#SHE IS NOT MADE FOR A REWRITE STOP REWRITING HER

[marinettesaltprompts]

Selfish Wishing

TLDR: Canon Divergence; Marinette ends up making the wish. She wakes up in a world where she lives alone in New York, isn't Ladybug, and still isn't dating Adrien!! When she decides to check her phone to see what's going on in Paris, she sees that more changed than she realized. She thought this was her wish, her dream come true, so why did it feel like, besides the whole New York thing, nothing changed??

Marinette knew the dangers of making the wish. That there would be a cost. That Chat Noir trusted her to use his miraculous to end Monarch.

But...she can't help but want to make a wish herself.

Rewrite the universe to be how she wanted.

She'd have loyal friends who backed her up no matter what.

She'd be less clumsy and late to things.

She'd be amongst the youngest fashion designers known.

She'd have everything her way.

No Chloe or Lila in her way.

No Chat Noir to coddle.

No Monarch to fight.

The next moment went by quickly, before she could stop herself, before Plagg and Tikki could talk her out of it, she did it.

She made her wish.

"I wish...I wish to live the life I want!! The life of a normal girl who had her dream come true!!!"

The world goes dark and with it, Marinette collapses.

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

Marinette groans as she wakes up. She can't remember going to sleep.

As she wakes up more, she panics. This isn't her room. Her earrings are gone. She's...not in Paris??

Confused, Marinette grabs her phone.

She spends the next hour scrolling and scrolling as what happened returns to her. She made the wish, but she thought she would be in Paris, with her family and friends and Adrien...

A sigh. More scrolling.

Her parents posted something recently about closing the bakery at a certain date in order to visit Marinette in New York, thanking the Style Queen for helping her reach her dreams.

The Ladyblog isn't around, rather the MiracuLog was being run. And it wasn't being run Alya, but... Adrien and Felix?!

She went to the blog's bio, which simply said: Welcome to the MiracuLog!! We're here to keep you informed on all things MIRACULOUS!! From our heroes, Carmine and Jinx, to our big bad, and self proclaimed king, Emperor!!

This blog is run by me and my older twin brother!! Thank you for supporting us, and we will continue to keep you updated!! - Adrien GdV :3

Marinette blinked and looked through the blog.

She recognized some Akumas, but not all of them. Lady Wifi, Evillustrator, Princess Fragrance, Dark Cupid were amongst the ones she recognized.

But...who was Blood Beetle? Phantom? Miss Anonymous? Porcelain Doll? Puppeteer? Scary Godmother? Lilith?

She didn't recognize any of them, and there were no names attached!! How was she supposed to know who was akumatized if their names aren't there?!

Marinette looked at an earlier Q&A post, which answered her own question.

Hi, Adrien! Hi, Felix! I wanted to know why you don't name people who were akumatized!! Don't you think it'd be better if we knew in case they get akumatized again? Thank you for answering!! -inamedmykittenjinx

Hello!! While, yes, it might be better, I don't believe we should put that onto anyone's shoulders. I want everyone to go by as normally as they can without someone leading them to this blog just to ask them about their akumatization. We all deserve some privacy. - adrien.

What my brother means is, we think it could do more damage if we out akuma victims. I say this as someone who's been akumatized before. I wish for no one to know who I was as an akuma. Remember, anyone can be akumatized. Anyone. Gender, age, citizen or tourist, none of that matters to Emperor. We don't need the reminder that we got taken advantage of by that man. - felix

thank you for answering!! I think I understand. some akumas have seemed to be pretty young, so I can see why you decided to keep Akuma victims anonymous. -inamedmykittenjinx

No problem!! :) Sometimes people will still recognize the akumatized victim and spam our inbox with their name and job or school and other info that we just don't need. It's why we don't accept anonymous questions and submissions anymore. - adrien

PEOPLE ARE DOXXING AKUMA VICTIMS?! -carminered98

Why?? Do people not have anything better to do??? -emperorshouldofusedmonarchtbh

like, I get it if the akuma victim is still an asshole. but the majority of akuma victims are people who lost their jobs, are or were grieving, kids who've been bullied, etc. It makes me so mad!!! -emperorshouldofusedmonarchtbh

Marinette rolled her eyes as she moved past the thread. Back when she was Ladybug, no one cared about privacy. It was stupid of Adrien and Felix to prioritize the akumas anonymity. It would be better to just name them.

She eventually saw a post dedicated to Carmine and Jinx.

She had no idea who they were.

Carmine was the current ladybug. He was a male with deep red, almost black, hair. His outfit reminded her somewhat of Mister Bug's. But that might just because that's the only male ladybug costume she's seen.

Jinx was the current black cat. She was a female. Her hair was long and in a low ponytail. Her costume didn't look like hers when she was Lady Noire or like Kitty Noire's.

She was surprised to read that the two knew each others identity and were still going strong as a team. They were family as well.

Why would they do that?? Did Master Fu know?! So what if they're family!! If she were the Guardian still, she'd take their miraculous.

Frustrated, Marinette kept scrolling.

The temp. heroes caught her eyes.

They were...different. They weren't her friends. Or maybe they were, but she can't tell??

Lupine, Athena, Alopex, who are these people??

She quickly left the blog, not wanting to see anymore.

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

Marinette groaned as more and more of her designs were sent back to her. Audrey was a strict boss. Her notes about Marinette's designs stung.

Especially when she sees the woman expressing her disappointment because Marinette had been so good.

She was trying!! Her designs were liked in her old world. She was MDC!!! But no one cares about MDC here.

Sighing, Marinette pulled her phone out. Maybe something in Paris would inspire her?

She checks her socials. Nothing.

She had sent friend requests to her old friends, but none of them had accepted her yet.

Some, like Luka and Marc, politely asked her to not send a request. They were only accepting friend requests from people they knew in person.

She thought things would be different.

She thought she'd still have her friends.

That she'd be home.

That she'd be Adrien's girlfriend.

She wanted her dream to come true.

She glared at her phone, the MiracuLog open and staring back at her.

What happened?? Was her wish not specific enough???

She asked around, but no one's heard of Gabriel Agreste. When she looked him up, nothing came up. He didn't exist. It would explain why Adrien is a Graham de Vanilly and not an Agreste.

When she stalked looked through Adrien's socials, she saw that he had a hobby in photography, sometimes his posts had two images. One of a photo he took and the other of a sketch made by his girlfriend, Kagami.

It wasn't fair!! In both worlds, Adrien dates Kagami. And unlike the last one, here they're still dating.

She hates that the two look happy and in love. That Kagami is in her rightful spot. She should have been next to him, not her!!

To make things worse, she also checked out Luka's socials, which is where she learned he was dating Felix. Of all people, he chooses Felix?!

What about her??? She was nice when she sent sent a friend request. She'd eventually visit Paris again.

It's not fair!!

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

Marinette didn't know where things went wrong.

Was her wish not specific enough?? Did it not work??

She tried so hard to make things go her way.

Her designs were rejected.

She was kept back in class and berated.

She had no friends in either school or work.

People said she changed but she didn't!!

Why??

Why did the wish give her this??

She just wanted everything she always wanted...

Additional Info:

• Carmine is Luka and Jinx is Juleka. Master Fu definitely knows they know each other. He doesn't mind that much because he knows he chose siblings. Not his intention tbh, but they work well together.

• Lupine is Adrien with the bee, Athena is the name of the horse miraculous user, haven't decided who yet, might go with Sabrina??, and Alopex is the fox miraculous user and I'm leaning towards Nathaniel for that (:

• One of the things that changes in this is Adrien and Felix's relationship. Rather than being cousins, the boys are twins. Still sentimonsters, but Emilie made both of them. To this day, the peacock miraculous and the Grimoire is still in their possession.

• Emperor is Colt Fathom in this world. He wants to use the wish to ensure Amelie marries him because she left him before he could even propose, claiming he was possessive and not the man she wanted to marry.

• Colt got the butterfly miraculous from a vendor who found it. He was going to gift it to Amelie but she ended up leaving him. He was going to chuck the brooch into the Siene when Nooroo was finally released. When he learned about the miraculous, he decided to make his wish come true.

• Emelie and "Gabriel" never met. Emilie spent most of her time caring for her sister or talking with her friends, André and Nathalie.

• As a result of getting the life she wants, Gabriel ends up losing the life he had. Rather than be a rich and famous fashion designer that's secretly a villain, he's still Gabi Grassette. He ends up as a homeless man who lost everything. He's not really relevant here, so....¯\_(ツ)_/¯

• Because part of her dream is to get with Adrien Agreste, the model, and how the wish ended up for Marinette, she doesn't end up with him.

• The MiracuLog is run by Adrien and Felix. Adrien takes photos and captures footage, while Felix writes and edits. The two strive to keep their blog safe for everyone. And unlike the Ladyblog, the MiracuLog focuses on all the miraculous and it's users. They don't chase after Carmine and/or Jinx and demand interviews, nor do they take interviews with anyone unless they specifically think it would be benificial, such as interviewing a therapist for advice on how to handle stress and anxiety, or the mayor about the free therapy for akuma victims where they can come in and talk to someone, with the reassurance they won't be outed.

• Because they got so many messages doxxing people who were Akumatized, the twins changed their system to only accept official accounts on their blog. It doesn't stop it, but it becomes less of a hassle. Accounts that continue doing it get a warning, if they continue they get suspended, and if they still continue their account gets blacklisted and blocked, if it isn't outright deleted.

• A lot of Marinette's views about akumas puts a wall between her and her old "friends." She's used to things being different, so them doing things such as keeping akumas real names private, not wanting to discover who Carmine and Jinx are, raising money in order to help akuma victims, etc., feels wrong. And when she tries to say so, she's told to back off and stay in her lane.

• While she does have a job as an intern for Audrey, she also goes to school in NY, very specifically a fashion school.

• As much as I would have liked a more dramatic take on Marinette's wish ending badly, I like the idea of "everything remained just about the same but here's what's different" just as much.

Marinette becomes a normal girl who got the opportunity she always wanted and is living in NY as the Style Queen's intern.

Audrey noticed her but she never noticed Gabi, so Gabriel Agreste doesn't exist.

Because Gabriel Agreste doesn't exist, Adrien was made alongside Felix by Emilie who is a single mother with Amelie as their aunt and Nathalie as a potential second mom. Had Gabriel Agreste still exhisted, her wish of dating Adrien would have come true.

• I mean, diverging from this prompt, ^ that relationship would have ended quickly. The wish wouldn't make Adrien her boyfriend and have him stay her boyfriend. And her new personality and obsessive behavior would be a sign to end things.

• Marinette, technically, did have friends in NY (such as Jessica and Zoe). But her sudden change in personality pushed them away. She was becoming obsessed with Paris, Adrien and the Parisian heroes, and they wanted their old friend who complained about work, but also gushed about how Audrey was considering helping her debut as a fashion designer, back. This isn't the Marinette they know.

This could have been better, but I had to get the idea out of my head, so if it's confusing, sorry? (^^;

[sigg-vbj]

Back hugs

Every damn chance he got, Bakugo would come up behind her, closing the distance like it was a challenge he had to win. His arms—strong and warm—wrapped around her waist with a grip that left no room for argument. He’d press himself close, practically molding to her smaller frame, his chin hovering just above her wild puff of dark blue curls. He didn’t have to fight through it like before—being taller now had its perks. Still, he had no complaints. Her hair always smelled good, like lavender and whatever the hell she used that made him feel calmer than he’d ever admit.

“Can I help you?” she’d ask, her voice flat but tinged with amusement.

“Nope,” he’d reply, the word a low grumble in her ear.

“Then let go.”

“Tch, not happening,” he’d mutter, tightening his arms just enough to make a point. Like hell he’d let go.

And she never really wanted him to. He could tell by the way she leaned back against him, stealing his warmth like he was a damn space heater. Not that he minded. The cold didn’t bother him much, but seeing her relax in his hold? That shit hit different.

His grip stayed firm, his head dipping down like it always did when they were alone—whether in her apartment or his, or somewhere far from the prying eyes of the world. The crook of her neck was his landing spot, like it was meant to be his. At first, she thought it was just his way of being affectionate in his rough-around-the-edges way. Typical Bakugo. But he knew better, and so did she, eventually.

It wasn’t just a neck to him—it was the scar.

That scar. The one she got when they were neck-deep in a mission gone sideways. The memory still burned in his mind: her dodging one threat, only for another to catch her blind spot. His blind spot. He hadn’t been there fast enough. He still heard the sound she made when it happened, saw the way she clutched her neck to stop the bleeding, still heard his own voice shouting her name like it could fix everything.

Now, every time he held her, he found himself here, his lips brushing against the faded mark. It wasn’t conscious at first, but it became a ritual—like he could somehow erase the damn thing with enough kisses, enough time. As if every press of his mouth could rewrite that moment into something less infuriating.

“What’s with you and this spot?” she’d asked once, her voice softer than usual.

He didn’t answer, just huffed against her skin, his breath warm, his lips following the curve of the scar like a path he’d memorized. She didn’t ask again. Maybe she understood, or maybe she just let him have it. Either way, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t about to stop.

“Oi,” he grunted after a while, his voice gruff, but not unkind. “You cold?”

She let out a little hum, leaning her head back against his shoulder. “Not anymore.”

“Good,” he muttered, his lips grazing the scar one last time before nuzzling into her curls, his hold on her unyielding. Because letting go? Yeah, that was never gonna happen. End

[mlp-mfb]

[My Little Pony : The Magic of Friendship and Beyond] (MLP G4 AU/Rewriting)

First drawing (base edit) made of the redesign

The Protagonists of the story, Heroines of Equestria and Incarnations of the Elements of Harmony

Twilight Sparkle

Element of Harmony : (Magic of) Friendship Age at start of series : 19 years old Season 1 - Description : Disciple of Queen Celestia and a brilliant student at the prestigious "Advanced Magic School" in Canterlot, Twilight Sparkle lived in the Royal Palace observatory with her adopted little brother, Spike, a young baby dragon that she hatched during her entrance exam to the Magic School several years before. Rather solitary, she tended to stay in her corner to study despite the efforts of the other ponies to befriend her. Following the return of Nightmare Moon, Twilight will realize the importance that Friendship can have, and to study its Magic, will now live in Ponyville with her new friends on the Queen's orders. Although studious and highly intelligent, she is an anxious pony who cannot stand being late and likes everything to be in its place to feel comfortable, ironically she tends to become rather messy when she is caught up in her research, Spike, as her number one assistant, finding himself having to tidy everything up behind her.

Later Seasons - Description : Princess of Friendship, she has learned to better manage her anxiety, although she still has the occasional relapse. She sometimes puts too much pressure on herself to fit into her idealized image of what a princess should be, despite her mentor and sister-in-law's efforts to make her understand that she just has to be herself and everything will be fine. She will eventually become more comfortable about it. As a result, she stopped wearing her glasses in public, replacing them with contacts, although she still uses them when she is "alone" at home. In fact, she feels more comfortable like this, remaining in her work habits, her little cocoon where everything is well ordered, helping her to be efficient and serene in what she does.

Pinkie Pie

Element of Harmony : Joy Age at start of series : 21 years old

Season 1 - Description : Ponyville's official party planner and SugarCubeCorner's flagship vendor, Pinkie Pie is a cheerful pony who loves to have fun and joke around with her friends, knowing, contrary to popular belief, when it's time to be funny and when it's time to be serious. She grew up on a rock farm with her quadruplet sisters, being the youngest of the siblings. She is particularly close to Maud with whom she regularly exchanges letters.

Later Seasons - Description : After becoming known as one of Equestria's Heroines, Pinkie will regularly receive various requests to organize parties all over the Kingdom. But her priority will always be Ponyville, her friends and her family.

Fluttershy

Element of Harmony : Kindness Age at start of series : 22 years old

Season 1 - Description : A gentle and reserved Pegasus, she has a hard time asserting herself in front of other ponies but works wonders with animals big and small. Despite her shyness, she loves singing. Despite everything, she manages to find the courage deep inside herself to stand up against others when it is necessary to defend her friends.

Later Seasons - Description : Still as reserved, she nevertheless learned to be more sure of herself with time. Her meeting with Tree Hugger, will give her the dream of building a large animal shelter where they could rest for a while and find help if they are in need.

Applejack

Element of Harmony : Honesty Age at start of series : 19 years old

Season 1 - Description : A farm pony, she takes care of the family farm with her grandmother, and her two siblings, having lost both her parents when she was still quite young. Always ready to lend a helping hoof to others, she tends however not to pay enough attention to her own health. Sometimes a bit too protective with her little sister, AppleBloom, they nevertheless are very close.

Later Seasons - Description : She learned to take better care of herself and her health, as well as to delegate when necessary and to better organize her tasks thanks to the help of her friends. She also took up athletics, following Rainbow Dash's advice, in her free time.

Rainbow Dash

Element of Harmony : Loyalty Age at start of series : 18 years old

Season 1 - Description : Dreaming of joining the famous Wonderbolts aerobatic team, Rainbow is a pony with competition in her blood, never refusing a challenge. Tending to rush headlong, she sometimes lacks composure, fortunately her friends are there to hold her back when she gets too carried away. She likes to play tricks on others for fun, often teaming up with Pinkie to play all kinds of pranks. Although originally from Cloudsdale, she is in charge of the Ponyville weather team and has lived there for several years now.

Later Seasons - Description : Now a key member of the Wonderbolts team, she has grown in maturity and reflection over time. Despite her new responsibilities, she is always there when her friends need her and has not abandoned her role as leader of the Ponyville weather team.

Rarity

Element of Harmony : Generosity Age at start of series : 20 years old

Season 1 - Description : An independent fashion designer, she has lived in Ponyville her entire life, but dreams of the luxury and prestige of big cities like Manehattan or Canterlot. Her shop, the "Carousel Boutique", already has a very good reputation in town, with many locals coming there to buy or repair clothes. She often takes care of her little sister, Sweetie Belle, letting her sleep at her place, in her apartment above her shop, sometimes even letting her invite her friends over when she doesn't have too much work. Later Seasons - Description : Having become a successful designer thanks to her contacts and talent, Rarity has been able to open several other boutiques throughout the Kingdom, thus realizing her lifelong dream. Despite everything, she remains modest about her success, not forgetting that she would not be where she is today without the support of countless ponies.

Base used : First drawing of the redesign > HERE Reference sheet > HERE (The assets I made for my reference sheets can by found HERE )

[angelwowings]

THIS IS SO TRUE OMG SHE IS A TRAUMA OC!!! SHE WAS THERE MADE FOR A TRAUMTIZED KID TO COPE WITH ABUSE!!!! Stop rewriting her take any other character that isn’t a trauma oc but she DOES NOT BELONG TO YOU!!! Do not mold her into your own oc

Please guys this is the only boundary Dani wants us to respect like “oh he doesn’t care about the characters anymore” yeah cause he was harassed out of the fandom dawg he still has boundaries yall just don’t listen to them

She is also a very personal character to me and tic toc clock Dani left her here for people like us (tic toc clock,and basically all of my clockwork friends cause he knew people found comfort in her and it connected people which is absolutely true!! I’ve met amazing people 🍀🌷through clockwork and connected to them it’s so nice I could bond over what happened to me and that it happened to others too + more

And it’s draining for us too see how our source of comfort be just rewrite for some people cause they’re like “oh her story sucks” clockwork is not there for you she is there for the people who find comfort in her that’s the only reason why Dani still lets us use her cause he knows she helped people to cope with their trauma

OK BEFORE I SEE ANY “people can’t have hcs anymore” LISTEN I eat up headacanons all the time but y’all seriously gotta leave clockwork alone and understand that she is just not a character you can touch or change !! Any character that is a trauma oc should actually just belong to the creator. But Dani was nice enough to even have us let her still be used in the fandom this is the least you can do🙏🏻

Also about the miss characteristics she is just a traumatized killer she does not kill for fun. + her only source of comfort is toby and I see alot of people make her look like she hates Toby and pushes him away when that’s clearly not how it is i know you can have headcanons but this is out of character at peak not to mention she canonly never gets over toby and only cries in front of toby and cant get sleep without nightmares unless she’s with him. I feel like this all goes back to the misogyny that there was in the early days and still exists it especially shows at the ones who like to say “clockworks story is badly written” but then go on and say Toby’s or Jeff’s story is good it’s so clear that these types of people target woman.

Ok thanks for coming to the tulip truth 🌷

Clockwork and Mischaracterization

I'm tired of seeing Clockwork get treated like a cunty bitch who hates people. She's not that, she is NOTHING like that. It goes back to the stigma of Toby dickriders wanting to ship themselves with him + wanting Clockwork out of the picture. There's nothing wrong with that on a SURFACE level but the level people in the creepypasta fandom take their hate of TicciWork and Clockwork goes beyond simply a fandom thing; this hate caused her creator to leave the fandom, because of their actions, her creator gets anxiety even seeing her name.

Worse, it hasn't stopped, nobody cares about the damage they've done and continues to dickride a character who had to be KILLED OFF to get people to shut the fuck up. On the initial note, however, more people need to see Clockwork for who and what she is.

Clockwork is NOT a mean cold-hearted bitch, what she is a deeply scarred individual who kills out of fear, to relive killing her family when things get hard for her. In art depictions, we see how much she genuinely loved Toby and how much he loved her back, how wholesome and precious their relationship was, we see her lash out but we also see her scared and emotional like the troubled person she is. She would not be a bitchy ex because they're NOT EVEN EXES, TOBY IS DEAD.

The creator has nothing against headcanons or anything but CLOCKWORK IS NOT OUR CHARACTER, he made that very clear; she is not ours to rewrite, she is not ours to remake, what she is, is a deeply personal character to her creator, leave her story alone. Make headcanons, aus, whatever but please, for once, keep her canon in mind.

It's the bare minimum of what her creator asks of us

[vargamornight]

buffy leads because she is the only one she believes capable of it. willow follows because she wants the privileges of being beside the leader (aka doing whatever she wants, whenever she wants, and never facing any consequences because buffy loves her and buffy's the one in charge of consequences) without any of the responsibility of leadership (aka consequences)

willow has proven that when she is powerful enough that she doesn't need to fear consequences, she does not hold back. not one bit. she will do whatever she wants, kill whoever she wants as horrifically as she wants, and the only thing that EVER stops her is the worry that buffy won’t like her anymore, because if buffy doesn't like her anymore, then she won’t be able to get away with all of her usual bullshit.

[petrichorium]

pluvi begging you to expand on gojo not wanting what happened to his mother to happen to you 🙏

warnings: it’s all a dream so nothing is real aside from the flashback stuff but pregnancy as horror, (sewing) needles, implied gore/eye trauma, implied child harm, gojo is messed up yo!!! and its bc of his mama!!!

he dreams about her.

it’s an odd thing, really. gojo isn’t much of a dreamer—not much of a sleeper, all things considered, but it’s difficult not to give in when you drag him to bed and curl up in his arms. the soft rise and fall of your chest, the steady thump of your heart, the sound of your breath; it soothes him into slumber.

and he dreams about her. she was always young. he’s older now than she ever got to be. frail, thin; borderline skeletal, robes hanging from her body like webbing. she sits in a chair facing a window, swathed in moonlight, the silver of her embroidery needle glinting with each stab. her face is veiled. her stomach is swollen with child.

she doesn’t turn to him, but she beckons without noise. his feet take him easily to her, and he kneels at her side as she sets aside the embroidery hoop to let him place his head on her knees.

her hand is cold as it threads through his hair. it’s gentle, at first. then harsher a moment later. she grips firm, tugs him up by those electric white threads, stares down at him through all that elaborate lace.

he imagines she’s weeping beneath it. his mother never wept before him, but she was pretty in the aftermath, eyes puffy and pink and shining. they were a cold kind of loving when they regarded him. she must have been beautiful once, elegant and lithe and willowy, cruel like the heartless sea and sharp like a brilliant diamond, but whatever was there is long gone. he thinks all sons must empty their mothers, bleed them dry from within, because his was always a shell.

she trails her hand down the side of his face, and he turns into the palm and closes his eyes, and she is silent as she sets down her embroidery to lift her veil. she is silent and hollow and eidolic as her fingers brush down his jaw and tilt his head up to look at her.

but it’s your face that he sees when he opens his eyes.

it’s your hand against his cheek, your eyes pink and puffy and pretty, your stomach bulging by his own doing. it’s your fingers that pluck up the needle, still attached to a thread of brilliant cerulean, and raise it to his eye.

his mother never was able to pierce him with that needle. she stopped herself, each and every time, dropping it and tugging him close in shame. she never doted, never was kind, but she never did manage to harm him.

you do. he lets you. it’s only fair. whatever thing is in your stomach can’t be human—whether god or demon what does it matter, at the end of the day—and didn’t he put it in you himself? if his mother never got the satisfaction of spilling his blood, shouldn’t you?

but he wakes just as the tip pierces his iris, and you hold him in your lap, eyes wide with concern and not puffy from weeping, and you hold no child within you. your hands thread through his hair and they’re warm, your lips plush when you bend to press a kiss to his brow.

he turns inward to press his face into your (empty, blissfully vacant) abdomen. the wetness he leaves there, falling from his so very coveted eyes, is colorless.

he thinks it ought to be brilliant crimson.

[leenfiend]

allura deserved a character building haircut

[blizardstar]

Dispite my best efforts I simply cannot stop thinking of the implications on the larger The Lion King canon of various sources that Mufasa has (a movie I have not seen and refuse to)

[alchemiclee]

been looking in tags for a few days now to see if anyone else found the whole high cloud quintet and related story to be a bit.....poorly written, nonsensical, contradictory, full of plot holes and loose ends, etc. apparently i'm not the only one. (and i'm not even talking about shipping stuff, because any time I saw someone mad about bad writing, someone always replies to be homophobic and laugh about failed ships. weirdos.) it could have been so good but was thrown into the garbage for the most part (IF you noticed all the plot holes and contradiction. if not, then it's a fine enough story tbh. I expect most people to see it on surface level and not read all the little hidden lore bits and try to piece it together like my autistic brain did. which is ok! enjoy it if you liked it and ignore me 😆)

[bokuwadekinaiko]

cw post / tags. sorry

i don't even know if i have the words

to express this

she's gone

and its all my fault

[oc-cinematic-universe]

Oooo okay so since u take asks here I would LOVE to hear how Eden kills Reverie and what the breaking point is for Eden to do so?? Reverie’s reloading causes so much pain to Eden so is it that and is the kill reluctant or desired, by that point what are Eden’s thoughts towards Reverie?? —music anon 🎶

MAN. I THINK ABOUT IT. OK, SO, THIS NEEDS A PROPER FULL EXPLANATION FOR YOU TO TRULY UNDERSTAND THE MINDSET EDEN WAS IN

it all came to a boiling point when they finally hit "the end" of the game. the final boss. they were getting ready to fight engel, with eden far past her limits before they had even started. she was dissociating hard because she hated every second of this but knew that she Had to do this. it was her role. reverie had made it so clear to her this was all she was made for.

she was dissociating hard enough she didn't think very hard about it when the menu for the save file opened up in front of her. in a daze, curious, she saved over reverie's file. and immediately it began to glitch. it was small, but it was glitching, but reverie (who hadn't noticed) was calling her over to start the fight, and she figured they could figure out what was wrong later, if it even mattered since there was a great chance the game was about to end anyways

eden began dissociating even harder than she already had been, feeling like she missed out on half the fight immediately. reverie was yelling at her to do Anything while barely dodging engel's attacks. eden could barely feel the sword in her hand as she held it up. she didn't remember moving closer to engel, and engel.... didn't seem to notice her at all. it was so. painfully easy. to lift up the sword. and cut off their head.

eden had never seen reverie so happy. they hugged her, spun her around, laughed, she'd never seen them so Genuinely Happy. so maybe it was ok... she was truly honestly just happy they were happy. she was so happy it was over and she could finally rest.

but the game didn't end. not the way reverie expected.

the menu that popped up only offered reverie 2 choices. continue. or start over. there was no option to leave. there never was an option to leave. reverie is just as part of this game as any of the npcs, they had just refused to see that until now. this game is the only reality they have and it was never going to let them go.

so. reverie began laughing. collapsed onto their knees laughing hysterically with no emotion behind it. and before eden could even begin realizing what happened, reverie pulled up handfuls of files of the code and Destroyed It.

the game started fully collapsing from the inside out. the room they were in began losing textures, they were falling and then they weren't, eden felt sick in ways she couldn't begin to describe, it felt as if the world itself was screaming in her head as it shook and flashed trying to keep itself together. all while reverie kept laughing and destroying more of the code.

somebody had to stop them.

eden needed to stop them.

she shoved her sword fully through their chest. she didn't have a choice. they seemed so surprised and confused, just for a moment, staring at her with bewilderment. but painfully, the laughed again, pulling her hands closer to them, shoving the sword even further through. It Didn't Matter. They Both Knew This Didn't Matter. the game would just bring them back. just like every other time. she knew that right? this didn't change anything.

so they kept laughing, eden frozen in place with panic, and they both Waited. and waited.

reverie coughed up blood and couldn't hold themself up anymore. nothing happened. they fell to the floor, sword still in their chest, as eden stepped back in shock. nothing happened. they desperately opened up their save file trying to figure out what was wrong (nothing happened) and they discovered exactly what was wrong (nothing happened) as they read the name on the file and found it wasn't theirs anymore

right as both reverie and eden processed what had just happened, the game exploded behind their eyes. it was trying to load a save that didn't exist anymore. it couldn't bring reverie back because they didn't have a save anymore. but it had to bring them back. but it couldn't. it caught itself in a loop and everything Screeched like metal on metal, or like a dying animal, as it began to completely unravel itself. then everything went black.

[changelingeyes]

think i might have to do rewrites on the Lazy fic,, the more i think about it the more i think that maybe tiffany and changeling’s friendship isn’t actually a good one

[ennabear]

loser! sev getting all whiny and pathetic when she eats you out, rutting her hips against the mattress, cumming in her pants, accidentally overstimulating you like crazy because she's just loves it so much.

accidentally overstimulating HERSELF from eating you out?????? GODDDDDDD

HEHEHEH i said i was gonna respond to these as small little thoughts but i wanna write a real blurb about this because. wow. so true and real it brought tears to my eyes. THANK U FOR THISSSS i wish i could keep it in my asks forever hehehe… 18+

your wife has had one of the worst weeks of her life. the undercity has just completely gone rogue ever since silco has passed, and every effort she’s made to have everyone band together against topside is just worthless. nobody wants to listen to her, too obsessed with their own personal drama to see the bigger picture.

to make matters worse, she’s had to keep jinx under control too. when sevika imagined silco’s death, she didn’t imagine him leaving jinx in the will. and as if the sudden addition of jinx into her life wasn’t enough to stir the pot, jinx has found her own stray now too.

she’s exhausted. sick of sleepless nights spent erasing and rewriting silco’s mistakes, the bitter frost lingering in the streets leaving everyone in a tense and irritable mood. of fucking course she’s the one who has to deal with it, nobody else wants to take a stand or set things straight.

seeing her this way breaks your heart. she barely comes home anymore, usually to be found slumped over silco’s desk with a half empty bottle of whiskey at her side. her arm thrown across the table, an empty promise of getting it fixed and reattached hanging over her head. what she really needs is a new arm, but she refuses to take smeech up on his offer.

god damn it, your wife is so fucking stubborn. it turns you on immensely. because she’s loyal. she’s offered a brand new arm with all of the bells and whistles she could ever ask for, as long as she turns in jinx. easiest job ever, and she’s never liked the blue haired kid anyways. yet, she stands her ground. instead she’s been taking insults like “a bird without wings is just a funny lookin’ rat.” and trying to navigate her life with only one half of herself.

but tonight, she’s gonna make her absence up to you. she wanders home through the dark streets and alleys of zaun, straight to your shared doorstep. one could barely call it a house, as there weren’t really any dwellings that have survived this long in the undercity without being overtaken by moss and vines or crumbled to pieces— but it certainly was a home. especially when she gets to walk in and see you looking cozy and domestic.

you stare up at her when she saunters through the door, a crease between her brows and wet, red eyes painting her face as usual. she sighs, walking over to you and joining you on the couch. in an instant, she’s in your arms again. just the way you like it. without a word, you massage her temples as she nuzzles her face deeper into your hold. your touch is magic, she can feel the month long migraine she’s had suddenly disintegrating.

before she can stop it, before she even realizes what’s happening, hot streams of tears leak out of her eyes and roll down her cheeks. you coo at her and swipe them all away, kissing the top of her head repeatedly as a reminder of your love. yeah, it’s been a day or two since you’ve seen her, and sure, it’s been even longer since you’ve been on a date or had any sort of alone time, but you know that it isn’t personal. she’s trying her best, even if that means stumbling over her words and tripping over her feet.

“bad day, huh?” you ask, another kiss to the top of her head.

“bad week, bad month, bad year…” she responds with a sniffle. “i just wanna be close to you.”

she peeks up at you though her wet eyelashes, some of her black eye makeup smudged around her eyes. you giggle at her, she’s so fucking adorable. and so sweet, so hardworking, so gentle. before you can muster out an ‘i love you’, she bolts forward and catches your lips in a sweet kiss, pinning you to the couch.

“sev, god, you’re so needy.” you pant when she finally releases your lips to catch her breath.

“i’ve missed you, shit. wanna taste you so bad.”

with that, she shoves your pants down, already eagerly sucking bruises into your neck. you groan, you’ve forgotten how good your wife’s touch feels. a big, warm hand wraps around your own, and although they’re rough and cracked, you’ve never felt anything softer. tears threaten to spill out of your own eyes with the amount of love and adrenaline pumping through your veins, but sevika grounds you by shuffling on top of you.

you think she’s about to sit her cunt on top of yours as she strips herself of her pants, but you’re mistaken, and you realize this when she whimpers out a little “hand me that” and nods toward one of the pillows behind you.

confused and turned on as you are, you do as she asks and hand her a throw pillow which instantly gets shoved between her thighs. she wastes no time in diving forward to lick up all of your arousal, her eyes growing starry as a little string of white connects itself from your clit to the tip of her nose. you almost faint. fuck, you’ve missed her face, even more what it can do to you. so you buck your hips up and slowly grind yourself against her face, sevika matching your pace with her own hips.

in an instant, she’s lost in the pleasure— more specifically the taste of you and the slow grind of her cunt against the pillow. moans vibrate through your folds as she buries her face between your spread legs, and you whimper, already embarrassingly close to the finish line.

surprisingly, sevika cums first, the pillow cradling her wet cunt as she humps against it in time with her licks and sucks. that doesn’t stop her, and she doesn’t even stop after you cum and start yanking her head away out of intense pleasure. she can’t stop, though, not now. she’s in too deep. literally. her tongue is buried inside of you and her nose runs over your clit with every thrust, her mind absolutely racing with emotional thoughts and horny feelings.

“sevika, please!” you grunt, her grip on your hips is relentless. “babe, i already came, that’s enough.” but judging by the way she completely ignores you, you wonder if she even heard you at all.

she whines when you tug on her hair or push her shoulders away with the heels of you feet, her face completely melted to your cunt. she never stops fucking her pillow, and now her clit is red and rubbed raw by the cloth. she doesn’t know how many orgasms she’s had, it could range between three and twenty. she lost count when she came for the umpteenth time after you pulled her hair and moaned her name at the same time.

tears spill from her eyes again, but this time they’re happy tears. god, she’s missed you, and she doesn’t ever wanna stop. you take her face in your hands when you notice the sobs and sniffles she’s letting out, along with more whimpers and groans. this time, she relents, slowing her own hips first and then licking up the rest of the cum and spit between your thighs.

“sev, baby, what’s wrong?” you ask, concerned that maybe you hurt her or she hurt herself.

“i just missed you…” she starts. “and i love you so much.” she crawls up your body and lays her head on your stomach while you both catch your breath, the pillow being discarded on the floor. your fingers work wonders on her scalp, and she almost falls asleep after half an hour of matching her breathing to yours.

“don’t fall asleep yet.” you warn, although you’ve been yawning more than she has. “you still need to carry me to bed and tuck me in like a gentleman.”

“you might have to be the gentleman tonight,” she giggles. “i don’t think my legs are sturdy enough to carry us to the bedroom right now.”

[saetiate]

FORSAKEN BY ALL THE GODS.

info: prince!kaiser x f!reader, enemies to lovers, fantasy au, arranged marriage, eventual smut. afab reader w she/her pronouns. reader has an established backstory and is not weak, reader’s appearance is nondescript. reader calls him “mihya” as they get closer. oliver and karasu are bffs in this lol. maybe some angst if you squint. happy ending!! plot is balanced with comedic moments. 

synopsis: You will be killed by the one you love most. That line from his prophecy has haunted Kaiser his whole life. Against it all, you stand before him. Will you be the one to rewrite fate itself?

word count: 14k (please don’t let this scare you, i promise my writing is efficient) 

a/n: this might be my magnum opus, i promise i poured my best dialogue and writing into this and it shows. if you consider reading like so seriously i will love you forever. also the smut is huge just like his cock <3 or my heart

Kaiser has been forsaken thrice fold. First, by his parents. His mother is said to be a beautiful woman that captured the hearts of all. His father could not bear her ultimate betrayal: leaving, causing him to wither away to nothing.

Kaiser guesses that this aspect of her runs in his blood after all.

The second and third time he is forsaken happen at once.

On the night that Kaiser is, by royal decree, anointed successor to the throne, he does as tradition dictates. He approaches the golden temple at the top of a mountain and mirrors the prophet within, sitting cross-legged in front of them.

The prophet gazes into the distance. And then, like a man possessed, they speak.

Lone Emperor who covets the throne, You will be killed by the one you love most.

Kaiser swears he feels even his heart stop at that. Cold rushes through him, the chill of it colder than anything he had felt at the front lines of war.

Forsaken by all the Gods —

The prophet stops, staring into the distance with a frown.

The silence is deafening. Noa, despite tradition, interrupts the ceremony and approaches the prophet, clicking his fingers in front of their face.

“The prophecy?”

The prophet’s eyes widen with fear. “I- I cannot.”

“What, are you afraid?” Kaiser scoffs. “The prophecy is bad as it is, it can’t get much worse than that.”

“No, I mean I cannot. The — the Fates! They’ve stopped speaking to me!”

“Excuse me?” Kaiser’s scowl is evident, and Noa swears that in any other situation, Kaiser would’ve moved for his sword and set his blade ablaze.

It speaks volumes that all he does is stare right at the prophet, fear barely contained in his eyes.

The prophet grips at Noa’s hand, forcing his gaze. “My lord, please believe me. This — in the history... it has never happened before. I swear it.”

Noa whistles, and the guards outside come rushing in. “Seize them,” he commands, and they stare at each other for a moment.

To seize and capture that  which is considered holy? Is that not blasphemy?

Noa cares little, almost removing his sword from his sheath to do it himself. “What are you all waiting for?”

“My lord! I swear to you!” The prophet grapples towards Noa in spite of their hands being held behind their back, the guards barely catching them from falling to their knees. “The fact that I would admit this at all shows my loyalty to you!” The prophet gasps, breath coming fast.” I could have pretended, could have given a false prophecy. I did not. That’s the choice I made. That is all the proof you need.”

It’s convincing enough that Noa hesitates, taking a deep breath in. But he sees in the corner of his eye Kaiser’s state, sitting in the kind of stillness that you see before a battle, bent over at the bottom of the altar. 

At that sight, Noa makes a single motion with his hand for the prophet to be taken away.

The room clears.

“Kaiser, I —” 

Whatever comforting remark Noa might have made dies in his throat, because Kaiser laughs, a bitter and broken sound, that he would in the future rarely have his walls down to ever reveal again. He hides his eyes behind his hand and he laughs.

“Of course, my prophecy would come to something like this.” He drags his hand down across his face. “Forsaken by all the Gods.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Noa says it with conviction, and it’s enough for Kaiser to face him.

“Master?”

“You will still be the successor to the throne. As is your destiny.”

“My destiny?” Kaiser jabs a thumb to the now-empty seating. “We just heard my destiny.”

“What the gods have declared has nothing to do with me. I declare you the next to rule. That is all.”

Noa presses a hand to the crown of Kaiser’s head. “No one will know what transpired here. A tragic prophecy is a given. It is meant to be a trial of sorts, after all. Mine, too, was unpleasant. Though not nearly as dire.”

“What was yours?”

Noa breathes in deeply. “A twisted rivalry with a twisted man. One that was to be all-consuming to me.”

Kaiser scoffs. “A rivalry. Just train and win.”

Noa lets the comment pass, staring out of the temple and past the mountains. “The rivalry came and went. At the time, I felt it was the worst. I could not eat, sleep, or breathe without the thought of what he would do next on my mind. But I was lucky, that it passed.”

He motions for Kaiser to take his arm, bringing him back up to standing. “Yours will pass too, I’m sure of it.”

Kaiser waves his hand, gesturing at Noa to let go of him. It’s easy to say, easy to have faith when it is not your life that balances on the precipice.

Forsaken thrice: once, by his parents. Another, by the Gods. And third, by his own future lover. Kaiser curses the Gods and the Weaver for such a fate, for something possibly worse than death is looming over him.

You will be killed by the one you love most. That line has haunted his very being to this day.

~

The people do not know what causes their successor to turn so cold, as biting and harsh as winter itself. His quicksilver smile rattles bones, his sword is cutting like blood in snow.

The prophecy is on a need-to-know basis, and Kaiser has never been crueler. He trains, harder than ever. Enough that when an unmovable sword is found at the rocks of the ocean, he trains until he is able to pull it from the bank, wield it with one hand. Rumor has said it might take three men to carry, or that the night sky that shimmers across it is strong enough to kill even a god. His sole retrieval of it is proof to the people of his strength and stature, but compassion and love are rarely a topic of conversation with his name.  

He focuses on his work. He does not take lovers. He barely sees others as friends. And he most certainly does not take a bride.

~

You appear before the throne and you do not bow. The scowl on Kaiser’s face at this says enough.

“You dare-”

“You have the sword.” You ignore Kaiser entirely, setting your sights completely on Noa.

The silence that follows is as large and wide as the ocean, but your gaze is sharp and keen, never faltering once until Noa speaks.

“Water sorceress,” Noa addresses you coldly, “or that’s what you told our people.”

“Yes.”

“You are not the only sorceress of water. Yet your power is second to none.” Noa stands, stepping down the stairs with heavy, thumping footfalls until he’s standing right in front of you. “They call you the water’s mistress, in the neighboring lands.”

“They do.”

He begins to circle you, like a hunter might before striking a deer. Standing next to you, his deep voice clear right next to your ear, he eyes you curiously. “They’re all wrong, aren’t they?”

You don’t answer. Noa takes that as answer enough.

“A power like that. Do you think me stupid?” He observes you, checks you visually for weapons, watches your hands to ensure you don’t call magic forth.

“Demigod.” He about spits the word from behind you, and yet all you do is tilt your head to catch him in your eye’s view.

“You are as well-informed as they say.”

“I am as logical as they come.”

“We are the same in that regard, then. So let’s get straight to the point.” 

Noa returns back to the throne, seemingly satisfied with his observing, gesturing at you to continue. 

“You have something belonging to me. A sword, heavier than most. Ancient, yet sharp. It is said to look like it contains a night sky.”

“The blade you’re speaking of was found by us, it is ours to keep.”

In the short silence that follows, Kaiser swears there must be irritation on your end, but you don’t show it. Instead, you take a deep breath in.

“The blade was thrown out of the heavens and spat out into this realm during a war between Gods.”

“Is that so? And how can you prove it’s yours?”

“I can wield it, unlike your people, who do not have the means to wield a sword as such.” You state simply.

Like rose grown blue, the impossible becomes possible. You can feel the divinity and the power that comes off the sword in waves the minute it’s unsheathed, your eyes widening. The ring of it is as familiar to you as your own skin, how could you not have felt its presence sooner? But Kaiser is fast, much faster than you expected, faster than he should be with a sword of that weight, that magnitude. Before you can turn your head, cold silver kisses your neck.

“This blade, sorceress?” He comes around from behind you, stalks around you just like his Master had, sword pointed like it may just draw blood from you at any moment. When you finally see his face, his sneer is wicked.

He takes pride in your wide-eyed gaze, your sharpened attention, but the lack of fear on your part grates at him. God-killing, they had called the blade. Yet you don’t shy away at all.

“Say we return the sword to its rightful owner,” Noa calls back your attention, “what would you offer us in return?”

“Offer in return? This sword does not belong to you. It is returned, as it should be.”

“This sword, with its divinity, could harm even a god.” Kaiser presses the blade closer to your neck, gleaming metal against your skin. “It protects this nation. What if the gods forsake us? If we return it to you, what would protect us against them then?”

“For what reason would they do such a thing?”

Kaiser barks a laugh. “Of course, there would be no criticisms from one of them. Water sorceress, demigod. Tell us, who are you, truly? What do your people call you, up there? No matter.” He lowers the sword, but leaves it unsheathed, its heavy weight balanced in his palm. A threat that at any moment, he may change his mind. “Those titles mean nothing to me. I have been forsaken, demigod. So know, I trust not even the gods.”

You sigh. Foreseeing a troublesome future has its cons, you suppose. Your queen would smile if you told her such.

“You ask for something with power in equal to or more than the blade. You asked me for my titles. I shall give you both.” The sleeves of your dress shimmer as you move them, and it’s in this moment that Kaiser notices they are not sleeves but water itself, cradled around your wrists like armor. “The Gods had bestowed on me the title Sword Maiden, and I offer myself and my services to you until the end of your line.”

That shocks the room like a bucket of cold water.

You turn to Kaiser, who stands beside the throne. You step forward once, and water rushes underneath that step, descending in waves over the floor as if it goes through it, a magic they have never witnessed prior. “You say the Gods have forsaken you? Let my presence be proof to you that they still watch over you.”

Kaiser scowls, “What sort of cheap trick is this?”

“My domain is truth. I cannot lie.”

“Oh, please.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “Would it help for you to press your sword against my neck once more?”

A goddess who cannot lie. Noa’s faith lies in logic, but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. His gaze flits between Kaiser and you before he seems to settle a decision in his mind.

“Until the end of Kaiser’s line.” Noa negotiates.

Kaiser’s gaze snaps to Noa. “You’re taking her up on this?”

You almost frown. “Fine.”

Noa quirks an eyebrow at you. “That simple?”

“Human lives move quickly.”

Kaiser eyes you curiously. “What happens when you lie?”

You blink at him. Once. Twice. Is that… almost a flustered look you have on?

He readjusts his grip on the blade. “Speak, sorceress.”

“Wh-What do you want me to say?!” You grip at your dress nervously, and that has him even more curious.

“I’m waiting here,” he sing-songs playfully.

“Before the lie can leave my voice, my neck swells up like a balloon, and chokes me.”

He smiles wickedly. “Demonstrate.”

Gods, if it wasn’t immoral, you could wring his neck right now.

You think, for even a moment, a simple lie. And in seconds, you’re almost suffocating on nothing, and Kaiser laughs. Laughs. A full laugh, bending at his knees.

“Oh gods, you’re like a pufferfish!”

You let go of the lie, taking heaving breaths. “Just because I have water capabilities does not mean I am a fish.”

In the midst of the conversation, Isagi leans against Noa’s side, a soft conversation full of worry.

“You’ll have to explain her presence to the council,” Isagi tells him, blue eyes wide with hesitation.

“Right, and your suggestion?”

“I have thought about it, considerably. If you say you hired her, with a force as powerful as her, the other nations may think you are to wage war. So… Given the heir’s… reputation,” Isagi’s gaze flits nervously between you and Kaiser. “If he is willing, she may be a good fit.”

Noa sighs. This, this exact theory, has been a conversation with the other members of his team for months. That a wife by his side would make him seem less chilling, make the transition to a new heir easier on the public, prevent outroar. It is one thing to feel that Kaiser keeps a nation safe, and another to love him as a ruler.

It’s an easy decision, but a hard conversation.

“Kaiser.”

He whips around, ceasing his antics quickly. “Master.”

Noa looks like he is about to say something to him, but hesitates, turning to you instead. Isagi nervously steps away from the dais, returning to his position.

“Goddess,” this time, there is no malice behind Noa’s words. “I accept your offer. However, your presence in this nation and in this castle must be explained appropriately. Should I bear you the title of my successor’s betrothed, would that be a title you’re willing to bear?”

Kaiser’s back straightens. “Excuse me?” he utters low.

“You do not have to bear children,” he specifies. “And you do not have to truly be wed.”

A goddess, to be betrothed to a mortal, as princely as he is, is a serious affair. Kaiser slides his gaze to Isagi, with the audacity to even suggest such. And yet, you seem to ponder it like a simple question.

“I see. As long as the sword is in my presence and protection, how you communicate with your nation is none of my concern.”

“So be it, then,” Noa agrees quickly. “I’ll have our people show you to a room.”

You nod, and are whisked away. The throne room, as if knowingly, empties quickly, guards rushing out to leave Kaiser alone with Noa.

“You made this decision for me,” Kaiser spins to face Noa, spits his words through gritted teeth. “I have been clear. I will take no brides.”

“You believe the prophecy made a choice for you.”       

“The prophecy bears no mercy. Or do you wish for my death so eagerly? If so, take your sword out and do it your damn self.”

Noa lets him speak, heave his words out until there’s silence once more.

“She cannot lie,” Noa says softly. “She cannot lie to you, Kaiser. And she is a goddess, a divine being.”

“Demigod,” Kaiser corrects.

“She is divine, and she cannot lie. She is correct, to this end – that as long as she is here, the prophecy cannot come to be. For she has not forsaken us.” Forsaken you, goes unspoken. “She could be good for you, if you allowed her to be.”

Kaiser lets out a canned laugh. “Ha. How can the divine ever understand us?”

Noa stands. “You’ll have plenty of time to find out.”

Kaiser taps his hand against his sword hilt. “You really will not move on this?”

Noa shakes his head. “She is too valuable to lose, and you have a reputation for cruelty. The solution is nothing short of perfect.”

The logical comes above his feelings. Kaiser knows this, even if he hates to come face to face with it.

Noa walks out of the throne room, leaving Kaiser to his bitterness.

“Shitty master,” he mumbles under his breath to no one.

~

It’s jarring to all the guards, the way you don’t even stand let alone bow when Noa knocks to enter your room. But Noa cares little for things like that, if you’re truly offering what you’ve said.

“Perhaps I was too hasty, in presenting the solution before giving you the facts.” He hesitates before you in the reflection of your vanity. You don’t respond, barely even look at him as you unclasp your jewelry, laying it on the table.

“He will not love you.” Noa tells you after a breath, his surefire eyes finally meeting yours.

You give him a curious gaze. “That is likely for the best. I would outlive him, after all.”

“It is, truly, on a need-to-know basis. To tell you this-”

“The prophecy, I presume you’re referring to,” you interrupt, turning to face him.

The shock rolls quickly off him. Divinity does have its mysteries, he supposes. “You already know.”

“I asked the water, why he is so quick to believe he is forsaken. They told me that he lives under the burden of a prophetic trial. That is all I know.” You stand, moving to unzip your dress only for Noa to hastily pull a partition screen across the room and turn around.

“The water, it speaks to you?”

“It does. Though it’s worth noting that it does not make me all-seeing.” Your voice carries over the partition with the ruffle of clothing. “The queen of the Gods, who sees all fates – she is the only one who is truly all-seeing.”

You come out in a nightgown, folding the partition back. He chucks you a robe that you catch easily.

“You should learn the ways of this world if you want to pass as a simple water sorceress, especially before the banquet.”

You frown. “The prince is my betrothed, is he not? Will he not handle it all?”

The idea you present sparks in Noa’s mind. “Brilliant. I’ll have Kaiser and some of the other members of our team show you the ropes. Good night, sorceress.”

You nod to him, and the door clicks shut.

~

“She’s a what?”

Oliver slams his metal cup of beer down, rolling the dice once more.

“A demigod, Oliver. Gods, are you that drunk already? Keep up.” Karasu grabs at the dice as Oliver moves his pieces.

“Can you all shut the fuck up? What happened to need-to-know basis?” Chigiri slinks himself over to their table.

“We’re need-to-know.” Karasu jabs a thumb at himself and Oliver.

“They are, actually, need-to-know.” Isagi puts a gentle hand on Chigiri’s shoulder, settling down next to him. “Because she’s never been human in her life.”

“And now we’re supposed to, what, teach her to be human? Is that a thing we can do?” Chigiri twirls a strand of hair between his fingers, tapping the end against Isagi’s cheek.

Oliver snorts. “What, like a class? Some of us have never sat in one of those, you prissy little shits.”

“She can’t dance, for one.”

“Get Kaiser to teach her. Isn’t he her betrothed?”

That has Oliver almost spitting out his drink, choking on it in coughs. “He's her what?”

Chigiri scowls in his direction. “Dude, are you listening at all?”

“If she’s really his betrothed, none of us should be teaching her.” Oliver warns genuinely. “He’ll cut down everyone here, before he lets us touch her.”

“It’s just an excuse,” Isagi waves his hand, pulling out a leather-bound bind of notes. “They’re not actually together.”

“Oh, you actually got that motion to pass. Shit.” Karasu remarks admirably.

“It must be so tiring,” Bachira sighs happily, falling into place next to Isagi, “to have to actually care about what other people think.”

“The optics, Bachira,” Isagi smacks the end of his pen across Bachira’s nose, and he makes an oh! sound in response.

When Kaiser walks in, the room almost goes silent. He’s used to it, of course. Hearing only the way his footfalls come heavy, boots thumping into the stone floor as a drink is placed right in front of him immediately.

The room slowly fills back with noise as he shoulders off his coat, wrapping it around the chair before sitting. But only his table is still strangely silent.

He flits his gaze over the group. Usually, they’re the first to kill the silence in the room, yelling about the game or a duel. He looks at Isagi, specifically, who seems the most nervous. “Something you wanna say to me?”

“Uh…”

Chigiri sighs, killing the tension. “We’re deciding who gets to teach her how to dance.”

Kaiser quirks an eyebrow. “The demigod?”

Chigiri nods, and Kaiser takes a long gulp of his drink, popping it back down and twirling the top of it with his fingers. “I’ll do it.”

“What?” It’s Isagi’s turn to be shocked, sitting up straight.

Kaiser exhales audibly. “None of you could handle her. She could cut you with water the moment you accidentally step on her.”

It’s not an insult, really. They know this too. That this is Kaiser’s brand of protection, to add insult to injury just to keep others out of harm’s way. But they play his game.

“Think we can’t dodge fast enough? A bit demeaning, don’t you think?” Oliver’s grin is wicked, making straight eye contact with Kaiser, who only draws his eyebrows in at his direction.

“You think that god-killing sword is gonna save you?” Karasu asks.

“I don’t have the sword anymore.”

“What?”

It stings more than it should, he thinks. The sword that he thought chose only him, so quickly released from his grasp. But his strength is his own, he holds fast to that. 

Kaiser glances at Karasu. “Those are the terms. She marries me, she gets the sword.”

Ness rests his cheek on his hand. “Man, that sounds like she wins twice.”

Chigiri scoffs at that. “She’s a demigod. Being down here is probably like being in the sewers to her.”

Kaiser stands abruptly, pushing his drink aside, his coat billowing as he wraps it over himself once more.

“Where are you going?” Isagi yells, but he doesn’t answer.

“He gone for real?” Oliver elbows Karasu. “I’m too drunk to tell.”

“Yeah, man. He’s gone”  

“Great.” Oliver slaps a piece down. “I’ll bet 50 bucks right now they get married for real.”

“What the fuck?” Chigiri tilts his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling like it might give him some reprieve.

Karasu laughs, “Okay, I’ll play. I’ll bet 20 that they try to kill each other.”

“You’re just a hater.”

“Nah, I agree,” Reo leans back in the booth. “Kaiser’s a lot of things, but a loving husband is a bit much.”

“She’s a goddess. He’s literally already betrothed to her.” Oliver takes another swig. “Y’all ain’t gonna marry a goddess if she was given to you? Damn, put me in his place, I’ll do it right now.”

~

Kaiser trains, every morning, from sunrise to noon.

You only know because most of the rooms in the palace outlook to a self-contained field. You see him, often, because of this, even if he doesn’t speak to you. As you walk down the corridor, in your classes with Isagi about the current climate of the nations.

“It is useless for me to learn this,” you tell him. “In a few short millennia, the border of the nations will undoubtedly change. And we will have to relearn it all again. What is the use? Why war at all over something so insignificant? Just have a conversation about it.”

Isagi makes a pointed, bored expression at you for this, and then pretends like you didn’t say anything at all.  

At the end of class today, you press your elbows to the open windowsill.

Kaiser is there, sparring with Ness. Ness is quick, agile, fleet-footed and runs circles around Kaiser so much so that it almost makes it difficult to keep up.  

Kaiser approaches him at bone-breaking momentum, launches strike after hardened strike. He’s shirtless, bandages wrapped around the bottom of his torso, and his body is streaked with sweat. He’s strong, clearly. Broad shoulders clear now from when they were hidden under layers of clothing the first time you met him, the muscles in his arms flexing and relaxing with each step of the friendly duel, hair dipped in saltwater blue.

You know what he looks like, now. You get a sense why Fate brings you here.

He looks like a hero.

The kind that Gods covet, watch from their merry clouds. It’s no wonder that he’s burdened by a prophetic trial, with a face as cutting as his sword, his hair framing his face and flowing. 

He takes one look to the side of him and his eyes find yours immediately. It must be some sort of fighter’s sense, you think. For him to have done it so easily.

You give him the space you think he might be asking for. You turn away.

~

He approaches you one night, just before sunset. Karasu had just finished an etiquette lesson with you, setting away forks and knives. Whatever he sees on Kaiser’s face makes him move quicker. He nods once to Kaiser, and then hastily leaves.

“You’ve been making yourself quite at home here, demigod.” Kaiser traces the lace outline of the tablemat, every ridge under his calloused finger.

“I vowed myself to your kingdom to the end of your life. I’m simply doing what is asked of me.”

“And you’re all ready for the banquet, I’m guessing?” The sentence is almost mocking as he approaches you.

“It’s just a ball, is it not? I’ve been told I’m just to stand there and make pleasantries.”  

Kaiser chuckles, more bared teeth than sweet. “It is, arguably, the worst part of being so-called royalty.”

“You’re taking this much better than I thought you would.”

"To say no to a goddess' proposal would be the greatest blasphemy, no?" 

"From what I've seen, you have not minded sacrilege much at all."

“Marriage means little to me. Disillusioned, perhaps, with the prophecy.” He waves his hand like he speaks of something meaningless. But you see it clearly. Before he had even allowed himself the thought of love, it was taken from him. “Your power is great, your presence ensures the continuation of myself as an heir and successor. Even I can reason with that.”

He's right in front of you now, so close you can feel his body warmth.

“Does it bother me?” He shrugs. “Sure. As far as I’m aware, you are no wife of mine. But a protector of this nation? For that, you are an indispensable ally.”

He looks out the window, towards a coming sunset. Something indescribable on his face, like grief and guilt all in one. He takes a deep breath in and out, inhaling the peace and exhaling the heaviness of his heart, before facing you again. “A war is coming. No one believes me, but I can feel it, as steady as a river’s current. Until then, I’ll make my peace with you.”

You nod. “So be it, your highness.”

That has him stepping back, more incredulous than you’ve ever seen him, body tensed and frowning. Maybe he should’ve expected it, given the way he’s just dismissed you. “Your highness? You hadn’t questioned my lineage before, but now you dare to do so?”

You stare at him blankly. “You are a prince, are you not? Isagi says that’s what princes are called.”

One side of his mouth upturns in relief, and he bursts out a bright laugh. “Is that what they teach you in those lessons Isagi gives? Oh,” a hand runs through the front of his hair, “I thought my own wife-to-be would dare insult me.” 

You scoff. “I have no need for that.” 

“The title ‘your highness’ doesn’t apply to this nation because strength is valued most. I am heir to the throne not because of the blood running through my veins, but because Noa deemed I the strongest — not just in body but in mind, not just in physical strength but in adaptability.” He says it proudly, like fact, like a knowing so deep within him that it turns pride into faith. “A title like that is something used by the Itoshi brothers, let’s say,” he comments airily. “Their throne is carried by a bloodline.” 

He turns on his heel, only looking back when he realizes you don’t follow.

“You don’t know how to dance yet, do you?”

You lean your hip against the table. “I can dance.”

“Come, then. If you’re to be my wife, it’ll be an embarrassment if you don’t at least act like it.”

You follow him to a ballroom – a stunning, wide area with a looping chandelier, curtains that weigh down in arches over each floor-to-ceiling window.

He swoops you from your distraction with a hand around your waist, and the physical contact shocks you so greatly that orbs of water swirl in your hands.

Kaiser only raises an eyebrow at you. “This is a dance, not a duel. Or do the gods do it differently?”

For a man who was so passive to you, he holds you so close that your chest to chest, you can feel each breath he takes against you. When he steps with you, his movements are slow and deliberate, never inefficient. He moves not with fluidity, but with each sure step. Pulls you forward, then pushes you back. Circles you, spins you around.

It’s exactly like when you see him train. Like steps to a kata.

“I thought you said this was not a duel.”

“These are steps to a classic waltz, demigod.”

“You have no fluidity to you.”

Kaiser scoffs. “Should I apologize? With the prophetic curse hanging above me, I haven’t taken a dancing class.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Hm?”

“The prophecy. It doesn’t have to be a curse.”

He stops, separating himself from you, scowling.

“This session is over.”

“Kaiser-,”

“What?” He snaps. “You, of divine nature. You want to tell me how to view my prophecy?”

“I do not say this out of pity, or out of some sort of higher knowing.” You say it with conviction. “As heir to the throne, a throne that is currently being held by Fate itself, maybe I shouldn’t be saying this at all.”

“And yet?”

“To know your fate is to be able to defy it.” And maybe it’s just an effect of your divinity, but it rings like a bell, like truth itself. “Your prophecy may have made a wound, but you are the one who cuts it open. You are a man who wields a sword that cannot, should not be able to be wielded by anyone but the divine. Does that not say something? About you, about your capabilities?”

“And yet you took it from me.” 

The silence that follows is thick with indecision. Kaiser lets the uncomfortableness sit, rejects every heartwarmed statement you make with a roll of his shoulders, like water off a smoothened rock, replaced with only his anger. “I trained for weeks before I could lift that sword out of the riverbank. Yet it is yours, now, simply because you are supposedly its rightful owner.” 

Conflict runs through your face so clearly, he wonders that even if you could lie, whether it would mean anything at all. He watches as your hand reaches into a conjured puddle of water that floats in the air, and out comes the divine sword.

You hold it in your hand with an ease that he has spent months capturing. It strikes envy in him like a branded sear. 

“My role here is technically to secure the sword. I have no need to wield it.” You hold it at the bottom of its handle, directing the top of it to him. “If you swear you won’t lose her, I can set a compromise of sorts.” 

“You think I’d agree to a compromise?” 

You open up your palm, and a bracelet appears. “This will help you keep the sword in a pocket dimension we can both access. If you’re willing to place it there to secure it when you’re not using it, I’ll return her to you until the end of your line.” 

Huh. A safe-keeping place is a more neutral proposition than he had thought you’d come up with. To have her back kills the fight in him, and he accepts begrudgingly, testing the magic in his hands until it becomes natural. 

“For the record, Kaiser, I have not always been worthy of it.”

Something about the way his name slips off your lips has him keening. “Worthy?”

“I stayed true to my course. I was given a title. And then I could wield the sword, presented to me by my queen.”

“Your queen. Heir to the throne.” He laughs bitterly, knowingly. “You’re a princess.”

“Despite your mocking tone, I’ll have you know that title of mine is of the highest regard. I don’t take it nearly as lightly as you do with yours.”

“That’s why you didn’t bow or kneel. You take what’s meant to be yours without a second thought. Not because you’re unknowing, or because of some godly pride, but because you have never been lesser.” He flicks a finger between your eyebrows. “What a spoiled thing you are. Can you even fight?”

Something in Kaiser takes pride in the way you frown more deeply, it’s almost like a pout. It’s almost… 

“Well, I definitely wasn’t sitting idly in the war between Gods.” 

“I’ve never seen you train.” 

“That’s because you’re always on the training grounds.” 

“Oh? You won’t show me?” 

“I’m giving you space. I’m no wife of yours, no?” There’s a sting to it when you say it, having his words thrown back at him. 

“Duel with me. Tomorrow.” He spins you, lets you out of his hold before bringing you back in. 

~

He begins to meet you, day after day. A duel first, and then a dance. The dichotomy would be distasteful to any other, but you of divine blood do not even flinch at his request.

He may be displeased to have you, but his mouth cracked as wide and wicked as a cat’s at the prospect of a fight.

“Go on, then.” He takes a blunt, wooden sword, throwing it in your direction. “Or do you only fight with magic?” He teases. 

You swing the sword, rotating your wrist with ease. “Do you forget yourself, prince? I am half divine, you will surely lose. Are you sure you want to go through with this anyways?” 

His mouth widens, more teeth than smile. “Bring it.” 

You know, the moment you defend against his first strike, that a singular hit from him on the battlefield must be deadly. He is surefooted, his whole weight bears down in every move. He doesn’t let you breathe once, much faster than you would’ve thought with someone of his size and height. 

Kaiser was almost right about one thing, that the divine adds to your magic more than your physical strength. With enough training, in just simple hand-to-hand combat… He might have the potential to beat you. 

But not today. Today, you have him pinned to the ground, makeshift blade to his throat. 

“You’re awfully close,” he gasps out slyly. And it’s in this moment that you notice, too, how right he is about that, how you can feel his heartbeat underneath yours, his chest against yours with each exhale. 

“What?” He grins wide, “afraid you’ll miss?” 

By all the Gods, you want to knock the living daylights out of him. He notices your anger in that hesitation, your conflict between doing what is right and what you want, and flips you over, swapping your positions until his hips are pressed against yours. 

Something about your shell-shocked face makes him stir. 

“First rule of fighting, sweetheart,” he runs a hand through his hair before planting it next to your head, leaning into you close. “Never get distracted by your opponent.”

He’s closer than he was before, admiring the way you look under him, your hair splayed along the ground and the sweet fire of irritation in your eyes. Is the heaving of your chest from your anger towards him, or from something else entirely? 

“When Gods fight, there is not nearly as much prattling.” You grit at him. He smells like the grass of the field and the winter air and the heavy musk of sweat, and when you shove him off, it feels like your hand meets the hard rock of an unruly ocean. 

~

It is during dances that he speaks to you. Not at first, but slowly, like a river that streams into the ocean. You tell him tales about the Gods, about your friends, about wars and petty arguments. And he starts to answer you, more often than not, with every question you might have. 

“I have wondered about something.” 

“Hm?”

“The sheathing. It prevents even me from detecting the sword’s divinity.” 

“Huh, so Nagi really wasn’t lying.” 

“Nagi, who is always with Reo?” 

Kaiser nods. “They say Nagi was once sought upon by a god for his talents, a god who was constantly sending him dreams. But he grew tired of it, so he found a material that prevents even the gods from finding him so he can sleep in peace.” 

The conversation often leads to the prophecy, a bitterness like licorice on his tongue. Even if he skates around the topic, you don’t let him hide from it, cutting straight to the heart of the truth.

“You can live in the cold bitterness you’ve put yourself in, Kaiser,” you tell him, one of these nights. “Or you can live, and maybe even possibly die, warmed by a life you truly felt was worth living. Your own choices. Not because of a prophecy, or because of Noa, or even in spite of me.”

But despite it, he doesn’t move away. Because it is the only time he has you to himself. He sees you, always, with Isagi and Oliver and Karasu and Chigiri. How you have molded into their lives with simplicity, sit with them at meals and have easy conversation despite knowing nothing, in a way that he has never once allowed himself to enjoy. What does it say about Kaiser? That he can't stand your presence but he can't stand your absence even more? That he would rather have a biting argument with you than leave you to your own devices? 

It's during duel and dance that he comes as close as he can to touching you. If he did anymore, it would become something he doesn't have the heart to name without unease settling in his gut.

~

On the day of the banquet, Chigiri sits you down in your vanity, braiding your hair back in his hands.

“The queen of the Gods, her lover, a friend of mine… He used to do this for me too.”

Chigiri silently appreciates that you don’t ask him why it is him that helps you with this. That divinity doesn’t hold the same notions this world does.

“He would-,” you laugh softly to yourself. You’re stunning like this, Chigiri can’t help but notice. A goddess, most casual as can be. “He would say that I was useless at it, actually. You two might’ve been good friends.”

“Me? Friends with a god?” Chigiri finishes the braid, tilting your head in his hands to admire the way the braid crowns around each side.

“Of the Fae, actually. A beautiful man he is. You would fit right in.”

That stops Chigiri, has him taking a sharp intake of breath, smiling at you through the vanity’s reflection. “Thank you, princess. Though you would do good to be more careful during this banquet to compliment anyone.”

You smile softly back. “Ah, yes, my betrothed who will not love me might get jealous. Gods are not so different than people, in this regard.”

“Is that so…”

~

It’s when you meet the Itoshi brothers at the banquet that you begin to understand why Isagi gave you all these lessons.

Where Kaiser is muscle and sword first, more fighter than prince, Sae and Rin are the opposite. They have a grace befitting of royalty. Instead of heavy footfalls that you can hear even in the blanket of snow, they are light-footed, conscious of it in the echoed ballroom.

Though you suspect, from the way Sae grips Kaiser’s forearm as they shake hands, from the way Kaiser regards Sae, that he is somehow just as strong of a fighter. That royalty is an illusion Sae and Rin put on, for peace’s sake.

Something indescribable flits over Sae’s face as you curtsy in front of him, but it’s gone in a moment, replaced with his nonchalance.

“The betrothed of the banquet. We are most pleased to make your acquaintance.” Sae bows his head to you, and Rin follows in his stead.

You smile, something beaming and sweet. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“Would you mind, Kaiser?” Sae’s eyes only leave yours for a glance, to check in at Kaiser’s now furrowed look. “I’d like to take your wife-to-be for a dance.”

Kaiser’s back straightens, a hardened gaze with gritted teeth. But he says nothing. You swear Sae almost grins.

“I’ll return her back to you.” He says it like a favor, and Kaiser is only held back by Karasu’s hand on his shoulder.

“It’s just one dance, Kai,” Kaiser looks at Karasu, then to you, and then back to Sae. He barely nods once.

“Are you sure?” You ask him.

He scowls. “What do I have to be worried about?”

Well, it’s not like you want to anger him further. You let Sae take your hand, leading you to the floor.

“I almost didn't think you were who you said you were, when I saw you,” Sae tells you, breaking the quiet of the dance. 

You lean back so you can see his whole face, your confusion clear. “Your highness?”

“When I had heard of you, they told me that waves flowed off your dress like water itself holds you sacred. Yet here you are, as regular as can be.”

Sae twirls you away from him, then brings you back into his arms. “They say you shook the earth with a single step. Where is all that power you were said to hold?” He holds you close, watching your every reaction with his crystal gaze. “This place. They’ve placated you, tamed you.”

He brings his mouth to your ear, the body warmth of his entire chest seeping into yours. “If you were mine, I would never force you into a box you didn’t belong. I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of Kaiser, even with his god-killing sword.” He spins you again, capturing your waist. “If you were mine, I wouldn’t be afraid to demonstrate your power to the world.”

“Sae.” He looks at you in a way that feels meaningful. You don’t know the pleasantries of this nation or his in-depth, but you know, somehow, that this feels like this is something you should shield from. 

“Oh? No honorifics already? We’re that intimate, are we?”

To fight is one thing, but this is something entirely different. Being able to hurt others with a play instead of a sword, you’re not sure if you can shield others from something like that.

As the song ends, Sae takes your hand, brings it to his mouth to kiss the back of it. “Consider my proposition, princess. Before your marriage solidifies, and becomes something you can’t escape from.”

With his hand on the small of your waist, he brings you back to Kaiser dutifully. Kaiser links his arm with yours immediately, before any of you can spare a goodbye.

“What did he say to you?”

You hum. You get the sense that maybe…

“Nothing of importance,” you tell him instead.

“Hm?” He tilts your chin up to meet you eye to eye. “Is my own betrothed keeping secrets from me?”

“He said I don’t seem all that powerful.”

That makes Kaiser smile, not something sweet but with teeth bared, like a wolf. “He hasn’t seen you in action.” He pulls you in, hand wrapping to the back of your neck, a slow and deep whisper. “Do you want to show them?”

“Weren’t we both told that’s inappropriate? Isagi said the optics could make your allies scared.”

Kaiser rolls his eyes. “Isagi this, optics that. Our country has always been about the brawl and brave. Let the nations fear us, then. I, with my cruelty and a god-killing sword. You, a sorceress second to none. It’s a pretty picture, is it not?”

He straps his sword to his back and brings you to the middle of the room, and as the guests of honor, the crowd gives you both a wide berth. He circles you, just like you practiced. Makes you center stage.

“Go on then, princess.” He lets go of your hand and bows, sweeping his arm out. “Show us who you really are.”

“Kaiser,” you whisper. “We have very clear orders-”

“I make the orders, not follow them. So make your choice, princess. Wasn’t it you who said that it is worth living a life warmed by your own choices? Tell me, then. Do you want to show them? Or do you want to play nice?”

This play, to have ego and pride dive head-first into a situation, is so very human. And yet-

You let water overcast your body from your waist, let it roll off in layers like waves into the floor. Anyone who has had experience with magic can see your ultimate control over it, how the floor isn’t wet at all, how the water was conjured from nothing. Your hair is silken with dampness, framing your face like gloss. Gasps and awes from the audience makes Kaiser grin even wider.

“There we go.” Kaiser reaches behind him to unsheath his blade, and the galaxy within swirls. He spins it in his hand, and it’s almost like he’s never been happier.

In seconds, he strikes at you. Your hands move up instinctively, blocking the blade with a stream of water. The sound it makes, divinity against divinity, is like a low bell. The floor beneath you shakes with the strength of the strike, water dispersing around your feet in cascades to cushion the impact. You hear screams of shock, a glass breaking.

“Kaiser,” you grit, but all he does is widen that wicked, quicksilver grin.

And then he laughs, stepping away and sheathing the blade back. He holds one hand out to you instead.

“Next time, I want a duel in front of everyone. But this time, I guess a dance will suffice.”

You exhale gratefully, taking his hand in yours and retracting your water. “Let us dance, then.”

And with none of a prince’s grace, with movements that feel more fight than dance, he drifts along the floor with you.

~

Isagi collapses into the booth, a palm pressed to his eyebrows. “Our allies thought they were about to fight each other.”

“Can I cash in on my bet now?” Karasu rolls a skewer stick between his fingers. “Because they might’ve almost killed each other.” 

“Nah,” Oliver leans back. “I think that’s just foreplay.” 

Isagi opens his eyes to find Chigiri and Bachira standing before the booth. Chigiri’s not meeting his eyes, his mouth perching to one side in a way that squishes one of his cheeks. 

“What happened?” 

“They’re gone.” 

“Ha?” 

“We had one drink. One.” 

Oliver has the audacity to laugh, hand over his mouth. “Don’t worry, Isagi,” he pats him on the back. “I’m sure they’re just fucking around.” 

In another corner of the hall, royals speak in low tones. 

“We can just take her if you like her,” Shidou tells Sae with the sweetest smile a man like that can muster. “No need to ask poor little Kai-Kai.” 

Sae says nothing, eyeing you quietly as you step out of the hall. 

~

You are sitting at the edge of the ocean, letting the slate-crested waves wash over you, when he finds you. 

“You can dry me in a moment’s notice if I am to sit with you, right?” He says it almost reluctantly, even though he’s here anyways. He’s dropped his off coat somewhere along the way, and there’s something so naked about seeing him in just a shirt. He almost seems softer, without the harsh lines of battle-ready clothing or the fur that drapes around him, relaxed in a way he wasn’t in the banquet hall. 

You smile. “I can keep you dry whilst you're sitting.” 

He relents, then. Allowing the strangeness of sitting on wet sand without getting wet. 

“Was the banquet up to your expectations, then, Kaiser?” 

Expectations. He’s had none of a party like this. Being allowed to dream is a privilege, and privileges were not granted to him.

“You are officially my wife-to-be,” he says instead. “Shouldn’t you call me something a little more intimate?”

You gaze out into the horizon for a moment, and something in your eyes unfocuses, like you’ve gone somewhere else and then returned. “Very well. I shall call you Mihya.”

It strikes a chord in him, like a teaspoon hitting a glass. “Mihya? Where did that come from?”

“The water.”

“She speaks to you?” 

“She says in another life, you are given a nickname like that.”

“Another life…” He lies down in the sand, watches the streaks of sunset in the blueing sky. 

“Ask then, Mihya,” you lean over him slightly, until all he can see is the sky and the way your features soften. “The question we both know is on your mind.”

He almost wants to reach out, hold your cheek in his hand. It’s a foreign feeling to him, so foreign it almost feels like unease – to want to extend a gentleness like that to another person. “Won’t you just tell me?”

You breathe in the sea-salt air, and breathe out a heart-warmed truth. “The prophecy does not hold you captive in another life.”

Kaiser, for once, lets himself dream. Of a different life, where he is unburdened by a prophecy, and burns brightly.

~

“It would seem strange if you weren’t together, with all the other guests in the palace.” That’s what Oliver tells you as he gestures for you to take his arm, leading you to Kaiser’s room. 

It’s both plainer and more furnished than you thought, like someone who isn’t him had chosen the furniture and the color of the walls. But the items in the bookshelves seem well-loved, items taken out and put back haphazardly, scrolls and books placed back half-way. The bathroom door opens with a flood of light.  

“You’re here.” It’s rare to shock Kaiser in a way that doesn’t make him immediately reach for his sword.

You turn to look at him, taking in his half-dressed state. “Were you expecting some other woman?” 

“Oh, so you’re the jealous type?” 

He almost wants to laugh at the clear discomfort on your face. Gods don’t tease, he’s guessing? 

The bed gives way to you as you take your place. “I hear it’s common for princes to take many lovers.” 

The moonlight spills over the bedsheets as the room darkens, and you summon the sword to float right above you, looking into it. He joins you, wanting to see exactly what you’re seeing. 

“It’s not a night sky.” Your voice is so soft in the blanket of night between you both. 

“Hm?” 

“Inside the sword. Your people say it looks like the night sky. It’s not. It’s a galaxy.” 

He reaches his hand out, tracing over the glass along the middle of the weapon, a silent remark for you to continue. 

“At the beginning of all worlds, the first-ever contract was made between the first-ever forces, and with it, this sword was said to be conjured out of the galaxy. And so, a part of the galaxy at the beginning of all worlds was contained in this sword.” 

The stars in the sword move within like they’re responding to your words, borne witness to all the events. But instead of watching them, you turn to him. 

“You have held and wielded a primordial piece of this world. It has allowed you to hold it, granted you its blessing.” 

Blessed. That is not a phrase Kaiser would have ever used to describe himself. But coming from you, he can almost believe it. Almost hope to have a little more than he’s ever had. 

The sword disappears with a movement of his hand, and he rolls to lean over you. Silence drops like a curtain. The only sound he knows is your breath and his. 

During a fight, his feelings can almost be mistaken for adrenaline. But even under the shadow of the moon, with the cushioned silence between you both, the way you cut straight to the truth rings like a silver bell.

He can’t hide from you. Or maybe. Maybe he’s tired of hiding at all.

He is a man who has only known war and battle, was born and bred into it. War-forged, is what they call men like him. His hands know weapons, know how to kill.

He does not know if they know how to love. And yet-

He cups your face, and drinks you in.

He kisses you with caution, like you might melt from his grasp if he held too tightly. Presses his lips against yours slowly. He runs his hand gently over your hairline as he parts from you. 

Is this okay? He wants to ask. But instead, he says: “Tell me what you want.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, your lips brushing against yours when you answer: “You.” 

And then he kisses you like a man starved, never known by this feeling that gets caught up in his throat with every noise of yours he swallows. 

“Is this… is this what you want?” You try to ask as you part from him for air, but he presses his mouth to the space behind your ear instead, laying kisses down your neck. “Is this a decision that you are making for yourself, by your own hands? That is entirely for you?” 

That makes him stop. But when he looks at you with a surefire gaze… 

He knows it, undoubtedly. That this, for once, is his. 

“There are no lovers,” he tells you between kisses, to your shoulder, down your collarbone, to your breastbone. 

“What?” 

“I take no lovers.” He unclasps your bra, lets the material fall from his hands to cup your supple flesh. “I’ve never been princely, after all.” 

“You- Kai-” 

He runs his thumbs across both your nipples, admires how they perk up at his administrations, flitting his gaze between them and your face as he brings his mouth down over one of them. 

He presses kisses down your body, cups your heat in his hand like he’s begging you to respond, like he’s saying let me have this. The inside of your thighs is soft as cream under his calloused hands. His thumb moves along the outside of your underwear, from your slit up to your clit with his fingers pressing tentatively against the fabric until you’re grabbing at his wrist. 

“You’re so tense,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Want me to take care of that for you?” He runs the knuckles of his hand over your clothed slit, bumping into your clit with his thumb until your breathing gets heavy, your hands gripping his shoulders. 

“Kaiser,” you breathe, and he clicks his tongue. 

“That’s not what you call me, baby. Not anymore.” 

“Mihya.” 

“Mm,” he slides his fingers into your panties from the side, a huff of breath leaves him at the wetness he finds. “Good girls get rewarded, you know?” 

Heat coils hot deep in your stomach. He can’t take the restriction, pulling your panties down and revealing your core to the cold air. He lets his slickness pool on his fingers, collects it before bringing it to your clit. It’s like a drug, watching the way your face gives way to pleasure, how your body arches into him. 

“Mihya,” you gasp again, like a chant, a prayer. Is this what the gods feel like, to be asked of? 

“Let me watch,” he says it like a demand but it aches with desperation, a thing he won’t admit outside these four walls. He presses with more confidence now, slides one finger into you, then two. There’s little resistance with the way he’s riled you up, long fingers pressing into you until he reaches something that has you making a broken moan so pretty he can’t help but tilt into it again. 

“I want to see it,” he tells you. This is something he makes happen to you, with his own hands, his own words, his own body that shares its heat with yours. That notion alone runs arousal straight through him. Your panting breath, the way your body shakes with each swipe against your clit. 

“I want to see you fall apart in my arms.” He whispers, and you respond in kind. You always do to him, don’t you? He’s been seen too surely by you, now it’s his turn. Your body tenses entirely, tightly, gripping him as he grants you reprieve. A soft whine leaves your mouth along with something like his name, and the rough pad of his thumb circles over your clit until you crash, coming around his fingers. 

He swipes a thumb over your cheek, allows himself the gentleness that he’s held back for so long with you. 

“One more, okay?”

Your eyes widen. “Mihya,” this time it’s like a warning, but the way you say his name is so breathy it has him pressing a hand over his pants. 

“Yeah, say my name just like that.” He shuffles down until his mouth is pressing to your stomach, just above your mound. Then again to the inside of your knee, trailing up until the inside of your thigh, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there. 

“You’re-, wait, we just- I just” 

“Mm, and you’re gonna give me one more.” He kisses your clit first, like a promise, and then he laps at your core generously, from the bottom of your slit all the way to your clit, his flat tongue against the whole of you. Every drop of slick from your previous orgasm is taken in by him with each moan he makes against your core. If he had known this feeling was going to enter his life, that it would’ve felt like this, maybe he would’ve readied himself better for it. Instead, he finds himself starving at the table where it’s served. The taste of you on his tongue wraps him in a heady pleasure, but it’s every sound he takes out of you that has him pressing a little more insistently, tongue laving over you. 

“Pl-please,” your words break between gasps, and it has him lapping into your clit with more pressure. 

“I can never say no to you, can I?” he mumbles between your legs. And then he’s flipping you over, hoisting you onto your knees and skimming his hands over your rear and thighs before diving in again. Your face is pressed into the pillow, hands grabbing the sheets. Kaiser almost seems dazed as he moans into your cunt, swollen and wet like a siren’s call, hands wrapped so tightly around your plush thighs that it feels like it might bruise. 

“Let me taste,” he mutters, mouth still lodged into your cunt, like that isn’t what he’s already doing. “Come on baby, give it to me. Let me taste it on my tongue.” 

Your hole clenches and flutters around nothing as another orgasm rocks through you, your breath coming short as you break apart on his tongue with a whine. 

He flips you over again, and the look on his face takes your breath away. Your slick shimmers on his mouth as he trails his tongue over his lips, like he’s addicted, like he can’t get enough. He tilts his head with a grin so cocky that if you weren’t so blissed out you might just punch him. 

“There something you want, pretty?” He leans over you, hand to the bedpost, and how broad and tall he is becomes that much more obvious. You let yourself look, at the way his tattoo drapes over his arm, run your hands over the muscle of his torso down to his v-line. You hear a sharp intake of breath as your hand moves lower, running under his loose sleep pants to the base of his cock. 

He grabs your hand in his, bringing it over your head and circling both your wrists. “Ask.” 

“You-,” your eyes narrow and you huff at him, but it only makes him smile. “Won’t you just-” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“I could cut you down here.” 

He drops his pants, pumping his cock once and then sliding it along your slit. “You could. And then who’ll give you what you want?” 

You want to roll your eyes, but then he has one hand tapping against your clit, the other gripping either side of your cheeks. 

“You begged so pretty for me earlier when I had my mouth on you,” he rasps. “What happened to that?” 

The harsh look you give him under those fluttering lashes of yours makes something stir in his gut, arousal shot through his veins, pupils wide. He plays with you, warm hands against your skin and between your legs, the soft skin of his cock sliding between your thighs until you’re gasping in his hold again, grinning like a battle won. 

“Please, Mihya,” you sigh. 

“Mhmm. Please what?” 

“Please- please fuck me.” 

He gets off on it, watching you yield to him, spreading your legs, dripping your hot slick onto his cock. He presses the head against you, petaled folds opening up to receive him as he slides into you slowly. Just the first few inches is so thick inside of you that your hands wrap around the muscles of his arms, nails digging in. 

“Shh, baby, you can take it,” he hushes your little whines, tracing your hairline with such gentleness it contradicts the way he pulls out of you just slightly only to push in again. 

“You’re- oh,” your body gives into him, even more so when he brings his hand down to tap on your clit, his mouth over your neck, to the side of your mouth, until he’s kissing you and taking in every noise you make. It’s almost a distraction, helps your body to relax so he can press into you deeper. You think you feel every inch as it enters you, all the way until the hilt, until the head is pressing deep inside of you and his hips meet yours.  

He lets out a rough, deep moan against the expanse of your neck, breath coming short as your walls tighten around him. 

“Fuck, baby. You gotta let me move.” Your arms wrap around him tighter, a whimper falling from your lips as he tilts his hips up to plunge into you again. It’s hard and slow and deep and if it wasn’t for his grip on you, you might’ve hit the headboard. But he’s careful about it – more than you might’ve thought he’d be. Pressing your body into the bed as his hips meet yours again and again. 

“It feels so good,” you tell him, and it has him pressing a kiss to your cheek in return. Makes every moan you make that much sweeter, to know it’s out of your pleasure, to know it’s because of him. 

“Good girl. Tell me again.” 

“Feels- you’re so big, so- please, I need-” Your walls can barely clench down onto him with how he feels inside of you. Chest to chest with him, the contact of skin on skin-

“You drive me insane,” he grumbles it into your skin; a confession, exacerbated with each thrust of his hips as he picks up the speed, until he’s slamming into you with a kind of strength that has you seeing constellations behind your eyes. He wants you- needs you to feel the way he feels. Needs to have you lying in his bed, thinking only of him and how he makes you feel. Heat pools in your core until you’re arching your back, and he knows it now – knows it like the back of his hand. 

“Give it to me.” It’s a command, a need, if you listen closely enough. “Come around my cock. Show me.” 

“Mihya, it’s so much, it’s so so much.” It’s treacherous, the way it works through your body, being on the brink. 

His thumb is slick over your clit, pressing just a little more, until your thighs are tightening under his unrelenting body. “Come for me.” 

You chant his name until the words start to become nothing in your mouth, until you’re breathless, until your whole body tenses under him and his hold against you gets that much rougher and your walls clamp down and then your body shakes as you come. You almost scream, only silenced by his lips on yours. He comes quickly after that, his eyes never leaving yours, taking in how you look underneath him as his cock gets more sensitive and paints the inside of your walls. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow until he feels your body start to relax under his. 

You can barely process coming down as he’s kissing you again, deeply and with force, like he’s etching the memory of you into his mind and onto your lips. 

For once, he lets himself recognize – how tiring the emptiness has been, to be devoid of this feeling and instead be filled with the fear that it’ll be turned against him. For once, he lets himself feel – to have something that is wholly his. to know and be known. To give and know you will receive. Not an offering at an altar but a hand in his, not a prayer but a soft word spoken in return. Kaiser does not want something as untouching as approval or attention from the divine. But he does want your waist in his arms, your forehead against his.

“Just like this,” he whispers it, a kiss placed to your forehead. You don’t know what he means, too tired to ask. 

This is exactly what he’s always wanted. Just like this. 

~

Not unlike a parent, Noa notices the closeness of your relationship. In touch, in stolen glances, in longing. A private conversation with him over afternoon tea is not unique, but the heaviness that weighs on him is. 

“As the goddess who cannot lie, I have to ask you.” The hardened look on his face makes you straighten your back, putting down your teacup. “You know, that I have to ask.”

Silence sits between you both like a shoe about to drop. 

Noa yields. “Has he truly been forsaken by all the gods?”

You are strangely silent as you look at him, then away, then back. 

“Answer me, demigod.”

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I. Don’t. Know. I have told you before, that I am not a seer, or an oracle. Water holds memory. I can see the past, I can even see other lives parallel to ours, but I cannot see the future. This is the limit of my power.”

“You are of divine nature.” 

“I had said what I said at our first meeting, and that has not changed. As long as I am here, the Gods have not forsaken him. For I have not forsaken him. Is that not enough? How many Gods would travel to your realm, vow themselves to a human kingdom? Even if it is I alone that stands before you, is that not enough?”

Noa sighs, more exasperated than you’ve ever seen a serious man like him. “He deserves more, that boy. For what he has been put through.”

“All greatness comes with a price. All heroes face tragedy. He, no matter how much you may care for him, is not the exception to that.” You tilt your head, like a cat with curiosity. But unlike that sweetness, your words are cutting. “You made him a ruler. You made him a hero. So, stand by that. Or does it make you uncomfortable? To consider the role you, too, have played in his life?”

Noa, of course, has thought about this too. Had he not chosen Kaiser to rule, would he have had the prophecy weighing on him like a second shadow? 

“If the prophecy holds true, you will inevitably leave him.” Noa swallows, hand flat against the table. “He will inevitably be forsaken, even by you.”

“Then why,” you ask, genuinely, “did you ask me to stay?”

~

In the weeks that follow, you learn exactly why. Like Kaiser had predicted, talk of battle comes. 

“We suspect a neighboring nation wishes to wage war with us.” Noa looks out to the slate-blue ocean from the window of the war room. 

“A man who wants control of this whole world,” Karasu huffs. “There’s never a lack of them, is there?”

“He thinks himself a god. Or that’s what Sae has told us.” 

“You’re sure Sae’s information checks out?” 

“Shidou and Otoya like to visit neighboring nations for uh… fun, let’s say,” Chigiri rolls his eyes, then plants his face in his hands. “He said something along the lines of “you don’t wanna know how they found out” and “Shidou sleeps with both men and women, so it’s been cross-checked too.”” 

“And then we asked him about war,” Isagi throws his notes down on the table. “He said, and I quote, ‘I already have more land than I know what to do with. What could another few acres give me? What a hassle.’” 

“The enemy are bold to come for us first.” Kaiser frowns considerably. They are possibly the one nation blasphemous enough that would not blink at the thought of fighting a god. “There’s something we’re not seeing.”

Isagi nods in agreement. “We still don’t know the reason they’re coming here first. It could be the sword, or the goddess.” Isagi frowns. “I told you not to make a scene at the banquet.”

Kaiser gives him a curious look with a smile he fails to hide. “The point of a banquet is to wow the people. The people were wowed, were they not?” 

“It could be, it could not be,” Noa kills the conflict there. “That information would have been made public regardless of the spectacle. It could even simply be the throne itself they seek. An army like ours could parade into the neighboring nations and lay waste, our people are used to much harsher weathers.” 

“Or maybe he means to make a statement,” Karasu shrugs. “If he wants to be a god, maybe he means to punish the disrespect we’ve shown.” 

“What do we actually know?” Chigiri taps the map of this nation splayed across the table.

“We know he wants to take control of this world, and we know his plan includes something from us.” 

“He knows once he controls the world, he has to take care of it, right?” Oliver rests his jaw in his hand. “As in, it’s not just about buying the house, it’s about cleaning it too. The plan – it has to be bigger than this, no?” 

“Won’t happen once we kill him here. So as far as we know, there are three things we have that he could want: the sword, the goddess, the army.” Chigiri holds up his fingers as he counts. 

“So we’ll meet him with all three at the front lines. Fear does not wield us, after all. Only strength.” Kaiser says it like a mantra. You suspect it might be exactly that. 

~

“What a pleasant surprise to see you again so soon, princess.” 

As an ally, Sae arrived on the day of battle without question. He is much different from the first time you saw him, chainmail armor wraps tight and sleek around his body, clearly of a weight underneath his clothing. He stands straighter, shoulders broader, badges clipped to his outer jacket. It’s clear to anyone who looks at him, that it’s almost like he was born into them – meant for them. 

“You’re both on the front lines then?” 

“Idle hands,” Kaiser starts.

“Devil’s workshop.” You finish. You hear a horse galloping, then a voice. 

“There’s something wrong.” The people give a wide berth as Oliver arrives, with a sleek black mare that’s obedient as can be. “The majority of the enemies’ troops are not in front of us.” 

All of you turn to look, but it’s on the front lines that makes it most difficult to tell where the crowd begins and ends. 

“I did a rough head count from the tower. This isn’t the count we had observed just the other day. They’ll die easily, like this, against us. And I don’t mean that from an egotistical standpoint. I think these men are here to die, meant to die. It serves to mean –” 

“This is a distraction.” 

Karasu appears at your side, with an utmost silence only he is capable of. “They’re headed for the main castle, from around the edge of the border.” 

You and Kaiser look to each other with a whole silent conversation, and Sae sighs. 

“Go on, then.” 

You turn to Sae immediately, with a seriousness he doesn’t expect. “You’ll be unprotected.” 

“We chopped liver to you, girl?” Shidou sneers. 

Oliver drops down from his horse. “I’ll take over here.” 

“Your care for me is truly touching, princess,” Sae’s voice lilts touchingly, almost revealing how much he likes it. “But you swore a vow to this kingdom, so go fulfill it.” 

Even in the middle of a war, it gets Kaiser all worked up, his chin jutting as you both run back to the palace. But Sae understands duty, stands by it. It’s what makes him worthy of his own title in his own kingdom. 

Oliver waits until you’re both out of sight before turning to Sae. “Did you really plan to steal her?” 

“Well,” Sae shrugs. “Did you plan on letting her go so easily?” 

~

Your water runs in cascading waves through the whole of the palace, like the ocean itself comes rushing through the walls. It knocks all the soldiers down as you and Kaiser run through, and he picks up any stragglers with ease.  

“The throne room?” Kaiser slams the hilt of his sword into the guy behind him, and he collapses instantly. 

“It is the safest room.” 

“That makes no sense. If you knew anything about our people, you’d know we never hide ourselves there in a battle.” 

“Go anyways,” you tell him, as another man gets thrown off his feet. “Go, Kaiser!” 

He takes one final look at you, at the strength that you hold in your hands, and then he runs. 

The man he finds sitting on the throne has black hair cut blunt to his chin, a white mask over one side of his face. Kaiser unsheathes his sword, pointed straight and true. 

“That throne doesn’t belong to you.” 

“It will. Along with that sword you’re holding.” 

Kaiser chuckles, the kind that has madness interlaced in it. “If you wanted the sword so bad, you could’ve asked for a one-on-one combat duel. I haven’t had a satisfying fight in a long time, I’d be happy to lay the sword as a winning prize.” 

What must be the man’s most elite fighters drop down from the ceiling, crowding in on all sides. 

“Ah, I see,” Kaiser stands straighter, reaching behind him to unsheath his second sword. “It is your capabilities that do not match mine.”

When they come for him, it’s clear to even the heavens that he is exactly as he is fated – a force to be reckoned with. He moves like a spider-spun silken web, capturing each of them blow by blow. His swords cut like butter through them with impressive speed and strength. His breath comes fast and hard when he finishes, sweat dripping down his back. 

“I see now, prince,” the man approaches him, and it’s closer up that he realizes he’s simply in a suit, no armor. “Why they praise you, despite your blasphemy. You, a prince famous for cursing divinity at a whim’s notice, are a powerful ally. Kneel before me, then, and I’ll cease this all – let you join our cause in a war against the gods, in stealing their divinity from them. I’ll even forgive this transgression of bedding one.” 

“Me? Kneel?” The canned laugh that Kaiser lets out echoes. “I kneel to no god, let alone a man who wants to become one.” 

“So be it, then.” 

Kaiser hears something above him. By the gods, what’s with this guy and ceilings? Is that why he wants to fight here? A dust of something shimmers down, he pulls his cloak over himself- 

From the doorway, you throw your water across the room, shielding Kaiser from whatever it may have been. And in the same moment, a poof of shimmer bursts over your own head and tumbles down around you. 

“That’s the problem with you gods, isn’t it? You always think you’re infallible.” 

You cough, falling to one of your knees. Dread fills inside of you, like a faucet you can’t turn off. You can’t move. How is that possible? 

The man taps two fingers to the top of your head, and your world goes dark.

~

When you blink your eyes open, the first thing you’re aware of is the way your vision swims. Your mind feels clouded, stuffed with cotton. You press your palm to your head, and even that feels muted. 

“I’ve made her mine now. She’ll do exactly what I say. Does that make you upset?” Is what you think you hear, through the ringing of your ears. “Let’s see you put that god-killing sword to good use then, shall we?” 

“It’s. Magic.” You spit out the words as your hands press into the ground. Your legs cramp from the way you’re forcing them to stay down. “Mihya. Run, please.” 

“Awh, worried about me?” Kaiser teases as he logs the odds. There is no water that swirls around you, so it begs to reason – you can’t call it. The only weapon you have is a dagger. 

Kaiser tilts his head until his neck cracks. “Have some faith in me, princess. I’m not afraid, even against you.”

He breathes, in and out, until the calmness of battle seeps into him, raises his sword pointed right at you. “I’ll win, even against you.” 

And then he reveals that cocky, surefire smirk. “You should worry more about not dying yourself.” 

When you launch at him, it is without mercy, makes him realize how your kindness seeps into the way you fight. His weapon is bigger, larger, and he uses it to keep you at arm’s length, to wrap around towards the enemy. But he sees his problem almost immediately. Like a puppet on strings, you’re protecting the enemy. 

He knows it, the moment the prophecy solidifies into place in his mind. That feeling of being lost on a path, gone with the reigning down a light. The final puzzle piece in the picture. 

You will die by the hands of the one you love most. So, it truly was this feeling, after all. Love. An aching thing, something so undoing. An open wound that can only be tendered by you. 

For once, the prophecy is not a curse but a guiding starlight. He corners you with strike after strike, until you’re as close as can be to the enemy. And then he approaches you with no defense, lets you strike at him. In the same breath, his sword lands behind you and takes off the enemy’s head. 

None of the fight felt as clear as this moment, when your blade presses into his heart. 

He collapses, right in front of the throne with you on top of him. The throne that should be undoubtedly his, belonging to him as heir. Tears fall from your face before your mind can clear. Like you know, soul to soul, as his lifeform slips through your fingers. He brings his hand to cup your cheek, as he had wanted to do when you laid like this above him in the sand. 

“I did not expect a death so gentle for myself.” 

His smile is so bittersweet that it aches all the way to the bottom of your heart. His hand slips down from your face as you finally come to. 

“You will not die on me.” You gasp out, a statement said with so much conviction that the silver bell of truth rings in return. You call to your water immediately, a stream so fast it cuts into your skin but you don’t care. 

A magic that can only be done once. You take the divine sword from the ground, aim the blade carefully at yourself – your own soul. Only this sword can make a cut like this, with the hand of the divine. You slice your wrist, and instead of blood, pure golden lifeforce pours out. 

You separate your divinity from yourself, and you feed it to him. It will not turn him divine. You are only half-divine yourself, after all. What you can give is not nearly enough to turn a man into a God. But it will hold his soul in this world, let you do an unspeakable magic: an exchange of divine power for life, a process long enough for the water to heal his heart back together again. The hand you lay against his mouth shakes more and more with each second that your golden blood pours into him, but your other hand lays steady as ever over his heart, until you feel it beat once, twice. Hear him spurt out a breath. 

You collapse on top of him before you can see him open his eyes. 

~

“I see the prophecy has been completed.” 

When Kaiser wakes, there’s a split second where he thinks he might’ve just ended up wherever souls go at the end of their line. There’s what must be a full-fledged goddess standing right over him. It’s only your warm body splayed across his chest that tells him otherwise. His hands are lightning quick, sitting up and moving to your neck to check your pulse, only exhaling and relaxing once he feels it. 

Golden threads extend down the sleeves of the goddess’ arms. He’s seen the paintings. Fate itself stands before him. 

“How could you do this?” He makes his disdain clear, lacking any respect one might give to the queen of the gods herself. 

“I am sorry.” She answers immediately, and that makes Kaiser’s eyes widen just slightly. “Your grievances, you may relay them to me, if you wish. There is a bigger picture at play here, bigger than you or the water sorceress or even myself. The threads of fate are not woven selfishly.” 

“You gods up in your clouds play with the lives of mortals. That has always been written in history. But to her? To one of your own?”

“She is more one of mine than most. The heir to the throne of the Gods, I would’ve entrusted her with my life. It’s why she complies with Fate in every life, without complaint.”

“So she lends you her loyalty, and you take advantage of her. And you dare put yourselves above us?” 

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Heavy too, are my hands, that weave the golden threads. You and her are one of many that have suffered by my hand. For that, there is no apology I can give. What I can give, well… Would you like to hear your full prophecy, prince?”

Lone Emperor who covets the throne, You will die by the hands of the one you love most. Forsaken by all the Gods but one, Re-emerge, awaken, as the ruler you are meant to become.

In any other circumstance, he would be eager as ever to finally hear the full prophecy. But his eyes are only on you, your slumbering state as he holds you in his arms. 

“What will become of her?” He asks quietly. 

“She will be a water sorceress, as she had initially been.” 

“She will die, then? Like a human does?”

“All things die, hero.” Hero. That’s what he is now, having been trial-passed. The title burns like bourbon down his throat. “Even the divine dies. But yes, she will die as a human, and be reborn again as the cycle permits.” 

“A life of such simplicity is not befitting of a woman like her.” 

“Who says it would be simple? Besides, she has gone through the trial of the divine once before. Don’t you have faith she could do it again?” 

The trial of the divine. He had not known such a thing prior to you. But if anyone could pass it, it would be you. 

“I will make her my wife. I care little for the words or respect of the gods, even a queen like yourself. But it is my duty to inform you. If she will have me, I will wed her as has been planned.” 

“The prophecy is complete. What happens now is too inconsequential for me to put effort into. However…” she watches you, teartracks streaked down your cheeks. “I’m quite fond of her. I hope for her an easy life.” 

In a blink, her form disappears. 

“Kaiser!” Oliver’s voice echoes through the halls, taking big leaps with Noa to his side, skidding to a halt when he finally finds you both. 

“The goddess-” 

“She lives,” Kaiser cups your head into his chest. “Though she is goddess no more. A trade. Not a fair one by any means.” His thumb traces across your cheek, a state of his so vulnerable it renders Oliver speechless. 

Noa approaches the threshold where Oliver does not dare. He rests his hand on the crown of Kaiser’s head. “Another chance at life is the greatest gift, and she has granted you as such. That is a debt you’ll never be able to repay her for..” 

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying, then.” 

~

It’s only in the aftermath, that you find out how deep in you truly were.

Kaiser takes a big inhale of the winter air. It’s fresh and cold. And with him, the nation breathed a breath anew, and the trial laid in ashes under his feet.

You’re facing the horizon of the sea when he finds you. 

In the catch of the light, sometimes he swears he sees the divinity that had shimmered off of you before. It’s almost hard to believe, with the ring of water that floats around you, that it had ever left you at all. 

“What are you doing?” His voice is soft, as it always is with you now. 

“Relearning the water.”

“What does it say?”

“That I am still its mistress. Still a sorceress,” the water around you drops into the wet sand. “That its loyalty with me is not dependent on divinity.”

He places a hand to the back of your neck, easing out the tensions there. “But?”

You smile weakly. “I have to strain to hear her now.”

“Guess we can’t do that spectacle again for our wedding.” He cracks a smile, something to ease the ache. “Water holds memory, right?” 

“That, it does.” 

He grabs your hand, pulling you up and towards the waves. You yell for him, but the ocean crashes loudly around you both, and he drags you into the water anyways. Once you’re deep in enough that the waves drape over your knees, he pulls you in close. 

“Let her bear witness, then.” He whispers it against your lips, brushing your hair away from your face. He kisses you, deep and with so much heart you might burst from it. 

A prophecy unfolded, a fate changed, a life saved. 

There’s a part of you that can feel an oncoming future. A sheathing that can block even the eyes of Gods. God-killing weapons that have descended from the heavens themselves. A potion that can cause madness in the minds of the divine. A war between mortals and Gods is coming, you’re sure of it. 

But not in this life. In this life, you are a water sorceress, and he is a trial-passed hero. And like in every life, you find your way back to each other, every time. 

author's note: ohmygod THANK YOU FOR READING PLEASE tell me what you think!!! this is my longest fic ever so i really hope you enjoyed

[dawnwriterimagines]

Rewriting Part 5 of Traitors Among Us

CLEAR SKIES (A Rewrite)

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x PLATONIC!FEM!READER Rewrite of PART 5 of Traitors Among Us

Traitors Among Us Masterlist

Summary: With your resignation approved, Price discovers you've resigned. You head back to begin to pack your life away from Task Force 141, running into those who've betrayed you.

Author Note: Soooo, I decided to rewrite Clear Skies: part 5 of Traitors Among Us because...I didn't like it as much lol, and it wasn't received as nicely as the other parts. It's pretty much completely different lol. So, here I am rewriting this part! Don't worry, the multiple endings of Traitors Among Us will be releasing very soon...

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Silence filled the air in the Chief Officer’s office, thick with tension. Captain John Price stood rigid, arms crossed, eyes locked on Laswell as she calmly sipped from her tea, her lips set in an almost casual line. He’d expected a straightforward debrief, not this.

“You did what?” Price’s voice was low, disbelieving. His brow furrowed, the anger creeping in like a slow burn.

Having arrived at the administrative building, delivering his mission reports and making his way into Laswell's office. Captain John Price wasn't expecting to receive the surprising news so casually that the woman in front of him had signed off on your resignation, without so much as consulting with him, your Captain.

"I gave her what she wanted, John," Laswell rolled her eyes, sitting in her seat. "I let her go. She was never about to meet with you, and I won't let a soldier like that leave, under my supervision, without some type of severance," she speaks, casually, tapping her spoon of tea along the rim of a porcelain mug. "I do apologize, I was actually preparing a better way to tell you this. Time got away from me, I suppose." Although, Laswell says so unapologetically as she takes her first sip with a hum.

Price blinked, caught off guard by the detached nature of her words. He shook his head slowly, still processing.

"Severance?" Price gritted. "She didn't lose her place on the force, Laswell. She's on temporary leave for recovery not discharged--I would've never--"

"Oh, stop it, John," Sweeping away a few locks of hair, Laswell sits back in her chair. "Even if, would it matter? The girl's petrified of you, if she saw you she might actually kill you," she can't help but release a humored hum. "Willing to turn down her pension, her insurance, just to resign in peace.

She would've never come to you, and you were foolish enough to think she'd stay," she laughs this time at the absurdity of it. "She wanted an out," she takes another sip, shrugging. "I gave it to her." She then slides a few papers her way, preparing to continue her paperwork, interrupted for the second time today.

Slamming a hand over the stack of papers, Price can't contain the expression twisting his face, his anger, his grief. "Let her what?! You stripped her of her title, does she know that? There is no lawful resignation without my signature, what've you done?"

"Well, you are in need of a Demolition Operative now, I will say," she hummed, tapping the spoon against the rim of her mug, her voice annoyingly casual. "I already have someone in mind, luckily for you."

"Operative Gray is an integral part of this Task Force, it's not up to you how I handle my team anywhere outside of our missions, Laswell," Price hardly held his tone.

“Funny, John,” Laswell mused, not looking up, her voice dripping with dry amusement. “I seem to remember you handling a certain... situation under my orders.” Her eyes met his now, sharp and calculating. "Just fine."

Price’s jaw tightened, and the old guilt gnawed at him. “The worst mistake I’ve made on the force.” His voice was quiet but raw.

Laswell’s smile didn’t fade a bit. “No, John,” she said softly, her tone almost teasing now. “Your mistake is thinking you have any authority here that I don’t already have.”

Price froze for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. He reached for the papers on the desk, his hand curling into a fist before he let them go. Laswell slid the stack back across the desk with a single, deliberate motion, then stood up.

As she passed him, her shoulder brushed against his, and he stiffened, barely holding himself together.

“Oh, John,” she said, almost too sweetly. “The military is engrained in all of us. In your blood. In hers. Don’t worry,” she hummed, tapping the edge of a file. “She’ll be back. They always come back. In one way or another.”

"Well..." Laswell shrugs, calmly. "Just never to Task Force 141," she turns back to Captain Price, dismissed him with a wave, leaning back in her chair., slipping a file from her desk. "Not like that wasn't the original plan before our informant came clean, hm?"

Wary, grieving eyes drift away from the Station Chief, chest tight. "Well what about Gray?" Price swallows. "I can't allow her to leave without everything she deserves from her service, I won't."

"Christ, John, you take the fun out of everything nowadays." Laswell’s smirk faded into something more calculating, more serious, before rolling her eyes. "We'll hold off on that for now," before Price can interject, she holds up a new folder, stamped a harsh red CLASSIFIED, it glares up at him. "You and your team have other matters to discuss."

Price hesitated, brows furrowed. He took the folder, the tension in his muscles still tight. He opened it quickly, scanning the document with a sharp eye. His face darkened as he read, the information weighing a heavy burden, but nothing he could say was undeserved.

Lips pressing tight together, John Price presses down into the folder hard, creasing the papers and clenching his jaw. Fuck.

---

The sliding doors open automatically, the lobby going quiet at the sight of your sopping wet figure stumbling through the entrance. Dropping your hands from over your head, you pause to stare down those who held eye contact too comfortably, quickly their stares dropped.

Entering the residential building, it's nearly midnight, the mess halls still quite lively, soldiers prepping for their next mission or staying guard in the halls. Your boots squeak with every step unwarrantedly, trailing a puddle as you shuffle your way down the hallway, face flushed cold from the rain.

The hall seems much too long suddenly, the wet squeak along the marble floor, the damp cling of your clothes to your skin, the uncomfortable twist of your brace around your legs, the pruning of your fingers. You were ready to just lock yourself away in your room, pack and never see even the silhouette of this place ever again.

Rushing to the elevator, ignoring the whispers, the burning eyes on the back of your head, you rub your clothed arms to warm yourself up, soaked to the bone. Stealing a jacket from one of the racks before leaving the building, it wasn't as insulated as you'd hoped but it was better than nothing, or Kyle's pity wear.

Pressing the upper arrow, you wait for it to light up.

It doesn't.

So you press it again. This time it does glow, finally.

...But, no opening.

You wait a few seconds, then check the electronic number above.

1.

First Floor.

You press the arrow again. Waiting for the doors to open.

Clearing your throat, you press down on the down arrow this time. Just open up.

Nothing again.

Motherfucker...

A few heads turn while you press the buttons on the elevator one too many times, taking a breath as you continue to tap on the buttons along the panel. You didn't care as long as it would just open. Up. Down. Up. Up. Up. Down. Fucking somewhere, just open the fuck UP!

"Just fuckin open..." you grit out, attempting to keep your nerves down. For all you knew, Simon or Price, or Kyle or Johnny, could've seen you enter the building, they could be walking up to you right now. The very thought had you anxiously holding down on the elevator buttons, contemplating the stairs but walking was already a hassle with your brace. "Open. Open, open, open!"

"Open!" Your fist coming up in frustration to slam into the panel, the metal creaks and bends back but it doesn't make the elevator go any faster. It does hurt your hand though.

Taking your now sore fingers into your grip, pressing into your knuckles, your nostrils flare and you take a breath. You don't dare turn around as you hear the chuckle behind you, you can feel your teeth already grinding to nubs.

"So, you're the reason this thing breaks down every week, huh?" sliding up next to you, a soldier, lieutenant by the single silver bar on the shoulder of his uniform, his kevlar unhooked and new, prepping for departure. "Ya know, you can't make it go any faster that way?" nodding to the dented panel, before flashing a charmed smile your way.

Narrowed eyes link with his. "Excuse me?"

For a moment, all he can do is stare back, words lost on his tongue as he darts between your eyes, mesmerized. His smile doesn't drop even as he clear his throat, "I just mean, you'll hurt your...hand."

"Oh, will I? I didn't know that," you wonder, sarcastically. Before, hitting the panel again, a louder bang sounds in the hallway, causing attention. "Maybe I'm doing it wrong." A screw comes loose with a cling, your jaw twitching at the sound as he only huffs a humored sound.

"Yeah," he chuckles briefly as the metal falls with a klunk. "You're quite the mechanic."

"Can I help you, lieutenant?"

"Just a stranger, looking out for another, that's all," the lieutenant says simply.

"Ok, Stranger," you speak, this time turning your back as the elevator finally beeps as it descends to the ground floor. You direct your chin back to where he came. "You can leave now."

He feigned disappointment. "Ouch," he sported a playful grin. "I thought we were getting along pretty well."

"Well I'm sure you've got a flight to catch, don't let a stranger make you late."

"The only stranger I've met worth being late for," he says, genuinely.

"Oh!" Surprised, you glance away from him. "Subtle," you take a step back, uncomfortable with the space between the both of you now. You lean against the edge of the elevator door, it dings again, your knee brace wasn't helping your leg pain at all.

His charming smile fades, brows lifting as he quickly backs off, reading the lines. "Oh, sorry, I-"

"No," you clear your throat, hearing the ding of the elevator behind you. "No, no I'm just..." your hand goes to your ring finger, you used to fidget with your engagement ring all the time, there used to be a tan line imprinting it along your skin, now that same finger was scarred up to the nail. "I'm just not the flirting type right now." Your hand tensing up, balling into a fist, you'd nearly forgotten...

"Ah," He notices, clearing his throat, embarrassed at himself. "You're with someone."

You wanted to scoff at that, not anymore.

"No," Your knuckles cracked. "Just uninterested." Your hand falls to your side. The years you'd spent loving Simon, adoring him, fighting beside him, all that time...it was painful to know it would all just lead up to this. But, it was easier now to just feel nothing because it ended such a way.

The elevator opens and the both of you looks back towards it.

The lieutenant's eyes flicker back to you. "M' sorry," your brows lift in question. "About your...lover."

"He's not dead," you say.

His lips press together, thoughtfully, before nodding once. "Sounds like quite the guy."

"No idea," you scoff, an understatement indeed.

After a moment of silence, the elevator door, with a squeak, beginning to close. The persistent stranger puts his hand out before you have to, fully stopping the closing door before it can seal, taking a large step to catch it.

You froze as he unintentionally corners you, for the moment take him in, analyzing every detail as you'd always done as a soldier. His hair and clothes damp from the rain, cheeks flushed for a reason you weren't sure of.

He reminded you terrifyingly of Simon. Though the two had to be quite different in all capacities besides ranking and muscle definition.

He's tall, wide broad shoulders, a scar curved through his left brow to his temple, green wide eyes and he smelled...warm, was the only way you could describe it. You're sure his skin would feel as so.

You were quite cold from the rain, though you've been freezing ever since that day and you've never gotten past the phantom cold, eager to be warm again.

Not once in this disturbing, cold and humiliating event had you ever felt a moment of comfort. Of warm, loving comfort. A single embrace would destroy your every resolve. Not a minute, not a second, not a breath of warmth.

Your eyes flicker up, surprised to meet his staring back, seemingly taking you in the same way. His hand leaving the opening elevator door, to rest above the wall above your head. He was close enough for you to feel the leather of his kevlar against the back of your hand, for once your first thought wasn't to push someone away. His gaze lingers on the fresh scar beneath your eye, the tinted pink fading in the white of it.

"You shouldn't do that," you breathe.

There's nothing good here left for you anymore.

You're no longer a soldier.

"Do what?" he asked.

No longer apart of the Task Force, no longer apart of any of this.

And the scars you'd be left with just for being here...

Bringing your hand up to your face, running over the raised, ruined skin, your jaw tightening and your lips pressing together. You shift to the side, your hand finding the handle grip along the sides of the elevator doors.

He notices, straightening, awkwardly. Swallowing thickly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to, uh..." he squeezes his fist, as if berating himself internally. "--that's quite the memorabilia." Again his expression twists at his own question, fist squeezing, that was a dumb thing to ask.

"It is," you grazed the tender flesh of your scars. "Isn't it."

"I'm sure you've got quite the story."

Lips pressing together hard, fingers curling into your palm as if your own scars had burned you.

"Um..." going into detail meant a lot of things you didn't want to confront right now, pressing the button for the elevator again, it opens this time. "I appreciate the conversation, stranger. But, you should go."

"I'm sorry-" he realized he'd touched unsavory ground, voice lowered with regret. "I didn't mean..."

"It's fine," you swallowed thickly, taking a breath. "It was nice to meet you truly."

He follows you to the divide of the open elevator as you step in and though the divide, turning to see his face, desperate for a glimpse of yours.

Your stranger speaks soundly. "Wes."

His name you realized, you press your lips together, thoughtfully as he stares at you, not expecting anything in return, seeming peaceful with you just...knowing. The elevator doors slipping closed. You say nothing else, but you can't help but look at him differently, humming softly. You supposed he was no longer a stranger.

"Ok..." you managed a meaningful smile that struggled to begin. "Wes, then."

You could see the relief in the drop of his shoulders.

As the metal doors ding in preparation to close, you catch a glimpse of someone beyond your persistent stranger, as he turns to leave.

An approaching figure that enters the building, exiting the rain with heavy steps, dragging his feet along the marble, a black mask painted white along the curves of his mouth and nose, a skull. Stalking the halls like the ghost he preferred to be, Simon.

And he haunts you as so.

You hardly notice as the doors begin to close, a sinking feeling in your stomach erupting as you made eye contact with Simon Riley.

His slow, deliberate steps become nonexistent, he's instantly rooted to the floor, you were sure he'd even stopped breathing.

Though you felt your blood run cold, your chest squeezing violently with ache, and a rage in your soul that begged you to claw his fucking eyes out and rip out his heart like he'd done to you weeks ago, you didn't freeze.

No, instead your hand comes out, taking the closing end of the elevator door. It pauses with an electronic strain of its gears beneath your resistance, while you stare unblinkingly at your Ghost. And it opens again with a light ding.

Simon's eyes widen a fraction, he straightens noticeably, hopefully. His hand coming up, pulling at his mask, the skulls creasing down to reveal himself to you, but he'd remain as so...your ghost.

"(Y/n)..." you can hear the whisper of your name from his lips, but you've turned from him now.

Stepping forward and off the divide of the elevator, you take Wes by the arm, pulling him back around to you, his eyes are wide in surprise, innocent enough to have never expected more from your encounter and unable to find the nerve to speak smoothly now that you're making a move.

"Sorry..." you breathe to him, before reaching up and pressing your mouth to his.

It's not a messy kiss.

It's hardly a kiss.

But, it gets the message across.

You had loved Simon, completely and utterly. There was no punch or kick you could ever throw at Simon that could convey the collapse of those feelings.

So this, was the next best thing.

As Wes melts into your lips for the brief moment of surprise intimacy of a stranger, you cup the back of his neck, as you've done many times for Simon. Eyes opening to gaze back to your ghost, and as you do, you're not surprised to see him practically looming over the two of you.

He's a mess of himself. A fraction of the man he was before. A ghost of himself.

But, he'd always been a ghost to be feared.

As Wes's hand climbs up to grip at your hair, you retreat back, tucking your hair back and taking a breath.

Your guiltless eyes blink up to Wes, "You should go."

Hardly given a moment to recuperate, still reorganizing the thoughts you'd taken and filled him with all in the seconds you'd spared him with. He, rightfully confused, breathes. "What?"

"She said, you should go."

As Simon speaks, voice heavy with emotion, anger and resentment but most of all hurt, PAIN. Only then do your lungs fill with air again, untainted by the weight of your fears of him, of broken dreams and memories your defiled love.

"My dead lover's risen again," you speak, sarcastically. Staring down the hollow-eyed man, "A ghost."

The metal doors close with a light thud.

And so, maybe you had no fear of him anymore. Maybe you were tired of being frightened. Whatever it was had more guts than you had the energy to have in the last few weeks.

Because the next thing you know, you're shoving past Wes, blood red in the tint of your vision, your fingers expertly popping the gun out of his holster and you take your aim at Simon.

He doesn't flinch.

Neither do you.

Your finger is steady on the trigger. And you pull.

---

The subtle light of the safe house cast shadows across the room, the usual tension of Task Force 141 momentarily replaced by an air of anticipation. Everyone knew but you. Ghost stood slightly apart from the group, his mask hiding the myriad of emotions that flickered beneath. He’d planned this moment carefully and yet being trapped in a safe house during the night of the dinner he'd planned for you both wasn't apart of it. It was still meant to be tonight.

Your lover stared at you in the reflection of the window, catching your beautiful eyes in the glass, they sparkle and his bones feel liquid and he nearly loses his grip on the velvet box. What better time could there be?

Ghost turned to you, pulling his mask away, revealing Simon Riley, garnering your attention with a surprised stare, "What's...goin' on?"

His deep voice steady yet laced with a rare vulnerability. “Wherever you are, I wanna be,” he took a step. "Wherever you go, whether you like it or not, I'm goin' too."

"Stalker," you quipped, though your voice could barely reach a whisper as you stared at the tiny box in his hand, watching as he came closer.

He cracked a smile, but he continued. "Everywhere you are, anywhere you want to be, if you'll let me, since you're right...I just can't stay away," he teased, watching as you short circuit as he approaches steadfast. "...and if you want me, as you'll have me...I wanna be everywhere you are."

The team fell silent, the weight of the moment sinking in. Price raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk dancing on his lips, while Johnny tried to stifle a grin, Kyle cursed quietly shifting in anticipation. "The best thing I've ever held onto in this life is you. It will always be you."

Simon takes the closing steps to you, watching you closely, the two of you sharing the same overwhelming expression, though yours freer in its willingness to express. He was being serious. This was really happening. "I can't imagine taking on this life of chaos without you."

With a small, almost hesitant movement, Simon revealed the velvet box. The flicker of metal caught the light as he produced a small box, his hands surprisingly unsteady. His eyes momentarily flickering downwards before gathering the nerve to look you in the eye again. “We’ve been through hell, we're in the aftermath of it now, another glimpse not far behind, but there’s no one I'll ever know, that I’d rather have by my side.” He dropped to one knee, the rest of the team exchanging glances, a mix of excitement and surprise evident in their expressions. "No one but you."

As Simon kneels before you, your heart races, disbelief clear on your face, brows furrowing into each other, watering as you look to him, all your feelings flooding your senses. His words echo in your mind, and the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you.

“Marry me...” His voice was firm, yet you could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he waited with baited breath, his shoulders halting all movement as he wouldn't take a single breath until your answer. "I'll choose you. I'll choose you every time..." The room held its breath, the only sound the quiet rustle of fabric as the team leaned in slightly, as if to witness a moment that transcended their usual world of warfare. "Marry me..." his voice is a breath against your skin.

You feel your heart race with feelings that seared itself into your soul, a moment that would never leave you, your vision blurred with tears. "Simon..." the world narrowing down to Simon and the hope in his gaze. The silence was palpable, a shared moment of vulnerability among seasoned soldiers. Finally, you nodded, emotions swirling as a smile broke across your face. “Yes,” you laughed with a sob, nodding as you wiped your face. "Of course, Simon. Yes!"

Simon rose, slipping the ring onto your finger as cheers erupted from the team. The laughter and joyful roars of Task Force 141, your family, fade into the background as you focus solely on Simon, the man you love.

Johnny clapped Simon on the back, Price grinned widely, laughing heartily in glee, and Kyle let out a whoop of approval. In that moment, amidst the chaos of their lives, there was a rare glimpse of hope and happiness—a reminder of what they were truly fighting for.

---

The clouds, still held hostage by the night, moved almost imperceptibly through the midnight air, the rain having stopped by now and the stars taking action to be seen beyond.

You breathe evenly, stroking the broken skin of your knuckles, smearing the blood that still leaked through and picking at the dried specks of it along your nails.

Heavy hangs the air as you sit in your silence, nothing but the light scrapes of your nails along your own skin. Then, a heavy padding of footsteps outside the door, your eyes drawing to the movement as a shadow pulls along the flooring of the lighting beneath the doorway, the door clicks open.

A round-faced, army suited man, your attorney, enters the room, behind him two men standing at attention, stomping his dark boots down onto the old wood eager to be noticed, lifting a document to read. "Sergeant (L/N), due to potential endangerment of yourself and your fellow man, you are to be supervised continuously throughout the night until the remainder of your scheduled departure from central Orloz Military Base.

From there, as requested, all contact will be terminated, all personal and packaged requests, terminated. All inquiries, all personal and otherwise familial advises for continued contact, terminated. Due to the nature of your injuries and the unprecedented circumstances brought upon by the events of June 23rd 2023, you've been pardoned from additional..."

What use is there listening to more?

Leaning your head against the cool glass, you let yourself fall blissfully unaware of his voice, drowning in the sea of your own mind.

You stare down at the scars enveloping your hands, your wrists, still raw and sensitive even now. Along your ring finger was the imprint of your engagement ring, it would fade with time, but nothing else would.

You felt so blind, so dumb for thinking this family was ever real, that they were anymore than colleagues, soldiers of war. An idiot for believing in Ghost, believing that he was more than the soldier you'd fought beside for a decade.

Who would've thought things would've turned out this way.

The weight of everything—the heartbreak, the disappointments—were pressing down on your chest like a block of cement.

Letting the absent, warm tears fall down your cheeks, soaking into the dampness of your shirt.

You press your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, but the overwhelming feeling spiraled further, tightening your throat till it hurt.

---

Simon's face is burned red with scratches, blood smeared along his face. His hand holds tight to your wrist, the gun having long fallen from your grip, the entryway still smoking from a missed fire.

Your teeth pull at Simon's exposed skin, biting down on the skin of his wrist until you can feel it snap away from the bone, resistance failing the muscles.

With a pained groan, Simon pushes you back into the metal doors of the elevator, "Stop this, (Y/n)!" he hissed at you, as he locks you into his grip, cornering you as soldiers come forward at the commotion.

"You promised," came your voice, your mouth filled with blood, a chunk of his flesh from your mouth as he shoves your neck into the metal divider, keeping you as still as possible. "You promised you'd choose me..."

Simon's twisted expression unravels as he hears his own vowed words from your tortured lips, seeing glimpses of the woman he's always loved in the livid, scorned woman he'd left behind in that cell.

"(Y/n)..." he began, his grip loosening.

Clicks of rifles and heavy booted steps filled the dormitory, interrupting him. "HANDS UP!"

---

"...if you're in understanding of these terms, we can proceed as stated."

"...Yeah," you whispered. "Understood."

"Thank you for your service, Sergeant (L/N)," he saluted shortly, before picking his beret off the table and walking out of the room. "Your assistance to the dormitories will be available shortly."

So, when he leaves, claiming to be back to escort you back to your quarters, you sit there. You sat there for hours. Or maybe it just felt like it. Either way, it didn't matter.

This time tomorrow you'd be off base, no longer a soldier but a citizen of no one, with no one to turn to and disowned by your family...

What was there to look forward to now?

Your hand comes up, tracing the water lines running down the glass, the ray of light from the street lamps that burn into the room, stinging at your eyes and lighting up the evening.

A streak of red follows your stained fingers.

Dried blood melting off your skin and running down the glass, falling slow.

Nothing to look forward to at all...

Multiple Endings coming soon. The end of Traitors Among Us... STAY TUNED

[rafesbabygirlx]

A Lot of Time has Passed |Part 1

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Season 4 Rafe x Maybank reader

Summary: Beginning at the time jump, the Pogues seemingly succeeded at something, Rafe is struggling with making amends and being a better person. JJs sister left the island after returning from South America. Returning after 18 months with a secret.

A/N: Writing this with inspiration from season 4 part 1. Rewriting plot lines. No mention of Y/N but is written in her perspective. Was inspired of Rafe’s new character arc which I love but thought I’d make it a bit more interesting and messy.

Also- you have to imagine that Maybank reader is intertwined in the previous seasons. And was involved with Rafe. She understands him more than Sofia. She is JJs half sister, takes after her mom, brunette brown eyes tanned skin.

Not really proofread

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: smut (fingering) tough discussions, loss of life (Ward, Big John) Rafe can get a little mean, sorry Sofia lovers.

It’s been 18 months since you returned to the island. While you’ve stayed in touch with your half-brother JJ and the rest of the Pogues, you only saw them once in a while since you had made them travel to the mainland. You relished the escape from the chaos of the Outer Banks. Although you maintained a connection with your mother, it wasn’t until you decided to move in with her that you saw her again. You never imagined you’d come back, but hearing about the Pogues’ long-overdue success and newfound wealth drew you back to celebrate.

Once you arrived, you made an effort to keep a low profile. You headed straight to the old house you and JJ used to share. You couldn’t help but feel annoyed at how much he paid for it, but the joy of being back with your little brother overshadowed that irritation. Everything felt just as it had in the past, and you slipped seamlessly into your role as their ‘older sister.’

You found yourself speaking with Sarah down by the docks, where she asked how you were doing and how things were going—just the usual small talk. Then came the question you dreaded: “Have you seen him?” You stared out at the water, trying to push thoughts of him aside while enjoying your time with the Pogues. Subconsciously, you gripped your gold necklace by its 2 charms, one a ‘V’ initial and the other a baby rattle as you replied, “No, I haven’t, and I’m hoping to keep it that way.”

You hadn’t planned to stay long, just a week or two at most, with hopes of hanging out in the Cut, grabbing some groceries, and indulging in shopping at boutiques you never go to do before. You wanted to avoid anything that might draw attention to you. Living with your mom—who was now clean and remarried—had been a breath of fresh air. She shielded you from worry, allowing you to focus on taking care of what you needed to and building a decent savings while working a stable job, free from the burdens your father had imposed.

After chatting a bit more, you hugged Sarah and rejoined the group. They were deep in conversation about a bike race happening the next day. Glancing at JJ's bike in the yard, you felt a mix of confusion and admiration for his confidence. Although you hadn’t planned to join them for obvious reasons, he managed to convince you to come along. With such a big crowd, you thought you could easily blend in and suppress the anxious flutter in your chest at the thought of running into Rafe. Confident, yet now he’s all you can think about.

————————————

The last time you saw him was when you returned home from South America. While you were glad to see him, you dreaded the conversation about his father. After leaving the group at the airport, you headed to Tannyhill. As you entered, he greeted you with a warm hug, lifting you off your feet and showering you with kisses. He set you down, his face bright with a smile, contrasting sharply with the sadness that clouded your own.

Before you set out for South America to help John B with his dad, Rafe had stopped you just before boarding the plane. He promised he’d be a better person for you and wanted you to return from the trip to him. With that, he slipped one of his silver rings onto your finger and kissed you, giving a nod that it was okay to go.

There was always a powerful connection between you two, despite the class divide and his intense disdain for Pogues. You were the exception. Everyone adored you—both Pogues and Kooks alike—especially when you worked as the favorite bartender at the Country Club. You and Rafe bonded over the absence of your mothers and the shortcomings of your fathers. It was a match made in an unlikely paradise.

Though you were never officially together, largely due to his ego, you often went out publicly. Despite JJ and the group’s disdain, you convinced them—and yourself—that it meant nothing, even though deep down, you knew it did. The same could be said for Rafe with Topper and Kelce. No matter what happened, you both struggled to fully pull away from each other. Until that night.

You led Rate to the living room of Tannyhill and gently broke the news of his father's death. The color drained from his face, and his breathing grew rapid and heavy. In an attempt to console him, you placed your hand, adorned with his ring, on his arm, but he abruptly yanked it away and stood up, clearly overwhelmed. Before you could fully explain the circumstances surrounding the tragedy, Rafe erupted in anger. "This is what happens when people get close to someone like John B! Pogues are nothing but worthless pieces of shit, I trusted you all with him!" He lashed out, placing the blame on them as if Ward's insatiable greed hadn't played a role in his decisions. It was bewildering that he believed any of us wanted his father there in the first place. This wasn't any of ours fault.

"Rafe..." you pleaded, desperation lacing your voice. "I don't want to hear it! I can't even look at you right now. All those things I said to you, and you let this happen?! You got my father killed?!" His voice thundered with rage, his eyes dark and wild, veins bulging in his neck.

"You really think we wanted this? John B lost his dad too, you know that?! This was NEVER supposed to happen. I'm so sorry." But Rafe didn't want to hear your apology. "Get away from me! Don't come back! I never want to see you again," he shouted, the finality of his words slicing through you. You felt the tears streaming down your face, sorrow intertwined with disbelief. How could he say this after all the loving promises he had made before leaving? You sat in stunned silence for a moment, then carefully slid the ring off your finger and placed it on the coffee table. With a heavy heart, you turned and walked out of Tannyhill. Rafe didn't even glance back; he couldn't. Deep down, he knew he didn't mean any of it, but his anger always got the best of him.

————————————

As you emerged from your thoughts, everyone decided to head inside for the night, giving JJ some much-needed rest before the race the next day. You settled into your old bed, replacing the dust-covered sheets, and despite the whirlwind of emotions flooding your mind about being back, sleep quickly overtook you. Before long, JJ was shaking you awake, urging you to hurry and get ready.

When you arrived at the racecourse, you kept your distance from the group, sticking close to Cleo to avoid any potential confrontations.

JJ understood what was going on without needing to ask, and he respected your space; having you there, after all this time, was what mattered most to him. It was a relief, allowing you to watch from afar as Rafe interacted with Topper, their tension palpable from a distance.

As the race began, excitement surged through you. Ju took the lead, but then Rafe unexpectedly tapped him, sending both of them flipping over their bikes, igniting a chorus of cheers from the crowd.

Once the race concluded, you made your way towards the group. Topper walked by, not being able to help gloat saying something to Sarah. He then caught your eye, a smug smile on his face, but he chose not to say anything, merely walking away while shaking his head. You refused to let it bother you; Topper's opinions meant nothing, yet you knew that this would undoubtedly reach Rafe, and you hoped to slip away before that happened-at least, that was what you hoped.

As the crowd began to thin out, you felt exposed among the remaining Pogues and Kooks. Seeking a bit of refuge, you decided to head towards the shack that stored drinks and equipment for the track, needing a breather from the charged atmosphere. Just as you turned to leave, your eyes locked with Rafe's.

Your heart raced as a heavy silence enveloped you, and for a moment, neither of you could look away. In that instant, you noticed Sofia slip her arm through his and plant a kiss on his cheek. Another dark haired, brown eyes Pogue you knew from the cut and worked with the country club. He clearly had a type. She playfully pulled his attention back to her. Seizing the chance, you quickly resumed your path to the shack, desperate to put distance between yourself and the turmoil of emotions that Rafe always seemed to ignite within you.

You stepped into the shack, the sunlight streaming through the windows casting long shadows across the floor. Your heart raced with nervousness, and you weren't sure if you wanted to stay or leave. With your back to the door, you pressed one hand to your chest and the other to your forehead, trying to steady your breathing, when a low voice broke the silence.

"Hi."

You spun around to find Rafe's imposing silhouette framed in the doorway, his tall figure looming over you. "Rafe, please, just go. I don't need this. I'm here for my brother," you insisted, your voice unsteady. He chuckled, stepping further into the room, the warmth of his presence engulfing you.

"I've missed you, Maybank."

"Don't say that to me," you retorted, backing away as he moved closer. Soon, you found yourself pinned between him and the table, his blue eyes piercing through the dim light, sparkling with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. He studied you with an expression that was both longing and mischief, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before gently cupping your face.

It left you bewildered, and you instinctively tried to push him away. "A year and a half ago, you couldn't stand me, and now you're all over me. You can never make up your mind."

A smile crept across Rafe's face. "I could never hate you. I never hated you. I was angry, sure, but I took it out on you-and you never gave me a chance to apologize. You vanished, changed your number, and everyone who knew where you were would never tell me."

"Rafe, please just go," you pleaded, feeling trapped. But before you could protest further, he lifted you effortlessly and set you down on the table.

"I can't stay away from you. Please, let us have this moment," he murmured, his voice low and earnest. He leaned in, inhaling your familiar scent-the coconut and mango shampoo mixed with a hint of jasmine perfume. Then, without warning, he pressed soft kisses against your cheek. You let out a slight moan, unable to suppress the spark of electricity that coursed through you at his touch.

He smiled against your skin, his face inching closer to yours. Then, before you could register the moment, he pulled back slightly to gaze into your eyes once more before crashing his lips against yours. The shock of the kiss momentarily stunned you, but as the reality of what was happening sank in, you found yourself responding, moving your lips against his as if you had been waiting for this moment all along.

His hands began to explore your soft skin, gliding down your arms to intertwine his fingers with yours. You felt the familiar weight of the ring that once adorned your finger. He released your hand, gripping the nape of your neck and pulling you closer as his right hand traced down your torso. You wore a thin, cropped strapless top and a mini skirt. His fingertips teased the upper hem, grazing the tops of your breasts while he moved lower, grasping your waist as if afraid to let you go.

Both of you fought for breath, pulling away to look at each other, laughter escaping your lips. “I’ve been waiting to do this again for so long,” he admitted.

“Do you think your girlfriend would appreciate you saying that to me, Rafe?”

“What?”

“Sofia, the girl outside who kissed you on the cheek?” You sarcastically remind him. “Do you think she’d appreciate this? I may be many things, but I won’t be an accomplice to cheating.”

He sighed, “That means nothing to me. If anything, she’s just a distraction while you were gone. It’s always been you I’m meant to be with. I ruined it and forced myself to move on. And now you’re back.”

You bit your finger, feeling conflicted. “But—” Before you could interrogate him more, he captured your lips in another kiss, drowning out your thoughts. His hands ventured lower, teasing the hem of your skirt. Looking into your eyes for confirmation, you nodded, giving him permission to explore further. He slipped his fingers beneath your clothing, pressing against your core, and groaned as he felt your wetness.

He swirled his fingers before moving to your clit, rubbing in deep, rhythmic motions. You broke the kiss to moan, your head thrown back, exposing your neck and chest. He kissed a trail from behind your ear to the tops of your breasts, and then, with a practiced ease, slid a finger inside you.

You gasped, leaning into the crook of his neck. “That’s a good girl. You can take a little more, right?”

You whimper a soft yes, and he added a second finger, igniting a fevered kiss filled with passion and frustration. Despite your anger, desire overwhelmed you. He pumped in and out quickly, his thumb working your clit, sending you into a frenzy. Your breaths quickened, and you were amazed that no one could hear your moans.

“That’s right, baby. Let me make you feel good. Let me make it up to you. Come for me.”

As waves of pleasure washed over you, your head spun, heart racing. With a gasp, you reached your peak, surrendering completely as he rode out your orgasm, his unoccupied hand brushing your cheek. After a few lingering pumps, he withdrew, licking his fingers clean before adjusting your panties and gazing into your eyes.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said softly. You struggled to find your voice, lost in the moment until the door slammed open, revealing JJ. Rage simmered within you at the thought of a confrontation between him and your brother, but Rafe turned to you. “We’ll talk more another time, baby.”

You smiled and nodded, but as he walked out, JJ turned to you with a look of disgust. “What the hell did he want?”

“Nothing. We were trying to talk before you interrupted,” you replied. “I didn’t know he saw me come in.”

“Are you going to talk to him about her?”

“I don’t know, J.”

---

I hope you like it. My first of many stories. I decided to break it into parts. Stretch it out over the month before part 2 of the season drops.