehow both an incredibly poignant one, one that makes her want to cry and beg for her mother to wake up and return to console Agatha’s tears, yet also one that brings the young witch all too much glee. To see that the woman who has done nothing but belittle and torment Agatha for her entire life now lays dead at her own hands… it is infatuating. Agatha loves it.

There exists another in the woods tonight who also adores this image of death.

She had been summoned just as with every other body, yet something about this summoning felt different. The reaper has long felt the mortuary aura that hangs over Salem like a thick fog, the heightened delirium and wrath that townspeople shoot towards one another. She has wielded the scythe for an eternity and yet somehow, Salem is by far the worst bout of mass hysteria and cast judgment that Rio has ever experienced. It must be the involvement of magic that causes such a rift in energy, that lures Rio to the town. She has watched from afar, lurked in shadows and as the wind itself, has learned all there is to know about witchcraft that can be learned without taking the role of student. Rio has become witch herself (perhaps has been one all along, only did not possess name for it), all from this coven that she now sees dead at the feet of one victor.

This victor who, just as Agatha cannot remove her eyes from the body of Evanora, Rio cannot remove her own longing gaze from. Even as the sun begins to rise, as Rio’s otherworldly pull becomes strong, she sits in silence, stares. She has witnessed secondhand the villainy cast upon this young woman, the sadness forced into her heart by her own maternal figure, the simply evil words of mistrust spewed. Rio has been reduced to audience, despite how dearly she wants to reach out and dry the tears that she watches fall each night. She has all but ignored her responsibilities in her infatuation with this purple witch, has let the bodies pile as they may in order to keep her physical form in Salem for as long as possible.

Now, here the object of her fascination stands, alone, needing a guiding hand, a shoulder to cry on, a body to hold. Yet Rio’s cannot be that hand. She must only watch, must wait for the witch’s eventual departure before she may claim bodies, must return to the underworld, must allow her enthrallment to return to boredom. She must face that Agatha will walk out of this forest on her own, and Rio will never once see the large, wanting, hazel-blue eyes again.

Agatha stands overwhelmed by options, so many that she is not sure what to do with herself. Should she run into town, return to her bed, pretend to be shocked when she is alerted of her mother’s death come morning? Or is it deeper into the woods that she should run, run until her feet bleed and the seams of her dress can no longer hold? Where can she turn now? There must be a warmer climate she may run to— but who would have a map? She should simply start running and never look back— but what if she begins in the wrong direction? What if—

Agatha shakes the thoughts from her overly busy mind, forces herself into calm as she has done countless times to keep her own tongue bitten, to keep the words from falling from her lips, to keep herself alive. She takes several calming breaths, finally allows her gaze to raise from her mother’s decrepit face, looks to the sky. It is turning blue from black, but the stars are still visible. She’s spent enough time below them to know just where they sit in the sky, knows exactly which way to go to avoid north. She will find the dog, the large one that takes up the entire sky some nights. She will go towards the dog, will find freedom in its flickering light.

Follow the dog, she reminds herself, the thought barely fighting to the forefront through countless other racing thoughts. Agatha lifts her leg to take a step but cuts the movement short. She instead drops to her knees, sees her mother more clearly, feels the bile build in the back of her throat, dares not allow it escape. She fights also the urge to spit onto the woman’s face, to truly and finally insult the woman that has spent Agatha’s entire life doing nothing but doing just that. It is in this considering that Agatha’s eyes land on the brooch around the woman’s neck. Something passed down the Harkness bloodline for centuries, yet was never passed into the hands of Agatha. How Evanora had hoped for another child, she reminded Agatha all too constantly. How she yearned for another, more capable, more worthy, to grace with the heirloom. Angrily, Agatha reaches to rip the locket from the woman’s neck, does not offer second thought to how she tears the cloak. She pins the brooch once she locates her own cloak, which has fallen to the dirt, has become covered in mud just as she’s sure her mother had wanted. The reminder of her mother’s own revulsion will always taint this locket, yet when Agatha pins it into place upon her own chest, she does not feel appalled by it. It is as though made perfectly for her, a purple ornament for the purple witch.

It is ornamented that Agatha flees from the scene.

As the purple witch disappears, a green one takes her place upon the dead. She wears the mask of Death, though surely it should be the other way around. She wears the mask of Life when she walks through towns. This skeletal form is the natural one, not the human features that she takes on when necessary. She is death herself; it is no costume. It is as herself that Rio presses fingers to pulses, checks for minimal signs of life. This part of the ritual is entirely unnecessary. The reaper can feel the lifelessness, the lack of spirit, the dried shells of flesh that no longer pump blood. She need not check, though there is some distant desire to do so, to make entirely sure that she is not claiming one that may still have life within them.

At first, her feet carry her hops over rocks, light in her running, dashing between trees, careful not to step on twigs. To alert anyone of her presence would be a critical failure, so Agatha silences her own bated breath. She does not make it far before her actions become sluggish, her lids heavy and her shoulders unable to carry her small leather pack any longer. Once she is surely far enough from Salem’s town limits, she allows herself camp. Agatha knows not how to build a fire, nor does she know which of the forest’s offerings are safe to eat. She only knows her own starvation, the way she yearns for a cauldron of soup or even the stalest piece of bread. She ought to have thought more delicately about this escape, but there was little process of thought put into the mad dash.

The sun is rising on the horizon, her beloved star-dog eluding her, so Agatha takes her rest. She places her bag beside her in the direction of south, so that even in midday she will find her way. She does not have much processing time left in her, brain only functioning well enough to allow her body to make camp out of dirt and lay her head down. The moment she hits the cold forest floor, she is asleep, hugging herself tightly to maintain heat, and to comfort herself of her own traumatic day.

_________________________________

Rio cannot help her own actions. She cannot keep herself from leaving her River Styx, from returning to mortal realm, from locating her so coveted prize. She thinks of Agatha as a prize, yes. For to claim Agatha’s soul would be the greatest feat of Rio’s career. She would become the witchkiller’s witchkiller. And while it is this thought that Rio carries heavy, it is not the reason that she walks the plane of existence this day. She does not want Agatha’s soul, does not want her power. She cannot explain what it is she wants. Rio simply feels something tying their beings together, something binding them that cannot be undone even with the most powerful of magic. Though Agatha may not know it, may not even feel this connection at all, Rio does, and she will follow Agatha to the very ends of the Earth even just to keep eye on her.

It does not take Rio long to find the witch. When there is this much energy floating around the ether, the reaper is prone to locate it with ease.

When she finds her, Rio is shocked by her peacefulness. She deserves it, she thinks, Death’s form hovering over the sleeping one. And as she gazes down upon the sleeping beauty, Rio feels something that she’s not yet felt in a millennium of life. There’s a thumping within her, a beating of a heart so mistreated and unused that is has gone black. A heart that has never beaten for another, yet now begins its monotonous rhythm within Rio, will surely play as long as she is able to gaze upon Agatha. It is a heart that only beats for one, and will beat for this very one for the rest of time.

Rio must fight the urge to bend down and touch the sleeping girl. She is so exhausted, so desperate for this sleep, that Rio dare not wake her. She cannot imagine how many phases of moon this young girl has seen without proper sleep, so she does not allow her fingers the touch that they so crave. Rio instead returns to her form of the silent watcher, the viewer, the unimposing. She will be the statue, the weeping angel that will stand over Agatha’s body through nightmares and sweet dreams, will ensure that nothing will hurt the young witch in her drowse. If the witchkiller is not afforded pleasantry in day, she will at least have it in night. Though, it is not the night which Agatha sleeps now. She sleeps until the sun has undergone its full rotation of the sky, until it begins to set, until the whip-poor-wills begin their eerie calls. It is, both in Rio’s misfortune and luck, when Death’s back is turned to the young woman that she wakes.

It’s impossibly startling to Agatha’s already delicate heart, and when she wakes, is met with green cloth and dark hair, she nearly screams.

The figure whips around, and Agatha is all too relieved to see that the equally young face dons an equally terrified expression. Her nerves calm upon the sight, that they are simply two young women, equally alone. Perhaps her emerald visitor is simply looking for a companion, a friend. Agatha is, of course, as she has been her whole life, imminently questioning, dubious, hesitant. She will not allow herself to calm entirely just yet, however bewitched she may be by the woman’s dark features and beautifully embroidered corset.

“You’ll forgive me,” says the looming outline of jade, her head tilting in sympathy. “I meant not to frighten you.”

Agatha finds herself stuttering, so far from her typical self. She no longer holds the desire to be disingenuous, to put on her overly confident swagger that once hid so much fear of embarrassment. How strange it is to be far from home, she thinks. Without sisterhood, one loses herself entirely.

“That’s alright,” Agatha replies, tossing her wild hair over one shoulder, sitting upright, blood rushing to face from embarrassment over appearance. “I…” She begins again, yet does not quite know what question her brain is meant to form at this moment.

Luckily, her green character takes away the need for questioning.

“I am Rio,” she says calmly, outstretches her hand. How Agatha revels in that touch, lingers for far too long for the feeling of warmth that it gives. She hadn’t noticed, nor prepared, for how cold the day would become. “I noticed you sleeping… I only meant to watch over you so that none may cause you harm.”

Agatha’s face only blushes deeper at this.

“That is awfully kind of you.” Agatha smiles, standing up finally, her feel horribly sore from her extreme exercise the night prior. Her mind just as pained from its own acrobatics. “I am Agatha.”

Rio’s cannot help her mind’s natural attraction to etymology. She has walked this earth for so long, has learned its languages, has watched them evolve and grow just as she has.

Good. This is a good witch whom she speaks with.

“Where is it that you are headed, Agatha?” Rio questions, taking a few steps in a randomly chosen direction, anticipating that Agatha will join her, that at least they may have a few moments of conversation.

Each woman fears the other’s interpretation of her. Rio, a woman who has scared the world, who has terrified millions and will more than likely strike fear in the heart of this witchkiller as well. And Agatha, who never once had a friend, for even the members of her mother’s coven of her own age harbored nothing but sheer detest for her. They each choose their words carefully now, Rio putting all of her effort into concealing herself, into ignoring the pull of dying breaths and the flickering of lost light. As hungry as she is for a body, as enjoyable as it would be for her to do just that, there is not a single war nor plague that would tear her away from Agatha in this moment.

“I am… entirely unsure.” Agatha laughs to herself a bit, following in Rio’s footsteps eagerly, walking so closely to her that grey cloak brushes against green. “Anywhere, I suppose. Just… not home.”

Rio nods in understanding. She shares the same goal. She decides now that she will follow Agatha wherever it is that she may walk, so long as she does not scare the shorter woman off before that may happen.

“Would you mind horribly, my company?” Rio muses, praying that the hopefulness in her voice is not too evident. She does not want to betray her own deep desperation for this woman, to be by her side for every earthly minute until the sun collides with the earth, but there is no hiding such love.

“I should enjoy that very much.” Agatha is unable to hide her own smile now, so wide that it causes pain in her cheeks, very thankfully distracting from the pain in her feet, the anguish in her heart, the throbbing at her temples. She now has found comfort in death, though she need not know that detail just yet. For now, they know each other simply as two young women that found each other by chance in the middle of the woods, and that is all they need. They will know each other far more deeply, soon enough. They will have centuries to know— to love— one another, though neither knows this as they crunch over long-dead leaves and fallen twigs. Agatha and Rio need only each other’s company, only conversations about rabbits that flitter by, about how unseasonal the weather is of late. They are only a small speck in the greater universe, yet neither pays the greater universe any mind. Not when they have each other, their coven two.

[lleldey]

Preview: The Deepest Marks of Essence

Read here

Description: When you found yourself circled by a tribe, you never thought it would lead you to tap into your deepest wants and desires. You are the example of how one should act at all costs, but if you ever manage to escape this maze and if your story ever becomes told, you’ll never be looked at the same. But it’s hard to regret it when your nights are spent with gentle caresses and starry midnight skies. You got everything you secretly longed for, but at what cost?

Warnings: a tribe, use of weapons, yelling, mentions of wounds-blood, JK is a yandere, mentions of people dying/killing, smut, use of psychedelics, more will be added!

Word Count: ~650

!In no way of shape and form do I think this is how Jungkook acts in real life, this is pure work of fiction, so if you choose to read it, please keep that in mind!  

~

You watch in horror how the masked leaves fall one after the other like dominoes, and your gaze moves with them to see a steep ditch covering the entire area of the site, circling your only means of exit. A sharp sound like a whiplash follows soon after, and you realize you’ve run straight into a trap when the unmasked ditch has triggered a sturdy net to fall from the trees.

Wherever you turn your head, the trap follows, disturbing birds that fly high over your head away from danger. Oh, how you’d love to accompany them. Breathless, you grasp Taes’ hands around your waist, your only means of safety, holding you from falling to what might as well be your death.

“Shit”, he gasps in your ear, and you know you’re truly fucked when rushed steps and shouts near you. “What do we do now?” He balances you back on the ground, evident fear coloring his voice; as much as you’d love to step into the older sisters’ shoes and ease his mind, quickly figuring out a way to salvage the problem, you’re left speechless.

Even if you somehow manage to jump over the ditch, the net is too high to climb over and the netting too tough to tear. But there’s no time to think when you feel a sharp sting over your leg. Its force makes you fall on all fours, biting back a scream of pain you see a spear impaled on the other side of the ditch.

Fearful, you turn around to see a swarm of people surrounding you and your brother, another spear is thrown, but this time toward your brother, who barely manages to duck before it hits his body. Tears fall as you notice all the weapons pointed at you, and you’re just about ready to be impaled when a woman shrieks something in her tongue, and points at you.

It must be a sign to finish you off, you’re sure of it, you curl up awaiting the attack, but it never comes, rather you see the woman hit the man’s head who threw his spear at you. Your gaze quickly roams over the group, frightened by their relentless stares at you, but you notice one consistency – they’re pointing at your forehead.

You quickly touch it, confused about what’s happening, but when you do, a chorus of shouts come your way telling you to stop. And you realize what’s the hold-up, it’s the mark, Jungkooks blood smeared over your skin from yesterday.

As if he’s summoned, he runs through the crowd of people with a group of men following closely behind him. His gaze instantly meets yours, and you see the shock traveling through his system as he takes in your bleeding skin and terrified expression.

Just like a switch being flipped, he steps into his domineering aura; even though you’re away from him, you feel the energy of his anger like a shock wave washing over you, the sparkling eyes and gentle touch which you oh so adored nowhere present.

Overwhelmed with rage Jungkook turns to his people and barks something in their tongue, the tone of his voice makes you cover and for the first time, you’re glad you don’t understand what he’s saying.

You see the man who shot at you fall to his knees, head deeply bowed down and hands put into a praying position. You don’t have to understand their language to know he’s begging, but his prayers aren’t answered when he’s forced to stand up. And in a blink of an eye, his neck is snapped.

What you wouldn't be willing to do to return to yesterday when everything was so sweet you were bracing yourself for a toothache. But just as you feared, the shoe had to drop, only you didn’t expect the price to be your life.

~