#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

[frostara]

To serve, my beloved

Cregan Stark x Karstark!Female

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

Wordcount: 1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

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

Nobody:

Nobody at all:

Me: Leona Granny Killer Kingscholar

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[nohoney]

pt 2 for this dragon king! bakugou blurb

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

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

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

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

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

if anything, you were always grateful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“want to taste you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[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."

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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 ❤️

[evans23]

Daughter of mine V

Pairing : Judge Turpin x Daughter OC

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

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

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

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Da...dad," she spluttered.

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

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

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

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

"No, daddy, please," she whined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sir ?" said the butler's voice.

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

"Something askew ?" asked Richard arching an eyebrow.

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

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

"And what ?" Richard thundered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anne immediately understood what he was referring to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you Anne."

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

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

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

"Oh, Elena ! What have I done !"

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

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

"Sir, are you all right ?"

Richard jumped. In front of him stood a priest.

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

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

"Do you want to talk ?" he offered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My lord?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Catherine ?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Merry Christmas, daughter of mine."

[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.

[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."

[anneapocalypse]

WIP Whenever

Thank you @lilbittymonster for the tag! Tagging @farfromdaylight @orime-stories @calico-heart @gunbun and anyone else who wants to share.

Have a bit of sad elf fic. Spoilers for Heavensward.

***

"Urianger? It's—it's me. Pray forgive me, I know the hour is late…"

For a moment, the tremulous voice over linkpearl was scarcely recognizable as Master Alphinaud. Even as recognition pierced his weary mind—nay, he had not been asleep, late as the hour was, but certainly contemplating sleep—he felt the stab of alarm in his breast. Even as the words Is aught amiss? rose to his lips, he cast them aside, for rarely had he felt so certain that aught was, in sooth, amiss.

"'Tis I, Master Alphinaud. Pray, are you well? Are you safe?"

"I'm—" The lad fairly choked on his reply. Never had Urianger known Louisoix's grandson at a loss for words, and his alarm only deepened, before the next words came in a rush:

"He's dead—Lord Haurchefant is dead."

Urianger did his utmost to piece together what he knew of their exploits in the north with the halting tale Master Alphinaud now told. He was aware, of course, that Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light had returned to Ishgard following the restoration of the sultana, even as the dissolution of the Crystal Braves had ended the necessity of their exile. Several Braves whose loyalties remained with the Scions had returned to the Rising Stones, and one in particular, Riol, had been in contact, eager to assist in the search for their missing comrades.

Urianger recalled those "secrets long-buried" to which Master Alphinaud had previously alluded, though he knew not their nature, and from what spilled forth from the lad now he gleaned that the great wyrm Nidhogg had indeed been slain. Yet what followed was far from the nascent peace for which they had so hoped. Unrest in Ishgard, the well-intentioned pleas of the Lord Commander to the Archbishop. The storming of the Vault of the Holy See, the summonings—not of Halone, but of the Knights of Thordan, for which Urianger could hardly help but chide himself, for failing to pursue that avenue of inquiry.

And then the brave sacrifice of a knight of Ishgard, their stalwart ally to the end.

'Twas plain there was more to the tale, even then.

"Ariane…" Alphinaud said at last, followed by a long pause as though he could scarcely summon up the words. "She was… they were…"

Urianger's own reply was rather delayed, as it was a moment before he grasped what Master Alphinaud meant to imply. "…Ah."

"We tried to save him," Alphinaud said hollowly. "I tried… I did all I could, but the wound would not mend, and Ariane… she did something. I don't know white magic. I only know it nearly killed her, too. We had to carry her back to the estate, and I… I wasn't certain she'd awaken."

He understood, now, why Alphinaud had called. Shaken, in shock, the boy had turned to him not for counsel, but simply for some measure of comfort.

Would that he were nearer, the better to offer it. Would that words could ease the loss of such a treasured friend. Against his will, he recalled again the accursed letter he had penned to Wilfsunn and Bloewyda, filled with verse and platitude, as though to absolve him of his guilt.

Now was no time to permit himself to drown in his own shame. Not when Louisoix's grandson had need of him.

"'Dawn may banish even the darkest night,'" he replied, the only words he could draw to mind, and he feared that even now he had erred.

"'Yet ever shall primal desires burn,'" Alphinaud murmured, almost automatically. Well did they both of them know these words. "'Two swords shall vie to lay them low…' And so they shall. On the morrow we give chase… and gods willing, we shall thwart the Archbishop's schemes."

"The Warrior of Light yet lives, then." He knew it must be so, yet he would hear those words from Master Alphinaud for a certainty.

"She does. She…" Alphinaud went silent a moment. "I'm worried for her. But she lives. She did come to, some bells ago… She's in her guest suite now. Resting, I pray." He drew a deep breath, somewhat calmer. "'A blade born of Light and a blade forged of might…' I'd place my trust in her still, without question. Yet I fear for her. I hope…" He trailed off, sounding once again rather lost.

"So must we hope, Master Alphinaud. If there is aught I may do to aid you…"

"I thank you. Tataru said you've some promising leads on our missing friends?'

In truth, those leads were largely thanks to the efforts of Riol and Marshal Tarupin. With the Braves dissolved, at long last a full search of the watercourse could be undertaken, though of course some time had passed, and there was much ground to cover. Nonetheless, the Marshal had promised to report any findings, and at this particular moment, Urianger thought it best to remain optimistic.

"Aye," he said simply, "we have, and 'tis mine every hope that they shall bear fruit."

"I'm glad to hear it." Alphinaud let out a long breath. "I should let you go… forgive me again for troubling you at this hour."

"'Tis no trouble, Master Alphinaud. Pray, accept my sympathies for the loss of your friend. May the Twelve watch over your footsteps in the days to come."

"Yours too, Urianger. Yours too."

[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."

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

“That’s an odd name,” Midnight said upon seeing what Izuku picked. The rest of the class looked curious. “Can you explain why?”

“My biological father has a Quirk called demon,” Izuku said. “No Bakugou not Midoriya Hisashi. He’s infertile so they asked a friend of my mom’s. No they didn’t tell your mom because it’s none of HER business and Mom noticed she was weird around Inko.” Izuku cut off the blond before he spoke.

Said teenager crossed his arms in a huff. Izuku continued on admist snickers from the class.

“His Quirk makes him look like a demon and allows him to be summoned using a ritual. His family is all the same so I can call them up to chat if needed,” Izuku continued. He was glad that Lily had come up with this cover story easily. “Me not having a mutation or that ability caused… issues with some of his family.

Being told he wasn’t his father’s real son by some of the angels or souls around always hurt. The demons loved him as one of their own though.

“So when I was thinking of hero names I thought of my dad. And I asked myself what fits. I thought using Son of the Demon but that felt to… edgy. No offense Tokoyami.” Izuku said. The bird headed teen shrugged.

“Why are you naming yourself after your father?” Todoroki suddenly cut in. Izuku frowned at the dual haired boy, curious about his tone. It was off, cold. Given he had named himself Rebellious Snow, Izuku had to wonder what exactly was going on there.

“My dad is one of the few people who stuck by me after my diagnosis. He was the one who told me how to protect myself when the whole world decided the Quirkless freak didn’t deserve kindness. He helped Mom get me out of the school where the teachers turned blind eyes towards kids using their Quirks on me for target practise. She cut out old friends of hers when they said things about me or let their kids hurt me.” Izuku said. Everyone’s eyes snapped to Bakugou who glared at Izuku. Aizawa-sensei sat up, his face blank.

Bakugou though didn’t move. He was to aware the risks of pissing off Aizawa even if he desperately wanted to scream about the perceived insults and how Izuku stole ‘his auntie Inko’.

He was sick of the fucking therapy they forced him into as well. He was fine. Deku was just a bitch bringing up that shit. So what if he tried to put the fuck in his place when they first saw each other again?

Izuku was unaware of the thoughts as he continued. “My Dad means a lot. He works on Level 9 of his job at a prison, where the worst offenders go. I got a glimpse at one of their files one time and had nightmares from the stuff they did,” Izuku shook his head, disgusted at the memory. “It’s also related to my Quirk. The energy inside of me can come out in multiple ways, about nine of them. So… Reberu 9.” Izuku smiled. “For me, and my Dad.”

And for One for All, the vestiges who were inside of him watching and praying for him.

[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.