World of Warcraft adding housing was the best thing to ever happen. You'll have to pry my Sims-loving hands away from building to heal dungeons now 🤭

Spoiler Sunday anyone? 🤠🥰

Made my boyfriend stand still so I could take photos of our wow characters (not at all for fan service for myself) and now I wanna write a story about them 🤭😮‍💨

The words tasted like fire on her tongue. For the first time in weeks, months, hells years— clarity pierced through the panic. She couldn’t stay paralyzed, she had to do something. She 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 do something.

“Kass, please—” “It’s better this way, Celaena. You don’t have to fix me.” Her voice trembled for a heartbeat, then steadied, cold with resolve. “Kian is my mistake to clean up. And I will.”

Kassandra shook her head, taking a measured step back. Her chest heaved, breaths sharp and uneven, but beneath the fear, something fierce began to stir. “You and I both know I can’t do that now.”

“Whatever lies he’s fed you… We never stopped caring. All I ever wanted was to protect you, to keep you safe. And I failed, I—I turned you into this. You didn’t ask for it. Please… let me help. Just come home!” She pleaded with every fiber of her being.

Kassandra’s eyes narrowed, glistening with hurt as much as rage. Those wings... she did know who they belonged to... “And since when have 𝑦𝑜𝑢 cared about me?” “I never stopped!!! ” Celaena’s voice cracked. “I tried, Kass! I tried and I tried! But you cut me out. You cut 𝑎𝑙𝑙 of us out!”

“How would 𝑦𝑜𝑢 know?” Kassandra’s voice cracked into a snarl, sharp with fear and exhaustion. Celaena’s throat tightened as she swallowed. “He killed Thea’s father, Kassandra. If you think, for even a second, that he cares about you—about 𝑜𝑢𝑟 kind—you’re wrong.”

Kassandra straightened instinctively, her back brushing the cold brick wall as she took a step away. “Just… hear me out. Please.” When she didn’t bolt, Celaena crept closer, her voice trembling now. “He’s no good, Kass. He’s a lot more than he’s letting on.”

“Kass?” The sound of her name cracked through the night. She jerked her head up, eyes wild, still rimmed red from tears. Her sister stood at the far end of the alley. Cel’s hands were raised slowly, palms out, like she was approaching a cornered animal. “Please,” she said softly. “Please don’t run.”

The alley tilted and spun, her vision swimming. She squeezed her eyes shut. 𝐼𝑛. 𝑂𝑢𝑡. 𝐼𝑛. 𝑂𝑢𝑡 She needed a plan. Needed to confront Kian. Needed… something. Anything. A way out. 𝑮𝒐𝒅𝒔, 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒕. ᴸᵉᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ

She ignored Gluttony’s whisper, forcing herself to breathe—ragged, uneven pulls of air that barely filled her lungs. The smell of iron and bleach still clung to her tongue. She bent over, wretching, one palm braced hard against the wall.

In the heavy silence of the alleyway, Gluttony’s voice purred somewhere deep inside her. 𝒀𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈.

Her crimes were hers. Every drop of blood she’d spilled had been by her own choice—ℎ𝑒𝑟 rage, ℎ𝑒𝑟 hunger, ℎ𝑒𝑟 will. Maybe she was a monster. Fine, she could live with that, but she would not let ℎ𝑖𝑚 take credit for what she had become.

She could live with dying for her own sins, but not for ℎ𝑖𝑠. She would not be executed because of a 𝒎𝒂𝒏. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 actions. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 lies. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 blood-stained ambition.

If the council found out she was tied to him… gods, they already thought her unstable. Reckless. Disposable. She could live with that. Maybe even deserved it. Some days, she almost wished they’d catch up to her—end the chase, the guilt, the exhaustion.

She felt sick. Bile stung her throat, eyes burning as the world tilted and buckled beneath her feet. It was just like her dream, the one where the elevator plummeted forever, weightless, helpless, waiting for the crash that never came.

By the time she reached the alley, her lungs burned. The corset bit into her ribs, squeezing out what little air she could drag in. Her thoughts scattered—how deep did this run? Did he only kill celestials? Did she 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 who those wings belonged to?

Kassandra stepped back, her expression unreadable. She left the back door wide open, a clear path to freedom...or vengeance. Maybe it would run. Maybe it would turn on them all. Tear the room apart, give those monsters a taste of their own cruelty. She didn’t stay to find out.

Her hand lifted without thought, a flicker of magic pulsed through her fingertips, answering without resistance. The lock trembled, then fell away with a soft 𝑐𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑘. The door creaked open, slow and deliberate, the sound impossibly loud in the silence.

Then she saw it...the iron-barred cage shoved against the far wall. The Bengal tiger crouched inside, its once-golden eyes dulled to embers. The marks on its flanks told the story—prodded, restrained, humiliated.

Crates loomed in the dim light, stacked high and stamped with gilded seals—certificates of authenticity, transfer documents, proof of ownership—all the paperwork needed to make atrocities look legitimate. Yet, no one was back here...

She tore down the back staircase, heels clattering against the metal steps, searching for the rear exit. The air grew heavier the farther she went, the hum of the crowd replaced by the echo of her own ragged breathing. She burst through a side door and froze.

“I just… I just need some air.” The lie slipped past her lips with ease. She didn’t need him to follow her; she wanted to be alone. “Thank you,” was the last thing she said to him, squeezing his bicep before darting down the stairs.

“I can’t do this,” she choked out, fear and rage tangling into a single, suffocating knot in her chest. Malakai blinked, brow raising. “Need me to walk you—” “No.” She cut him off before he could finish.

In honor of tomorrows queue, have a spoiler 🥰

Fingers crossed and if I get off work on time today we’ll have a queue either today or this weekend 🥳

A group of friends and myself just ended a 7 year long DnD campaign, I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much in my life 🥹

Hi Hi! I’m still alive lol. There have been some big life changes happening behind the scenes, and it’s taken me a bit to adjust. Buttttttttttt I’m finally at a place where I can start thinking about my story again! Yay 🥳 (1/3)

She was afraid of what he already 𝑤𝑎𝑠. And part of her, the part that still belonged to herself, wanted to see him 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 for it.

And in that moment, something in her snapped awake. Fear churned into fury, the two indistinguishable in the way they burned through her chest. For the first time, she wasn’t just afraid of what Kian might do— what he was capable of...

Her stomach dropped, the floor falling out from under her. She dug her nails deeper into her palms, desperate to tether herself to something real.

And yet—never like 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠. Never this. Not wings carved from heaven itself, chained and displayed like some grotesque prize. This wasn’t business. This wasn’t power. This was desecration.

𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑤. She had always known. Kian killed. Kian had others kill for him. He used her—slid her into the role of executioner with soft words and colder truths. She had told herself it was survival, necessity, even loyalty. She had known.

Not god-wrought, as Malakai so casually called them—no deity had bled for this spectacle. But celestial all the same. Holy, Sacred, and now... Desecrated. “Seraphim…” The word slipped out, barely audible. Her throat was tight, lungs refusing to draw in air.

Suspended above the stage, bound in heavy chains for the crowd to marvel at, hung a pair of wings. Enormous, otherworldly—each feather polished and preserved, aligned with reverent precision. Perfect. Pristine. 𝑆𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑛.

Beside her, Malakai straightened, all lazy amusement gone, his attention sharp. The spotlight flared to life. Her heart stilled. Her limbs went cold, numb, as the pit in her stomach yawned wider and wider, and the world warped and stretched around he. He was right.

The lights dimmed, plunging the room into a hushed twilight as the rattle of chains echoed overhead. Something massive groaned against the strain of the haul. Kassandra’s nails carved crescent moons into her palm as she waited, every clink of metal tightening the coil in her chest.

A familiar slender figure stepped into the light beside the podium, smiling and waving like he’d just accepted the Nobel Peace Prize. 𝐴𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑔𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑎𝑠𝑠, she thought to herself.

The announcer’s voice swelled, smooth and theatrical. “Thanks to our fine sponsors at Laswell Corp, it is with great honor I present to you our last, and most valuable, item of the night.” Kassandra’s heart plummeted.

Then—silence. A jarring pause in the rhythm. The whir of machinery groaned beneath the floorboards, chains rattling as some hidden mechanism strained into place. The murmur of the audience tapered into breathless anticipation.

Her shoulders sagged as the novelty dulled. The murmur of bidding blurred into static, each slam of the gavel more grating than the last. Even Malakai, once amused, lounged against the banister, gaze flicking over the crowd instead of the stage.

For the next hour, it was a carousel of excess. Deeds to estates, yachts moored in private harbors, diamonds the size of baseballs, all paraded on the floor as numbers climbed higher & higher. More wealth than any one human had a right to, wasted on objects destined to sit forgotten in vaults.

“Not a fan of big cats?” Malakai’s voice was low, watching her instead of the cage. Her throat tightened. “Not a fan of cages,” she murmured. The gavel slammed again, sealing the creature’s fate as the cage was rolled back through the rear doors, disappearing into shadow to await its new owner.

The crowd shifted with excitement—murmurs of 𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑐𝑘 and 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠 rippled around her, punctuated by laughter as the creature snarled. But Kass only saw the panic thrumming behind those glowing eyes.

A growl rolled out—low, guttural—and two amber eyes gleamed from the dark interior. The sound crawled across her skin. Her breath caught. Not awe. Not fear. Pity. Something raw and sharp stirred in her chest. Alone. Scared. Trapped.

The warmth died in an instant as a low grind of gears drew her gaze back to the stage. A panel of the floor split open, rising with a heavy, iron-bound cage. The box rattled, metal screeching, men with cattle prods flanking it on both sides.

He smirked, eyes glinting. “Night’s still young, Kassie.” He winked, the nickname rolling off his tongue like he’d known it forever. Her chest fluttered in spite of herself.

The crack of the gavel made her jump. “Lot six-six-five, sold to cardholder thirty-three.” Malakai nudged her side as she instinctively nestled closer. “Told ya. Rich people shit.” She exhaled, relieved—no wings, no divine relics. “No dead god wings,” she teased softly. “Sorry for your loss.”