#He Who Carries His Mother's Defiance

[fadingstudentbananacookie]

Aegon II Targaryen - The Last Dragonlord

Mother / Maia Baia, House of the Dragon, Fire & Blood / George R.R. Martin, A Storm of Sword / George R.R. Martin, Bhagavad Gita / Vyasa, Sister Sable / T. Mountebank

The Coronation of Aegon II by Basitien Lecouffe DeHarme The Depiction of A Pheonix by Friedrich Justin Bertuch Ouroboros by zarathus Battle of Rook's Rest by iasve Baela Targaryen and Moondancer by Dough Wheatley

[rafecameronssl4t]

Can you do Rafe’s reaction to reader being criticized by her parents in the forced marriage au?

At your defence || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: Ty for the request anon!! Sorry this took awhile 😭

Warnings: body shaming, baby pressure, ed is not implied whatsoever in this

Word count: 1,474

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

"Ah, there they are," your mother beams, rising from her chair with a delighted smile. She moves swiftly toward Rafe, who holds your 7-month-old son, Leo, in his arms. You remain still, not even turning your head to greet them, a small defiance that doesn’t go unnoticed by your father as he sets his glass of scotch down with a faint clink.

You hear your mother’s cooing voice as she reaches Leo, her fussing over him overly enthusiastic. "Oh, hasn’t he just grown since the last time!" she gushes, taking Leo from Rafe’s arms and settling him onto her lap, her affection almost too much for you to bear in the moment. Your father offers nothing but a curt nod, maintaining his usual distant reserve.

Rafe’s presence draws closer. His hand, firm yet not unkind, comes to rest on your shoulder. The sensation causes you to look up, meeting his eyes just as he leans down to press a brief, familiar kiss on your cheek. It's a gesture you’ve grown used to—affectionate, yet tinged with a sense of routine rather than passion. His gentle smile is meant for show, a mask for the public image you both maintain especially in front of your parents.

As he sits down beside you, the warmth of his thigh presses against yours, his hand resting on your knee. You focus on Leo, who babbles away in your mother’s lap, a sweet, innocent sound that eases some of the weight on your chest. "Do you know what you're going to order?" Rafe’s voice is casual as he flicks through the menu, his tone suggesting the same routine formality that colours most of your conversations these days.

You glance at the menu half-heartedly, appetite distant. "Probably just a salad," you mutter, though the words feel hollow, like so many of your thoughts these days. Before you can dwell on it, your mother’s voice cuts through the room, bright and commanding as always. "Darlings, I'm hosting a gala next week. You must attend," she declares, not so much an invitation as an expectation.

You don’t bother to respond right away, but Rafe doesn’t miss a beat. "Of course we’ll be there," he answers smoothly, already accustomed to fulfilling the social obligations expected of you both. His answer is automatic, effortless, as if this was just another item on the long list of duties you both perform for the sake of appearances.

Great. Another event. You force a smile, knowing full well what it would entail—another night of pretending. Pretending to be the perfect wife, locked in a marriage that felt more like a performance than a partnership. Another evening of tight smiles, polite laughter, and meaningless conversations with socialites you’ve long grown bored of.

Rafe’s hand remains on your knee under the table, a subtle gesture of unity that contrasts the emotional distance. You glance sideways at him, wondering if he feels the same weariness, but his expression is unreadable, composed in the way he’s perfected over time. You’d both become skilled at it—this charade of happiness.

Your mother gently hands Leo over to you, his little arms immediately wrapping around your neck as if he’s missed your warmth. The sweet gesture brings a chuckle from your lips, a sound you rarely hear from yourself these days. Rafe notices, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches the two of you, the rare moment of peace settling briefly between the tension.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper to Leo, your hand softly patting his back as he squirms in your arms. His tiny fingers soon find your family crest necklace, grasping it with curiosity. It’s a simple, innocent action, yet it tugs at something deeper within you—a reminder of the weight that symbol carries, not just for you but for the life you're expected to live.

Your father calls for a waiter, the sound of his authoritative voice interrupting your thoughts. The orders are taken swiftly, and when it’s your turn, you manage to say, "I'll have the Nicoise salad, please—" before you're abruptly cut off by your mother’s sharp tone. "Oh, no," she interjects, her voice firm, slicing through the air.

You and Rafe exchange confused glances, both unsure of what she was going to say. Her stern eyes focus on you for a moment before she turns her attention back to the waiter, the smile on her lips tight and forced. "She will have the Club Sandwich, thank you," your mother says, closing her menu with a finality that leaves no room for argument. You stare at her, lips parted in disbelief, as the waiter politely retreats.

"That’s too much for me, I—" you begin, but she raises a hand, silencing you effortlessly, as if it were nothing. "You’ve gotten far too skinny, my dear," she remarks, her tone almost casual but laced with that familiar sting of judgement. "A body like that will surely not produce a healthy baby." The words fall from her mouth so easily, so thoughtlessly, that it takes a moment for them to truly sink in

Your chest tightens, the prickle of tears stinging your eyes, but you quickly look away, blinking them back before they can betray your emotions. "What is your chef feeding you? Perhaps I should overlook his menu," your mother continues, leaning forward slightly, her concern veiled by her need for control.

Instinctively, your eyes flicker toward Rafe, cursing yourself the moment you do. It’s a habit you’ve never quite broken—looking to him when your parents begin their critique, hoping for some sort of allyship. Your parents likely notices, and you hate that you’ve given them another tell. Rafe, to your surprise, responds with a tone of calm indifference.

"We both eat the same meals, all very nutritious, I can assure you. There’s no need for concern." His words are delivered with an air of boredom, as though he’s tired of the performance your family demands at every turn. "My wife is perfectly fine and healthy," he adds, his voice steady, almost detached. You lower your gaze, staring at the table in front of you, feeling an odd mixture of gratitude and discomfort at his defense.

Your mother’s hum lingers in the air, hovering between indifference and criticism, and that ambiguity leaves you restless. As the conversation continues around you, the voices blur into a distant hum. You stare blankly at the glass of water in front of you, losing yourself in thoughts that feel miles away from this table, from these expectations.

You don’t even notice Leo beginning to fuss in your lap until Rafe’s hand on your thigh gives a slight, firm squeeze, gently pulling you back to reality. You blink, looking up to find both of your parents' eyes trained on you, their disapproving expressions almost instinctual. Without a word, you begin to tend to Leo, but Rafe is quicker, reaching out with an effortless, "Here, let me take him."

Relieved, you let him lift Leo from your arms, watching as he settles the baby against his chest. Leo quiets almost immediately, and for a brief moment, the tension in the room seems to ease. Rafe's hand remains on your thigh, a subtle reassurance that grounds you amidst the weight of your family’s expectations.

When the meals arrive, you glance down at the sandwich before you—far too large for your diminished appetite. The sight of it makes your stomach turn, not out of hunger, but out of the pressure to conform. You can feel your mother’s watchful gaze, an invisible but palpable force, compelling you to start eating.

You take a bite, swallowing it down even though the taste barely registers. "Mind if I have some?" Rafe’s voice breaks through the silence, and you turn to him in surprise. He’s already reaching over, transferring some of your food onto his plate without hesitation, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"Yeah, of course," you reply softly, watching as he begins eating from your plate. His casual gesture surprises you, but it also lightens the mood, if only slightly. A small smile tugs at your lips, grateful for his quiet way of easing the tension that lingers between you and your parents.

When it’s finally time to leave, you feel a wave of relief wash over you. Bidding your parents goodbye, you stare out at the perfectly manicured lawn, the scent of freshly cut grass filling the air. Leo is fast asleep in your arms, his little head resting peacefully against your chest.

"Thank you," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you glance over at Rafe. He turns his head toward you, his expression softening. Without a word, he nods, moving his arm behind your head. You lean back against it, letting yourself rest against his warmth for a moment.

[lokischocolatefountain]

home in three days, do not wash

Fandom: Gladiator II Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Wife!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: age gap, mild choking, mentions of child death, hurt comfort, breeding kink, lactation, reader has children, taboo for the time oral sex, talk of war. Word count: 3.6k words Summary: Your General returns home ravenous for you and you cannot decline him, even if any exposure of his act would bring him great shame. A/N: Thanks to @saradika-graphics for the awesome graphics. Napoleon said 'be home in three days, do not wash' and what was I supposed to do? Not use it for our big thicc roman general returning home from war to fuck us? I did research and shit and came to know that eating pussy was a big no no back in the day. dj Khaled would love to be an ancient roman ig. also learned that rich ladies didn't breastfeed and used a wet nurse but they knew that breastfeeding could help and some women did it. Outside all that research, it's just depravity, baby. Anyway, validate my depravity with some comments pls.

Laughter echoed through the hallways of your palatial home and you stood at a balcony with the best view from atop the hill. The campaign that had taken your husband away had finally come to an end with victory for Rome. Far from the hustle and bustle of the city, you were always one of the last people to receive the latest news of importance. This time was an exception to the rule. 

Home in three days. Do not wash.

All you wanted when you received the message was to run in the direction of the roads that would bring your beloved home. Three days were too long. You wanted to curtail the long wait, run to him so you would be in one another’s arms in a day and a half. 

But you chose the more realistic path and prepared the home for his arrival. The servants polished every surface, your handmaiden ensured you had all your most preferred clothing— that which he loved to see on your body. The kitchen was busy preparing every meal that the master loved. Your two older children with your general busied themselves recollecting everything they learned from their private tutor to impress their father. 

Your youngest, your first son, was still so young he had never met his father. He was the child your dearest had longed to have for so long. For all the luck the gods had given him in the battlefield, they had given very little in the way of children to carry his legacy. In his heart, he was father to seven daughters and six sons. The gods had only allowed four daughters to live. Two of his sons passed in infancy, one passed in birth, taking his mother with him. One other was taken by disease and another killed in battle. 

He now had only one son and he hadn’t yet the joy of holding him in his arms. Everyday that Marcus was in the battlefield was torture. Babe on your breast and fear in your heart over whether his father would live to see him. Fear sometimes subsided for anger to have its way. That very anger remained in your chest, prepared to unleash on him the moment he stepped into the home. 

When the sun dimmed, night crept in and so did Marcus. You refused to greet him at the door. A warm welcome was reserved for men who told their wives where they were going before they left. You had half a mind to ask for a bath to be prepared. To wash yourself with milk and fragrant oils in front of him so he could see your defiance in action. 

But you remained in the balcony, eyes set on the moon who served as your companion when he left you. For all the fury you had for him, there was also an ache of sympathy. You wouldn’t sour his mood the moment he entered. He must see his son first. Then you would see to that he groveled at your feet for his cruelty. 

Just as you thought, you had a long time to relax on the settee. He always went to his children first. Be it after months away on the battlefield or a mere day in the city. You asked for your son’s crib to be moved to your daughters’ room so he would be able to see them all at once, saving him the battle of choosing between his great loves. You’d sent word to him on the battlefield after you gave birth, sent him the name of his son so he would know to include him in his prayers. 

You heard whispers of his voice conversing with a servant. Your heart quickened its pace, each thud against your ribs matching the thuds of his feet against the floor. Oh how you wanted to turn around. It had been so long since your eyes were blessed with him. His towering height, broad frame, the pink of his lips and the curls you so loved to comb through with your fingers. You trembled, the cold breeze reminding you how devoid you’d been of his warmth. Yet you were resolved to not give yourself up to him so soon. You stayed in place and closed your eyes.

He stopped behind you and your name spilled from his lips like honey. It had been so long since anyone spoke your name so… The servants called you mistress and your children called you mother. Your birth family only wrote your name in their many letters. He was the only one who spoke your name, leaving you without hearing your own name since his departure. But you stayed, did not turn, did not open your eyes. He spoke it again, his voice gentle but louder as he stopped at your side. 

“Open your eyes, dearest.” 

“Where have you come, General?” You asked, your voice cold enough to be the envy of the winter breeze. 

“General?” He asked, a hint of amusement playing at his lips. 

“Are you not a General?” You taunted, finally opening your eyes. He looked weary from battle and travel. You longed to take him to your chambers and strip him of his armor to count his wounds, kiss each one be it new or old. His hair was grayer than when he left, his skin duller, but his eyes were still the soft brown that gave you peace when you first saw him as his young bride. 

“Your General,” he said with a small smile as though his words were supposed to make you forgive him at once and shower him with kisses. It only strengthened your resolve. If he wouldn’t treat you as a wife, you wouldn’t give him the respect of a husband. 

“You have a son,” you said, stretching your legs out in the settee just as he made to take his seat there. His hand wrapped around your ankle and you kicked it off, daring him to make another attempt at moving your legs so he could sit. He smiled softly, conceding as he moved to stand by your head. 

“He is beautiful, mellilla,” he said, caressing your cheek. You slapped his hand away. All of Rome may fall at his feet and welcome him back with praises of his victory. He was deserving of course, not only for his achievements but for his undying loyalty to Rome. If Rome were a woman, she would be his principal wife and you— you would only be a tavern whore he fucked and left in the dead of night. 

“You block the moonlight, General Acacius.” 

“Marcus,” he said, moving to allow you sight of the moon once again. He sat in the little remaining space on the settee and looked down at you. Despite the toll war had taken on him, he was incredibly handsome. Bold nose, pink lips and graying curls that only made him look ever so slightly more distinguished. He bent down and pressed a kiss to your lips. You did not return the kiss, but you did not push him away. There was an limit even to your anger. You placed a hand on his shoulder, the act of denying yourself the joy of your lover weighing heavy in your heart.

“I’m afraid I haven’t such an honor.” You bit down on your lip, annoyed at yourself for the trembling of your voice as you spoke. Your anger for him had a foundation of pain after all. 

His face fell and he sighed. He looked down at his lap and you hoped it was from shame.

“If you have nothing to say, you may leave. If you need it, you may summon the servants for your meal. But I am sure the emperor did not send his best general hungering for food or cunt,” you spat, rising to sit up on the settee. Hand as strong as iron wrapped around your wrist, coupling with his strong torso that trapped you in place to keep you from getting up. You squirmed in his grasp, but he did not budge.

“Listen to me.” 

“Is that an order?” 

He wrapped an arm around you and held your cheek in his hand. You looked up at him, giving him biting fury to his firm yet gentle gaze. “If it is the only way I will have your obedience, then yes. It is an order.” 

“You may speak, but you cannot make me listen and you most certainly cannot make me respond.” 

“I am your husband.” 

“A husband doesn’t leave for a year long war at the dead of night with no explanation to the woman swelling with his child,” you screamed, fist slamming against his chest. It didn’t affect Marcus. Nothing affected the great General Acacius, you thought with derision. You hit him in the chest again, tears brimming in your eyes and clouding your vision.

“Forgive me,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You ceased your attacks as his apology coupled with the pain in his eyes reduced you to tears. You’d kept everything in for so long, put on a brave face for your daughters and hid your heart in your letter to your father. It was only with Marcus that you didn’t need to hide. He always tore your fears down and pulled you into the safety of his arms.

“I wouldn’t have been able to leave had I said goodbye.” 

“I was so afraid,” you confessed, leaning into his chest. Every pretense of strength and composure left your body as you let him hold you to his chest. The gold earrings you wore to please his eyes pressed cold against your skin under his hand. He moved next to your hair and then you neck, the hand that held swords and spilled blood only to return home to love you. 

“Carissima…You were all I could think of after I left. Forgive me,” he begged, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to each finger. 

“Later. I have missed you. Marcus,” you whispered, craning your neck to kiss him. He returned your kiss in an instant, arms cradling you as you devoured each other. He smelled of war— blood, soil, sweat, and leather. It was far more pleasing to your senses than any fragrant oils and flowers. Your Marcus and his distinctly masculine scent was above all but the fragrance of your newborn. 

You whined as he retreated. He laughed and returned to scatter kisses along your jawline like Rome scattered rose petals along the steps of the Colosseum for his feet. He reached under your layers of silk and linen, making you tremble and press yourself closer to his chest. 

“So soft…” 

“I need you, please.” It was all he needed to hear before he walked up to the doors of the balcony and slammed them shut. What he did with you, for you, wasn’t for anyone else’s eyes but your own. 

He unlatched the gold clips that held your palla to your shoulders and set them aside. Your stola and tunic followed, piling up on the marble floor. Cold air caressed your bare breasts, bigger and fuller now as you nursed your son yourself. You traced your hand up his arm, feeling his vambrace before finding his muscular arms. You whimpered from just how big he was in your hands. You squeezed, feeling the hard muscle and rough skin. 

Your General knelt before you and you sat up straight, confused by his action. He couldn’t be… You sought his apologies and regret, but by no means would you ask him to humiliate himself for you. Such a man, superior to you in every way. 

“Dominus!” You shrieked, reminding him who he was even when he came home. 

“Shh…” 

“Are you going to—?”

“Lick you cunt? Yes. Sit back, now,” he said as he guided you to lean back on the settee. You shook your head from side to side, appalled by the circumstances and confused as to how you were supposed to stop him. He spread your legs wide, planting your feet upon the seat. He licked his plush lips and looked up at you, his eyes those of a ravenous beast. 

“You cannot. I only want you to understand the torture you put me through, not debase yourself in front of me. It’s not right.”  

A corner of his lips curled up slightly. He spat on his hand and rubbed it into your cunt. You arched into his palm, your cunt chasing any contact you could have with your beloved. “Tell me, who do you belong to?” 

“You.”

“Speak fully and speak my name.” 

“I belong to you, Marcus.” 

“Correct. Why do you think then, that you can tell me what I can and cannot do with you?” 

He parted your cunt lips and slid a finger inside you. “You belong to me. All of you. This cunt belongs to me. Does it not?” You nodded as he pumped his thick finger in and out of you. It had been so long since you’d been touched that even his finger felt a little much for you to take. You shuddered as you thought of his cock, promising the virility that came with such a size. 

“Speak,” he commanded, every bit the fearsome General who led men into battle. When even warriors couldn’t defy him, how could you? 

“It belongs to you, Marcus.” 

“Mmm,” he rumbled, curling his finger inside you, making you whimper. “If I want to lick this cunt then, do you have any right to stop me?” 

“N-no,” you cried, grabbing his wrist and imploring him to slow down for you couldn’t take such intoxicating pleasure. “If peo— Marcus! If someone knew—”

Then he dove into your core and licked the nub above your cunt, eliciting a squeal from you. He looked up at you from between your legs, tongue still licking you as he smirked. It was sinful, the sight and the act of a man serving a woman. You shook your head, your senses already addled from being so close to him after a long year. It was wrong. Wrong. But oh gods, he made all the wrongs feel right and who were you to deny him? 

Tears rolled down your cheeks, no longer from the agony of separation from your dearest but from the building pressure in your core. 

“Marcus…” you said, unable to say anything else. You reached your hand towards him, needing to be anchored to the Earth as he flew you to the heavens. He enveloped your hand in his and gave a small squeeze. His other hand and his lips were unrelenting, giving him new ways to torment you. 

How did anyone deem it submissive for a man to kneel and lick cunt? Your Marcus still looked as majestic as ever. The picture of victory that Rome worshiped. The Marcus Acacius who slew and killed was home and ruthless in his conquest of you. Even as he licked your core, he was the one with all the power in hand. This was but a new way for him to take you. 

You gasped inaudibly as he inserted another finger in your cunt, stretching you in preparation for his cock. You felt your unraveling come closer. He pulled you deeper into whatever spell he had you under whenever he touched your cunt. You squeezed his hand tighter, saying everything your lips couldn’t. Hold me, keep me safe, never let me go.

The waves crashed against the rocks on the shores of the beach as you came crashing down from the heavens. Marcus kept his wordless promise. You tightened your legs around his head yet he held you in place and kept you safe. 

When you came to, you found your fingers tangled in between his dark curls. You loosened your grip on him but did not let go, needing to feel him even if it was just his hair. 

“I should not have liked that.” 

He laughed and gave your cunt another lick, smirking as he watched you shudder. 

“But you did,” he said, getting up at last. “I knew you tasted divine, but having you directly from your cunt is something else, melilla.” 

“I have not washed in days because of you. I am sure I taste horrendous.” 

“Good girl, following orders well. But you are wrong. You taste and smell like a woman. Not a perfumed woman. This,” he said in a low voice as the tip of his nose traced up your neck. He inhaled your scent and moaned. “This is nothing you can find in a vial. This is your true scent,” he said, stopping at your ear and placing a kiss. 

“I would recognize it anywhere.” He reached under his pteruges and toga and retrieved his cock. Your cunt clenched at the mere sight of him. 

He was far too covered. As much as you loved to see your General in his armor, you loved more to see him bare. You needed to run your fingers over his bare chest and dig your fingernails into his shoulders as he wrung his pleasure out of you.  You found the ties that held his armor in place and began to undo them. 

“Impatient girl,” he chided as he aligned himself with your cunt. 

“Help me out then,” you snapped back as you struggled with the knots. He ignored your request and continued on his path of destroying you, plunging his length inside you much too quickly. You cried from the pain and pleasure of being stretched out by him once again. 

“Marcus!” 

He bent forward and whispered your name against your lips before claiming them. You moaned into the kiss as you rubbed yourself against him for friction. You were loath to pull away from his cock even the slightest as you ached for him too much to part from him. You wrapped your legs around him and pressed your heels down on his back, pulling him deeper inside you. 

He wrapped a hand around your throat, tightening and loosening every now and then. “Day and night, I longed for you,” he whispered, his breath mixing with yours. “Dreamt of the day I would be inside you again.” 

You echoed the sentiment, but he quickly silenced you with a hard thrust that you felt in the deepest part of your core. He wasn’t the gentle Marcus who treated you like you did your fine silks but the General who conquered every land he set foot on. He rammed in and out of you, reclaiming you as his. Your cunt opened up to take its master, molded itself around him like it did each time since your wedding night. He had taken you, his young bride, and shown you a world only he could. He’d taken and taken, made you a woman by showing you what your body could do for you. 

He licked up your neck, growling like he was tasting the finest delicacies from the emperors’ table after being starved for months. “You smell sweet, Carisimma.” 

“You lived in tents with men for a year. I’m sure a pig would smell sweet to you now,” you said, making him laugh even as he wrecked you. He reached down to your breasts and grabbed one in his hand. He pinched your nipple between his fingers and tugged, making you cry out in pain. 

“Marcus!” Drops of milk trickled from your breasts and he swiped it with him thumb before licking it. 

“I only regret that I could not see you grow bigger with my seed.” 

“You ha- you have seen it before.” 

“Yet I am not satisfied. I need more, I need to fill you up with my seed, keep you full with my children in perpetuity.” 

“Marcus! Please…” 

“What do you beg for, girl?” 

“Give me sons, Marcus. Let me give you heirs,” you cried, overcome by the need to become his in that primal way. It was more than just your duty as his wife. It was an innate desire. As frightening as pregnancy was, you wanted it again and again at the hands of your husband. To give him sons carry his name and daughters who would control the great General with their laughter. 

“Give me sons,” he repeated, the hand around your neck squeezing tight. This time, he did not relax, holding your air hostage as he used your cunt for his carnal desires. You gasped for breath. Your cunt squeezed around him, keeping him in so he would give you his seed and refusing to let go even for a moment. 

Every thrust after sent delicious ripples of pain. You knew that you would wake the next morning unable to walk as usual. You would hear your servant girls giggle when they thought you couldn’t hear. He would wreck you day and night, make you scream for all the house to hear. He would take you to high places in the city, an arrogant smile on his lips as he showed you off, rounded again with his child. 

As though he could read your thoughts, he spilled inside you with a cry of your name. You held him close, afraid he would part from your body and rob you of his warmth. 

He showered you with kisses, beginning as a downpour and ending with a drizzle. You melted into his arms, the tension in your muscles leaving now that you had your Marcus home. You were no longer alone, he was here and he would take care of everything. 

“Am I forgiven now?” 

You smiled, burrowing into his chest as draped your discarded silk over you and picked you up in his arms. “I will consider it if you make sure I don’t bleed this cycle.” 

You felt his chest rumble as he laughed. A kiss on the top of your head.

“As you say, melilla.”

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[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 5

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5, Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

You were deep in conversation with Greg, discussing the next move, when suddenly, you were called to Steve’s office. As you entered, you noticed Steve and Bucky sitting with serious expressions.

“What?” you asked, feeling a twinge of anxiety as both men locked eyes on you the moment you walked in.

Steve exchanged a glance with Bucky before he spoke up. "We found a comment that mentioned our divorce," Bucky said, his voice low.

“Oh,” you replied, crossing your arms defensively. “Does it also mention how you kidnapped me?”

Bucky chuckled, a small smile playing on his lips. “The things I’d do to bring you home.”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to be swayed by his charm.

“When we separated, did you ever tell anyone about our divorce?” Bucky’s tone grew more serious as he leaned forward, searching your eyes for the truth.

“Me?” You raised an eyebrow, the memory of Caroline’s threat flashing in your mind. “Did you forget that your mother threatened me not to tell anyone?”

The tension in the room thickened as you spoke. Caroline had made it clear she didn’t want the divorce to be public knowledge. She wanted you as far away from Bucky as possible, and she had the power to make it happen.

You’d learned quickly that fighting her was futile. Every news station and newspaper in the country had mysteriously closed their doors to you after the separation, leaving you with no choice but to pursue a career as an independent international journalist.

“That woman is ambitious as hell,” you muttered under your breath. Caroline’s wealth and connections were unmatched, and she wasn’t afraid to use them. She had even used Julius’s money to secure people who would do her bidding. Once you left the country, it seemed she lost interest in you, allowing you to continue your work in relative peace.

Working alone as a journalist in foreign countries had its challenges, but it also opened your eyes to the world. You found purpose in being a voice for the unfortunate, using your platform to shed light on the truth. Along the way, you met new friends, formed new connections, but you never let slip the truth about your marriage or divorce. The scars left on your heart were too deep, and the thought of trusting another man terrified you.

'What’s the point of having a husband if he can’t protect and defend me? you thought bitterly, the pain still fresh.

But perhaps, in a moment of vulnerability, you’d let a clue slip. You couldn’t lie to fellow journalists; they had a way of sensing the truth.

“What about your family?” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at Bucky. “Don’t just point fingers at me.”

For Bucky, the divorce was never acknowledged. He even burned the documents in the fireplace, a secret known only to him and God.

His parents, especially Caroline, were too embarrassed to admit their golden child had been divorced, while Julius, who never agreed with the divorce in the first place, remained silent.

Shawn, his oldest brother, was too high to care, and Hazel never bothered with such matters.

“It wasn’t my side either,” Bucky said, his voice steady as he locked eyes with you.

“Suit yourself,” you replied, your tone laced with a mixture of defiance and resignation.

“Sooner or later, the person who wrote it will show up,” Bucky added, his voice calm but carrying a cold edge.

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, a flicker of unease crossing your face.

Bucky merely shrugged, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “If they take too long, I’ll use my way to find them.”

A chill ran down your spine at his words, the threat lingering in the air. You knew what he was capable of, and the thought of him resorting to his methods sent a shiver of fear through you.

Steve, sensing the tension, stepped in, patting Bucky’s shoulder in a calming gesture. “Let the cyber team do their job. We don’t need you taking any extreme measures, especially with the convention so close.”

Steve understood Bucky better than most. While Bucky might present a soft, composed exterior, inside he was a beast—a man unafraid to take risks, to do whatever it took, especially when it came to you. The lengths he would go to protect what was his were both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

But Steve also knew the stakes. If the truth got out—that the future Vice President’s family, particularly Bucky's mother, had abused his wife to the point of divorce, and that the wife, thought to be widowed, had been kidnapped before the election—it would destroy the perfect image the Barnes family had worked so hard to maintain.

And it wouldn’t just affect Bucky; it would drag you down with him.

It would be the scandal of the century.

That’s why, before it could escalate, they had to find the source.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The Barnes family gathered in the opulent conference room, tension crackling in the air like a live wire. Everyone was present, except for Shawn, who, as usual, was nowhere to be found.

Greg stood at the head of the table, flipping through his notes. “Well, after the Rogers family makes their appearance, it’s time for the Barnes to take the stage.”

“Of course,” Caroline chimed in, her voice sharp with authority. “All of us need to be up there.”

“Me too?” you asked, directing your question to Greg.

“Yes,” Bucky interjected before Greg could respond. “We’ve prepared the ramp for Tim’s wheelchair.”

Before you could even register the thoughtfulness behind Bucky’s statement, Caroline’s voice sliced through the room, dripping with venom. “No. It will ruin the balance. Everyone else can stand on their feet. While…”

“You know what? I hope you die and rot in hell!” you snapped, your voice ringing with years of pent-up anger.

The room froze, every head snapping in your direction. Caroline’s eyes widened in disbelief, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Did… Did you hear that? She cursed me!”

You didn’t back down, the rage pouring out of you like a dam breaking. “So you’d rather parade your cocaine-addicted son who crashed his car and killed someone than show my brother who, despite losing a leg, works tirelessly from nine to five?”

Caroline was too stunned to reply, her face draining of color. Bucky, though usually stoic, couldn’t keep the anger from his voice. “You’re out of line, Mom. Tim is her only family left.”

Hazel, normally indifferent, nodded in agreement. “This time, I’m with them.”

Caroline, her voice trembling with indignation, shot back, “Is this how you treat your own mother?”

“No, Carol,” Julius said, his voice cold and cutting, “this is what we call karma.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened as he fought to control the emotions boiling beneath the surface. “She’s been in the same position as you,” he said, a lump forming in his throat as memories of his mother’s cruelty resurfaced. “You only felt that sting for three minutes, but my wife endured it for years.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed, her fury now directed squarely at you. Her face flushed with rage, and you could almost see the steam rising from her ears. “So what? You want me to apologize?”

You met her gaze without flinching, your voice icy. “No. I don’t need your apology. It wouldn’t be enough to cover the pain I’ve suffered because of you. And honestly? I’d feel relieved if you died. If someone could confirm you’re burning in hell, it’d be the best news I’ve heard in years.”

Caroline, still believing she was the true victim, stormed out of the room, her heels clicking angrily on the marble floor. Julius and Hazel exchanged a glance before following her, leaving a tense silence in their wake.

Bucky watched them go, his fists clenched at his sides. He turned to you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you were feeling. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softening for the first time that day.

You shook your head, the adrenaline still pumping through your veins. “I don’t know. It felt good to finally say what I’ve been holding in, but it doesn’t erase everything she’s done.”

Bucky nodded, stepping closer to you. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone. I should’ve stood up for you sooner.”

You looked up at him, the tension between you both palpable. “It’s too late for regrets, Bucky. We’ve both been through hell. The only thing that matters now is what we do next.”

He reached out, taking your hand in his. “Then let’s make sure this doesn’t break us.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Before the convention starts, the air buzzes with the anticipation of the event. As you stand in the corner of the vast convention hall, adjusting your outfit, a familiar voice calls out your name. You turn and see Ian, the British journalist you’ve met a few times before. His tousled hair and easy smile make him stand out in the crowd.

“Ian!” you greet him, a genuine smile spreading across your face. “What are you doing here?”

Ian chuckles, clearly pleased to see you. “I’m here to cover the election, of course. But, honestly, I jumped at the chance to come because I knew you’d be here.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “So, you flew all the way out here just for me?”

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “My boss didn’t believe me when I said I knew you. I had to show him a picture of us together just to convince him.”

You laugh again, feeling the warmth of his presence. “Well, I’m glad you made it. It’s been a while.”

As you and Ian catch up, the conversation flows easily, your shared ideas and interests making the time fly by. He tells you about his latest assignments, and you share some of your recent experiences. The banter between you is light and effortless, the kind that comes naturally with someone you’re comfortable with.

But then, you sense a shift in the air, and before you can react, Bucky appears at your side. He’s polite, as always, his smile perfectly in place, but you can sense the underlying tension in his posture. His eyes dart between you and Ian, and although he doesn’t say it, you know he’s not thrilled about the easy rapport between you and the British journalist.

“Hi,” Bucky says, his voice calm but laced with something you can’t quite place. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just thought I’d come by and check in.”

Ian extends his hand to Bucky with a friendly smile. “Ian, nice to meet you.”

Bucky shakes his hand, his grip a bit firmer than necessary. “Likewise. I’ve heard a bit about you.”

There’s a brief, almost imperceptible moment of silence, where you can feel Bucky’s eyes on you. His polite smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you can tell he’s itching to separate you from Ian.

“Well,” Ian says, oblivious to the tension, “I should get going. Need to find my spot before the chaos begins.” He turns to you, his smile warm and genuine. “Let’s catch up properly after this?”

You nod, still smiling. “Definitely. See you around, Ian.”

As Ian walks away, Bucky’s gaze follows him, his jaw tightening slightly. Once Ian is out of sight, Bucky’s shoulders relax, but only a fraction. He turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“You two seem close,” Bucky says, his voice carefully neutral, but you don’t miss the hint of something more beneath the surface.

“We’ve met a few times,” you reply casually, though you can sense Bucky’s unease.

He nods, but his eyes narrow slightly, as if something about Ian doesn’t sit right with him. Deep down, Bucky’s instincts are on high alert. There’s something about Ian—something he can’t quite put his finger on—that doesn’t add up. And as much as he tries to push it aside, the feeling gnaws at him, making him wonder if Ian’s presence here is as innocent as it seems.

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[trulyumai]

a fire set loose upon blood

—paring: Messmer / wife! reader

synopsis: with queen marika learning of her sons marriage, she called him to the capital, forbidding the man to marry into such a low family. Messmer became angry, the flames taking over his will once more.

—warnings: talking down, violence, light cussing.

The grand hall of the royal palace was alive with a murmur of anticipation, the high vaulted ceilings echoing with the sound of nobles and courtiers preparing for the evening’s festivities. Gold and white drapes adorned the walls, their opulence a stark contrast to the underlying tension that simmered within the room. At the head of the hall, the throne loomed, a symbol of Queen Marika’s unyielding authority.

The siblings were no where to be seen. For why would they show when Messmer needed them so?

Messmer stood in the center of the room, his regal attire starkly contrasting with the turmoil that brewed beneath his composed exterior. His eye, dark and stormy, fixed intently on the figure of his mother as she ascended the throne with a grace that belied the iron will behind her serene facade.

Queen Marika’s presence was commanding, her poise a perfect blend of royal dignity and maternal authority. Her eyes, however, were steely as they regarded her son, her posture unyielding as if the weight of the crown had become an even greater burden in recent times.

“Messmer,” she began, her voice carrying the crisp authority of a queen used to having her commands followed without question. “I have called you here to discuss a matter of utmost importance.”

Messmer’s gaze remained steady, though a flicker of anger danced in his eye. “Speak then, Mother. I am here, and thee will listen.”

Marika’s expression remained impassive, but there was a subtle tightness around her lips that betrayed her unease. “It has come to my attention that you continue to spend time with that… woman, the one of whom I have spoken before. Her status is beneath the dignity of the royal family. She is not of noble blood, and her presence in your life could compromise the integrity of our lineage.”

The words struck Messmer like a physical blow, his face darkening with a mixture of anger and hurt. “Are you referring to my wife?”

Queen Marika nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Yes, my child. Her origins are humble, and her social standing is not fitting for a prince of this realm. I have tolerated your infatuation for too long. It is time to end this folly.”

Messmer’s hands clenched into fists, the tension in his jaw evident as he struggled to maintain his composure. “You cannot simply dictate my heart, Mother. My wife is not only kind and virtuous, but she has shown me a love that transcends titles and lineage. She is more noble in spirit than many of those you deem worthy.”

Marika’s eyes narrowed, a cold edge to her voice. “Love is a luxury we cannot afford, Messmer. The duties and responsibilities of royalty must come before personal desires. You must consider the future of the kingdom, the alliances we must secure. Your marriage must strengthen our position, not diminish it.”

“Strengthen?” Messmer’s voice rose, a mix of frustration and defiance. “Are you suggesting that my happiness, my very heart, should be sacrificed for political gain? This is not merely a matter of alliances or appearances. It is about who I choose to spend my life with, who I love.”

Marika’s gaze remained steely, her voice a firm command. “You will cease this association with her immediately. You are a prince, a knight, and you must act according to your station. You are not to see her again. This is a royal decree.”

The finality in her voice was unmistakable, yet Messmer’s anger flared, his body trembling with the force of his emotions. “A decree?” he spat, his voice laden with contempt. “You would reduce my feelings to a mere decree? I will not comply, Mother. I refuse to end my relationship with her I will not let you dictate my heart.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the murmurs of the court dying away as Messmer’s declaration reverberated through the hall. Queen Marika’s expression hardened further, her regal demeanor unshaken despite the challenge posed by her son.

“Do not be a fool, Messmer,” she said, her tone cold and cutting. “You are treading dangerous waters. Your disobedience will not go unnoticed, and the consequences will be severe. You cannot defy your mother, your queen, without facing repercussions.”

“I am aware of the consequences,” Messmer shot back, his voice unwavering. “But I will not live a lie or endure a life devoid of love for the sake of appearances. If you choose to punish me for this, so be it. But know this: I will not abandon my wife. I will stand by her, no matter the cost.”

Marika’s face flushed with a mix of anger and disbelief. “You are speaking recklessly. You do not understand the gravity of your actions. This is not merely about personal happiness—it is about the stability of our entire realm. Your defiance threatens the very fabric of our dynasty.”

Messmer took a step forward, his eyes blazing with resolve. “And what of my own happiness? What of my right to choose the one I love? You speak of stability, but it is your rigid adherence to tradition that threatens to unravel everything. I am not merely a pawn to be moved about for political gain. I am your son, and I demand to be treated as such.”

Marika’s hands clenched on the armrests of her throne, her knuckles white with the strain. The silence in the hall was oppressive, the weight of the confrontation palpable. Messmer’s words hung in the air, a challenge to the very authority his mother held so dearly.

“You are making a grave mistake, Messmer,” Marika said, her voice strained but resolute. “You will regret this defiance. The path you choose will lead to ruin, and you will have only yourself to blame.”

“Then let it be so,” Messmer replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I will accept whatever consequences come my way. But I will not forsake my love. If that is my price, then so be it.”

…

“You persist in your defiance, Messmer,” Marika’s voice was cold and unyielding. “You dare to disregard my decree and associate yourself with that woman, Her presence is an affront to the dignity of this royal house.”

Messmer’s anger was palpable. “You cannot dictate my heart, Mother. I refuse to end my marriage. She has been my steadfast companion, and her worth is beyond the constraints of royal lineage.”

Marika’s eyes narrowed, her resolve hardening. “Then you leave me no choice. If you will not heed my words, I shall act to preserve the integrity of our realm.”

With a decisive gesture, Marika signaled to the guards of grace stationed by the grand hall’s entrance. Her voice rang out with unyielding authority. “Seize his so called wife. Remove her from this hall at once. Her presence is a threat to the stability of our kingdom.”

The guards, their expressions set in grim determination, advanced towards his wife, who stood frozen by the window. Her eyes darted between Messmer and the encroaching soldiers, fear etched across her face.

“No!” Messmer’s voice erupted in a raw, desperate roar. “Stay away from her!”

As the guards closed in, Messmer’s fury ignited. He drew his staff with a swift, practiced motion, but the weapon was not his only tool of wrath. With a surge of energy, Messmer’s eyes flared with an intense, fiery glow. Flames erupted from his hands, casting an ominous light across the hall.

The guards, taken aback by the sudden burst of fire, scrambled to shield themselves. But Messmer’s flames were relentless, sweeping through the grand hall with a ferocious intensity. The once-stately room was soon engulfed in a torrent of scorching heat and blinding light.

The flames roared and crackled, consuming the opulent decorations and gilded walls. The guards, now caught in the inferno, screamed in terror as the fire turned their armor into searing metal. Messmer fought through the chaos, his sword still flashing as he cut down those who tried to escape the blaze.

“Messmer, no!” His wife’s cry was barely audible over the roar of the fire. “Darling— please!”

Messmer’s face, illuminated by the flames, was a mask of determined fury. “If they will not let us be, then I will take everything from them. No more will they control our lives!”

With each passing moment, the fire spread beyond the grand hall, seizing hold of the palace’s wooden structures and tapestries. The heat was unbearable, the air thick with smoke and ash. Marika, her regal composure shattered, could only watch in stunned disbelief as her palace was reduced to a blazing inferno.

“Cease this madness!” Marika’s voice, though commanding, was nearly lost in the cacophony of destruction. “Stop him! Put out the fire!”

But it was too late. The flames, fueled by Messmer’s unchecked rage, surged outward, consuming the palace’s grandiose architecture. The inferno spread through the corridors and chambers, its heat radiating through the once-proud halls.

Messmer, his fury unabated, moved his wife towards the palace’s exit. The once-majestic capital, now visible beyond the burning palace, was a stark contrast to the chaos within. The fire, driven by Messmer’s rage, was spreading rapidly through the streets, turning the capital into a scene of total devastation.

Outside, the capital’s inhabitants fled in panic as the fire spread through the buildings. The cries of the fleeing people mixed with the crackling of the flames, creating a harrowing symphony of destruction. Messmer and his little wife, amidst the chaos, made their way through the burning streets, their path lit by the inferno that consumed the city.

“Messmer, we need to leave!” Her voice was urgent, her face pale with fear. “This fire—it’s destroying everything!”

Messmer’s eyes, filled with a mix of anger and sorrow, remained fixed on the burning city. “They will understand the cost of crossing me, of belittling me and having me sit by the shadows!” he said, his voice a low growl. “No longer will they dictate our fate.”

The inferno continued to ravage the capital, the flames reflecting in Messmer’s eyes as he and his wife made their way out of the city. The once-thriving center of the kingdom was now a smoldering ruin, the fire a testament to Messmer’s wrath and his refusal to be controlled.

As they reached the outskirts of the burning capital, Messmer and the girl paused, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The sight of the destruction was both overwhelming and sobering. The palace, now a ruin of charred stone and ashes, was a grim reminder of the cost of their defiance.

Messmer, his anger slowly giving way to a profound sense of loss, turned towards the shaking girl. “I am sorry for this,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “This was not what I intended. I wanted only to protect you.”

her eyes reflecting the flames’ glow, took his hand. “We will— will be okay,” she said, her voice steady despite the devastation around them. “We will find a way to move forward. I trust you to protect us.”

Messmer nodded, his resolve tempered by the weight of their actions. The future was uncertain, and the path ahead was fraught with challenges. But amidst the ruins of the capital and the ashes of their past, they found solace in their shared determination and the strength of their bond.

The capital, once a symbol of royal might, now lay in ruins—a testament to the power of defiance and the price of love. As Messmer and his wife looked out over the burning city, they knew that their journey was far from over. The flames of rebellion had transformed their lives, and the road ahead would be shaped by the choices they made in the aftermath of the inferno.

The destruction of the kingdom’s heart was a stark reminder of the consequences of defiance and the price of love. The future lay before them, uncertain and fraught with danger, but Messmer and his wife faced it together, bound by their shared determination and the strength of their affection.

Now, there was only one place they could hide.

To the lands in between; the shadow realm that hides beneath the grace.

[novaursa]

Gwayne Hightower Masterlist

main list

- A Rose in Oldtown - Gwayne steals a rose and allows it to grow strong in Oldtown. - mature 16+

- The Crimson Sky - When Gwayne was ordered to go to Rook’s Rest, you followed him. - explicit 18

- Down by the River - After a forgotten betrothal with Aemond, you found love and comfort in your uncle's arms. - explicit 18+

- In Defiance of a Dragon - When your uncle, King Viserys, promised your hand to Gwayne, your father was least pleased about it. - explicit 18+

- Of Gods and Blood - Your mother, Alicent, sent you to Oldtown, to protect you from Rhaeyra's whims. Only for you to find comfort in your uncle’s arms. - explicit 18+

- A House Divided - During a tourney your father organized for the birth of his heir, your heart found a flame in Ser Gwayne Hightower. - mature 16+

- A Flame in Exile - Your mother and grandsire have sent you away to Oldtown. You were too unruly like your uncle Daemon, they said. But Gwayne never shied away from fire. - mature 16+

- The Wild Heart - You introduce Gwayne to your dragon, Grey Ghost. - mild 13+

- The Big Bad Wolf of Duskendale - You and Gwayne tell your children a bedtime story about the dragon princess and her knight. - mild 13+

- Divided Banners - When the Dance came you picked your half-sister. And now you have to face a price for choices made. - mature 16+

- The Kiss of the Hightower - On your way to the capital, you and your uncle had other intentions than observing the road. - explicit 18+

- Behind the Chamber Door - Ser Criston was appointed to guard you by your sister, Queen Alicent herself. He overhears something that makes him confront both you and his heart’s desire. - mature 16+

Works (targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower) below are listed in chronological order:

- Echoes of a Promise - When Prince Daemon Targaryen challenged Ser Gwayne Hightower during the tourney, that King Viserys I orginazed for birth of his heir, it was not just to humiliate and spite Otto. It was because of you. - explicit 18+

- Chains of the Crown - Gwayne promised to marry you. A promise he couldn't keep. - explicit 18+

- Between the Flames (1) - You and Gwayne see each other after years of separation, as King Viserys I organizes a hunt for his son's nameday. But time is a cruel mistress. - mature 16+

- Between the Flames (2) - Gwayne and you rekindle your flame as a celebratory hunt proceeds. - explicit 18+

- Skyfall - Baela and you chase after Cole and his men. You fall from the sky straight into Gwayne's arms. Literally. - explicit 18+

- The Flames We Carry - Ser Criston Cole expected for Rhaenys and Meleys to appear over Rook's Rest. To Gwayne's horror, Rhaenyra sent her sister instead: you. - mature 16+

- Where Banners Fall - After your fall at Rook’s Rest, Gwayne takes you to safety and some hidden things come to light. - mild 13+

- The Blood We Choose - Gwayne brings you to Dragonstone, to your sister. But it is Daemon who awaits you both. - mild 13+

- The Flames We Share - You tell your son the truth. He has more than the blood of dragons in his veins. - mild 13+

- The Chains We Break - Otto Hightower comes to negotiate the release of his son. Daemon does not humor him. But you and your sister are dragons as well, who answer to neither gods or men. - mild 13+

- Where Honor Burns - After the tragedy Above the God's Eye, you decided to go to King's Landing, in hope to prevent more bloodshed. Even if it means your death. - explicit 18+

- The Cost of Fire - The conclusion of the Dance. Where Gwayne and the reader married under watchful eyes of the Seven. - explicit 18+

[m0chaminx]

Sejanus Plinth | Whispers

*•.¸♡Request: Heyy Could you write a Sejanus Plinth x reader? Maybe some angst/comfort?

*•.¸♡Prompts: "We didn't all have happy childhoods, so sorry that I can't cope." "My childhood wasn't happy just because it wasn't yours. Yeah, I was safe, but I was alone and I never had no one to turn to. There's more than one way to fuck up a kid." from @promptsforthestrugglingauthor (its changed slightly tho)

*•.¸♡Warnings: Angsty as shit, Sejanus may be slightly ooc, bastards? (i think the capitol would hate bastards), the word whore in like a prostitute way, slight pacing issues (its 2am, ill edit it again later)

*•.¸♡Paring: Sejanus Plinth x GN!reader

*•.¸♡Summary: When District meets Capitol, a kind boy like Sejanus is born. When Capitol meets District, a messed-up kid like you is born.

Or

Sejanus learns you care just as much as him

*•.¸♡Words: 1.1k

The academy's echoing halls bore witness to a chorus of whispers that followed Sejanus like persistent shadows. He was neither oblivious to these whispers, nor stupid enough to engage. The students, wrapped in their Capitol privilege, money, status and style, often vocalised their prejudiced perceptions, casting Sejanus as the outsider—a boy from the districts, like a stain in the polished corridors of the elite.

Each comment carried the sting of disdain, a reminder that, in their eyes, he should have remained tethered to District 2. The snide comments echoed in the hallowed halls, questioning his nobility, his eloquence, his attire, and even his intellect. To them, he was an anomaly challenging the Capitol's rigid social hierarchy. Yet, Sejanus pressed on, his spirit unyielding, his kind heart and sweet words charming any who had escaped the whispers.

There had always been whispers about your mother and her flimsy beliefs with the Capitol. She was no one important to the Capitol’s government, systems of education or even associated with the Hunger Games. People whispered about her visit to the district and the child she returned with. Her marriage to a businessman, another individual largely unnoticed by the Capitol's discerning eye, provided no shield from the prying whispers. So, the whispers turned to taunts and the taunts fell to humiliation.

At every chance your classmates had, they would remind you of everything surrounding your family. Every grade that was slightly below perfect left you pointed at and laughed at with words so smooth the teachers with no concern for their students did nothing to stop it. Letters and threats were slipped into your books and bag, promises that even if you slightly smeared the reputation of the capitol would result in a bloody end. Yet still, you held your head high, but your mouth ran wild, insulting the students who stepped too far over the line.

It was only natural that a bond between you and Sejanus would blossom, and then grow stronger with each passing day. The insidious nature of the whispers, each with its unique twist, seemed to seep into the very air you both breathed. There was an acute awareness that, despite the bonds you were weaving, there was no fortress impervious enough to shield you from the relentless scrutiny of your peers that thought themselves better,

Yet, in defiance of the echoing gossip, you and Sejanus found solace in the simple acts of togetherness. The friendship grew to a point that simply knowing the other was there was enough to make the days bearable. Sitting closely in the classroom, sharing quiet moments during lunch, or merely walking side by side through the bustling halls became your only moments of peace. In the bubble you created, the whispers seemed to lose their cutting edge, despite the storms of constant judgement swirling around you.

But when Sejanus’s tribute Marcus, a boy he had been friends with had been strung up in the arena like a trophy or a warning, everything around him had collapsed at once. He grabbed his chair, throwing it and his desk across the room and he turned to the students and teachers, tears streaming down his face. “You’re monsters!” He screamed. “All of you!”

He stormed out of the hall, and you barely spared a glance at the screen before chasing him. He threw the doors open, storming down the hall and walking from the academy collapsing onto a stone wall. He screamed, tears streaming down his face. The courtyards were empty, the people shut themselves in their homes to watch the games.

You stopped by Sejanus, placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning to meet his eyes. “Janus…” Your voice was soft, as you called for him, but his tears continued to stream down his face. “I’m so sorry.” He straightened, trying to stop the shaking from consuming his body but he couldn't.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace as if trying to absorb every emotion that was consuming his body. His arms wound around you, as if simply holding you could wash away everything in the world. In your arms, nothing could hurt him.

Your mind scrambled to find any words that could comfort him, but you couldn't. Nothing you could say could make any of this alright.

“What can I do?” It was a weak attempt to help, but you couldn't do anything else. He knew that but somehow, a part of him thought you could fix everything. It was irrational but his mind wasn’t working properly.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you muttered.

They weren't the right words.

“How are you so calm?” Sejanus' words were harsher than he wanted them to be, and his quick movements to pull away didn't help.

You were stunned at the way he snapped at you and you stammered,

“I can't- I can’t fix it, Janus. I’m just trying to help.”

This time his anger was more purposeful, “No you’re trying to calm me down, like this isn't a big deal.” Sejanus shook his head, trying to keep his anger at bay. "We didn't all have Capital childhoods, so sorry that I can't cope."

You scoffed, your own anger rising. "Just because my childhood doesn't mean it wasn't bad. Yeah, I was safe, but I was alone, and I never had anyone to turn to. I don’t understand what you’re feeling, but I’m trying to help." Sejanus turned to you, and you shook your head, your voice raising, “Just because you live in the capitol doesn't make you capitol.”

“Are you bringing up the districts? Now?”

“You’re not capitol because once you were district, you're not capitol because you are kind,” Your voice shook, the anger leaving as Sejanus’s tense shoulders dropped. “You’re kind Janus. You care, and you hope. People in the capitol don’t see anyone else that way. Not people like us.”

You sighed and leaned against the stone wall. “You have status Sejanus; your father has money. You’re protected even though you don't know it.” Sejanus sat next to you, watching you closely as you played with the sleeves of your academy uniform. “My mother is a nobody capitol woman, and my father was a district whore. I was safe in the capitol, but not from them.” You turned back to gesture at the academy.

“I wasn't safe either,”

“It's different and you know it.”

“I’m not saying it isn't. I’m saying you’re not alone and… I’m always here for you.” He took your hand, intertwining your fingers. “There’s always someone on your side.”

Sejanus smiled, tears gathering in his eyes once again. “Thank you… for helping.”

“And someone on yours.” You looked around, making sure there was no one nearby. You shuffled closer to Sejanus, whispering to him. “When it gets dark, if you give one of the peacemakers enough money, they might let you in.” Sejanus turned to you; his eyebrows furrowed. “Pay your respects. It doesn't make it better, but- I, I don’t know what else.”

ﾟ°☆Page navigation

[barrenclan]

I don't know if this song has been suggested yet but 15 Step by Radiohead for Rainhaze? Not just for the "one by one / it comes to us all / it's as soft as your pillow" (in reference to how he perceived death) but if you're willing to skew the optimism in the first verse, I see it as the line where he finally 'realizes' what Defiance is all about - when he finally sheds the Old Rainhaze for the new one by killing Asphodelpaw ("first you reel me out and then you cut the string"). Plus, there's a very on the nose reference that I see Ranger making to him in relation to finding out about Barrenclan ("you used to be alright, what happened? / did the cat get your tongue? / did your string come undone?") which is conveniently immediately before the Death lines.

And with recent developments (I had this ask planned for a while lol) now the "You used to be alright, what happened?" ...Ohhhh that hits. The difference between the mocking tone of Ranger the first time around, and then the second time the verse is repeated, it being cut off with "etcetera, etcetera..." which I either interpret as Rainhaze being unable to finish 'convincing' the rest of Barrenclan because he got interrupted then Tigerstar'd... Much to think about.

Anyway love this comic, been following it (and TDS!) since day 1, can't believe it's been so many years of it. At least one. You have a talent for storytelling!! I can't wait to see what you have planned for the future, big fan!

Haven't heard this one yet! But I'm always happy to get some Radiohead. I'm very flattered you've been enjoying the comic, and following my stories for so long.

Ooh, I always like getting instrumental music recommendations! I've never seen LOST, but both my parents watched it while it was airing. PATFW is definitely a mystery story, although I like to think I got to my resolutions better than JJ did. Giacchino is a great scorer of course, I like how this song is sad, sweet, and a little ominous. Reminds me of Twin Peaks.

Haha yes, it's definitely a popular suggestion for a popular song. But it is very pretty, and I do like the themes of burial and fighting to try and restrain someone who won't be restrained.

You can't keep them all caged They will fight and run away Mother, tell me so I say

Barren curtains that you're weaving Like the stories that you keep inside your head She can't keep them all safe They will die and be afraid

Oh... yeah. Anything with scary angel imagery fits very well for her, because I heavily associate Asphodelpaw with Laura Palmer.

Carry me in your teeth with tender jaws of sympathy (Arrow deep inside the meat Impossible for us to reach)

Shattered in a mist of crippled, angel silhouettes Lift the dirt, and cover me Lay at my side until I'm finally sleeping Until I'm finally sleeping

I like it! Comorantpaw has a strong streak of self-hatred and lately, is very much feeling like he's permanently stained with evil because of his past. But he still wants to be there for Pinepaw, maybe thinking it's all he's good for.

Bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze If you must drink of me, take of me what you please I am loathed to say it's the devil's taste I've been with the devil in the devil's resting place

Come up here to speak to me and hold your face to mine Any man can hold my gaze has done his job just fine You just sold your life away to be with me tonight Hold your head against my chest, I think you'll be just fine

Classic Glass Animals! I think it captures the feeling of Issue 38 well.

Everything, waiting, shaking as it drops I tried for you and I, for too hard, for too long Gave it all and everything for more time, but I lost

… Ooh, I'm breaking down Whispers would deafen me now You don't make a sound Heartbreak was never so loud

Hahah! Yeah, this fits them well.

What did I do to deserve you? How did you find me? I was already halfway gone You were a bright light You were a fistfight, oh

Our love is older than the Great Wall Our love spins a gun around its finger Our love has found its way into our mouths before Cut our teeth until we swallow it whole

Great Rainhaze song! It gets at that fatalistic, manic energy he has that's especially evident in Issue 37.

Losing my mind It never felt so good to be alive Crucify my name I never felt more famous than today, where I am no one To nothing

Lose your mind baby You'll never feel so good to be alive, I say again I say erase your name, sweet honey You'll never feel more famous than today, where you are no one (no one)

I believe it was suggested a couple years ago with Hush Puppy and Thrasher, but not Rainhaze! It's an interesting angle to make it about him and Ranger.

One last kiss I love you like a broken pot One last kiss I love you like a pack of dogs One last kiss I need you like I need a gaping head wound

[pxnsneverland]

Ruthless Grace | Austin Butler x OC (part 2)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

plot summary: Amidst the grime and squalor of Victorian England's winding cobblestone alleys, a young woman's life hangs precariously in the balance. Violet, a poor peasant girl with long raven locks and piercing gray eyes, possesses a haunting beauty that belies the harsh realities of her existence. Tragedy struck two years prior when Violet's mother succumbed to illness, leaving her to fend for herself and her father – a cruel, selfish man consumed by vices of alcohol and gambling. On one fateful night, Violet's father drags her unwillingly to that very den of iniquity, and there she learns a horrifying truth from the club's greedy, perverted owner: to repay his mounting gambling debts, her father has sold her into sexual servitude. Violet's vehement protests fall on deaf ears, until an unlikely savior emerges from the shadows. Lord Austin Butler intervenes with a bargain of his own. This dangerous man offers to pay off Violet's father's debts in exchange for her accompaniment, and Violet is torn from the only life she has known. While Austin's demeanor remains shrouded in mystery and detachment at first, Violet gradually glimpses his softer, even playful side as time passes within the manor's walls and an unexpected connection blossoms between the unlikely pair.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 3,025

warnings/notes: Still kind of an introductory/background chapter. But Austin does get introduced in this one :)

Chapter 2: An Unwelcome Visitor

One particularly bleak morning brought more than typical London drizzle; it brought Mr. Henry Cartwright—or 'Rat,' as he was aptly nicknamed—slinking through the narrow, cobbled streets towards their humble abode. His arrival was never without dread; his shadow seemed to cast a pall over whatever it touched, and today, its reach felt more chilling than usual. Violet watched from behind the partially closed door as this man who held her fate in his greasy palms approached. She could see the false smile plastered on his face, a grimace disguised as a greeting.

“Miss Everly,” Henry Cartwright began, his voice smooth like oil, but with an edge that hinted at the impatience beneath. “Your father has failed to meet his obligations again. And here I find myself, contemplating what measures to take to assure his... cooperation.”

Violet’s heart sank. She knew too well what this meant: further debts, more threats, or worse—actualization of those threats. The room felt colder as he stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a definitive thud.

“I have no money to give you, Mr. Cartwright,” Violet said quietly, her gaze steady despite the fear gnawing at her insides. Her voice carried a defiance born not of hope but of resignation to whatever might come next.

Cartwright chuckled darkly, pacing slowly around the sparse room as if appraising it for valuables that did not exist. "Ah, but my dear," he sneered, eyes glinting with a cruel amusement as he stopped to face her, "it's not your money I'm after. You must understand, the debts of your father have grown too substantial to be ignored any longer."

Violet felt the walls close in, the weight of her impending doom pressing down on her shoulders. The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the distant sound of a horse-drawn cart rattling over cobblestones outside. Henry Cartwright's gaze was like a vise, tightening with every second she remained silent.

"You see, Miss Everly," Rat continued, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper as he leaned closer, "your father's ineptitude has forced my hand. There's a certain... clientele at my club who would pay handsomely for the company of someone as rare and beautiful as you. It would certainly settle his accounts... and maybe even leave some over for your own keep."

Violet recoiled as if struck. The very air around her seemed to thicken with revulsion. Her mind raced, desperate for an escape from this nightmare, but her body felt frozen, ensnared by the horrifying reality of Rat's proposition. Rat's smirk widened as he observed her horror, taking perverse pleasure in the power he wielded over her. Violet's heart pounded mercilessly against her ribcage, each beat a drum of panic. Yet, amidst the terror, a spark of her indomitable spirit flickered to life.

"No," she whispered, the word barely audible yet loaded with all the conviction she could muster. Rat paused, his expression shifting to one of surprise and then quickly to anger.

"What did you say?" he hissed, stepping closer.

Violet straightened up, her gray eyes hardening like flint. "I said no." Her voice gained strength from somewhere deep within her, a place untouched by fear or despair. "I am not a coin to be traded at your whim."

Rat laughed, a cold, humorless sound. "You might think you have a choice in this matter, Miss Everly, but let me assure you — you do not. This is not just your fate but also a solution to your father’s incompetence."

"I would rather die than live at the mercy of your vile desires," Violet retorted, her defiance lighting up her gaunt features.

The amusement on Rat’s face vanished, replaced by a menacing scowl. "Be careful, young lady. You are in no position to issue threats. Remember, I can make your life exceedingly difficult."

Violet's resolve did not falter, though her heart trembled within her chest. She knew the danger of antagonizing a man like Rat, but the thought of subjugation under his control was more terrifying than any threat he could utter.

"Then you shall have to do what you must," Violet said, her voice steady, though inside she felt like a fragile bird in a storm.

Rat's eyes narrowed, his lips twisting into a cruel sneer. "Very well, Miss Everly. Since you choose defiance, expect no mercy from me." With those chilling words, he turned on his heel and strode towards the door, each step heavy with menace.

As the door slammed shut behind him, Violet slumped against the wall, her legs weak with relief and fear. Tears threatened to spill over — not merely from fright but also from a deep-seated rage against the injustice of her plight and the depravity of men like Rat. In the silence that followed Rat's departure, the small, dimly lit room felt both sanctuary and prison. Violet's breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a battle against the despair that threatened to engulf her. Her father, who had been silent during the entire confrontation, now looked at her with a mix of bewilderment and indifference. His gaze was glazed, numbed by alcohol and years of moral decay.

"Violet, you shouldn't have spoken to him like that," he slurred, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "You've just made things worse for us."

Violet turned to face her father, her expression wrought with a mixture of pain and defiance. "Made things worse? How, Father? By refusing to be sold like property?" Her voice trembled from the intense emotion that churned within her, but her stance was resolute. "No, Father, it is you who have made things worse with your recklessness."

Edward Everly shuffled uncomfortably, his bloodshot eyes avoiding her piercing gaze. "You don't understand, Violet.”

"That does not excuse you from your vices!" Violet's words cut through the dim room like a blade. The very air seemed charged with her fury, an electric tension that made even Edward shift uneasily on his feet.

Edward's gaze shifted again, landing on the grimy window pane as if seeking an escape from Violet’s searing condemnation. “You think it’s easy? Surviving in this godforsaken place?” His voice cracked, an unusual display of emotion from a man she knew more as a figure of stubborn indifference and cruelty.

“Survival does not necessitate the selling of one’s soul,” Violet retorted sharply, her eyes never leaving his face despite the sting of tears that blurred her vision.

A shadow passed over Edward’s face—a flicker of guilt, perhaps, or merely resentment at being challenged. “You don’t know the burdens I carry,” he muttered, turning away from her piercing eyes.

Violet felt a momentary pang of pity for the man who had once been her protector, before quickly steeling her heart against it. "And you, Father, have never understood the burden of your actions on others," she replied softly, yet with a steeliness that surprised even her.

The tension between them stretched taut as a bowstring. Edward stood, his jaw clenched, the veins in his neck bulging with suppressed rage. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows on his face, making him look more monster than man. Abruptly, he grabbed his coat from the hook by the door and yanked it on with jerky movements.

"Where are you going?" Violet asked, her voice steady despite the fear that gripped her heart.

"To settle things with Rat," Edward growled, his words slurring together as he struggled to maintain control over his enflamed emotions.

Without waiting for a response, Edward stumbled out of the room, his heavy boots echoing against the wooden floorboards. Violet watched him go, a whirlwind of emotions churning within her. Fear for what her father might do in his drunken state mixed with fury at his betrayal and sadness for the broken shell of a man he had become.

Left alone, Violet’s thoughts raced as she pondered her next move. The walls of the dank room felt like they were closing in on her, each shadow playing tricks on her eyes as if mocking her plight. She knew that standing up to Rat had probably only bought her a brief reprieve. Men like him did not take defiance lightly, and she had no illusions about the lengths to which he would go to assert his control.

The sound of raucous laughter and clinking glasses from down below reminded her of where she was — in the bowels of a club. Rising to her feet, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, refusing to allow them any further claim on her spirit. With quiet steps, she went down the stairs and approached the door that led into the club.

********************

The dimly lit back room of the club was thick with the smell of stale beer and tobacco smoke, a miasma that clung to every surface as obstinately as the patrons clung to their vices. Violet's heart hammered in her chest, each beat a loud echo in her ears that seemed to drown out the low murmur of conversation around her. She stood stiffly beside her father, her fingers clenched tightly around the fabric of her worn skirt. Rat sat behind a cluttered desk covered in papers and empty glasses, his beady eyes appraising Violet like a merchant assessing a piece of merchandise. Edward shifted uncomfortably beside her, his gaze avoiding hers.

"Ah, the gem of the night," Rat exclaimed with a greasy smile, his voice dripping with feigned delight.

Violet felt a shiver course through her spine at his words, her skin crawling under the weight of his gaze. She remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line, as Rat stood and circled around the desk with the predatory grace of a vulture swooping down on its prey. He stopped inches from her, his fetid breath brushing against her face as he leaned in close.

"You'll do nicely," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with unwholesome anticipation. Violet recoiled instinctively, but Rat's hand shot out, gripping her chin with a firmness that made escape impossible.

“Get your hands off of me,” Violet spat struggling to keep her eyes locked on his. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her weak.

Rat snickered roughly letting go of her chin. “You’ve got fire. I’ll be sure to do something about that quickly.”

“What are you talking about?” Violet raised a brow.

Edward's laugh, a hollow sound devoid of any paternal warmth, grated on her nerves. "Now, now, Violet, be good," he chided, his words slurred slightly as he took another swig from the bottle he had managed to procure upon their arrival.

Rat's chuckle was low and menacing as he turned his attention back to Violet's father. "Edward, you've truly outdone yourself this time," he sneered, eyeing Violet like a hawk regarding its next meal. His voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper, though loud enough for Violet to overhear. "Remember our agreement. She's mine until the debts are squared away."

Violet felt her blood run cold at his words, the finality of her situation crashing down around her like the walls of a decrepit house succumbing to its own decay. A surge of panic threatened to overwhelm her, but she quashed it quickly, her instinct for survival sharpening her focus. She needed to think, to plan, not simply react.

"Never," she breathed, her voice trembling not from fear, but from a fierce resolve that took even her by surprise. Violet turned sharply to face her father, stepping forward so that they were eye-to-eye, forcing him to confront the reality of what he had done. "How could you?" The accusation was more than a question; it was a denouncement of every moment of neglect and abuse she had suffered under his care.

Edward, his face a mixture of inebriated confusion and dim irritation, tried to formulate a response, a pathetic attempt at justification hanging limply between them. "It's all for the best," he stuttered, his eyes not meeting hers. "You'll have food and—a roof."

Violet's laugh was bitter, laced with incredulity and contempt. "A roof? A cage, more like," she retorted sharply, her anger giving her voice a steely edge. "You barter away your flesh and blood for a few coins to squander on your vices. You are less than a man."

Edward's face reddened, his eyes briefly flashing with something that might have been shame, but it was quickly drowned out by a resurgence of his habitual defiance. "You don't understand the pressures I'm under!" he shouted back, his voice rising over the din of the club.

"I understand perfectly," Violet countered coldly. "I understand that you are a coward, Father. A coward who would sell his daughter to shield himself from his own failures."

The room seemed to hold its breath, the usual cacophony momentarily subdued as patrons turned to witness the spectacle unfolding. Rat, sensing the shift in atmosphere, clapped his hands with mock cheerfulness. "Enough of this family drama," he interjected smoothly, his tone brooking no argument. "Violet, you are now under my care. Edward, you know the terms. Don't make this uglier than it needs to be."

With a disdainful glance at her father, Violet pulled her arm free from his grasp and took a step back, distancing herself both physically and emotionally. Her heart pounded fiercely against her ribcage, each thud resonating with the resolve that hardened in her eyes. She wouldn't let despair consume her; she would fight, somehow.

“Now, Now, Cartwright,” came a voice that belonged to a hooded figure seated near them at the opposite table. “You should know better than to do your dastardly deeds in the open.” The figure removed his hood revealing a young man with blue eyes and blonde hair that flickered in the candlelight.

Rat sneered. “Lord Butler. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Stay tuned for part 3!! Click HERE to view!

[rotbtd-edits]

The similiar struggles of Merida & Hiccup

Just my two cents because I love talking these movies. I find it interesting how both Merida and Hiccup share similiar conflicts/themes in their movies. They both feel pressured to become leader figures by their parents, while also stubbornly sticking to their own ideals. Merida is trained by her strict mom to become the perfect princess, and is also expected to carry out her duties through marriage. Hiccup in HTTYD2 is expected to become the next chief by his dad while Hiccup himself feels it's not for him and he can't meet the expectations. They both have other dreams and yearn to keep their freedoms. Merida wants to live her life like she wants to, and Hiccup wants to keep exploring and spreading his findings about dragons. They also have parents that at some point have refused to listen to them.

They also act in defiance to their families in order to maintain their own ideals and freedoms, wanting to do things their way instead of traditions. Merida argues against her mom, breaks the clan traditions by shooting for her own hand, and asks the witch for help to "change her mom" to agree to Merida's views. This ends up endangering her mother and the peace between the clans. Hiccup in turn refuses to listen to his parents about Drago, both who know him much better than Hiccup. Because Hiccup keeps believing anyone can change, that if he's just given the chance he can make it happen and everyone else is just hindering him in their warmongering blindness. Hiccup believes so strongly in his position as the pacifist peacemaker that he doesn't budge until it's too late. Neither Merida nor Hiccup really stops to think of the possible consiquences of their actions, they only see the positive outcomes. They feel like they're not being listened to, but they also don't listen to others either.

So they both try to escape the expectations and restrictions put on them by actively defying and being stubborn about it, that it ends up endangering everyone. The main difference is, that while Merida gets a second change and has everything fixed in the end, Hiccup ends up paying the heavy price for his mistakes.

Merida's actions get her mom turned into a bear and almost loses her completely. In the end when all seems lost Merida finally admits her fault aloud and to herself, owning up to her mistakes. Before that she also admits her careless actions against the clans and is ready to accept her duties as the princess. Merida finally sees the bigger picture outside her own point of view, that she's in a position where she simply can't think only about herself. She manages to reverse the spell and fix her relationship with her mom, who has also come to see the error in her own ways, thus ending things perfect.

Hiccup's mistakes sadly don't get as happy resolve as his stubborness ultimately ends up getting his dad killed. It's the cruel wake up call to Hiccup, how some people are simply beyond help and fighting them is the only way. It's what his dad had tried to tell him throughout the movie. Had he listened to his parents, things might have ended better, and he has to carry this guilt with him probably his whole life. Drago is the real villain and culprit, but Hiccup did play a part in how everything turned out. His part is more nuanced than Merida's, who is more clearly at fault in Brave along with her mom. After Stoick's death, Hiccup has no choice but to face the reality, own to his mistakes by stopping Drago and accept his duty as the chief. It was a harsh lesson for him, that sometimes you just can't force things to go your way, but maybe it was one he needed before becoming the leader for his tribe. Just like Merida needed to face hers to fix everything around her and correct her ways.

So yeah, like said I find it interesting how Merida and Hiccup's stories and their character growths follow similiar themes. I'm glad Merida got her happy ending, but damn now I really want to give Hiccup a hug! ;u;

[reallyromealone]

NOZEL SILVA X MALE READER

👾 warnings ⭐

Male reader, mpreg, omegaverse, Omega male reader, fluff, nesting, reader calls out Nozel being shitty to the clover kingdoms subjects

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Nozel never knew what to do with his mate, (name) was an enigma to say the least.

(Name) was the prince of the heart kingdom, the younger brother of Queen lolopetchka and to strengthen the bonds of the kingdoms (name) and Nozel wed.

(Name) didn't take after the water magic his mother possessed but instead the plant magic like his father, using it to create crops to send to struggling villages around the kingdom.

"You're not going" Nozel said strictly to his mate, (name) crossing his arms in defiance "and why not?"

"It's dangerous for an Omega to go alone"

"What if I didn't go alone?"

"And who did you convince to do this with?"

"...the back bulls" (name) mumbled and Nozel stared him down "absolutely not" he said coldly, watching his mate deflate "then you come with me!"

"No"

"Why not?!"

"I have better things to attend to"

"More important than helping your people?" In the heart kingdom, the Royals did anything they could for their people, the callousness of the clover kingdom infuriated (name).

The village was struggling with crop fertility and winter was only five months away... (Name) didn't like the idea of them struggling like that.

Noelle couldn't believe she was going against her brothers words and helping the other, Asta excited to go out "this is great! You must be strong to be able to do this!" Asta boasted and (name) bit his lip, he felt bad not following his alphas command but... People needed him.

And his sister always taught him that one's subjects lives came before ones own.

Noelle was in awe as she watched her brother in law use his magic, the ground glowing beneath them before plant life began sprouting, fruit trees and various plants around the farm land.

Nozel was fuming as he searched high and low for his Omega, practically putting out a wanted poster for the fucker.

"Nozel!" Noelle said panicked as Asta carried an unconscious (name), the Omega looking worse for wear "what happened?!" Nozel seethed as he took his mate "he was helping a village with their crops and just suddenly collapsed!"

Nozel didn't say anything as he took his Omega to the silver eagles base and to their room, setting the Omega in the nest.

(Name) slept for a few hours before waking, Nozel doing paperwork as he spoke "were you aware you are with pup?" His voice even but it was clear he was upset... But this was the wrong move as (name) gripped his stomach and stressed pharamones leaked everywhere, Nozel knew his Omega well and walked to him, pulling him close to scent him.

"The pups safe, you over used your magic on a trip I clearly remember barring you from going to"

"If I didn't... They wouldn't have made it through the winter... They would have died..." (Name) said teary eyed "I don't understand your reluctance to help those who are supposed to be your subjects... " This genuinely upset (name), the Omega who spent his life helping those of the heart kingdom with anything and everything because he was royalty, his job was to support and lift the kingdom.

"..." Nozel was silent as he held his Omega close "you can't go out to random villages" he said and felt (name) curl his fingers around his cape angrily "but... We can send supply crates to village's in need"

(Name) perked up considerably as he shifted to look at his mate wide eyed "you seem to be hellbent on this, just no more adventures"

"Can I help around the capital?"

"Be thankful I'm not locking you away in the castle"

(Name) didn't try pushing his luck as he chirped and nosed at Nozels jaw while the Alpha moved to touch the bump "I expect minimal magic while you are carrying our pup"

"Our baby.." (name) said happily as he held onto the Alpha who felt his heart warm at the others words "yes yes, our baby"

[sequinsmile-x]

Leap of Faith

It's a leap year, so Emily decides to propose.

But it's Emily and Aaron, so it's never quite that simple.

-x-

Hi besties,

it's a leap year - which means you get a whole extra day of me being insane about these two.

I had a lot of fun writing this one, so I hope you enjoy reading it. It got really soft because of how much these idiots love each other.

Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Pregnancy, so fluffy in parts you will need to floss after

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

It’s Penelope who gives her the idea. Yet another girl's night that descends into her drunkenly asking Emily when she’s finally going to marry Aaron, a question that had lingered in her mind longer than it usually would. Her inability to drink along with her friends, due to the baby girl kicking along almost on beat with the music in the bar Penelope had dragged them to, means Emily can’t stop thinking about it, unable to shake it off as she’s passed a shot of tequila like she usually would. 

“When are you and Hotch getting hitched? It’s been too long since we had a BAU wedding,” Penelope asks, almost spilling a cocktail all over herself as the glass just about makes it back onto the table when she puts it down, “I never thought I’d say this but stop making babies and just get married.” 

Emily chuckles and shakes her head, sipping her alcohol-free cocktail and wincing at the overly sweet taste, “We’re happy as we are, Pen.” 

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry Aaron, it just hadn’t ever really had the chance to come up. Their relationship had moved quickly from the start, both of them well aware they were it for each other from their first kiss. Things had only accelerated when they found out she was pregnant just over a year after her return from Paris. She’d found out just before JJ and Will’s wedding, the check-up that Aaron had forced her into after the bank changing their lives more than either of them could have anticipated. 

They’d got lost in finding a home after that, the arrival of their son, Elliot, only happening just weeks after they moved into their house. Life had, as it always does, just carried on. Days turned into weeks, into months and then years as they raised their sons and loved each other. Before she knew it, it was almost four years later and she was pregnant again, something that she had planned this time, both she and Aaron aware they wanted one more baby, and the only people who ever brought up marriage were her mother and Penelope. 

She’d always dismissed their comments, saying that she didn’t need a piece of paper to show her love for Aaron, to prove that they were a family. She’d thought when she was growing up that she’d end up married to someone that she didn’t truly love, doomed to repeat the cycle she’d been born into, and when that hadn’t happened she’d been relieved. It was relief that turned into defiance, making her sure for years that she’d never marry anyone. But it would be a lie to say she didn’t want to call Aaron her husband, that she didn’t want to share the name both he and their children had, and all of a sudden it’s all she can think about. 

Penelope rolls her eyes, “I know, I know. You always say that,” she says, pushing another shot towards JJ who looks at Emily for help, but doesn’t find it, narrowing her eyes at Emily as she drinks her glorified fruit juice, “All I’m saying is that it’s a leap year, and tradition says that means you can propose to him if you want to on leap day,” she says, waggling her eyebrows playfully, “Speed things along if bossman is dragging his feet.” 

Emily’s back immediately straightens as she furrows her brows, her hormones going into overdrive as she feels defensive of the man she loves, of their relationship, even though she logically knows her friend means no harm.

“He isn’t dragging his feet,” she says, crossing her arms so they settle on top of her bump, “He’s been married before and it didn’t work,” her hand drops to where she can feel her daughter shifting under her skin, a feeling that was no less amazing than it had been when she was pregnant with Elliot, “Thats a big thing to get past.” 

“Em,” JJ says, cutting in before Penelope can make it any worse, a warning look thrown at their enthusiastic friend as she places her hand on Emily’s arm, “We know that. And we all know what it took for me to even consider marrying Will,” she says, smiling kindly as she squeezes Emily’s arm, a flash of something in JJ’s eyes that disappears as quickly as Emily sees it, “And whether you’re married or not, everyone can see how much you and Hotch love each other and the kids.” 

She smiles and nods, placing her hand over her friends and squeezing briefly before she looks over at Penelope, “I’m happy the way things are.” 

The conversation moves on, largely due to JJ forcing it onto something else, but Emily can’t stop thinking about it. When she finally excuses herself to leave and gets into her car she texts Aaron to let him know she’s on her way home and her eyes linger on the date on the screen.

February 8th. 

She smiles as she sees Aaron’s response come through, a picture of him and the boys snuggled on the couch, Elliot fast asleep against him and Jack halfway there, and for a reason she can’t explain thats what makes her decision for her. The image of her Hotchner boys all waiting for her, the roll of her baby girl in her belly, and Penelope’s words rolling around her head. 

She was going to propose to Aaron, and she had 3 weeks to plan it.

___

It’s Dave who makes it all come crumbling down. 

It’s two weeks later, vague plans running around her head about everything she wants to do that distract her from work. It means she’s behind on her paperwork, so she used that as an excuse to stay behind after Aaron left, leaving exactly the second work ended for once. He didn’t even try to argue with her, didn’t try to make her leave with him like he usually would, but she barely pays any attention to it her focus on her computer as she tries to finalise her choice of restaurant to take him to. 

She hears footsteps behind her and she knows it's Dave, and she sighs, raising her eyebrow without turning to look at him, “You can’t sneak up on me,” she says as he sits on her desk, “Even when I am 6 months pregnant.” 

He chuckles and sits and looks at her computer screen, “I thought you were meant to be working, not looking at DC’s finest restaurants.” 

She rolls her eyes and then looks back and forth between him and the computer, looking at him curiously before she speaks, desperately trying to sound casual, “You’ve proposed four times-”

“Three times-”

“How did you do it?” She carries on, acting as if he hasn’t spoken. She watches as the realisation dawns on him and he leans back slightly. 

“Who are you planning on proposing to, Bella?” He asks, his eyebrow raised as she rolls her eyes. 

“Well, you but you’ve just ruined the surprise,” she deadpans, “Obviously it’s Aaron.” 

He smiles at her, a look in his eyes that she can’t entirely place and he crosses his arms over his chest, “Why are you doing that?” 

She huffs out a breath, a hint of nervousness planting in her chest. She places her hand on her belly, the movement of her daughter calming her slightly just like it had when she was pregnant with Elliot. 

“Well, it was Pen’s idea initially,” she says, clearing her throat, unsure why she feels embarrassed, “But it’s a leap year and there’s a tradition where women propose on the 29th,” she says, smiling at him, “So I thought I would,” She says. Dave’s expression is unreadable, something she hates, and she starts to worry, her eyebrows furrowing as he tries to figure out what to say, “What?” 

He hesitates for a moment before he smiles sadly at her, “Are you sure Aaron wants to get married?” 

The question throws her, stunning her into uncharacteristic silence for a moment as she stares at her friend. The nerves that had planted in her chest start to bloom, the flowers of it taking up space in her chest until she feels like she can’t breathe. 

“Yes…” she says, clearing her throat, “Why? Has he said something to you?” 

He stares at her again for a moment and she wants to scream, but he sighs, “Don’t you think if he wanted to, he would have proposed to you already?” 

She laughs humourlessly, all the excited hope she’d felt for the last couple of weeks disappearing with one question, replaced with doubt she wasn’t used to and an ache she hadn’t expected. 

“You know what,” she says, avoiding his gaze as she abruptly stands up, shoving her things into her purse, “I promised the boys I’d be home earlier today so I should go,” she puts her back over her shoulder and walks away, knowing if she so much as looks at Dave she’ll cry, and she’s determined not to until she gets to her car, “See you tomorrow Dave.” 

She leaves so quickly she doesn’t see him shake his head at himself or pull out his phone, already sending Aaron won’t see until tomorrow morning. 

You’d better follow through with your plan. I think I might have just made things difficult. 

___

She cries all the way home.

Her hands tight on the steering wheel as she tries to steady her breathing, well aware that she has to pull herself together by the time she gets home. 

She could accept it if Aaron never wanted to get married, no matter how much she might want it now she’s thought about it. More than anything, she wanted him to be happy. And if that meant never being his wife, if it meant that they never took that step, she could live with it. Even if it hurt for a little while. She curses Penelope internally, furious at her for putting this idea in her head in the first place. She was fine before, she was happy. And she knew she would be again. 

She sits in her car in the driveway for a couple of minutes after she arrives to gather herself, wiping away the tears that had escaped from her cheeks. She blows out a steady breath and shakes her head before taking a moment to check her make-up in the rearview mirror. Once she’s satisfied it’s okay she she places her hand on her stomach and looks down, smiling sadly when she feels the baby kick.

“Come on, sweet girl, let's go see Daddy and your brothers.” 

She pauses again for a moment when she makes it to the front door, putting up the defences she usually didn’t need here, forcing a smile onto her face she hopes Aaron doesn’t see through, so she can fake being okay until she actually feels okay again. She pushes the door open and her smile becomes real the moment Elliot runs towards her, his excitement palpable as he throws himself at her. 

She bends down and picks him up, hauling him into her embrace and settling him on her hip. She kisses the side of his head, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, “Hi, sweet boy. Mommy missed you.” 

“I missed Mama,” Elliot says, pressing his face into her neck. 

She hums contently as she kisses the top of his head again. It’s only then that she realises she can smell dinner, the scent of her favourite meal on the air, and she sighs, love for her boyfriend overriding anything she’d felt on the drive home.

“Where are Jack-Jack and Daddy?” She asks, tilting her head to look at her little boy and he smiles, an almost coy edge to it she’d never seen before. She narrows her eyes at him and tickles his belly, laughing along when he starts to giggle, a quieter, high-pitched version of Aaron’s laugh. “What are you up to, huh?” 

“Dinner is ready,” he says, tilting his head in the direction of the dining room, “I helped.” 

She smiles and starts to walk towards the dining room, adjusting her hold on her 3-year-old so she doesn’t waddle quite so much between the weight of him and her bump, “I’m sure it’s delicious. It smells so…”

She drifts off as she steps into the dining room. The table is set for the four of them, but there are artificial candles on every surface, a choice she would later realise when she thought back on it that Aaron had made so the boys didn’t hurt themselves. There are a bunch of wildflowers set in front of the seat where she usually sits when they eat, and a bottle of sparkling cider next to two champagne flutes and two plastic cups, the faces of the boy's favourite superheroes staring up at her. She looks at Aaron and Jack, both of them standing proudly in front of her, smiles matching the one Elliot had given her moments ago spread across their faces. 

“What’s all this?” She chokes out, her voice shaking slightly, forcing her to clear it in an attempt to even it out. 

Aaron smiles and steps forward, taking Elliot from her and kissing his forehead before he settles him down on the floor. The little boy immediately walks over and stands next to Jack, linking his hand through his big brothers. Aaron turns back to her and reaches for Emily’s hand, squeezing it softly before he blows out a breath. 

“Emily, sweetheart,” he says, pressing his lips together in a clear attempt to stop himself from getting emotional, “You are the best thing that has happened to me in years. Before you I never thought I’d be happy again, but we’re standing here in our home, with our boys,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Jack and Elliot who are smiling widely, he turns back to Emily and reaches out to press his hand on her belly, “Our little girl, and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, There’s only one thing that will make me happier,” his smile shakes slightly and her breath catches in her chest, her brain finally catching up with what’s happening as he reaches into his pocket. She places her hand over her mouth to capture a gasp as Aaron carries on, “So the boys have a question for you.” 

He turns and looks at the boys, smiling encouragingly, and they nod, speaking almost in unison, Elliot’s clearly rehearsed words coming just a second after Jack’s, an echo that reverberates around the otherwise quiet room. 

“Mom, will you marry Dad?”

“Mama, will you marry Daddy?” 

They fall into silence and she tries to suck in a breath but it shudders through her chest, catching on every rib. Her eyes meet Aaron’s and she can see the nervousness painted across his face, the treacherous hope shining in his eyes. 

Everything catches up with her. The excitement she’d felt in trying to plan to propose to him, the way it had turned bitter during her conversation with Dave, the joy that was threatening to break free from her chest, all mixed together with the pregnancy hormones that somehow felt worse this time around. And she promptly bursts into tears. 

“Sweetheart-” Aaron says as his eyes go wide and he steps towards her, his hand on her shoulder. A sob escapes her, painful and rough as it forces its way out and she all but collapses against him, her arms tight around his back as she sinks into him as closely as she can with her bump in between them, “I’ve got you.” He turns and looks at the boys, both of whom have matching shocked expressions on their faces. 

“Is Mama sad?” Elliot asks, his eyebrows furrowed, his little dark eyes shining with tears and Aaron knows he’s got to do something before everyone is crying. 

“Jack,” he says, looking at his eldest, “Why don’t you go take your brother to play that game he likes? I’ll come find you when it’s time to eat.” 

Jack frowns, his eyes fixed on a still crying Emily, “But Dad-”

“Now, Jack. Please,” Aaron says, rubbing a circle on Emily’s back, “We just need a few minutes.” 

Jack eventually relents, nodding as he leads his little brother out of the room. Elliot is just as resistant, looking over his shoulder at his parents, but he follows Jack willingly, his comments about how he thought mommy would be happy fading as they get further away. 

Aaron returns all of his attention to Emily and he kisses the side of her head, still rubbing soothing circles on her back as she calms down. 

“You know,” he says softly, kissing the side of her head again, chuckling wryly, “You could have just said no. I wouldn’t have been offended.” 

His attempt at a joke, the dry humour she usually loves, pulls her out of it and she stands back, still keeping her connection to him, her eyebrows furrowed, “What?” 

He clears his throat, “If you didn’t want to marry me.” 

She releases a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, “I thought you didn’t want to marry me.” 

It’s his turn to frown, and he reaches up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek, “Where on earth did you get that idea from?” 

“Dave said…” she drifts off and she narrows her eyes, shaking her head as she wipes tears from her cheeks, “He knew didn’t he?” She asks, tilting her head at him, “He knew you were going to propose.” 

He nods and wipes away another tear from her cheek, “He knew. What did he say to you?” 

She blows out a breath and shakes her head, “He said…he told me you didn’t want to get married again. So when you…when the boys…” she chokes on a laugh, unsure how to put it into words, how to explain how overwhelmed she feels. Her lower lip trembles as the laugh turns into a sob, “It’s been a hell of a day.” 

He feels a wave of anger rush over him at his friend, even though he knows Dave would have simply been trying to throw her off the scent, well aware that Aaron was at home setting up to propose. He pushes the feeling away for now, knowing it isn’t the time, and he focuses all of his attention on Emily. Aaron notices as she adjusts her gait and he guides her over to one of the dining room chairs. Once she’s sitting down, one of her hands on her bump, he crouches in front of her, putting himself in her eye line as he rests his hand over hers.

“Why did he say that to you? What were you even talking about?” 

She feels embarrassment wash over her, her cheeks burning with it, and she sighs, “I was going to propose to you,” she says, clearing her throat as she avoids eye contact, “On February 29th. And I asked him for advice on something,” she smiles tightly as she briefly looks at him, “I guess he was trying to throw me off the scent.” 

“You were going to propose?” 

She nods and laughs at herself, “Yeah, I was. Pen put the idea in my head, and I realised I really just want to be your wife.”

“Penelope put the idea in your head?” He asks and she nods, laughing at herself. 

“Yeah on girl's night a couple of weeks ago,” she admits, furrowing her eyebrows as she thinks about JJ’s behaviour, how she’d changed the subject so quickly and she sighs, “JJ knew too didn’t she.” 

“She helped with the ring,” He says, and he smiles softly as he cups her cheek, making her look at him, “I really want to be your husband, you know that right? I want that more than anything.” 

She places her hand on his on her cheek and links their fingers together, “I love you,” she says, sniffing as he wipes away a tear again, catching it before it barely leaves her lashline, “I love the kids. I love our life together.” 

“I love you too,” he says, leaning in to kiss her, “I love the boys,” he laughs, the sound catching in his throat as he clenches his jaw to stop himself from crying, “I love this little girl,” he says, his hand back on her belly, “I love it all,” he smiles as she leans forward and kisses him, her hand on the back of his head as she holds him in place. When they pull back she rests her forehead against his, both of them enjoying the silence for a moment before he speaks again, “You didn’t answer.”

She pulls back and tilts her head at him, “What?” 

His smile gets wider and he shifts into a kneeling position, pulling the ring box he never got the chance to show her out of his pocket. She presses her lips together to suppress her smile as he opens the box, a ring she would have chosen for herself staring back at her. 

“Will you marry me?” He asks, his smile nervous again, as if he didn’t already know her answer. As if it wasn’t written all over her face. 

“Yes.” 

-x-

....i guess i could write the wedding if y'all wanted it. And, more importantly, them getting their revenge on Dave.

-x-

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[inkmonster21]

Your recent series has inspired this request for Noa. Can I request where the reader was raised by apes and her brother is very, very protective of his siter and doesn't like his siter with Noa. And he tries everything to make Noa look bad, like pushing into a small river. But the reader gets fed up and yells at him that she loves Noa. Happy ending, though. 💓🐒

Just Fun and Games

Hearts Across The Divide AU (not cannon)

Enjoy this as much as I did. Holy shit.

~o0o~

The warmth of the fire envelopes the scene as you and Noa sit together. There's a sense of acceptance in the air, as the clan welcomes Noa with open arms. However, Loui remains notably aloof, his rejection of Noa creating a stark divide within the acceptance and unity displayed around you.

Noa, feeling the weight of Loui's intense glare, fidgets nervously in his seat. The unspoken tension between them fills the air, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere. Noa's unease is palpable, as he struggles to maintain his composure beneath Loui's unrelenting gaze.

You look to Noa in confusion. Sensing his discomfort. “Are you okay?” You whisper. Noa meets your gaze, his expression filled with a mixture of unease and reassurance. He forces a small smile, trying to downplay his discomfort. "I'm okay," he whispers back, though the tension in his body betrays his words. There's a hint of strain in his voice as he responds, his attention still partially fixated on Loui's disapproving gaze.

You turn your attention back towards Soona and Keli, continuing the lighthearted banter and giggling. The conversation allows you a brief respite from the tension surrounding Noa and Loui, providing a moment of levity amidst the ongoing friction between them.

Loui's unwavering glare continues, fixated on Noa, until his mother's stern voice breaks the tension. "Stop that," she commands, her voice authoritative yet tinged with a touch of concern. Loui meets his mother's stern gaze, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. "But..." he begins to protest, but she cuts him off firmly. "He is here," she repeats, her voice leaving no room for debate. "He is her mate," she concludes, underscoring the permanency of the situation. Loui reluctantly relents, his glare shifting from Noa to the fiery blaze. A sullen pout forms on his face, his frustration and resentment evident even as he averts his gaze.

Teko and Anaya playfully engage in a spirited wrestling match on the grass, drawing the attention of several male apes who gather around to watch. There's a competitive edge to their interaction, as they push and tangle with each other, the surrounding males cheering and hollering in support.

A smirk appears on Loui's face as Anaya successfully pins down Teko, victorious in their wrestling match. "Told you!" he exclaims, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "Anaya is stronger! Eagle Clan!" he repeats, proudly rooting for his clan. Noa watched the scene unfold, a warm smile gracing his lips as he observed Anaya's successful take-down. Pride for his friend surged through him, his expression filled with admiration for Anaya's display of strength and skill.

“Noa.”

Noa's attention snaps to Loui, drawn by the sound of his name. He turns to face him, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity at the unexpected call. Noa responds with a prompt "Yes?" his voice carrying a hint of anticipation. He looks at Loui, waiting for him to continue, wondering what it is that he wants to say.

Loui's smirk widened, and he gestured towards the ongoing wrestling matches with a nod of his head. "Come on," he said, the challenge in his tone clear. The invitation seemed to be both a challenge and an opportunity to prove himself. Noa stands up, and just as he does, you reach out and grasp his wrist, the concern evident in your eyes. "What are you doing?" you ask, your voice filled with curiosity and a hint of apprehension.

Before Noa could answer, Loui speaks to him, “Just a friendly match," your brother replies. Before you can protest, Noa speaks up, sensing your concern. "It's okay," he reassures you, trying to pacify your objections. "It's just a friendly match."

As Noa takes his place in the circle, his eyes lock onto Loui's angered gaze. A shiver of unease runs down his spine. Noa recognizes the intensity in Loui's expression, sensing the unspoken anger behind it. He braces himself, preparing for the confrontation. The atmosphere is charged, as the surrounding apes gather expectantly around the arena. They sense the undercurrent of tension between Noa and Loui, the friendly match taking on a more serious tone. Loui crouches, his muscles tense, ready to make the first move. Noa keeps his stance, his eyes keenly focusing on his opponent's every move.

Anaya watches the unfolding scene anxiously, his concern for Noa palpable. He recognizes the stark difference in abilities between him and Loui. Understanding that Noa is skilled in fighting but not as experienced as Loui, he worries about the outcome of their match.

You observe as Loui begins to circle Noa, the two apes moving in a slow, calculated loop around the arena. The tension escalates as Noa mirrors Loui's movements, keeping his distance as he matches his pace.

You inhale deeply, a sigh escaping your lips. There's a sense of resignation as you acknowledge the situation. Noa is undoubtedly strong and proficient in combat, but you're aware that Loui was raised and trained to be a warrior, a fact that gives him an edge in their confrontation. You lean towards Keli and Soona, your voice tinged with a mix of worry and certainty. "This will not go well," you murmur, your eyes fixed on the ongoing confrontation between Noa and Loui. The words hang heavy in the air as the tension builds in the arena around you.

With a guttural roar, Loui darts forward, charging at Noa with surprising speed and intensity. The energy of his charge electrifies the arena, the surrounding apes, and you watching with bated breath. Noa braces himself, his eyes narrowing in concentration. He meets Loui's charge with admirable reflexes, sidestepping at the last moment to avoid a direct collision. The maneuver allows him to escape the brunt of the blow, but the force of Loui's charge still pushes him slightly off balance.

The crowd of apes watching erupt in cheers and gasps at Noa's evasive move. Noa quickly regains his footing, his senses heightened and his focus intensified. The adrenaline fuels him, and he locks eyes with Loui, his determination unflinching.

Loui growls in frustration but recovers quickly. He circles Noa once more, but this time with more caution. The tension between them thickens, and the two apes continue to circle each other, each seeking an advantage.

Noa maintains his position, watching Loui's every move keenly. Despite the disadvantage in experience and size, he remains steadfast, his determination unwavering. The surrounding apes watch with bated breath, the outcome of the sparring match uncertain.

With a loud groan, Loui unexpectedly lunges forward, tackling Noa. The impact of their collision echoes through the arena, causing both apes to tumble to the ground. Dust rises around them, temporarily obscuring the view. The scuffle continues, the two apes tangled in a fierce struggle on the ground. Their bodies writhe and contort as they grapple for dominance. Loui, with his strength and experience, initially has the upper hand, but Noa fights back with all his might, his determination matching his adversary's strength.

With a brutal display of strength, Loui gets the upper hand, forcefully shoving Noa's face into the ground. The surrounding apes gasp in shock as they witness Noa's momentary defeat. The sight of him pinned down, his face pressed into the earth, ignites a mix of concern and fear within you. Loui presses down even harder on Noa, his smirk growing wider as he sees Noa struggle against his grip. "Submit, Noa!" he mocks, the taunt ringing in the air with a sense of arrogance.

Despite his initial defiance, Noa ultimately succumbs to the inescapable force of Loui's strength. The surrounding apes watch in silence as Noa taps, signaling his submission. Loui grins triumphantly, relishing in his victory, while Noa lies there, panting and defeated.

Noa slowly rises to his feet, his expression a mix of embarrassment and anger. Without a word, he stalks off, leaving the battleground behind him. His defeat has bruised his pride, and the lingering frustration smolders within him.

Without wasting a moment, you quickly cross the arena to confront Loui. Your face is taut with anger, and you shove him hard, your strength fueled by frustration and protectiveness. Loui responds to your push with a smirk, his arrogance unshaken. "I told you. He's weak," he retorts, his tone oozing with cockiness. He stands there, his chest puffed out triumphantly.

“You are so… INFURIATING!” You scream at Loui. “Good," he responds smugly. His tone is nonchalant, almost dismissive as if your anger only fuels his sense of superiority.

The next day, Loui tracks down Teko, Noa, and Anaya, who are currently engaged in a fishing session. Loui approaches them with a smug expression on his face, clearly relishing the opportunity to gloat about his previous victory.

Loui takes a seat beside Noa, feigning a friendly demeanor. There's a subtle hint of arrogance in his posture as if he's savoring the moment.

"How are you, Noa?" Loui asks in a mockingly casual tone. Noa responds curtly, his expression guarded. "Fine," he mutters, his voice neutral. Teko and Anaya exchange a glance, sensing the underlying tension between Noo and Loui. Noa's composure remains steady, refusing to be provoked by Loui's presence.

Loui, ever the provocateur, chooses the moment to tease Noa further. He sneers, his voice dripping with mockery.

"You know, Noa… you shouldn't take defeats… so personally," he says, his tone dripping with condescension. Noa tightens his grip on his fishing rod, his frustration and anger mounting, but he remains composed. He refuses to give Loui the satisfaction of seeing him lose his cool.

With an air of calmness that belies his inner turmoil, Noa replies, "I've never claimed… to be invincible, Loui. Winning… is not everything."

Loui snickers at Noa's response, clearly unconvinced. He leans back against the rocks, his arms behind his head lazily.

"Oh, come on, Noa," he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You can be honest with me… it is angering… isn't it? Knowing you… lost to me… In front of your mate… In front of everyone."

Noa's jaw clenches, and he takes a measured breath before replying. He's struggling to control the emotions bubbling within him. "Losing is not something… I enjoy, Loui," he admits, his voice strained, yet still controlled. "But I accept it… I learn from it."

Loui scoffs, his frustration growing. He can’t help but voice his opinion, unable to keep his thoughts to himself any longer. “You could at least… pretend to put up a fight. So annoyingly calm. It is nauseating."

Noa stoically accepts Loui's remark, his face revealing no hint of anger or annoyance at Loui's provocation. He remains collected, his composure like a fortress that Loui's taunts can't breach. Loui sighs, “Maybe that’ll make you talk.” Loui pushes Noa into the river.

Caught off guard by Loui's sudden action, Noa topples into the river with a surprised yelp. The water splashes around him, momentarily disrupting the tranquil fishing session. Teko and Anaya gasp at the unexpected shove, momentarily taken aback by Loui's impulsive action.

Noa surfaces, water dripping from his wet fur, as Teko and Anaya help him back onto dry land. He stands there, soaking wet, a mix of surprise and annoyance on his face as he glances at Loui.

Loui smirks, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction at the reaction he provoked. He turns to leave, his departure marked by a swaggering confidence as if he had accomplished his mission to rile Noa further.

Noa enters the communal area, still drenched from his unexpected dip in the river. His wet fur clings to his frame, creating a bedraggled appearance. There's a scowl etched into his features, evidence of the day's earlier incident and the pent-up frustration from the morning encounter.

You sigh upon seeing him. “Noa?” Noa looks up, his scowl deepening as he notices your puzzlement at his drenched appearance. He huffs, clearly irritated.

"your brother decided to push me into the river," he grumbles, his tone laced with sarcasm and irritation.

Loui lounges casually near a fire, a self-satisfactory smile plastered on his face after his provocation earlier. His smugness quickly fades, however, when he sees you storming towards him with an angry expression.

The sight of your furious approach causes Loui's earlier smugness to wane, replaced by a flicker of trepidation. He straightens up, bracing himself for the inevitable confrontation. Despite his usual bravado, there's a hint of caution in his eyes, recognizing the fierce temperament you possess.

“Listen here, you stop this childish game! He is my mate until the day we die. So get used to it.“ Loui's eyes widen at your fierce rant. He hadn't expected your passionate defense of Noa. He opens his mouth to argue, but he can see the determination in your eyes, making it clear that this is not a debate. He clenches his jaw, knowing that any attempt to argue would only fuel your anger further.

Despite being reprimanded, there's a hint of a smirk on Loui's face, evidence of the stubborn pride that courses through his veins. He looks past you towards Noa who stands there, still wet and somewhat sheepish after the earlier incident.

"Need my sister to fight for you?" Loui speaks, his tone laced with mockery, glancing at Noa in an attempt to provoke a reaction from him.

That was it. Without a second thought, Noa springs into action. He grabs your arm, gently but firmly pushing you behind him, keeping you out of harm's way. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, he lunges towards Loui, tackling him to the ground in a swift and decisive move.

The fury that had built up within Noa over the series of events unleashes as he tackles Loui. Driven by anger and frustration, Noa gains the upper hand. His movements are more determined, stronger, and precise, his focus solely on asserting himself against the one who had pushed his limits.

Loui's surprise is evident as he struggles against Noa's strength. Noa shows no signs of yielding, his strength seemingly fueled by his pent-up anger. Despite Loui's efforts to regain control, Noa stays focused, pressing his advantage. The spectators gathered around the area begin to cheer and clap as the fight escalates. The atmosphere is charged with a mix of excitement and anticipation. Loui's attempts to gain control look increasingly futile against Noa's determined onslaught, adding fuel to the crowd's cheers for Noa.

With a satisfied grin on his face, Noa presses further, his grip unwavering upon Loui. He leans in, his voice carrying a hint of mockery as he speaks.

"Come on, Loui," Noa taunts. "Just admit defeat. Submit."

Loui bucks and writhes, straining his muscles against Noa's iron grip, but it's clear his efforts are in vain. Sweat beads on his brow, and his breath coming in hurried gasps as exhaustion starts to set in. Reluctantly, he admits defeat.

"I submit!" Loui gasps out, his voice filled with both irritation and resignation.

Noa rises to his feet, his breath slightly labored from the intense struggle. He glances towards you, a satisfied smirk on his face. There's a glimmer of triumph in his eyes as he meets your gaze.

As you stand there, watching Noa rise, the sight of his dominant display sends a wave of excitement coursing through you. A shiver races down your spine, your breath catching in your throat. The tension between you and Noa is tangible, the adrenaline from the fight only adding to the charged atmosphere.

Noa extends his hand to help Loui up, and a moment of understanding passes between the two apes. There's a pause, and then Loui reluctantly accepts Noa's hand, allowing him to hoist him to his feet. They share a glance, a silent agreement acknowledging the new level of respect earned.

You couldn’t help but embrace him, whispering to him. “Why don’t we go somewhere?”

Caught off guard by your unexpected words, Noa's eyes widen slightly. He glances at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The adrenaline from the fight still coursing through his veins, he nods subtly, understanding the implication behind your suggestion. “Lead the way.” He smirks into your neck planting a hidden kiss.

He was strong. He was a leader. He was your mate.

[deliciousangelfestival]

All The Lies || B. Barnes - Part 3

Character: mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Y/N, haunted by guilt and betrayal, visits her ailing father, who reveals Bucky's apology and love despite their tragic past.

Warning: Angst, heartbreak.

Part 1: Echoes Of Revenge

Part 2: Shattered Echoes

Part 4: Sweetest Dreams

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Six months. 182 excruciating days since Bucky's eyes, dull and defeated, had mirrored the desolation gnawing at Y/N's soul. His words, "heartless woman," still echoed through the corridors of her mind, a spectral curse that clung to every breath she took.

She told herself it was righteous anger, the echo of justified revenge, but the bitter and jagged truth was that she saw a defeated man, broken at her feet every time she closed her eyes.

Then came the call, her mother's voice, tinged with worry, shattering the fragile normalcy she'd pieced together. "He's sick," she whispered, "your father." Y/N knew, even before the words left her mother's lips, that it was an act of defiance, a silent plea for reconciliation forged in the crucible of illness.

A deep and guttural sigh ripped through her, a mirror to the chasm between her and her father. His disapproval, a boulder thrown at her heart for her unconventional methods of vengeance, had created a distance so vast it felt like galaxies separated them.

Packing was a desperate attempt to outrun the ghosts that haunted her. Once a canvas of shared dreams, the city now felt like a labyrinth of memories.

Every corner whispered of Bucky, his laughter echoing in bustling cafes, his touch lingering in the rustling of leaves in the park where they'd first kissed. Did he still walk these streets? Was he haunted by her, too, by the love she'd poisoned with her vengeance?

The hospital, sterile and reeking of disinfectant, felt like a tomb. Her mother's embrace, warm but brittle, couldn't dispel the ice clinging to Y/N's heart. "Go see him," her mother's voice cracked.

As the door slid open, revealing the sterile white room, Y/N's breath caught in her throat. There, on the bed, lay her father, pale and frail, the years etched into his face like a cruel map of her absence.

The tears, long held at bay, finally broke free, flooding the sterile room with the bitter tide of regret. She knelt beside the bed, her hand reaching for his, a desperate plea for forgiveness, for a chance to mend what she'd broken. She has disappointed her parents and destroyed Bucky.

"Forgive me. You did all of this because of me." Her father's words hung heavy in the sterile air, each syllable a shard of guilt wedging itself into Y/N's already wounded heart.

"Dad," she choked out, the word a flimsy dam against the tide of emotions threatening to engulf her. "It doesn't matter. We won."

Her father's voice, raspy with illness and regret, shifted the conversation. "That boy came here."

"Who?" Y/N's breath caught, a flicker of hope battling the embers of fear.

"Bucky."

The name now felt like ash in her mouth. "Why?"

"He… he apologized," her father said, his voice cracking. "For his father."

Y/N's heart clenched. Bucky, carrying the weight of his father's cruelty, the man she'd betrayed and used his trust, had chosen to apologize instead of blaming her.

"When I saw his eyes," her father said, his grip tightening on her hand, "I knew he was different. And he told me… he loves you. But he knew you both couldn't be together. He didn't want to burden you with the past."

"He was different," her father continued, his voice a weary echo. "From the last time I saw him. Fifteen years, can you believe it?"

"You know him?" she asked, her voice a mere tremor in the silence.

Her father nodded, a bittersweet smile twisting his lips. "The reason I stayed friends with Nicholas is because of Bucky."

"Why?" she whispered, the question a desperate plea for understanding.

Her father sighed, the sound heavy with a lifetime of unspoken words. "Nicholas is a businessman," he rasped, "cold, ruthless. Not fit to be a father. I met Bucky when I visited their home. Skinny, malnourished, haunted by his father's cruelty. I went there a few times, just to check on him, to make sure he was okay."

He continued "He's a good man."

He pulled her close, his embrace a fragile offering of comfort. "You're my precious daughter," he murmured, his voice trembling. "I don't want you haunted by the ghosts of this. You deserve to find happiness, to build a life free from the shackles of the past."

Y/N clung to her father, the tears she'd held back for so long finally spilling over. Each drop felt like a release, a purging of the guilt and anger that had poisoned her for years.

But the weight of his words, "you deserve to find happiness," echoed through her like a mournful wail. Could happiness truly exist without Bucky? Could she ever truly escape the ghosts of their shared past?

The city lights bled into the night sky, painting the air with a luminescent haze. Y/N walked, a solitary figure navigating the urban jungle, her thoughts tangled with the echo of her father's words.

The weight of his love and his pain, the burden of his betrayal and Bucky's apology, all pressed down on her, a storm brewing within.

Driven by a subconscious desire, or perhaps a cruel twist of fate, her feet led her to the pulsating heart of the city – Club Onyx, Bucky's domain.

The bass throbbed like a heartbeat, the air thick with sweat and expensive perfume. Inside, the dance floor was a kaleidoscope of bodies, lost in the rhythm, their worries and woes melting away in the strobe-lit frenzy.

But for Y/N, the music was a cacophony, the laughter a mocking echo. She perched at the bar, nursing a drink that tasted of ashes. Her unseeing gaze flickered across the crowd, searching for a ghost, a silhouette that wouldn't be there.

Even if she did find him, what would she say?

A tap on her shoulder startled her. Turning, she met the familiar eyes of Steve, Bucky's friend, a witness to their love story and its tragic demise. "Y/N?" his voice was hesitant, unsure.

She managed a weak smile. "Steve."

He slid onto the stool beside her, his gaze holding a quiet understanding. "Are you here to drown your sorrows or find him?"

Y/N shrugged, the gesture mirroring the storm raging within. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "Maybe both."

Steve sighed, a deep rumble that mirrored the bass thumping through the club. "I don't know what happened between you two," he confessed, his eyes filled with a flicker of pain. "For a year, Bucky searched for you like a man possessed. Then one day, he just… left. Came back a shell of his former self."

His words cut through her like a knife, twisting the wound she'd tried to bury. The guilt, a venomous serpent, coiled tighter in her stomach. Bucky had searched for her, even after she'd pushed him away and declared him the enemy.

And what had she done in return? Abandoned him, condemned him to a life of shadows. The guilt gnawed at Y/N's insides, a relentless worm feasting on her fragile peace.

"He just kept saying 'not meant to be,'" Steve revealed, his voice heavy with concern. "Since then, the laughter died in him. Sleep became a stranger, replaced by endless work."

"As his longtime friend," Steve's voice reached through the fog of her guilt, "can I ask you to see him, just talk?"

Y/N nodded, the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders like a leaden cloak. "I'll talk to him," she rasped, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.

Steve's eyes, weary yet hopeful, held a silent plea. "Thank you, Y/N," he said, glancing at his watch. "Bucky should be back in half an hour. He had a quick inspection at another branch. Can you wait? The drinks are on me."

Y/N raised her glass, a wan smile twisting her lips. "One is enough," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need a clear head for this."

Steve ascended to the top floor, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts and the pulsating rhythm of the club.

**********

Ten minutes stretched into an eternity, each tick of the clock echoing the drumbeat of her growing anxiety. What would she say? How could she mend the chasm she'd carved between them?

Seeking solace in the cool anonymity of the restroom, Y/N found herself caught in a line of impatient patrons. The air, thick with perfume and the cloying scent of cheap liquor, pressed down on her like a physical weight.

Suddenly, a sharp prick on her neck sent a jolt of pain through her. The world tilted, blurred around the edges, and then, darkness claimed her.

Steve, returning to check on Y/N and inform her of Bucky's imminent arrival, found a scene of unsettling confusion. A staff member, his face etched with concern, was helping Y/N stand upright.

"What happened to her?" Steve's voice cracked with alarm.

The staff member, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and uncertainty, stammered, "I think she's... drunk."

"Bring her upstairs," Steve barked, a tremor of unease lacing his voice despite the staff member's assurances about Y/N being just drunk. But one glass? His gut screamed otherwise.

Just as Steve turned to follow, the music surged, a deliberate shift in tempo that whipped the unsuspecting club patrons onto the dance floor, creating a human wall between him and the stairs.

Cursing under his breath, Steve fought through the crowd, his eyes scanning every face for a sign of Y/N, his heart thundering a frantic tattoo against his ribs.

******

Meanwhile, Bucky, adrenaline pumping through his veins, leaped out of the car, his heart a frantic drum solo against his ribs. Steve's message, "Y/N's at the club. Waiting for you," buzzed in his ears, a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.

He strode into the club, his eyes scanning the throng, searching for any flicker of Y/N's familiar silhouette. Then, he spotted Steve, his friend's face etched with a panic that mirrored his own.

"Steve?" Bucky's voice, raw and desperate, cut through the cacophony.

Steve whirled around, his relief morphing into horror in an instant. "Bucky, Y/N is missing," he gasped, rushing towards him and spilling the disjointed story.

Y/N's single drink, the suspicious staff member, the sudden disappearance - it all painted a chilling picture of abduction, a reality too horrifying to contemplate.

The ground beneath Bucky's feet felt like it crumbled. He'd lost Y/N once, for a year that had felt like an eternity. The thought of losing her again, this time forever, was a blow that shattered his already fractured world.

Without a word, he bolted out of the club, the pulsing music a grim counterpoint to the frantic beat of his heart. The city lights, once a familiar comfort, now blurred past him, each neon sign a mocking reminder of the darkness that had snatched his light away.

His mind, a whirlwind of fear and desperate determination, raced through possibilities, each one a fragile thread in a web of uncertainty. He had to find her. He couldn't lose her again. Not this time.

The world spun, a hazy kaleidoscope of blurred lights and distorted sounds. Y/N groaned, her head throbbing like a captured bird against its cage.

Darkness, cold and clammy, wrapped around her, broken only by the dim luminescence of a distant bulb. A taste of metallic fear clung to her tongue, the echo of an impact she couldn't quite recall.

Her breath hitched as movement pricked the edges of her awareness. Footsteps, heavy and deliberate, crept closer, their rhythm an ominous drumbeat against the silence. Then, a figure materialized from the shadows, settling into the creaking chair opposite her.

More than a year had passed, but the passage of time hadn't softened the venomous edge to Ivan's features. Gone was the polished veneer of the Goldenlix capital, replaced by a scraggly beard and hair that hung like curtains around his gaunt face. His clothes, once impeccably tailored, now hung loose and threadbare, a testament to his fall from grace.

"You made me bankrupt, Y/N," he hissed, his voice a twisted mockery of its former smoothness. A cruel smirk twisted his lips, but the fire in his eyes lacked its usual spark, replaced by a simmering hatred that sent chills down her spine.

"And now," he continued, his fingers brushing against her chin with the caress of a serpent, "I need your Midas touch to make me rich again."

Author Note:

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[esfawkes]

A brilliant soul was lost on July 24, 2024, with the passing of Jackson Taylor ___, 31. Known to most of the world as Jack, he was Taylor to his family.

Taylor was born on April 5, 1993, in ___, AL, to Tracy and Wendy Neely as the middle of 3 children. He was preceded in death by his grandfather, Gary Lynn ___: a larger-than-life man whose memory and legacy Taylor cherished and carried with him. He is survived by the love of his life, April; his father, Tracy, and his mother, Wendy; his older brother, Nathan, and his wife, Whitney; his younger sister, Bailey; his grandmother, Wanda ___; his aunt, Monnie ___; his grandfather, James Taylor ___, and his wife, Wanda; his uncle, Chris ___; his 2 beloved dogs, Izzy and Lula, and his cat, Charlie—as well as countless other family and friends whose lives he touched.

Despite its brevity, Jack’s life overflowed with accomplishments creative, professional, and personal. He was a community leader dedicated to building others up using his own experiences in overcoming seemingly insurmountable challenges. He was gifted with great natural talent, though it was his tenacity, dedication, and determination which truly defined him. Committed to self-improvement, he embodied the spirit of getting back up after being knocked down.

Creating music was one of Taylor’s greatest joys in life; he was a marimbist, a pianist, a flautist, and a guitarist over the years, and the lyrics he wrote were raw, haunting, and cerebral. Music gave him the opportunity to experience the world beyond his hometown as part of the Music City Drum Corps in 2011. Passionate and intense, Taylor cared deeply for his family and friends. With warmth, empathy, and abundant generosity, he strove to better the lives of those around him and sought to be someone to whom others could turn for support. He wore his heart on his sleeve and was a vibrant, vivid figure with a blindingly bright future ahead of him that he forged with burning resolve and unyielding defiance.

From a young age, he was an autodidact, teaching himself whatever caught his interest to satisfy his own searing curiosity. This extraordinary self-motivation and self-discipline gave him the ability to not only recover but continuously triumph after being laid low. At the start of 2022, he was living in an RV as he took online courses in Cloud Computing at Western Governors University. By January the next year, he and his partner April had bought a beautiful house together that they spent the next year turning into a truly wonderful home.

At the time of his passing, Jack was a Cloud Services Engineer. He held many positions over the course of his career in IT, including working as a Cloud Support Technician, a Cloud Migration Lead, and a Lead Cloud Engineer. He never stopped pushing himself, and given time to realize his limitless potential, his full list of achievements would have been overwhelmingly long.

Jack will be remembered for his sense of humor, which alternated between wry and goofy, and his hugs, which were always perfect and exactly what you needed. He will be remembered for his laugh, his smile, and his refusal to be anyone or anything less than his whole self. He will be remembered for his creativity, stubbornness, and perseverance. And he will be remembered for who he was in the moments that mattered.

Above all, Taylor was unequivocally, unconditionally, and unwaveringly loved by his family, who remain immensely proud of his character, his intelligence, and his creativity, as well as his numerous achievements. Colorful and singular, there has never been and never will be another like him. One of a kind, the world is duller for his absence.

No services will be held, and in lieu of flowers, the family asks that you consider sending a donation to the National Alliance on Mental Illness at https://www.nami.org/.

If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out for help. The 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline is available 24/7 for free simply by calling or texting 988. Your call is confidential, and you are not alone.

This obituary was written by his loving sister, who wishes more than anything that he was here to read it.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

From the Shadows (pre-LU whump)

@nancyheart11

Summary: Twilight encounters a black blooded beast for the first time. It doesn't go well.

(AO3 link)

It was a bitterly cold evening. The coming of winter brought winds from the northwest, and though it probably wasn't excessively frigid, Rusl was still accustomed to the warm summer. The home carried a damp chill, and the blacksmith found himself huddling by the fire after a hard day's work. Hana sat on his lap, babbling happily while playing with her toys, while Colin helped his mother cook dinner. The dull light that could pierce through the clouds was steadily fading as the hidden sun slowly set beneath the horizon.

Rusl hummed absentmindedly, though he couldn't quite maintain a tune, but his daughter didn't seem to mind. His mind drifted passively from thought to thought, settling on wondering what Uli might be whipping up in the kitchen, when there was some sort of ruckus outside. Cuccoos were squawking, a horse was whinnying very loudly - what was going on?

Rising, Rusl told Hana to go to her mother just as he and Colin headed for the door together. The cold slammed their faces as Colin got there first, and Rusl felt his blood freeze with it.

Epona was running amok in the village, panicked. She was fully saddled and bridled as if Link had been out riding, but now there was no Link to be found while his steed was in a frenzy.

Ilia, who had also come out due to the commotion, rushed to the horse first. Many of the villagers peered out through cracked doors, anxious and curious. Colin got to Epona next while Rusl looked around for any sign of his ward.

"Sshh, it's okay," Ilia hushed gently, petting Epona's head while she stomped in place nervously.

"Where's Link?" Colin asked worriedly.

"I... I don't know," Ilia answered. "I didn't even know he'd left the village."

Rusl eyed the steed sharply, looking for clues while worry curled in his gut and clenched at his heart. It wasn't a promising sign for Link's horse to be in such a state. The animal was unharmed, but he saw traces of clues: a small branch caught in the saddle, a half open satchel of supplies partially used.

Link had been exploring, or fighting, and something had gone wrong.

The resistance member reentered the house, brushing by a worried Uli and grabbing his sword and shield. He layered up clothes and some armor while Uli approached him.

"Rusl?" she didn't have to ask what was wrong. Her tone and eyes asked everything she needed to.

"I don't know what happened," Rusl answered. "But something's wrong with Link. I'm going to find him."

Uli swallowed, hands wringing anxiously as she looked back outside. "Please, be careful."

Rusl paused, watching his wife a moment. She never argued his choices to leave for missions or operations, but he knew how much it weighed on her. She wanted to make sure Link was well too, but he could sense her fear at the sudden shift in mood, at the hasty decision to drop everything and enter an unknown peril. He cupped her cheek, guiding her eyes to his. "I will be. I promise."

Uli smiled a little, leaning into his touch, before stepping away so he could finish. Rusl headed outside to see Colin armed with a sword and a cloak.

"Colin," he started, but his son cut him off.

"I've been training," Colin immediately argued. "I'm coming too."

Rusl bit back a sigh. His boy had always been eager to help ever since the Twilight incident, and adolescence had only added defiance to eagerness, making it all the harder to keep him safe. There was little time to argue, and... the boy wasn't wrong. His sword skills were quite good.

It didn't make his father feel much better about the situation. He already had one son in danger. He wasn't keen on putting another one in the same circumstances.

"Colin--"

"Every minute we spend arguing, Link could be dying!" Colin interrupted.

The teenager wasn't wrong, but Rusl still felt uneasy. "Fine. But you ride Epona, and the second I tell you to get out, you listen. Understood?"

Colin swallowed, paused, and then nodded. Rusl felt a little at ease with that - his boy was honest, and thankfully had inherited a bit more of his mother's reason than his father's stubbornness. Although he had certainly done some foolish, harebrained things, he would listen to his father.

Rusl grabbed his own horse and the pair headed towards Faron Woods with well wishes at their backs from the villagers. He reached out, letting his hand rest gently on Epona's head. "You'll have to guide us, girl."

Colin pat Epona's neck, urging her forward. At first the steed was obedient, but the farther into the woods they went, the more nervous and hesitant she became. That meant whatever had caused the initial scare had to be close. Despite already being on alert, he tensed even more, eyes searching for clues.

He didn't have to search for long. The earth was scarred, claw marks and chunks of dirt thrown like lacerations in the skin of the land itself. The birds were silent. Epona nickered, taking a step back. The oncoming darkness of night gave the trees sinister silhouettes. Rusl and Colin's warm breaths hovered in the chilly air, the only apparent sign of life around them.

"I've never seen the forest so still," Colin commented quietly, a slight tremor to his tone. He reached hesitantly for his sword.

Rusl's own mount began to grow nervous, ears peeling back, hooves playing uneasily with the earth. The air felt distinctly colder. The swordsman drew his blade, and his son followed suit.

"Let's keep moving," he said, guiding his steed forward with a tap of his heels.

Eventually it grew so dark that Rusl was squinting to see anything, and he brought out his lantern. It seemed to be of little help, creating ominous shadows that seemed to creep ever closer as they moved. Epona nickered again, and then she picked up her pace. Rusl followed closely, eyes alert for danger. His eyes picked up on silky strands that glowed in the lantern light, and his insides started to crawl.

Colin gasped ahead of him. "Link!"

Rusl's gaze snapped straight ahead, his horse breaking into a canter to get to the front, and then he leapt off as he took in the sight before him.

Link was on the his back, splayed out across smooth stone, pale and shivering, blood staining his green tunic as his hand clutched his upper abdomen. His eyes were half open, already noticing Rusl and Colin's approach.

"Pa," he whispered as Rusl fell to his knees beside him.

"What happened?" Rusl asked, looking the young man over. The worst of it from what he could tell was a bad gash on the boy's head and whatever wound he was trying to hold pressure against on his abdomen. Rusl quickly pulled out a bandage from the first aid bag he'd grabbed and gently tried to guide Link's hand from the injury.

"They're... strong..." his boy tried to explain, coughing. "P-Pa..."

Rusl hushed him gently, hand wrapping around Link's wrist. "It's going to be okay, Link, but you have to let me see the wound."

"I'm... glad you're... I didn't..."

Rusl grew more worried as Link didn't seem to listen. He again tried to move the young man's hand, watching blood stream from beneath.

"Pa...?" Colin called hesitantly, and Rusl looked up, gasping and nearly falling backwards.

Eight eyes watched him, beady and black as coal, two incisors chattering excitedly beneath them. Rusl immediately grabbed his sword and shield in time to block a quick strike from the large skulltula. The force of the attack sent him on his backside, and Colin leapt forward, jabbing at the beast with his blade. The giant monster hissed, taking a few steps back before pressing the attack again. Colin yelped, dodging a blow, and Rusl quickly leapt to his feet to stab and cut one of its legs. He saw that one had already been chopped off entirely, and he recognized multiple sword slashes in the beast's body. How was this thing still standing?!

"Colin, protect Link!" Rusl advised, trying to press the offense and push the beast farther away from his boys. Colin grabbed his lantern and set it beside Link, lighting the area better so Rusl could see his opponent.

Link watched the fight with exhausted worry, eyebrows pinched but too weak to do anything. He turned his attention towards Colin as his little brother stood over him defensively. "Colin."

The blonde teenager jumped, startled, and looked down at Link. "It's okay, Link! Pa and I will sort this out."

"It's too... strong," Link advised, shaking his head slowly. "E-Epona..."

"Link, it's going to be okay!" Colin insisted, gripping his sword more tightly.

Rusl emphasized the point when he managed to land a stab right at the joint where one of the beast's legs met its thorax. That should cripple it nicely. The skulltula hissed and screamed, the leg in question giving out, before another swept across the ground, slamming Rusl in the ribs and sending him flying.

Colin called out, rising and ready to run to his father, and Rusl waved him off, blinking stars out of his vision. Link's hand finally left his wound to wrap around Colin's ankle, catching the boy off guard.

"Epona..." he tried again. "Bag... potion... Pa can't... fight it alone..."

Colin looked frantically between his brother and father. Rusl was still down, trying to catch his breath as the skulltula advanced quickly. Making a decision, the teenager rushed back to Epona while yelling to get his father's attention and warn him.

Rusl felt his head spinning, but he could hear the hasty footsteps of the beast, and he readied his shield in time to avoid getting bitten by its massive fangs. The onslaught was constant now, though, one bite after another, legs moving to position him more easily for the kill. He rolled away, grimacing through the damage to his ribs, but he eventually hit a tree and had nowhere else to go without getting up.

Gritting his teeth, Rusl let out a yell of defiance and pain as he rose, only to get smacked down again by one of the beast's uninjured legs. His world was beginning to spin, and he'd ventured too far from the lantern light to see properly anymore. His veins filled with ice as his mind registered this was getting out of control. He rose again, shaky, and jabbed blindly with his sword to create some distance. The skulltula retreated a hair as intended, and he could barely make out its silhouette in the darkness.

A snarl filled the air, something dark and fast rushed into view, slamming the skulltula to the ground. It crumpled with a shriek, legs sprawled and flailing. Light illuminated the area as Colin ran into the clearing, lantern in one hand, sword in the other. He stabbed at the beast's thorax once, twice, thrice, and it still wailed and wiggled, trying to right itself and continue the fight.

The dark, snarling thing that slammed into the beast stumbled into view, and Rusl could make out claws and paws and matted fur before the light around it was snuffed into nothingness. The light reformed with a hiss, and Link was crouching in their midst, trembling and bloodied but up and moving.

"Give me the lantern," Link hissed, grabbing it and smashing it over the beast, flames licking at the monster as it screamed. Link brought his blade down and cut the creature's thorax clean into sections, and the skulltula finally grew silent and still.

Everyone blew out a collective sigh of relief.

Colin broke the silence first, running to his father. "Pa, are you okay?"

Rusl watched Link turn to look at him, his own face cast in shadow, exhausted and filthy and wounded. The Ordonian took a shuddering breath, feeling his own chest scream in protest, and his world finally stopped spinning. He placed a shaky hand on Colin's shoulder, looking hisboy over and seeing that he was unscathed.

"I'm okay," he finally said. He would be better if he could get his racing heart under control. He'd never had such trouble fighting a single beast. He... was about to die if Link hadn't stepped in. His mind was caught in a spiral between concern for his boys and fear at his own mortality having been thrust in his face so unexpectedly. He'd faced death a fair amount, but not when the stakes were so high, not when his sons were right there.

Spirits above. They could have all died just now.

One of them was still hurt. He needed to help Link.

Rusl got to his feet, his body trembling, and he squeezed Colin's shoulder reassuringly. The flames on the skulltula were feasting happily, but they would soon extinguish so long as the Ordonians moved the dead leaves away from the corpse.

"We should go," Link advised quietly. "I'll guide the way. My wolf eyes can see in the dark."

Rusl stumbled somewhat unsteadily towards the young man, not acknowledging his words for a second. Both his hands went to Link's face, holding him steady with his gaze as he looked him over. How the young hero was suddenly standing when he'd been barely able to slew words together before was disconcerting and confusing. He was still wounded, wasn't he? The blood indicated as such.

"I had a potion, Pa," Link explained, putting an equally unsteady hand on the man's chest. Rusl saw the hand was stained, but the blood... why was it black?

He had far more questions than answers, but Link was right. They needed to go. They couldn't handle another fight like that. Rusl felt his heart skip a beat at the thought that something so dangerous had been anywhere near Ordon Village.

Link stepped away before Rusl had a chance to speak, crouching to the ground as shadows encased him. A wolf exited the darkness, shaking himself off a little with a small whine. Link couldn't hide his emotions or his wounds as well in this form, and it was clear he was in pain.

Reality snapped into place around Rusl, and he quickly kicked the leaves away from the skulltula's body, advising Colin to do the same. The last thing they needed was to burn down the forest. Link dug little trenches around the massive body. After a few minutes of work, the three were satisfied enough to leave the body burning, fire lazily crawling across and consuming as it went.

Epona nickered and ran forward to greet them when they made their way back to the original clearing. Rusl saw his horse waiting anxiously in the background. Epona and Link touched noses briefly, the wolf's tail wagging slowly.

"She got us," Colin explained. "She ran back to the village."

Link let out a small noise, licking tentatively at Epona's muzzle, and the horse nuzzled the wolf's face briefly.

"We need to go," Rusl finally said, mounting his own horse with a grunt of pain. He wanted nothing more than to let Link ride with him, but the boy wasn't wrong in that they needed a guide out. It was now night, and the crescent moon did little to guide their way, particularly with the cloud coverage. Colin got on Epona's saddle, and Link slowly began to limp through the forest.

As they moved, it gave Rusl more time to think and worry. How much blood had Link lost before he'd had a potion? Where had this beast come from, and how was it so powerful? Skulltulas were unpleasant, but they'd never been more than a nuisance unless in groups. Perhaps there had been more? Rusl hadn't seen any others, alive or dead.

Dead. Dead. He could have died, and worst of all, it would have left his boys at that beast's mercy. Rusl took a steadying breath, wincing again at his ribs.

He was getting too old for this. Facing his mortality hadn't been this terrifying since the first time it had happened. Then again, it didn't happen all that often. The last time he'd felt such fear clutch at his throat was when the Twilight invasion had started. He'd been nearly beaten senseless, and though he had been afraid for his own life, he had been far more terrified for his children.

But his children hadn't been present for that fight. Here they would have died if he'd failed, and he'd nearly failed.

He needed to contact the others about this. He'd never encountered such a beast, and he couldn't fight another alone. Link hadn't been able to fight it alone!

The sound of Ordon Spring soothed his worries a little, reminding him that they were somewhere safe now. He pulled back on the reigns to stop his horse, and the movement caught his boys' attention.

"Change back," Rusl ordered as he dismounted.

Link watched him a moment, intelligent blue eyes practically glowing in the dark, and then he complied. The young man shuddered, already crouching on the ground, and toppled over to his hands and knees. Rusl knelt down to hold him steady, helping him readjust to sit on the ground instead. Colin was at his other side in an instant.

"Did the potion not help?" Colin asked worriedly, not quite accustomed to the effects of such magical draughts.

"I'm okay," Link assured his little brother tiredly.

"We'll be sure of that when we get home," Rusl added, wrapping an arm around him. "You're riding the rest of the way, Link."

His eldest looked like he was going to argue, but a squeeze around his shoulders silenced him. Instead, he sighed, rising alongside Rusl. There was still some fight left in him, though. "It's not a long walk, Pa."

"Then I'm walking with you," Rusl countered, equally as stubborn as his boy.

"Me too!" Colin insisted.

"This is dumb," Link whined. "The horses--"

"Will follow," Rusl interrupted. "You want to walk, let's walk."

The farther into the village they went, the more at ease everyone became. Ordon held a peace to it that couldn't be easily described, except that the place radiated safety and peace and home. The symphony of crickets and gentle trickle of water eased Rusl's worries about any beasts following, allowing him to focus all his attention instead on ensuring his boy was alright.

Uli was waiting for them when they came home, medical supplies already at the ready alongside some milk. Her face was pinched in worry, but it relaxed a little at seeing everyone at least on their feet. Her eyes scanned the three quickly, and Rusl felt a twinge of guilt and gratitude mixing uneasily at the realization that she was well accustomed to searching for injuries by this point.

Colin escaped the fussing for the most part, aside from just the fact that he was the youngest. He insisted at least three times that he was unharmed, even lifting his tunic to prove it, and was sent to the blanket pile awaiting him in front of the hearth, a cup of milk in hand anyway. Link was next, immediately swept to the couch and told to lay down and take his shirt off. His unsteady gait had both his parents on high alert, and though it was evident that the potion had indeed done the trick (goddesses above, those had been puncture wounds, that beast had actually managed to bite into his boy), it was also evident he'd lost a faira mount of blood and possibly smacked his head. He was tentatively fed some milk and warm broth before Uli began to fuss over cleaning him up. Rusl helped her get Link out of his clothes and chainmail. As his wife wiped blood and grime with a warm, wet rag, Rusl examined the mail, looking at the breaks and resolving to repair it.

The warm water and soothing touch from his mother soothed Link into a half asleep state. Though Rusl knew Uli would prefer just outright giving Link a bath, the simple cleaning was more than enough for the chilly night, and Link's pride would only allow for so much fussing. Eventually the young man was snoring softly on the couch, dressed in Rusl's spare clothes and swaddled in more blankets than Rusl could count.

Rusl sighed in relief, the last tension finally draining out of him, and he dragged his feet to the table. His gaze moved between his sons, both of whom had fallen asleep. Colin was too big for Uli to carry anymore, so he tiredly resigned himself to the task, wincing as he rose.

"You're hurt," Uli said, and Rusl felt like it was possibly a death sentence in itself.

"Uli--"

"You're hurt," she emphasized, tears starting to shimmer in her eyes.

Spirits above, he couldn't make her cry. Rusl went to her, holding her reassuringly, and insisted he was fine. To prove his point, he moved to pick up Colin, trying to hide the pain from his face.

Uli was always a patient and gentle woman. She rarely expressed negative emotions outwardly - instead, it usually came up in her silence, in her melancholy and lack of energy. However, there were still times where it came forth, and she always expressed it in the worst ways possible.

His wife was hardly ever angry, but she would get disappointed.

"Don't," she said, her body stiff, breath short and choppy. "Don't pick him up. You'll set a bad example. They'll think it's okay to ignore injuries."

"Uli, I--"

"Do you want them to get hurt like this more? To hide it and make it worse?" And oh, if it wasn't the disappointment, it was the guilt and tears. Rusl felt exasperated and penitent all at once. He sighed, putting his pride aside and slowly sitting back down.

Uli burst into tears. Rusl immediately rose to go to her, and she pushed him back down.

"I'm sorry, I just--I get so worried," Uli sniffled, muffling her already soft sobs in a handkerchief.

"I know," Rusl said quietly, guilt eating away at him. "I'm sorry too."

Uli pushed a bottle of milk towards him wordlessly, fighting to regain her composure, and Rusl drank it without argument. The couple took in the silence and each other's company, and Uli settled beside him at the table as they watched their children sleep.

"We almost died out there," Rusl said suddenly. He cursed himself and was thankful that the words spilled out all at the same time; he didn't want to worry Uli, but he needed to say it. "That beast... I've never... it makes no sense. It was far more powerful than any skulltula I've ever seen, and it bled black blood."

"Black blood?" Uli repeated. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Rusl answered honestly, his gaze settling on Link. The milk he'd had warmed him from the inside out, mending and soothing the ache in his chest. Finally able to take a deep breath, he pulled Uli close as she rested her head on his shoulder. "But we'll figure it out together."

The pair sat there, taking comfort in each other, and a gentle silence hung in the air, holding the oncoming cold at bay.