#Which he might have for efficiency

[recitedemise]

𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲, 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗮𝗯𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗽𝗮𝗰𝗲, 𝗯𝗲𝗴𝗶𝗻𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗮 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝗳𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗴𝗲. After ridding himself of the orb at last, in fact, the wizard becomes a force that's once more unstoppable. He can cast spells without a word, capable of summoning infernos with a wave, and the ease in which he harnesses storms is frightening, but only as frightening as it is an art. Of course, Gale, however, had proved long ago his more prodigious talent. Still, to see him in action beats just listening to this talk. Gale is powerful, relearning all that he'd lost with alarming speed, and that's all a testament to his blinding brilliance--and, of course, his ingrained ambition. With the orb, the wizard had to limit all manner of casting. He had to sate his hunger, was forced to draw back as to not tempt fate, and with the orb in place snuffing his most powerful spells, was something of a tempest in a thick glass cage. However, with the orb finally gone, those limits have at last been lifted. He had became a level 12 wizard with a hell of a handicap, and with that handicap absent beyond its lingering scar, it's like all his previous mastery finally returned--and with force, mind you, like a strike of lightning. In a way, one could compare him to a runner stripped of their weights. He'd learned unparalleled control with an arcane bomb strapped, but now no longer fearing his imminent explosion, is free, as goes the metaphor, to cast a god damned marathon. And Gale is learned. Rather, he's disgustingly learned. He knows all schools of magic, is qualified to teach every field in Blackstaff, and he doesn't serve his city or own his own floating realm, but he'll once again become archwizard in those ways that matter--in his ability to cast and his hellish ferocity. Maybe he won't become as great as he had been with Mystra, but as a former chosen, it's a helluvan accomplishment. In time, Gale Dekarios becomes Gale, professor at Blackstaff, but as a testament to his ability, the city again warms to the idea of Gale of Waterdeep--because she's really only one Gale one could possibly need.

Of course, he doesn't advocate for the title... But it still delights him.

[ikyw-t]

y'know I think about this tweet often. I don't think truer words have ever been spoken....

[alexanderwales]

I'm a big fan of wizards-as-programmers, but I think it's so much better when you lean into programming tropes.

A spell the wizard uses to light the group's campfire has an error somewhere in its depths, and sometimes it doesn't work at all. The wizard spends a lot of his time trying to track down the exact conditions that cause the failure.

The wizard is attempting to create a new spell that marries two older spells together, but while they were both written within the context of Zephyrus the Starweaver's foundational work, they each used a slightly different version, and untangling the collisions make a short project take months of work.

The wizard has grown too comfortable reusing old spells, and in particular, his teleportation spell keeps finding its components rearranged and remixed, its parts copied into a dozen different places in the spellbook. This is overall not actually a problem per se, but the party's rogue grows a bit concerned when the wizard's "drying spell" seems to just be a special case of teleportation where you teleport five feet to the left and leave the wetness behind.

A wizard is constantly fiddling with his spells, making minor tweaks and changes, getting them easier to cast, with better effects, adding bells and whistles. The "shelter for the night" spell includes a tea kettle that brings itself to a boil at dawn, which the wizard is inordinately pleased with. He reports on efficiency improvements to the indifference of anyone listening.

A different wizard immediately forgets all details of his spells after he's written them. He could not begin to tell you how any of it works, at least not without sitting down for a few hours or days to figure out how he set things up. The point is that it works, and once it does, the wizard can safely stop thinking about it.

Wizards enjoy each other's company, but you must be circumspect about spellwork. Having another wizard look through your spellbook makes you aware of every minor flaw, and you might not be able to answer questions about why a spell was written in a certain way, if you remember at all.

Wizards all have their own preferences as far as which scripts they write in, the formatting of their spellbook, its dimensions and material quality, and of course which famous wizards they've taken the most foundational knowledge from. The enlightened view is that all approaches have their strengths and weaknesses, but this has never stopped anyone from getting into a protracted argument.

Sometimes a wizard will sit down with an ancient tome attempting to find answers to a complicated problem, and finally find someone from across time who was trying to do the same thing, only for the final note to be "nevermind, fixed it".

[exopelagic]

ignore me I’m still pissed abt the ai thing

[adastra-sf]

The Robot Uprising Began in 1979

edit: based on a real article, but with a dash of satire

source: X

On January 25, 1979, Robert Williams became the first person (on record at least) to be killed by a robot, but it was far from the last fatality at the hands of a robotic system.

Williams was a 25-year-old employee at the Ford Motor Company casting plant in Flat Rock, Michigan. On that infamous day, he was working with a parts-retrieval system that moved castings and other materials from one part of the factory to another. 

The robot identified the employee as in its way and, thus, a threat to its mission, and calculated that the most efficient way to eliminate the threat was to remove the worker with extreme prejudice.

"Using its very powerful hydraulic arm, the robot smashed the surprised worker into the operating machine, killing him instantly, after which it resumed its duties without further interference."

A news report about the legal battle suggests the killer robot continued working while Williams lay dead for 30 minutes until fellow workers realized what had happened. 

Many more deaths of this ilk have continued to pile up. A 2023 study identified that robots have killed at least 41 people in the USA between 1992 and 2017, with almost half of the fatalities in the Midwest, a region bursting with heavy industry and manufacturing.

For now, the companies that own these murderbots are held responsible for their actions. However, as AI grows increasingly ubiquitous and potentially uncontrollable, how might robot murders become ever-more complicated, and whom will we hold responsible as their decision-making becomes more self-driven and opaque?

[santaasi]

obviously blind

pairing: james potter x bsf!fem!reader

summary: for years, james potter thought he was chasing love. sirius black knew better — he’d been holding it all along.

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love, james calls reader love, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 11.3k

a/n: it was probably the longest idea to write and edit. i rewrote every moment a bunch of times trying to bring it all to perfection. therefore, this time I hope more than ever that you will like it and you will support me with a like, comment or reblog. have a nice time reading this work! love u <3

ᯓ★ now playing…

slaves – footprints

You left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

Would you promise me you'll never let me go

November 15, 1971 My dear best friend, Hogwarts is brilliant! You should see the castle; it’s massive, with these moving staircases that sometimes take you to places you didn’t even mean to go! I tried to get to Charms class last week and ended up in the Trophy Room instead. Sirius says it’s part of the fun, and I’m starting to agree. Speaking of fun, I made a new friend! His name’s Sirius Black, and he’s a bit of a troublemaker like me. Don’t tell Mum, but we might’ve let some Filibuster’s Fireworks off in the Great Hall during lunch. The teachers were furious, but the look on their faces was worth it. How’s Beauxbatons? Is it true your castle is magical in a totally different way? Sirius said something about unicorns roaming the grounds. Is that real? Write me everything—I want to know what it’s like over there. Hope you’re having as much fun as I am.  Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WAS UTTERLY SPENT. Not the charming, rakish kind of spent he might brag about after a late night of mischief, but truly, completely, soul-drainingly done. The journey to the Potter family cottage, which should have been a brisk jaunt, had turned into a Herculean trial. Blame the snowstorm that had swept through magical London like some vengeful Norse curse, burying everything in its path under heaps of frosty misery.

It started with a delayed train — no, not delayed, imprisoned. Sirius and James were already aboard when the announcement came, trapping them in a stuffy carriage surrounded by loudly complaining wizards and at least one crying baby. And because the universe clearly found Sirius’ misery entertaining, the train came to a jolting halt halfway to their destination, snow packing the tracks so thickly that it took hours of magical clearing before they moved again.

When they finally arrived at the station, they discovered that Mr. Potter, their much-needed savior with a warm car and a better attitude than either of them, had been delayed at work. Thus, Sirius and James were left to trudge through the snow-laden countryside, dragging their trunks behind them, with James’ endless chatter about Lily Evans ringing in Sirius’ ears like a persistent curse.

“Her smile, Padfoot,” James had sighed dreamily at least seventeen times, his glasses fogging up as if even thinking about Lily caused them to malfunction. “And the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating—”

By the sixteenth sigh, Sirius had been sorely tempted to shove a fistful of snow into James’ face. By the seventeenth, he was mentally composing a list of Unforgivable Curses and ranking them by efficiency. Yet, even as he grumbled under his breath, Sirius couldn’t bring himself to abandon the trek. The Potters were the closest thing he had to a family, and spending Christmas anywhere else — no matter how dire the journey — was unthinkable.

When they finally reached the Potter home, Sirius didn’t so much step inside as collapse into it. He shoved the front door open with the dramatic flair of a man escaping death itself and sprawled across the polished wooden floor like a martyr for his own cause. His trunk fell beside him with a satisfying thud.

“Home at last,” he groaned, voice muffled against the rug. “Tell me, Prongs, do they serve last rites before cinnamon rolls, or do we skip straight to the feast?”

The cottage, of course, was as warm and welcoming as Sirius remembered. Strings of fairy lights twinkled across the beams, casting a cozy glow of red, gold, and green. A holly wreath hung crookedly on the wall — lil’James’ handiwork, no doubt — and the scent of pine mingled with the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon, butter, and something sweet. Sirius’ stomach growled audibly.

“Oi, shut it, you ungrateful mutt,” James shot back with a grin, though Sirius could see his friend’s eyes darting toward the kitchen. “You’re embarrassing us in front of the wreath.”

James hadn’t even set his trunk down before a figure appeared in the doorway.

At first, Sirius barely registered her presence. He was too busy muttering about the injustice of underage magic restrictions. But then — oh, then — she stepped fully into view.

A girl.

Not just any girl, but you.

You moved with a kind of quiet confidence that Sirius instantly clocked, your steps unhurried, your presence undeniable. The golden glow of the fairy lights danced across your hair, giving it a shimmer that seemed almost unreal. You were wrapped in a deep blue jumper — Sirius realized this after a moment’s brain lag — and your cheeks were rosy, likely from the heat of the kitchen.

You carried a tray of steaming cinnamon rolls, the scent of melted sugar and spice trailing after you like some kind of domestic enchantment. Sirius’ mouth went dry, and for the first time in years, he was at a loss for words.

“Well,” he managed after a beat, hauling himself upright and trying for a semblance of decorum. “Now I see why you were so keen to come home, Prongs. You’ve got cinnamon-roll-bearing angels dropping out of the sky.”

You laughed, soft and melodic, the sound so unguarded it seemed to wrap the room in warmth. Sirius couldn’t help but notice the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts inviting and mysterious.

“Hello to you too, Sirius,” you said, your voice carrying a familiarity that made his ears perk up.

Sirius blinked. Wait. Of course. This wasn’t some celestial being summoned to his rescue; this was James’ childhood best friend. The one James had vaguely mentioned — just a handful of times over the years, always in passing and with a strange softness that Sirius hadn’t thought to question before.

And yet, here you were. In the flesh. Standing in the middle of the Potters’ living room with a tray of baked goods and a smile that Sirius suspected had the power to stop traffic.

“Well, well, Jamie-boy,” Sirius drawled, nudging James with his elbow and watching his friend with amused curiosity. “You never told me the famous cinnamon-roll angel was also — what’s the word? Ah, yes — real.”

You raised an eyebrow at Sirius’ antics, though your smile didn’t falter. Instead, you glanced toward James, who looked like he’d been hit with a Confundus Charm.

Sirius smirked. “James, mate, you alright? You’ve gone all... slack-jawed.”

But James wasn’t paying him any attention. His hazel eyes were locked on you, wide and brimming with something Sirius couldn’t quite place. He watched as James' gaze traced over the streak of flour smudged on your cheek, the stray strands of hair escaping from your ponytail, and the red apron dusted with flour and cinnamon.

Sirius almost snorted aloud. This was the James Potter who couldn’t shut up about Lily Evans — the boy who spent half his waking hours plotting ways to win her over. And yet, here he was, staring at you like you’d just descended from the heavens.

“Jamie,” you said softly, setting the tray down on the nearby table.

It was just one word, but the way you said it — warm, tender, and utterly unguarded — sent a jolt through Sirius.

Before he could process what was happening, James crossed the room in a few long strides and swept you into his arms. You squealed in surprise, and the sound was pure delight, echoing off the walls.

Sirius blinked, startled. The way James held you — hands firm on your waist, his head dipping into the crook of your neck — wasn’t friendly, not by a long shot. Sirius had known James since he was eleven years old, had seen him charm and flirt with half of Hogwarts, but he had never seen this.

“Missed me, Jamie?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his unruly hair with the kind of ease that spoke of years of familiarity.

“Always,” James murmured, so quietly Sirius barely caught it.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

He glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to explain this baffling scene, but it was just him, James, and you, wrapped up in some intimate little bubble that made Sirius feel like an intruder.

James murmured something into your shoulder — too soft for Sirius to catch — and you laughed, your voice light and unrestrained. The sound pulled James’ head up, and Sirius couldn’t miss the way his eyes traced your face with a kind of devotion Sirius had only read about in sappy romance novels.

It was then that the memories began to click into place. The scattered mentions over the years, the odd tone James always took when he talked about you. “She’s not like anyone else, Padfoot. She just gets it.” Or that one summer when James had come back to Hogwarts looking utterly miserable and wouldn’t explain why. Sirius had teased him about it for weeks, thinking it was Lily-related. But now, seeing the way James looked at you...

“Wait a minute,” Sirius blurted, his grin widening as realization dawned. “You’re the one. The one he’s always sneaking off to write letters to, the one he’s all secretive about.”

James shot him a glare, his cheeks burning bright red.

“Padfoot—”

“—the one who sent him that hideous scarf last Christmas!” Sirius continued, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I knew there had to be someone. Prongs doesn’t just get that moony-eyed look over just anyone.”

You laughed again, covering your face with your hands, while James muttered something about strangling Sirius later.

Before Sirius could needle him further, the kitchen door creaked open, and Euphemia Potter swept into the room. She was radiant as always, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her dark hair streaked with silver. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw James.

“There’s my boy!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug before he could even attempt to protest.

“Hi, Mum,” James mumbled, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

Euphemia pulled back, cupping his face in her hands as though memorizing every detail. “It’s been too long, Jamie. Too long. You’re far too skinny — have you been eating properly at school? And what have you done with your hair?”

James groaned, though his smile was fond.

Then her eyes fell on Sirius, and the warmth in her expression grew tenfold.

“Sirius, my dear,” she said, moving toward him with open arms. “I’m so glad you’re home, too.”

Sirius froze for a moment, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this — the genuine affection, the way Euphemia made him feel like he belonged.

When her arms wrapped around him, the embrace firm and filled with love, Sirius felt an odd lump form in his throat. He couldn’t help but think of his own mother’s cold, perfunctory hugs, her disdainful gaze, and the way her affection always felt like a transaction.

“You’ve grown even handsomer,” Euphemia said, pulling back to study him. “Fleamont’s going to be jealous.”

Sirius managed a crooked grin, the lump in his throat still stubbornly there. “That’s the goal, Mrs. Potter. Keep him on his toes.”

Euphemia laughed, her eyes twinkling, before cupping his cheek briefly. “You’re family now, Sirius. Never forget that.”

Satisfied, Euphemia turned her attention to you. Her face softened even more, and she reached out to squeeze your hands. “Oh, there you are, dear. I was wondering where my helper had gone. The mince pies won’t bake themselves, you know”

You shot James a quick, playful glance before following Euphemia toward the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” you said, your smile lingering. 

As Mrs. Potter ushered you toward the door to finish the pies, Sirius remained rooted to the spot. The warmth from her hug lingered, and for a fleeting moment, he thought of how lucky James was to have parents like that — and how lucky he was to have stumbled into their lives.

James watched you leave, his gaze following you until you were out of sight. Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mate,” he said, clapping James on the shoulder. “You’re a goner.”

James huffed, shoving him away, but the goofy grin on his face was impossible to hide.

And Sirius? Sirius couldn’t wait to see how this played out.

July 2, 1973 My Love, Summer’s only just started, and I can’t wait to see you. Mum’s already planning another one of her “legendary” tea parties, which means she’ll fuss over you endlessly. You’ll smile politely and charm her like always, and she’ll end up spoiling you with biscuits to take back to Beauxbatons. I’ve got so much to tell you. Sirius and I found this secret passageway that leads straight to Hogsmeade. We’ve been practicing spells to make it even harder for Filch to find us. Remus is shaking his head, but I think he secretly loves our schemes. Oh, and Lily—she’s still brilliant. She’s got the most incredible laugh. But you, my love, I bet your laugh would still outshine hers any day.

Do you still walk in those Beauxbatons gardens at sunset? I can imagine you there, glowing in the soft light. It suits you. Write me back quickly, won’t you? The days are always better when I hear from you. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK HAD ALWAYS KNOWN JAMES POTTER WAS A TACTILE PERSON. James spoke fluently in the language of touch — claps on the back that lingered just a second too long, overly enthusiastic shoulder bumps that almost knocked you off your feet, and the occasional arm slung around your shoulders like he was staking a claim. But this? This was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just the way James touched you. It was the way he seemed to orbit you, like some lovesick moon drawn to its planet. Wherever you were, James was never far behind — hovering, grinning, completely and utterly besotted without even realizing it. And for someone so allegedly brilliant, he was astoundingly stupid about it.

Sirius noticed it within minutes of their arrival at the Potter cottage for the holidays. As the snow settled outside, so did James — right beside you, always beside you. If you were arranging the flowers Euphemia had insisted on, James was there offering suggestions like he’d suddenly become an expert on floral arrangements. If you were curled up in the drawing room with a book, James was sprawled across the nearest sofa, pretending to read but actually just watching you out of the corner of his eye like some hopeless romantic idiot in a badly written Muggle novel.

Sirius had been rolling his eyes so much, they were practically stuck in the back of his head.

THE SECOND MORNING WAS WHEN THINGS REALLY CLICKED. Sirius had woken up earlier than usual — a rare and uncomfortable event for him. He had no plans to do anything productive, of course, but the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway intrigued him. Padding out of his room, he peeked around the corner just in time to see James sneaking toward the kitchen.

Naturally, Sirius followed. He found James standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up like some kind of domestic god, arranging breakfast with the precision of someone preparing an offering to Merlin himself. There was a plate of toast with cream cheese and thinly sliced avocado, a bowl of berries that looked like they’d been picked by woodland elves, and a steaming cup of coffee. The smell alone was enough to make Sirius reconsider his usual disdain for mornings.

“Fancy,” Sirius said, leaning lazily against the doorframe, voice still scratchy from sleep.

James jumped slightly but recovered quickly, flashing Sirius a sheepish grin. “Morning, Pads. Coffee’s on the counter.”

Sirius eyed the tray suspiciously. “Is this for you, or is it for your favorite person in the world aka me?”

James’s ears turned pink. “It’s for her,” he admitted, almost bashfully, like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes crafting the most meticulous breakfast Sirius had ever seen.

“Of course it is,” Sirius muttered with a smirk, grabbing a mug for himself. “You realize this is bordering on embarrassing, yeah?”

James shot him a look, but before he could respond, you appeared in the doorway, still looking half-asleep. Your hair was mussed, and the oversized jumper you’d borrowed from James was slipping off one shoulder, but you somehow managed to look effortlessly radiant. Sirius rolled his eyes again.

“Morning, love,” James said, his voice soft and warm in a way Sirius had never heard before.

“Morning, Jamie,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you shuffled into the kitchen.

James practically tripped over himself to hand you the coffee. Sirius watched, amused, as James’s fingers brushed yours in the exchange, his entire face lighting up like someone had cast Lumos Maxima directly on it.

You took a long sip of the coffee, humming in contentment. “Perfect, as always,” you murmured, looking up at James with a sleepy smile that could have melted a Dementor.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Sirius nearly choked on his coffee. He wasn’t sure what was more painful — the nauseating sweetness of the moment or the fact that neither of you seemed to realize how completely ridiculous you were.

“Right, well, I’ll just... leave you two to it,” Sirius said, waving his mug in mock surrender as he backed out of the room. “Try not to get married while I’m gone.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” James called after him, but the way his voice wavered slightly betrayed his embarrassment.

By the time Sirius reached the living room, Euphemia and Fleamont were already seated by the fireplace, exchanging knowing glances like they’d seen this coming a mile away.

“Is he making her breakfast again?” Euphemia asked with a smile that was far too pleased for Sirius’s liking.

“Every detail,” Sirius confirmed, sinking into an armchair. “I’m starting to think he’s auditioning for Witch Weekly’s ‘Most Devoted Boyfriend’ feature.”

“Don’t tease him too much,” Euphemia said with a chuckle. “He’s just like his father was with me.”

“Merlin, it’s contagious,” Sirius groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “If I start acting like that, someone put me out of my misery.”

But even as he joked, Sirius couldn’t help but smile. Because for all his teasing, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that James was hopelessly gone for you. And judging by the way you looked at him, Sirius had a feeling the feeling was mutual — even if neither of you was bright enough to figure it out.

AND THEN THERE WERE THE SMALL, INTIMATE TOUCHES SIRIUS COULDN’T IGNORE, no matter how much he wanted to. James’s hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through a doorway, like you might somehow lose your way without him. The way his fingers traced lazy patterns on your knee under the dinner table, as though the contact grounded him. Or how he’d tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just long enough to make Sirius roll his eyes and fight back a gag.

It was maddening to watch, really. Not because Sirius minded the affection — no, James deserved a bit of softness in his life, and you were undeniably good for him. It was maddening because you were both so oblivious. James was a goner, sure, but you weren’t far behind. Every time you leaned into his touch, smiled up at him like he hung the stars, or called him Jamie in that soft, teasing tone, it was like watching two wizards tiptoe around a cauldron, waiting for it to explode.

One evening, as the three of you lounged in the living room, the dynamic was on full display. The Potters had insisted on a family movie night — Euphemia’s idea, of course, because family time was important. Sirius couldn’t say no to the fire roaring in the hearth, the massive bowl of popcorn, and the ridiculous Muggle Christmas film flickering on the screen. But as the minutes passed, he started to regret not escaping upstairs.

James had situated himself squarely in the middle of the sofa, with you tucked neatly under his arm. His hand played absently with the ends of your hair, fingers twisting the strands like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. You had your legs curled beneath you, leaning into him with the kind of comfort Sirius had only ever seen in old couples who had been together for decades. James pressed a kiss to your temple, murmuring something Sirius couldn’t quite catch.

It was unbearable.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Sirius interrupted, launching a piece of popcorn at James. It hit him square in the forehead, a small but satisfying victory. “Some of us are trying to watch the movie without choking on all this sap.”

You burst into laughter, sitting up just enough to toss a handful of popcorn back at him. “You’re just jealous, Black.”

“Jealous? Me?” Sirius placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Of what, exactly? Watching James Potter transform into a human puddle before my very eyes? No thanks. I’ll pass.”

James didn’t even flinch. He just grinned, looking every bit the lovesick fool he was. “You’ll get it one day, Pads,” he said with infuriating calm.

Sirius snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. “Right. Because what I’m really missing in my life is the chance to turn into that.” He gestured at the two of you with a dramatic wave of his hand.

But despite his teasing, Sirius couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. James, the arrogant, Quidditch-obsessed, devil-may-care prankster he’d known all his life, was utterly, completely, hopelessly in love. And the worst — or perhaps best — part? He didn’t even seem to realize it.

BY THE END OF THESE COUPLE OF DAYS VACK AT THE POTTER COTTAGE, SIRIUS KNEW. James Potter wasn’t in love with Lily Evans — not really, not anymore and maybe not ever. He was in love with you. It wasn’t in the dramatic declarations Sirius had once teased James about making to Lily. No, this was quieter, deeper. It was in the way James’s gaze softened whenever you spoke, like he couldn’t believe you were real. In the way his hand always seemed to find yours, even when there was no need for it. And in the way his entire being lit up when you smiled at him.

And you? You weren’t much better. You laughed at his terrible jokes, poked fun at him with an ease Sirius envied, and looked at James like he was the center of the universe. It was so obvious it made Sirius want to scream.

“This isn’t normal, you know,” Sirius said later that night, cornering James in the kitchen as he made tea.

“What’s not normal?” James asked, far too casually for Sirius’s liking.

“You and her. You’re not just friends. Stop pretending you are.”

James frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “We are just friends. She’s my best mate, Pads. You know that.”

Sirius laughed, loud and sharp, shaking his head. “Oh, Prongsie. You’re an idiot.”

“Am not,” James shot back, but there was a flicker of doubt in his voice.

Sirius leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “If you’re just friends, then I’m a unicorn. Face it, Potter — you’re in love.”

James opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then you walked into the room, yawning and looking for all the world like you belonged there. James’s expression softened immediately, his gaze lingering on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Sirius didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to.

Because James Potter was already lost, and for once, Sirius didn’t mind watching his best mate fall.

March 30, 1975

My Love, It’s been ages since your last letter, and I miss you like mad. Exams are coming up, and I’m hopeless at concentrating without your words to keep me sane. The Marauders are in full swing, though—our latest adventure involved sneaking a swamp into one of the corridors. Filch is still grumbling about it. I told you before how Lily has the most beautiful laugh, right? Well, I think she might finally be warming up to me. I’m playing it cool, but honestly, every time she looks at me, I feel like a kid with a new broomstick. And yet... you’re still the one I write to when I want to share everything. Funny, isn’t it? How’s the ballet going? I remember you mentioned your school recital. I wish I could see you dance. You’d be like a dream on stage, graceful and bright. Maybe one day. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WASN’T ONE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE — not the kind spun into poetry or whispered in secret corners of libraries. Sweet words, fleeting touches, long glances… all of it sounded like an elaborate prank. A fantasy created by people who hadn’t tasted the bitterness of the world.

How could anyone believe in love when raised in a house where affection was a weapon and the family motto might as well have been stab first, smile later? The Black family had given Sirius many things: wealth, privilege, and a last name dripping in infamy. But love? That was a foreign concept, spoken in a dialect he’d never been taught.

And yet, Sirius Black — child of darkness and rebellion — had found light. That light had a name: James Potter. From the moment James had barreled into Sirius’s life, grinning like the sun itself, everything had shifted. James had yanked him out of the shadows and dragged him into a world Sirius didn’t know existed — a world filled with warmth, laughter, and actual hugs.

It wasn’t just James, though. It was the whole bloody Potter family. Euphemia and Fleamont were like characters out of a Muggle holiday film. Euphemia, with her soft, unrelenting affection, had made it her personal mission to drown Sirius in love and sweaters. Fleamont’s laughter could fill a room, a deep, belly-shaking sound that warmed Sirius from the inside out. Together, they moved through the world as though their love was an unshakable force, a steady undercurrent in every shared look and word.

“Darling,” Fleamont would call from across the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a newspaper in hand.

“Yes, Fleamont?” Euphemia would reply, her smile soft and teasing as she stirred whatever heavenly dish she was making.

Never by name. Always darling.

Still, if love like that was rare, James bloody Potter seemed hell-bent on stumbling into it without even realizing.

James and you had been dancing around each other for years, so oblivious it was borderline painful. Sirius sometimes wondered if you two were practicing for a comedy sketch, the way you acted like best mates while exuding the kind of tension that could make a Dementor blush. If Sirius had a Galleon for every time James looked at you like you were the only person in the room, he could have bought his own Quidditch team by now. And he's only been watching you for a couple of days.

IT WAS THE FOURT DAY OF HIS CHRISTMAS STAY AT THE POTTER HOME, and the dynamic was impossible to ignore. You and James were practically inseparable, moving through the house like two planets caught in the same orbit. You helped Euphemia with the decorations while James carried boxes of ornaments up from the cellar, always hovering nearby like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away.

“You know,” Sirius said, leaning casually against the doorway, “most people don’t need to supervise someone hanging tinsel.”

James didn’t even glance back. “She’s not most people, Pads.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For Merlin’s sake, just marry her already.”

James froze, an ornament dangling from his hand. “What are you on about? We’re just friends.”

“Sure, and I’m a Muggle,” Sirius shot back, rolling his eyes.

You, blissfully unaware of the conversation, turned from where you were perched on a stepstool. “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Nothing,” James said quickly, his cheeks tinged pink. “Sirius is just being Sirius.”

“That’s never good,” you teased, smirking at Sirius.

“Oi! I’ll have you know I’m delightful company.” Sirius crossed his arms, feigning offense. “But if you’re not careful, pretty, you’ll end up trapped in Potter’s web of undying devotion.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping down from the stool. “Potter’s web of what now?”

James shot Sirius a warning glare, but Sirius just grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just that James here is—”

“Hungry!” James interrupted, loudly and awkwardly. “Right, Pads? Didn’t you say you were starving?”

Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head as James practically shoved him out of the room. “Subtle as ever, Prongs.”

From Sirius’s vantage point, it was painfully obvious. James was hopelessly, stupidly in love with you. And you? You weren’t much better. The way you smiled at him, teased him, trusted him without question — it was all the evidence Sirius needed. And yet, you were both blissfully, idiotically unaware.

One evening, as Sirius sprawled on the sofa in the Potters’ living room, he couldn’t help but notice the way you and James interacted. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, rifling through a box of Christmas decorations Euphemia had set out.

“Jamie, hand me the gold bauble,” you said, tossing him a quick glance over your shoulder.

James, who had been half-heartedly untangling a string of lights, immediately perked up. “Which one?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “The one in your hand, genius.”

James laughed, tossing it gently toward you. It missed entirely, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.

“Good aim, Prongs,” Sirius drawled from his spot on the couch. “Truly inspiring.”

“Shut it, Padfoot,” James shot back, but his grin never faltered. He turned to you, sheepish. “Sorry, love.”

Love. Sirius didn’t miss the way the word slipped out so naturally, like James had been saying it his whole life. And he definitely didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed as you ducked your head, pretending to focus on the decorations.

LATER THAT EVENING, SIRIUS FOUND HIMSELF LAYING ON THE SOFA IN THE LIVING ROOM AGAIN (it probably was his favorite place in the house by now), a book abandoned on his chest as he watched Euphemia and Fleamont dancing in the kitchen once, a slow, swaying movement that didn’t match the upbeat Muggle music crackling from the wireless. Euphemia had rested her head on Fleamont’s chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was the only place in the world she belonged. It wasn’t dramatic or flashy — just simple and unshakable. And it made Sirius ache in ways he didn’t understand.

And a moment later they were in the same kitchen, preparing tea and laughing softly as they worked.

“Darling, pass me the sugar, would you?” Fleamont said, his voice warm and affectionate.

Euphemia handed him the sugar bowl without looking up, her smile soft. “Here you go, darlin'.”

It was the kind of exchange that Sirius might have mocked once. But now, as he watched the way Fleamont leaned in to kiss Euphemia’s cheek, or how she swatted him away with a laugh when he tried to sneak a biscuit, he felt something unfamiliar tugging at his chest.

“They’re sickeningly sweet, aren’t they?”

Sirius turned to see you standing in the doorway, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands.

“They are,” he admitted, sitting up and motioning for you to join him. “But it’s sort of... nice. In a vomit-inducing way.”

You laughed, settling beside him. “I think it’s lovely. They’re so in tune with each other, you know? Like they’ve been dancing to the same song for decades.”

Sirius tilted his head, watching you as you spoke. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want that? The whole ‘dancing to the same song’ thing?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your mug. “I don’t know. I suppose it would be nice, but... I’m not sure it’s in the cards for me.”

Sirius frowned. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “Because my dance partner’s too busy tripping over his own feet to notice I’m right here.”

Sirius stared at you, his mind racing. Did you mean James? Surely you meant James. But before he could say anything, James walked in, ruffling his hair like he always did.

“Alright, what are you two plotting?”

“World domination,” Sirius replied without missing a beat. “Want in?”

James grinned, flopping onto the sofa and immediately throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Always.”

Sirius watched as you leaned into James, your head resting against his shoulder. James turned to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded.

And that’s when Sirius knew — again, because he seemed to be realizing this every ten minutes — just how much trouble you two were in.

DAYS LATER, SIRIUS WAS STANDING BY THE WINDOW OF THE POTTER COTTAGE, a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. The world outside was a vision of winter — snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, the trees bowed under its weight, and the air held a sharp, crystalline stillness. Inside, the house was alive with warmth: the crackle of the fire, the gentle hum of Euphemia’s humming, and Fleamont’s cheerful banter as he set up a chessboard by the hearth.

But Sirius wasn’t watching any of that. His attention was fixed on the two figures trudging down the snow-covered path just beyond the window.

You and James walked side by side, your mittened hands brushing against each other with the kind of unconscious familiarity that spoke volumes. The path ahead glittered in the weak afternoon sun, the frost catching the light like scattered diamonds. Clouds of breath curled into the frosty air as you laughed at something James said, the sound clear and bright, even from a distance.

Sirius couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He saw everything in the way James turned his head toward you, his face lit with the sort of joy that was impossible to fake.

Then it happened — your foot slipped on a patch of hidden ice. Sirius’s grip on his mug tightened for half a heartbeat, but James was already there. His hand shot out, steadying you before you could fall, as if the world might crumble if he didn’t catch you in time.

“Careful there, love,” James said, his voice carrying easily through the crisp winter air.

You laughed, brushing snow from your coat as your cheeks turned pink — not just from the cold, Sirius was sure. “You’d think I’d have learned how to walk by now.”

James grinned, tugging you a little closer to his side. “Good thing you’ve got me.”

“Good thing indeed,” you replied, your eyes crinkling at the corners, your voice soft and full of affection.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, James reached out to brush a stray snowflake from your hair. His fingers lingered for just a moment, his expression open and unguarded, filled with something so pure that Sirius had to look away for a second.

It wasn’t the first time Sirius had seen that look on James’s face. It was the same quiet, awestruck gaze he’d noticed a thousand times when James thought no one was watching. But seeing it now, against the backdrop of snow and laughter, it struck Sirius like a Bludger to the chest.

That’s how Fleamont looked at Euphemia, Sirius realized. He’d seen it that very morning, when Euphemia had walked into the kitchen with a sleepy smile and Fleamont had paused mid-sentence, his face lighting up as if she were the sunrise itself.

Sirius took a long sip of his hot chocolate, the sweetness of it sharp against the lump forming in his throat. He muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips, “Never by name. Always love.”

“What are you smiling about, Sirius?” Euphemia’s voice broke the quiet, warm and curious. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

He turned, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Oh, nothing, Mrs. P. Just watching James make a right fool of himself in the snow. Again.”

Euphemia chuckled, stepping closer to peer out the window. Her gaze softened as she spotted you and James, now engaged in some sort of playful shoving match, James clearly letting you win.

“Hopeless,” Sirius added, shaking his head.

“Like father, like son,” Euphemia said with a knowing smile.

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the scene outside. Sirius’s gaze lingered on James’s hand as it rested on your shoulder, the ease of the gesture speaking louder than words.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Sirius allowed himself to believe. Not just in the love he saw in James’s face or the easy affection between Fleamont and Euphemia. But in the idea that maybe—just maybe—love wasn’t the cruel, twisted thing his family had tried to make him believe.

Maybe love, real love, was something entirely different.

November 27, 1976

My Jamie, Winter has settled over Beauxbatons, and the mountains are kissed with snow. I wish you could see how the frost sparkles on the trees. I think of you often, imagining the mischief you’re up to at Hogwarts. I heard you’re Quidditch Captain now — congratulations! I can already picture you soaring through the air, the wind in your hair and that unstoppable grin. You were born to lead, Jamie, and I’m so proud of you. Your mum wrote me again last week. She’s sent another scarf, this one in Gryffindor colors. She says it’ll keep me close to you. It does, in a way — I wrap it around myself when I miss you most. Do you think of me as much as I think of you? You’re my constant, my warmth on the coldest days. Soon it’ll be Christmas, and we’ll have the stars and endless nights to talk about everything. Until then, stay safe, my Jamie. Forever yours, Love

THE CHRISTMAS CHAOS AT THE POTTER HOUSE STARTED BEFORE SIRIUS EVEN HAD A CHANCE TO GRUMBLE ABOUT THE HOUR. The sun wasn’t up yet, but Fleamont Potter most certainly was, barreling into James’s room with the energy of a man half his age. Before Sirius could properly complain — or hide under the covers — he and James were unceremoniously hauled to the garage. Their mission? Assembling the absurdly large Christmas table that Euphemia insisted on every year.

Sirius swore under his breath, wrestling with the oversized wooden monstrosity. “You know,” he grumbled, glaring at James, “if your parents had just gone for a nice, normal-sized table, we wouldn’t be out here freezing our—”

“Language, Sirius!” Fleamont interrupted cheerfully, though there was a definite glint of amusement in his eyes.

Sirius rolled his eyes but complied, though only because Euphemia’s kitchen smelled like heaven, and he was determined to earn his way to a plate of whatever was roasting in the oven.

Inside, the house was a picture of festive perfection: holly strung along the bannisters, twinkling fairy lights glowing softly in the corners, and a wireless by the fireplace playing carols just loud enough to make Sirius hum along when no one was listening. Euphemia’s soft laughter echoed from the kitchen, mingling with yours as the two of you prepared a feast fit for kings — or in this case, a house full of Marauders.

And James? Well, James wasn’t himself.

Sirius noticed it almost immediately. His best mate was usually a hurricane of enthusiasm during the holidays, cracking jokes, sneaking sweets from the kitchen, and generally making a nuisance of himself. But today, James kept glancing toward the kitchen like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home.

The idiot was besotted.

Every time your laughter drifted into the room, James’s head whipped around like he was under some sort of spell. If you so much as said his name, he’d stop mid-sentence, his eyes lighting up like the Christmas tree in the corner. Sirius would’ve teased him mercilessly if it weren’t so... obvious. Painfully, ridiculously obvious.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN JAMES AND FLEAMONT HAD VANISHED TO THE GARAGE — probably to charm something they had no business charming — Sirius found himself tasked with tidying up James’s room. He grumbled the whole time, of course. Cleaning wasn’t his style, and James’s room was a disaster zone: Quidditch magazines spilling off the desk, parchment crumpled in corners, and socks scattered in ways that defied the laws of physics.

“Honestly, Prongs,” Sirius muttered, holding up a suspiciously stiff sock with the tips of his fingers. “How are you supposed to woo Evans — or anyone, for that matter — when your room smells like the wrong end of a hippogriff?”

As he moved to clear a particularly cluttered shelf, a box caught his eye. It was tucked in the far corner, partially hidden behind an old textbook. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Anything stashed away like that was bound to be interesting. With a mischievous grin, he reached for it, only for the entire thing to tumble off the shelf, spilling its contents across the floor.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, crouching to pick up the mess. His hand froze mid-reach when he realized what had fallen out: letters. Dozens of them, bundled in ribbons of various colors.

Sirius sat back on his heels, eyeing the pile. His curiosity, as always, got the better of him. With a glance at the door to ensure James wasn’t about to barge in, he grabbed the nearest stack and plopped himself onto the bed, cross-legged and grinning like a kid about to open a box of Zonko’s best tricks.

The first letter he unfolded smelled faintly of vanilla. Your scent, Sirius realized, and his grin faltered for just a moment.

October 7, 1971 Beauxbatons is so different from Hogwarts. The professors here are so strict, James, sometimes it feels like I’m being watched all the time! I miss the feeling of freedom you must have at Hogwarts, even if you’re always getting into trouble with Sirius. Do you ever just wish you could escape the rules and run wild?

Sirius chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting. “Trouble? Me? Never,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

But as he reread the letter, a strange tightness settled in his chest. The way you wrote about Hogwarts — it wasn’t just about the school. It was about James. Even miles away, you saw him as something larger than life, as the embodiment of freedom and adventure.

And James? The idiot probably thought you were just being polite.

February 21, 1971 Sirius sounds like a bit of a handful, but I bet he’s hilarious. I think I’d like him, even if he does cause chaos. You all sound like you’re constantly up to something, but I imagine you get into trouble a lot, don’t you? Anyway, I’d love to hear more about his pranks— I’m sure you and him must make a great team!

Sirius barked a laugh. “A handful? Pretty, you have no idea.”

Still, the words struck a chord. He could see it so clearly now: the way you’d woven yourself into James’s world with every playful question and teasing remark. You weren’t just curious about his adventures; you wanted to be a part of them, to understand the boy behind the Quidditch bravado and the wild schemes.

Then came the letters about Lily.

March 25, 1973 James, you always talk about Lily, and I think it’s sweet that you have such admiration for her. I bet she doesn’t even know how much you like her. She sounds like she’d be really hard to win over, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just don’t forget to have fun along the way, yeah?

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s saggy pants, Prongs, how thick can you be?”

He could almost picture you writing those words, the careful balance between encouragement and self-sacrifice. Even as you pushed James toward Lily, your letters were saturated with love — pure, unguarded, and heartbreakingly unspoken.

It was infuriating. How could two people so obviously meant for each other be so oblivious?

By the time Sirius reached the later letters, the humor had drained from his face.

December 5, 1974 Your mum sent me another gift! She’s so sweet, and I can’t believe how kind she is to me. It always makes me feel so loved. You know, when I’m away from you, it’s like I’m missing something... like the best part of my day. I never want to take our friendship for granted.

The parchment crinkled slightly as Sirius’s grip tightened. That wasn’t just gratitude — it was devotion, raw and aching. The kind of love that didn’t need fireworks or grand declarations because it was already woven into every moment, every memory.

And James? Sirius shook his head, a pang of frustration mixing with pity. James had spent years chasing the idea of love, blind to the fact that he already had it.

The final letter undid him.

December 12, 1975 I was thinking about you today, and how you’ve always been there for me — whether it was listening to me complain about the Beauxbatons professors or laughing with me when I’m in a bad mood. You’re always there, and I think that’s why I trust you more than anyone else. You’ll never know how much that means to me, Jamie.

Sirius closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. You didn’t just see James; you knew him. The real James — the boy who laughed too loudly, who lived for Quidditch, who couldn’t resist a good prank. You loved James, not the idealized version he tried to be for Lily or anyone else.

Sirius exhaled sharply, folding the letter with a reverence he didn’t usually bother with. His heart ached — not for himself, but for you, for James, for the years you’d both spent dancing around the truth.

“Merlin, you’re both idiots,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now. 

Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it further into disarray, his mind replaying what he’d just uncovered. The letters — those bloody letters — had been the key. Now everything fell into place: James’s barely-there smiles over the past few days, the way his gaze lingered when you entered the room, the softness in his laugh when you said something clever. James Potter, his brash, unrelenting, wildfire of a best friend, was utterly transformed around you.

Balanced. Grounded. Sincere.

It was unbearably obvious now, as if someone had pulled back the curtain.

And yet, the idiot still had Lily Evans’s picture on his bedside table in his dorm.

Sirius’s gaze fell on the stack of letters once more, neatly tied with a ribbons that seemed far too delicate for James’s usual chaos. He could have left it alone, let James figure things out in his own thick-headed way — but that wasn’t Sirius Black’s style. If there was one thing he’d learned from years of pranks, broken curfews, and bending the rules until they snapped, it was this: sometimes people needed a push, even if it stung a little.

Sirius exhaled and leaned back against the headboard, the letters still in hand. "You're a fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. Oh, the look on James’s face when he confronted him — it would be priceless. Sirius wasn’t one for sentiment, but for you? For James? Maybe, just maybe, he’d make an exception.

The door creaked open, and James stumbled into the room, his steps heavy with exhaustion. Sirius watched as his best friend all but collapsed into the armchair by the bookcase, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He looked like he’d been wrestling dragons all day — or, more likely, his dad’s endless list of chores.

But there was something else, too. A tension in his jaw, a restless energy that practically vibrated off him. Sirius could see it plain as day: James hadn’t seen her all day, and it was driving him mad. She was so close — just a staircase or two away — and yet untouchable.

Sirius cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, Prongs, is this why you’ve been obsessing over the owl schedule for years? Didn’t peg you as the secret pen-pal type.”

James’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing in confusion. They darted to the bed, where the stack of letters lay exposed, and then to the shelf where the box had clearly been moved. He froze for a second before letting out a long, resigned sigh.

“Pads,” James said, his voice low and uneven, heavy with an edge Sirius rarely heard. “It’s not cool to read someone else’s letters.”

The room seemed to still, the words settling into the air like dust, soft but laden with weight. James’s eyes — those unmistakable hazel orbs that always held a spark of mischief — were guarded now, a flicker of something raw and unspoken behind them.

Sirius leaned forward, a grin stretching across his face like the blade of a knife, sharp and unapologetic. “Not cool,” he echoed, his voice laced with mockery, “is keeping this from me for six bloody years. Care to explain, or should I guess?”

James flinched, the tension in his shoulders visible even through the soft knit of his jumper. He moved toward the bed with the slow, deliberate steps of someone walking a tightrope, balancing the fragile threads of anger and restraint. The dim light of the room cast long shadows over his frame, making him seem taller, older — more vulnerable.

He reached for one of the letters, his hand hesitating for the briefest moment before his fingers curled around the parchment. His thumb brushed over the faded ink, tracing the loops of her handwriting like a blind man reading Braille. The edges of the letter were frayed, softened by years of touch, and as he lifted it to his face, Sirius caught the faintest smile tugging at James’s lips.

It was a small, private thing, that smile. Reverent. It wasn’t the boyish grin Sirius knew so well, the one James wielded like a weapon to charm or disarm. No, this was different — softer, as though the mere act of holding the letter in his hand brought James closer to something sacred.

Sirius felt his chest tighten. He’d seen James in every possible state — triumphant on the Quidditch pitch, livid after a prank gone wrong, devastated when the world seemed too heavy — but this? This was new. This was James Potter unguarded.

“She’s different, isn’t she?” Sirius said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

James didn’t look up. He sat on the edge of the bed, sorting the letters with a precision that bordered on ritual. Each movement was deliberate, his fingers careful not to smudge the ink or crease the paper. Sirius had never seen him handle anything with such care — not his broomstick, not his glasses, not even the Marauder’s Map.

“It’s not what you think,” James murmured, but the words lacked conviction, as though he knew they’d crumble under scrutiny.

Sirius scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exasperated snort. “Not what I think? Mate, I think you’re in love with her and too much of an idiot to admit it. Am I wrong?”

James froze mid-motion, the ribbon he was tying slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move — just stared at the letters as if they might answer for him.

“She’s…” He trailed off, his voice barely audible. “She’s different, Pads. She’s… everything.”

There it was. The confession, raw and trembling in the space between them. Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression unusually serious.

“Yeah,” Sirius said softly. “She is. And that’s exactly why you’re a bloody idiot for pretending she’s not.”

James let out a bitter laugh, the sound low and fractured. He raked a hand through his already-messy hair, his movements frenetic, as though he were trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain. “It’s not that simple.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Sirius shot back, his tone sharp but not cruel. “I’ve watched you for years, Prongs. You talk about Evans like she’s some kind of bloody trophy, but her? You look at her like she’s the air you breathe. Like without her, you’d suffocate. And you’re sitting here telling me it’s complicated?”

James’s laugh turned hollow, empty. “Lily’s… safe. She’s who I’m supposed to want. She’s not my bloody childhood best friend.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Sirius said nothing. Then, he barked out a laugh, loud and biting.

“Safe?” he repeated, incredulous. “Since when have you ever played it safe, James Potter? Love’s not supposed to be safe. It’s messy, terrifying, and completely bloody worth it. Or are you seriously telling me you’d rather be ‘safe’ than happy?”

James looked up at him then, and Sirius’s breath caught. His best friend’s hazel eyes, usually so full of fire and mischief, were red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.

“Do you think…” James’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Do you think she feels the same?”

Sirius’s grin returned, slow and wolfish. “Mate, judging by these letters? She’s just as much of an idiot in love as you are.”

For a moment, James didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. And then, like a dam breaking, he laughed — a shaky, unsteady sound that grew louder, freer, until it filled the room.

“What do I do?” James asked, his voice raw and trembling with vulnerability.

Sirius stood, crossing the room to clap a hand on James’s shoulder. “You start by telling her everything. No more hiding. No more pretending. You owe her — and yourself — more than that.”

James nodded slowly, the faintest glimmer of determination flickering in his eyes. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Sirius said, smirking. “I’m always right.”

As James reached for the letters, carefully tucking them back into their box, Sirius watched him with a rare sense of pride. This wasn’t just James Potter, the fearless Quidditch captain, the prankster extraordinaire. This was James Potter, a boy on the cusp of something extraordinary.

And for once, Sirius Black wasn’t just causing chaos — he was helping someone find their way through it.

THE SNOW OUTSIDE FELL IN HEAVY, DELIBERATE FLAKES, BLANKETING THE WORLD IN A SOFT, UNBROKEN QUIET. Sirius stood on the second-floor landing of the Potter home, a mug of hot coffee cradled in his hands. The rich aroma mingled with the faint scent of pine and cinnamon wafting from the decorated tree below. The whole house seemed to hum with a kind of warmth that Sirius rarely allowed himself to imagine, let alone experience.

From his vantage point, he had a perfect view of the living room below. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, casting golden shadows across the walls. Mr. Potter sat on the sofa with an arm draped around Mrs. Potter, the two of them cocooned under a soft plaid blanket. A book rested on Fleamont’s lap as he read aloud, his voice low and steady. Euphemia’s head rested against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed in serene contentment. Every so often, she’d smile at something he read or reach up to adjust her husband’s glasses, her touch so light and familiar it made Sirius’s chest ache with longing — not jealousy, but something softer. A wistfulness for this kind of unshakable bond.

But his gaze didn’t linger on the Potters for long. It drifted to the corner of the room, where the Christmas tree’s twinkling lights bathed two figures in a kaleidoscope of warm colors. You and James sat on the floor amidst the chaos of torn wrapping paper and open boxes. The morning’s gifts had already been exchanged, but it seemed James had saved something special for last.

Even from here, Sirius could see the faint nervousness in his best friend’s posture. James wasn’t one to fidget, yet his hands moved restlessly, smoothing invisible creases on his trousers, brushing imaginary dust from the tree skirt. His eyes, though, were unwavering as they watched you. You were cross-legged on the fluffy white rug, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulder as you picked idly at a ribbon. Sirius noticed how your gaze lingered on James, curious and full of quiet affection.

James leaned closer, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable lilt of mischief. “One of the owls was late,” he said, holding up a slightly weathered envelope. The parchment looked a little worse for wear, its edges crumpled as if it had been handled too often. “It dropped this off this morning… asked me to give it to the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you reached for the envelope. “Still using that line, are you, Potter?”

“Can you blame me? It’s worked wonders so far.” His grin was cocky, but Sirius saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he handed it over.

You rolled your eyes, but the way you bit your lip betrayed your own anticipation. Turning the envelope over in your hands, you ran your fingers along the black-inked scrawl of your name before carefully breaking the seal. Sirius leaned forward slightly, his coffee forgotten as he watched the scene unfold.

The moment the letter emerged, the air seemed to shift. Your eyes darted across the page, your expression softening with each word. Sirius could see the precise moment the meaning settled in — the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your shoulders tensed, then relaxed, as if letting the weight of something long unspoken sink in. James’s hand rested on your knee, his thumb moving in small, nervous circles.

“Love?” James’s voice was barely above a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away. He was watching you as though the world rested on your reaction, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around yours. “You’re awfully quiet. Should I be worried? Say something. Anything.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, even as a tear slipped down your cheek, catching the light like a tiny diamond. James froze, his face paling slightly.

“Hey, hey, no…” His voice cracked. “Don’t cry. If it’s rubbish, just say so and we can forget it. Burn it, even.” He laughed nervously, though it sounded forced. “I’ll… I’ll pretend it never happened.”

That’s when you looked up, meeting his gaze with eyes so full of emotion it made Sirius’s breath hitch even from across the room. You didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached out, cupping James’s face in your hands. He stilled under your touch, his wide-eyed surprise melting into something softer as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss Sirius might have teased him about — not fiery or impulsive. It was quiet, deliberate, and full of a tenderness that made Sirius feel like an intruder, even though he couldn’t look away. James’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though you might slip away if he let go.

Sirius smiled to himself, feeling a rare swell of pride. James had always been the heart of their little group, the one who wore his feelings openly. And now, here he was, finding a kind of love that Sirius knew would anchor him forever.

A sharp click shattered the moment, and both of you turned your heads to find Sirius standing at the bottom of the stairs, a wide grin plastered across his face as he waved a freshly developed photo in the air.

“Perfect!” he announced, shaking the picture. “This one’s going in the family album. And when my godchildren ask how their parents got together, I’ll tell them Uncle Sirius orchestrated the whole thing.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against James’s shoulder, while James groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “You’re a menace, Pads,” he said, though his voice held no bite.

“A charming menace,” Sirius replied, retreating toward the couch where the elder Potters were watching the scene unfold with amused smiles.

“Everything alright, dear?” Euphemia asked, her eyes twinkling with affection as she glanced between you and James.

James nodded, his hand still firmly clasping yours. “Yeah, Mum. Everything’s perfect.”

Mrs. Potter’s smile widened, and she reached over to pat your hand. “Welcome to the family, my dear. Though, truth be told, you’ve always been part of it.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED IN A GOLDEN HAZE OF LAUGHTER AND WARMTH. Euphemia roped you into helping her in the kitchen, insisting you learn the secret to her mulled wine. Sirius watched from the doorway, sipping his coffee and grinning as you tried to follow her directions, only for James to sneak in and steal a taste from the pot, earning himself a playful swat on the arm.

By evening, the fire burned low, and the snow outside had blanketed the world in an even deeper hush. Sirius sat in his favorite armchair, a blanket draped over his legs as he watched the scene before him. You and James were curled up together on the rug, a cozy tangle of limbs as you whispered to each other, your laughter soft and unguarded. The Potters sat nearby, sharing quiet conversation, their hands intertwined.

For a moment, Sirius closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the room and the sounds of contentment wash over him. He thought of his own childhood Christmases — cold, sterile affairs devoid of joy. And then he thought of this… the home James had built, not just for himself but for everyone he cared about. It was the kind of love Sirius had always believed was out of reach. Until now.

“Merry Christmas, Prongs,” he murmured, raising his empty mug in a toast to his best friend.

James glanced up, catching his eye. “Merry Christmas, Pads,” he replied, his grin soft but unmistakably James.

James had turned to you, his hand cradling your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his arm.

"Merry Christmas, love," James murmured, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that made Sirius’s chest tighten.

"Merry Christmas, Jamie," you replied, resting your forehead against his.

Sirius chuckled, settling back into his chair, the warmth of the moment settling deep in his bones. The world outside might be cold and uncertain, but here, in this house, surrounded by love and laughter, everything felt exactly as it should be.

He thought about how James Potter had once given him the home and warmth he never had. And now, it seemed, Sirius Black had helped his best friend find his way home, too.

FROM THE ARCHIVE OF SIRIUS BLACK:

To my future, undoubtedly brilliant, devilishly handsome, and wildly talented nephews,

Listen up, you little rascals. You don’t know me yet, but let me make one thing very clear: I’m the reason you even exist. That’s right, your ridiculously perfect Uncle Sirius is the mastermind behind it all. Without my charm, wit, and expert meddling, your parents might still be doing the whole "will-they-won't-they" nonsense.

So, when you’re out there ruling the world, remember to thank yours truly. The coolest, suavest, and most humble uncle you'll ever have — Sirius Black. You're welcome.

December 25, 1976 My Love,   It’s Christmas, and the house is quiet now, the soft hum of the tree lights the only sound. I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at this parchment, trying to find words big enough for what I feel, but they don’t exist. Still, I need to try.   Love, I see it now—what I’ve been too blind to see all along. I’ve always thought of myself as brave, fearless even. But when it came to you, I was a coward. I didn’t want to risk losing you. You, who have been the brightest part of my life since the moment we met. You, who’ve filled every corner of my world with warmth and light, even when we were miles apart.   Every summer, when you stepped into my life again, it was like the sun breaking through a storm. You’d sit by the lake with that book you never quite finished because I was always distracting you. You’d laugh at my terrible jokes, your nose crinkling just so. And you’d hum when you thought no one was listening, always off-key but somehow more perfect than any melody I’ve ever heard.   I thought I was looking for the kind of love my parents have — their unshakable bond, the way they look at each other like the world begins and ends with them. And all this time, it was right here, under my nose. You were under my nose.   I think I was afraid, love. Afraid that if I let myself feel what’s always been there, I’d ruin us. That I’d lose the only person who’s ever truly known me, the only one who can look past the pranks, the bravado, and see me—the real me. But Sirius, being Sirius, knocked some sense into me. He said I’ve been acting like a fool, and for once, he’s right. Rereading our letters with him was like seeing my life laid out before me, and every line, every word pointed to you.   Even when you were far away, you were my everything. The letters you sent were more than ink on parchment; they were lifelines. When Hogwarts felt too big, too chaotic, you were the quiet in the storm. When I felt lost, you reminded me who I am. Do you know how many times I reread your words, just to feel close to you? I kept your letters in my trunk, hidden from the others like a secret treasure. Because that’s what you’ve always been — my treasure.   How could I have been so blind? How could I have wasted so much time thinking it was Lily I wanted when it’s always been you? I’ve spent so long chasing a dream when the real thing was right in front of me. I see it now, clearer than I’ve ever seen anything. You are my stars, my moon, my sun. You’re the laugh that makes everything brighter, the voice that feels like home.  

I love you. I love the way your handwriting gets messier when you’re excited. I love the way you argue with me over the silliest things just to see me smile. I love the way you hum when you’re nervous and how you always know exactly what to say to pull me out of my worst days. I love you.   I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I hope with everything in me that you do. And if you don’t, I’ll understand. Because having you in my life, even just as my friend, has been the greatest gift I could ever ask for. But if there’s even the smallest chance you might love me too, then I promise to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve you.   Merry Christmas, my love. You’ve been my greatest gift every day since I met you.   Forever yours,   Jamie

thankx for reading <3

god, this is my biggest work and I was so afraid to publish it, cause it seems to me that no one reads such long fics (I myself adore long fics).

and if you've finished reading this, thank u and I love you so much! I hope you enjoyed every part of it and I will be very glad if you leave a comment, because it seems to me that I have left all of myself in this work!

you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox. btw my requests are open so… make a wish :3                                

– your santi 🪐

masterlist

[nomaishuttle]

got 2 the end of the glass desert got caseys last starmail screammsss

[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

extended author's note -- know that this is an incredibly realistic note about the perception of love that will take you out of the fantasy lovey-dovey space. it's a disclaimer for the parts of the fic i romanticize and how u should not romanticize them in real life, as well as some notes about kaiser's characterization if you're interested

[mariasont]

Early seasons Spencer’s gf joining the team and quickly realizing just how used to Spencer she is bc the rest of the team’s reactions to him are so different from hers

Cinnamon Sticks - S.R

a/n: obsessed with the idea of baby spencie having a gf who just gets him while he's still an awkward, nerdy little genius! thanks for requesting bestie so sorry it took so long i am the worst LOL

masterlist

pairings: early!seasons!spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, secret relationship, relationship being exposed bc these two are just so in love

wc: 1.7k

Garcia burst into the bullpen like some sort of whirlwind that was painted in neon, her scarf fluttering behind her almost like a cape. She juggled a precariously full cup of coffee, while her phone teetered between ear and shoulder as if testing the limits of human dexterity.

"I swear to all that is holy, if my life doesn't slow down in the next five minutes--"

The sentence derailed as she misjudged her pace, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the cup. She stopped abruptly, her arms a flurry of motion, but not quick enough to stop the scalding liquid from spilling over and searing her fingers.

"Oh, fantastic! Just what I needed!" she huffed, waving her hand like it might stop the sting.

She threw herself into the closest chair with a huff, slumping back and fixing the coffee cup with a murderous glare, like this was just another tally in a long line of grievances.

Your eyes darted up from your work, only for a moment, enough to confirm what you already knew. You hadn't been working here long, but it was long enough to recognize the phenomenon that was Garcia: a blur of motion and words, mid-rant before anyone had the chance to catch up. It was like clockwork really.

You risked a glance across the desk at Spencer, who was so absorbed in his notebook it was a wonder he even remembered to breathe. If Garcia's antics registered as white noise to anyone, it was him. But then, almost like he had a radar for being watched, he looked up, catching your gaze.

His eyebrows lifted into a subtle what can you do? expression, and you couldn't help but smile back.

That was the thing about Spencer. He had this uncanny knack for knowing exactly what you were thinking, almost as if he had a cheat sheet for your brain. And maybe he did--like his brain worked three times faster than everyone else's in the room (which, let's face it, it definitely did). But instead of that being intimidating, it was oddly reassuring.

"At this rate, I'm one bad email away from alphabetizing my entire pantry for stress relief."

Spencer's notebook hit the desk, and there it was--the shift. His shoulders drew back, face lighting up--the kind of thing that signaled his mini-lecture was incoming.

"Organizing your pantry is actually a practical stress management technique. By categorizing items, you create a structured environment that reduces decision fatigue. Its why people feel calmer in tidy spaces, it's psychological."

Morgan held up a hand. "Psychological, huh? Sounds like you’re just trying to justify your weird love affair with labels, pretty boy.”

“Don’t forget,” you added absently, flipping a page in your report, “it also saves time when you’re cooking. I think you called it practical efficiency."

The words slipped out without much thought, but as soon as they did, the bullpen stilled. You glanced up, heart sinking as you saw every face turned in your direction.

Morgan’s grin was the first thing you notice--wide and knowing, stretching across his face. He tilted his head, eyes bouncing between you and Spencer like he was putting pieces together in real time.

“Wait a minute,” he said, sitting forward with a gleam in his eye. “Did you just quote him? Like, word for word?”

Your cheeks heated instantly. “What? No. I mean—maybe. I don’t know.”

“Pretty sure you did,” Morgan shot back, smirking. “Man, what else has he been teaching you? You got the periodic table memorized too?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, please. If you’ve been around Spencer long enough, you’re bound to pick up a few things. He’s like a walking encyclopedia.”

“Well,” Spencer said, his head tilting slightly as he spoke, “your cinnamon sticks always end up at the back of your pantry. That’s why I figured you might appreciate the idea of organizing by use frequency. Like I said, practical efficiency.”

The moment the words left his mouth, you knew he’d made a tactical error.

Garcia gasped, her eyes lighting up like she’d just been handed the juiciest piece of gossip of her life. 

“Oh. My. God. Spencer Reid, how exactly do you know what the back of her pantry looks like?”

You froze, rooted to the spot as the realization hit you like a cartoon anvil. This was bad.

Spencer’s expression mirrored yours for half a second—wide-eyed panic—but he quickly scrambled for an answer. 

“It’s, um… a logical assumption,” he stammered, his fingers toying with the pen in his hand, a nervous tell he couldn’t quite suppress. “Spices like cinnamon sticks always seem to migrate to the back of the pantry unless there’s an intentional system in place.”

Morgan let out a long, low whistle, rocking back in his chair with enough force to make it creak. His grin was insufferably smug, the kind that practically begged for something to be thrown at him. 

“Nice save. But I don’t think Garcia’s buying it.”

Garcia tapped her chin, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “Oh, no, no, no. This is too good. I mean, logical assumption my fabulous behind! Cinnamon sticks in the back of her pantry? Really? What’s next? A detailed analysis of how she stacks her cereal boxes?”

You laughed, though it sounded more like a bark than anything natural. “You’re all reading way too much into this. Spencer just knows weirdly specific things about, well, everything. That’s kind of his thing, remember?”

“Mmhmm,” Garcia hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Alright, genius, I’ll let it slide this time. But I’m watching you.”

“Please don’t,” Spencer muttered under his breath, earning a round of laughter from the team.

Garcia spent a solid ten minutes in full interrogation mode after that, her eyes narrowing with each and every pointed question she lobbed your way. Morgan, of course, was no help. He leaned back, grinning like a kid with a front-row seat to the circus, his smirk practically screaming that he knew they were this close to striking a nerve.

Spencer and you had been so careful. You'd been dating long before you joined the BAU, but the moment Hotch had called to offer you the position, you both knew you'd have to keep things under wraps. Dating a coworker was one thing; dating Spencer Reid, a genius with an accidentally too-honest mouth, was an entirely different challenge.

You hadn't expected it to be this hard, though. Keeping the secret wasn't the worst part--it was pretending he wasn't the center of your universe every time you walked into the room. It was keeping your hands to yourself when all you wanted to do was smooth out the messy strands of hair that always fell into his eyes. It was biting your tongue when someone interrupted his long-winded tangents because the truth was, you loved hearing him talk.

The hours stretched on, and the bullpen slowly thinned out. Garcia was the first to leave, blowing a kiss to the room. Morgan left soon after, pausing to flash you one last grin before disappearing. Even Prentiss packed up for the night, muttering something about needed an extra shot of espresso tomorrow morning.

"You handled that well."

You looked up from your report to find Spencer by your desk, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other skimming lightly along the edge of the divider. His expression was surprisingly soft, almost bashful, as though he had been waiting to get you alone.

"Handled that well?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You were the one who almost blew it, Spencer. Cinnamon sticks? Really?"

He smiled, lips twitching upward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Okay, I'll admit that wasn't my most subtle moment. But in my defense, they do end up at the back of most pantries."

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head as you leaned back in your chair. 

"We're lucky Garcia got distracted. If she'd pushed any harder..." Your voice drifted into a soft sigh. "That could've been bad."

"That was a close one."

The quiet that followed wasn't uncomfortable, but it felt a little more substantial, if that was the word, filled with that soft ache that always bloomed in your chest when he was near. 

Spencer stepped closer, his hand brushing against the edge of your desk. His body angled toward you, like even when you weren’t touching, he couldn’t help but gravitate toward you.

“You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “I don’t think she actually suspects anything. But we should probably be more careful.”

"Probably," you replied, drawing out the word in a teasing, sing-song tone. “Unless you’d rather keep showing off how ridiculously well you know me.”

His cheeks flushed a soft pink, but he didn’t look away. Instead, that shy, boyish smile—the one that always made you a little breathless—spread across his lips.

"That's going to be hard," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I noticed a lot about you."

The words hit you like they always did--soft enough, but with the force of a thousand butterflies taking flight in your chest. You could feel the flush creeping up to your neck, and you mentally cursed him for how easily he was able to do this to you.

"You're lucky I like you."

His smile widened, and his eyes crinkled at the corners in that way they only came out at specific moments. Like when he successfully performed a card trick for the team or when he stumbled across an original copy of a book at a library sale. 

The same one you'd seen when he talked about his mom on her good days, or when you asked him on a date. 

You leaned forward. "And since I like you, any chance you'd want to kiss me right now?"

"How could I not, with you looking at me like that?"

The angle was clumsy--your chair too low, his frame leaning awkwardly over--but all of that melted away the second his hands found your face. His thumbs brushed soft circles against the place where your cheek met your jaw.

His lips were soft against yours at first, testing, before growing firmer, more sure. The kind of confidence that came with a hundred familiar kisses before. 

Time seemed to slow, or at least for you it did, the rest of the world nonexistent.

The sound of a throat clearing broke the spell, and you jerked back from Spencer, your chair wobbling slightly as you turned toward the sound. You immediately regretted it--your lips felt swollen, your face hot, and there was Prentiss, leaning against the doorframe.

"We were... uh, testing something," you blurted, avidly avoiding eye contact. "You know, like... oxygen exchange! For scientific purposes."

Spencer blinked, then mumbled, "Oxygen exchange? That's the best you got?"

"Shut it," you hissed through gritted teeth, not daring to look at him.

Prentiss arched a brow. "Relax, lovebirds. If this is your idea of scientific research, I'll make sure Garcia doesn't find out. You're welcome."

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[captainadwen]

Damian Wayne vs the World

Sixteen year old Damian Wayne is on the hunt for a younger sibling. Being more discerning than Bruce 'child collector' Wayne, Damian's firm criteria for Batman's latest adoption problem includes but is not limited to: black haired, blue-eyed, tolerable humor, not evil, and most importantly - younger than Damian.

Lucky for him, fourteen year old newbie vigilante Danny Fenton is the perfect fit. Now, to fulfill his end of their deal, Damian must defeat the evil government organization hunting Danny in order to gain a baby brother.

Or, @livinghalfway your post made my brain go !! but in such a different way I figured it was better to make a separate post, hope you don't mind/enjoy still

~~

Damian Wayne re-entered Tim Drake's life like a gnat revealing itself in a closed bedroom space. Tim was in t-shirt and a boxers, maneuvering ramen into his mouth with one hand and scribbling out an epiphany on a murder case with another, when Damian's demonic dulcet voice echoed down from the ceiling. "Drake," said Damian, judgemental, "You live like this?"

Tim nearly choked on his ramen, because the day Damian doesn't attempt to murder him - however doubtfully accidental this incident might be - is the day Darkseid decides to be friends with the Justice League. "Fucking knock," Tim coughed out. "And get out. No one invited you in."

"Put better traps if you don't want me here," said Damian, dropping from the ceiling where he'd crawled in on wall-clamps.

"This is my apartment," said Tim. "It's called courtesy."

Damian sniffed. He padded around to Tim's desk and frowns at his cases, then said, with no further lead up, "I need your assistance."

"No," said Tim.

"You did not even listen to my request."

"Don't need to," said Tim. "Answer's still no. Door is that way. Bye."

"Father says mutually assisting each other is beneficial," said Damian.

"Father," said Tim sarcastically, "blamed me for you exploding a glitter bomb in the batcave two weeks ago."

"That is your fault for not being able to provide evidence to the contrary in an appropriately efficient manner," said Damian. He squinted down at Tim. "And he apologized. Eventually."

"I would not have glittered the batcomputer," said Tim. "Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it is to backup those servers? No, because you don't like tech work, you just profit off it."

"Blaming me for Father's mistake," said Damian, "Most mature of you. But we must put our differences aside. I have selected a new family member and I need you to dismantle a government organization."

That drew Tim up short. He blinked down at his ramen as though it might explain Damian's words to him, but the ramen remained disappointingly uninformative. "Repeat that," said Tim, gesturing with his chopsticks. "Slower, and with more detail."

Damian pulled out his phone and sent him an email. Silence surrounded them in the brief moment it took Tim to set aside his chopsticks and open the email. The subject line was titled 'New Baby Brother', which birthed all sorts of horrifying nightmares of Damian Part 2: Demon Child Boogaloo. The teen in the inserted picture, however, was reassuringly not in possession of Damian's bone structure.

He did have black hair and blue eyes. "Who am I looking at?" asked Tim.

"Daniel Fenton," said Damian. "He is fourteen years old, enjoys puns, and has recently awakened 'ghost powers' that allow him to transform into the vigilante Phantom to fight other ghosts."

"Is he also an orphan with a tragic backstory?"

"No," said Damian, and Tim relaxed. "But that will not be an issue. We can share custody if they cannot be removed from the picture."

"Jesus H, kid."

"I am joking, of course," said Damian blandly. "Murder is wrong."

"Ha ha," said Tim. "If he has parents already he's not joining our menagerie."

"He will," said Damian, with a smug upwards tilt of his lips. "He and I have a deal."

"So you're coercing him in addition to stalking him. Anything else you want to share with the class?"

Damian considered this query with a serious frown, which was how Tim knew this was not a flight of fancy or a very early midlife crisis (although with their lifestyle and Damian already having died before...).

"He has," said Damian after a moment, "a rogue that calls himself 'The Master of all Technology' and is a technopath." This was clearly meant to be of interest to Tim, and not to be a stereotype, but it kind of was.

"Great." Tim turned his attention back to the email the demon child sent him. He scanned through it quickly. There was apparently a secret and evil government organization dedicated to the investigation and extermination of 'ghosts' and other paranormal creatures in the world. Their latest efforts were focused on the town of Amity Park, Illinois, which was 'infested with ectoplasmic pests'. Their words, not Damian's. (It was specified in the email.)

"Okay," Tim drummed his fingers against his desk. "Before I help you defeat this secret evil government organization so that," he opened the email attachment with a contract on it and squinted at the legalese, "this poor newbie teen you've harassed into signing this joins the family in exchange."

"I did not harass him," Damian huffed. "It was a gentleman's agreement."

"Does he know that?"

"I am not a politician, Drake. I thoroughly explained the terms and legalities before presenting any contract. Now ask your question."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because," said Damian, tone implying 'you are stupid and haven't noticed something obvious, idiot'. "Father has begun saying he misses the noise around the manor and looking wistfully at old pictures."

"We still live there though?" said Tim. Damian looked flatly at him. "Sometimes."

"If you lived there frequently enough," said Damian, "you would already know Father is having...empty nest syndrome." Damian sounded disgusted. "I refuse to tolerate whatever inadequate and incompetent child he will find."

"So instead you found an incompetent and inadequate child for him?"

"Don't be stupid, Drake," said Damian. "I would not have chosen someone inadequate. Daniel is merely lacking formal training. Father can rectify this. It will keep him occupied for at least the next two to four years, which gives me enough time to find another black-haired, blue-eyed, tolerable child I approve of to be his successor and my second younger sibling." Damian paused. "Or until one of you procreates and gives him a grandchild."

"You're really serious about this," Tim whispered in horrified awe.

"I am serious about everything I do," said Damian. "Now, you will help me defeat this evil government organization so that our new sibling joins us."

"Okay," said Tim, but his mind snagged on a minor, throwaway detail, so utterly in odds with Damian 'Demonic Jealous Child' Al Ghul it surely came from another person - "Did you just call this kid your successor?"

[clockwayswrites]

A Bird in the building is worth to in the car. Or something. Part 23

yes, I do have too much fun with these part titles masterpost

The efficiency that Danny and the kids were ushered, privately and securely, into the parking garage and the waiting car with was impressive. Bruce gave the order and then in a breath they were at the car. Unable to fight the instinct, Danny had kept his wings around the boys the whole way, as if he could protect them from the world.

Even in the car Danny still wanted to protectively drape his wings around them. He was grateful when both boys let him. He was grateful that Mr. Pennyworth didn’t comment on the wings at all. He just wished Bruce had gone with them.

It was completely understandable for Bruce to have to check on the situation and the people who had been in the building before leaving, but it left Danny feeling on edge. It would be better once Bruce was back in the car, and Danny knew that everyone here was safe. If it had been possible, he would have preferred to wait in the safe room. With the incoming cops that hadn’t been wise.

What felt like too long later, Danny watched Bruce walk towards the car through the tinted windows, flanked by very alert security. The door opening and closing felt very final. Danny let out a breath he hadn’t exactly been holding, but had still felt clogged up in his chest.

Bruce leaned across the center console and part way into the back seat. “Are you all alright?”

“Yes, Father,” Damian said where he was just barely leaning into Danny’s side and cradled by a wing.

“Yeah,” Tim said. “But, B, he was following me. He said he saw me going into the building. He called me a dormouse. I didn’t… I didn’t even notice him until he came into the building.”

Danny carded talons through Tim’s hair, hoping to calm himself as much as Tim or else he might go back and show the Mad Hatter how terrifying he could really get.

Bruce didn’t look any more pleased at that. “We’ll look into it, and I’ll pass along the information too. We’ll have to put some security on you for a bit in case he has others under control who are still after you.”

Tim frowned at that and Danny couldn’t resist leaning over to press a kiss to Tim’s hair, as presumptuous as the act was. “Let us protect you, hummingbird.”

Tim looked up at him. “Hummingbird?”

Danny just gave a little shrug. It seemed to fit. He didn’t think too much about it. It fit in the same way as being able to wrap his wings around them and the need to protect them.

“And what about you?” Bruce asked.

Danny glanced at the other man, tilting his head quizzically.

“Are you alright?” Bruce clarified.

“He was not before the event,” Damian jumped in quickly. “He was obviously fatigued and suffering from either a headache or over stimulation from the noise.”

“Or both,” Tim added. “We thought he might be leaving to go home.”

“I was just leaving to get lunch,” Danny sighed, even though they weren’t wrong about the rest.

Bruce frowned and held his hand out, which Danny just blinked at.

“Hand, Danny,” Bruce explained. “I want to check your pulse.”

Danny froze. He was suddenly, excruciatingly aware that his hand was still tipped in talon and small feathers. He snatched his hand out of Tim’s hair, worried now that his hand alone had been too much, as distorted as it was. He crossed his arms, hiding his hands against his body.

“I’m fine.”

Bruce didn’t pull his hand back. Instead his whole face softened in a sad way that confused Danny.

“We aren’t afraid of you, Danny,” Bruce said. His voice was a comforting low rumble that Danny wanted desperately to trust. “You’ve been nothing but kind to my family and today you kept them safe. The physical changes you went through to do that do not scare me.”

Danny glanced down and away, trying to avoid looking at any of them in the tight space of the car. “They scare me.”

Damian clicked his tongue and leaned further into Danny’s side, further in under the wing. Tim reached for a hand. Not wanting to accidentally hurt Tim with the sharp talons, Danny reluctantly let him take it. Tim wrapped his own fingers confidently around Danny’s.

Bruce still waited with his hand out.

Danny chewed on his lip, an old nervous tick. Bruce waited. The boys stayed close. Finally, Danny let out a huff of air and offered his hand up to Bruce.

“Your pulse is a bit erratic,” Bruce said after he had counted Danny’s pulse along to the ticking of his watch. He didn’t let go of Danny’s hand after it, instead he ran his thumb against Danny’s wrist. The touch almost made Danny shiver in a good way.

“I, ah, adrenalin crash, I figure,” Danny said once he could find his words.

“Are you alright returning to the Manor so that we can keep an eye on you?”

“Oh I get asked this time?” Danny teased. Teasing was easier.

Bruce just chuckled. “Well you are awake.”

“I… yes,” Danny answered. It was less about him being looked after and more so that he could look after the boys. If he went home now, he’d worry all night.

Mr. Pennyworth finally started the car. “Will you be needing medication or any such health items from your apartment, sir?”

Danny shook his head. “I keep some extra doses in my bag. And really, just Danny is alright.”

“Then to home, Master Danny.”

Danny tried not to miss the touch as Bruce pulled away and buckled in for the drive.

[icecream4starscream]

Spoiler Warning for Transformers One. Please go see the film, it's great.

Something occurred to me when rewatching Elita-1's firing scene:

Right off the bat, she's presented as an absolute unit in the mines. We see her being a very by-the-book character. She's incredibly competent, strong, serious, focused, and an effective leader.

Maybe a little too effective.

We learn that Sentinel goes out of his way to personally take care of any "anomalies" in his system and does so in a way where the blame always gets shifted away from him.

It's why he personally went to see Pax and D-16 after the Iacon 5000 race. He makes himself out to be the open-minded, compassionate leader he's been parading as.

When Darkwing throws Orion and D-16 into sub-level 50, neither bot suspects Sentinel for their demotion. In fact, they beg Darkwing to talk to Sentinel so he can sort out the "misunderstanding".

It's later confirmed that Sentinel never had any intention of talking with Orion or D-16 after their first meeting. When Orion reunites with his fellow miners later in the film, they mention that Sentinel put out a statement saying that they both died from "racing injuries".

Sentinel might've not even openly ordered Darkwing to dispose of them. Darkwing might've been manipulated into thinking everyone was mocking him for losing the race (thanks to lowly miners) making him want to get rid of them.

Subconsciously manipulating someone like Darkwing would've been easy for Sentinel.

Sentinel clearly does not tolerate anyone rising above the station he imposes on them.

So what does this have to do with Elita-1 being fired?

We see her rigidly following the rules, meeting all quotas, running a tight and efficient crew. She's doing her job as a miner, a role unknowingly forced upon her by Sentinel, perfectly.

Shouldn't Sentinel be happy about that?

Well sure...

If Elita wasn't actively trying to get promoted.

We don't get a lot of information about how promotion works in TFOne's mining system, but we do know that in other iterations of pre-war Cybertron, one of the only ways miners could rise out of the mines was by participating in ridiculously difficult gladiatorial fights in Kaon's pits.

In other iterations, this was how D-16/Megatron was able to escape his station and how he grew to be so strong.

So basically, whatever version you look at, the miners are told "if you work really, reeeeally hard, and do your job perfectly, and don't die in the process (which, odds are, you will) you might, MIGHT get a chance to get out of the caste you were born into."

It's BS.

It's an impossible feat. No one is actually supposed to be able to achieve that goal, but it's the metaphorical carrot dangling in front of the work mules so they don't notice the ever-tightening rope around their necks.

But every so often there's someone extraordinary, like Elita, who actually manages to meet this impossible standard and with whom it becomes increasingly difficult to deny this coveted promotion.

So what can Sentinel do about bots like Elita-1?

Simple.

Wait for a screw-up.

It must happen eventually.

A member of Elita's team, Orion Pax, in clear violation of evacuation protocol, goes back into the mines to save Jazz from getting crushed to death.

Despite managing to escape, the closing mine causes a tunnel support to be flung into nearby machinery (which doesn't look critical and could probably be easily fixed).

Then, right the heck outta nowhere, Darkwing drops in, SECONDS AFTER THE INCIDENT JUST HAPPENED, and immediately fires Elita.

No "What happened?" or "Who's responsible?" or "The supervisor wants to see you", he just pops into the scene and demotes Elita, arguably one of the best workers in the mine, to a bottom-tier waste management position.

As if he'd been on standby, actively waiting for a reason to fire her.

"But Elita herself wasn't the one who screwed up!"

Doesn't matter.

"But she told them to follow protocol!"

Doesn't matter.

"But Orion admitted he was the one at fault!"

Doesn't matter.

"But a bot was saved! Jazz would've died!"

Does. Not. MATTER.

Her firing is presented as the typical "one character says thing won't happen then thing immediately happens" joke, but given how so much thought went into so much of TFOne's background details, I can't help but wonder if this was a hint to how broken the system was and how it was always rigged in a way that ensures the miners will never get out.

Not to mention, once Orion, D-16, and Jazz safely escape, she chews Orion out by saying, "If I get fired for this..." meaning this abrupt, out-of-nowhere, baseless firing is absolutely typical.

That's what makes Elita's "I'm better than you" speech to Orion that much more meaningful, because in many ways, she is better than him.

She's a better worker, better fighter, better at completing the task at hand, better at making sure things run smoothly. She is, ironically enough, an efficient and perfectly-running machine.

But had Orion not dragged Elita to the surface, she probably would've spent her whole life obediently following the rules, never questioning why things were the way they were. She was so focused on rising up within the system that she could never look beyond it.

Elita might be the cog by which other cogs turn.

But Orion is the spark that shows them a better way.

That's why he was given the Matrix.

[elikajinnie]

Wisdom And Death - N.R

P: DemiGod!Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Teasing, Sword fighting, Tension, Obsessive Behaviour (no literally), Jealousy if you squint, Park Wonbin Cameo.

Synopsis: You’ve just discovered you're the daughter of Athena, goddess of wisdom, and now you’re at Camp Half-Blood. You struggle to survive—but now Ni-ki, son of Hades seems to have taken an interest in you.

a/n: already done harry potter, why not try out percy jackson as well? i dont expect this to do good tbh..

--

You were a daughter of Athena, goddess of wisdom and strategy. It was a truth you had only recently learned, and not in the way you might have expected. Your father—distant, aloof, and perpetually overworked—had dropped the bombshell on you like it was just another item on his to-do list. For years, he had told you that your mother had died in childbirth, a tragic story you’d grown up swallowing whole. But then, out of nowhere, he decided it was time you knew the truth.

At first, you didn’t believe him. Who would? The idea of being the child of a literal goddess sounded absurd, like something out of one of those cheesy fantasy movies you used to watch. But your dad wouldn’t let you argue. He brushed off your questions with the same detached efficiency he used for everything else and, before you knew it, you were being shoved into the backseat of a car with a suitcase in one hand and a head full of unanswered questions.

That’s how you ended up here: a camp in the middle of the woods with a wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze. You tilted your head to read it, the letters etched deep into the grain: Camp Half-Blood.

"Right," you muttered to yourself. "Because Camp Mythological Heritage would’ve been too on the nose."

Still, there was no turning back now. With a shrug, you stepped past the entrance and into a world that felt like something out of a fever dream. Kids your age—and younger—were scattered across the campgrounds, each of them doing something more insane than the last. One kid was scaling a rock wall that was on fire, while another sparred with a partner using what looked like actual swords. Over by the lake, a group of campers were... were those horses? No, centaurs. Actual centaurs.

You stood frozen, your mouth slightly ajar. It was like stepping into a fantasy novel. Or a madhouse. You hadn’t decided which one yet.

“Well,” you muttered to yourself, “this is either going to be the best thing that ever happened to me... or the absolute worst.”

You made your way toward the center of the camp, still trying to process the sheer chaos unfolding around you. Everyone seemed so... at home here. But you, well, you felt like an outsider. Your entire life had been one thing, and now it was completely turned upside down. As you walked, you tried to ignore the tiny pit of unease growing in your stomach. This wasn’t what you had imagined. Then again, you hadn’t imagined much of anything.

Before you could spiral too much, a voice broke through your thoughts. "You must be the daughter of Athena," it said, smooth and calm, yet somehow with a touch of familiarity, as if it had known you your whole life.

You blinked up at the speaker, startled. Standing before you was a centaur—half man, half horse—his chest broad and dignified, and his eyes sharp, like he could see right through you. He was somehow... kind. A strange contrast to the world you had just walked into.

“Welcome,” he continued, extending a hand that you shook uncertainly. “I’m Chiron. I know this must be overwhelming, but we’re here to help.”

You raised an eyebrow. "Chiron? Like, the Chiron from Greek mythology?"

"That would be me," he said with a small chuckle. "But I’ve been around for a long time, you'll find the name a bit more casual in a place like this."

You blinked again, not sure how to react. This wasn’t the kind of welcome you had expected, but then again, nothing about this situation was what you’d imagined.

As Chiron began to explain the camp, his words flowed with an ease that made everything sound... normal. Like discovering you were the child of a goddess wasn’t as monumental as it seemed. He explained the demigod life with a sense of nonchalance, detailing the training you’d undergo. Everything had a rhythm to it, like a battle plan carefully constructed and laid out.

"Your mother, Athena," he said, his gaze softening for a moment, "she's one of the most revered of the Olympian gods. Intelligence, strategy, wisdom—they all run through her blood, and now, through yours."

You had to hold back a sigh. You’d heard about your mother’s legacy, but it felt distant, like a story told to you by someone who didn’t quite know the ending. Chiron, however, spoke like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"And here," he gestured grandly, "is where you’ll be staying."

You followed his gaze to a modest cabin that seemed to exude an aura of quiet authority. It was simple, yet elegant in its design, with the unmistakable feeling that it had been built for both function and beauty.

“This is the Athena cabin,” Chiron said, his voice low, respectful. “It’s where the children of Athena reside. You’ll find it to be a place of study, of strategy. And you’ll find that, like your mother, you will be expected to think and lead carefully.”

You stood before it, still unsure of how you were supposed to feel. "I’m supposed to live here now?" you asked, voice almost too small to be your own.

"Yes," Chiron replied, his smile gentle. “And while it may take some time to get used to, you'll find that the family you never knew you had is here. The other daughters of Athena will become your sisters—your allies in this world.”

You nodded, though you couldn’t help the doubts swirling in your mind. Could you really belong here? Could you live up to this legacy, to the expectations of a goddess you barely knew?

“Come,” Chiron said, turning toward the cabin. “Let’s get you settled in. And don’t worry, we’ve all been through this transition. You're not alone.”

The inside of the Athena cabin was everything you expected and more. Rows of bookshelves lined the walls, crammed with texts on strategy, philosophy, mythology, and other subjects you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. The air smelled faintly of parchment and ink, with a touch of something herbal—maybe mint or rosemary. There were maps and blueprints pinned to corkboards, some of them marked with notes in handwriting so precise it could have been printed. A large table dominated the center of the room, strewn with scrolls, chessboards, and what looked like the half-finished plans for a miniature catapult.

Several campers were scattered around the room, their heads bent in concentration. Some were reading, others sketching battle tactics, and a few were locked in intense chess matches. They didn’t look up as you entered, but you could feel their awareness. It was as if they had already sized you up without even glancing your way.

“This is your home now,” Chiron said, his voice low as he gestured around the room. “The children of Athena value intellect, strategy, and wisdom. You’ll find that everyone here has their own strengths, and soon, you’ll discover yours as well.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. The room was intimidating in a way you couldn’t quite put into words. It wasn’t the weapons or the books or even the aura of focus—it was the expectation. The unspoken weight that came with being Athena’s child.

One of the campers finally looked up, a girl with sharp features and dark hair pulled into a braid. She stood, crossing her arms as she approached. “New kid?” she asked, her tone more curious than unkind. Her eyes seemed to assess you in an instant.

“Yes,” Chiron answered before you could. “This is Athena’s newest appointed daughter.”

The girl’s expression shifted slightly, softening just enough to put you at ease. She extended a hand. “I’m Sophia. Welcome to the Athena cabin.”

You shook her hand, her grip firm but not overwhelming. “Uh, thanks. I’m—”

“Don’t worry,” Sophia interrupted, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “We’ll learn your name soon enough. For now, let’s just focus on getting you settled in.” She turned back to Chiron. “We’ll take it from here.”

Chiron nodded, his expression approving. “Good. I’ll leave you to it, then.” He placed a hand on your shoulder briefly, his presence steadying. “You’re in good hands here. I’ll check in with you later.”

And with that, he left, his hooves clopping softly against the wooden floor as he disappeared out the door.

Sophia turned back to you, her smirk widening. “Well, newbie, let’s get this over with. You’ll be bunking over here.” She led you to a bed near the back of the cabin, neatly made with gray blankets and pillows. A small wooden trunk sat at the foot of it, clearly meant for your belongings. “It’s not much, but you’ll get used to it.”

You set your bag down, glancing around at the other bunks. Everything was organized, almost militaristically so. No stray clothes, no clutter—just a quiet efficiency that made your own messy habits feel glaringly obvious.

Sophia must have noticed your hesitation because she raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry. We don’t bite. Much.” She tilted her head toward the other campers. “Most of us are too busy with our projects to bother anyone. Just don’t touch anyone’s stuff without asking, and you’ll be fine.”

You nodded, sitting on the edge of your bed. “So… what now?”

“Now,” Sophia said, crossing her arms again, “you try to survive. Training starts tomorrow morning, bright and early. Hope you’re ready to learn how to wield a weapon, because monsters won’t care how good you are at chess.”

Your stomach flipped at the mention of monsters, but you tried not to let it show. “Great,” you muttered. “Sounds fun.”

Sophia chuckled, shaking her head. “Don’t worry, newbie. We’ve all been where you are. You’ll find your place soon enough.”

With that, she walked off, leaving you alone to process everything. You lay back on the bed, staring up at the wooden ceiling. The sounds of the camp filtered in through the open windows—laughter, the clang of swords, the steady rhythm of feet pounding the ground.

You exhaled slowly, trying to let the noises outside soothe the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. It didn’t work. How could it, when the weight of everything that had happened in the past few days pressed down on you like a lead blanket? You were the daughter of a goddess. A literal goddess. How were you supposed to live up to that? You didn’t feel particularly wise or strategic. You felt... normal. Average. Like a fish suddenly thrown into a sea of sharks.

A knock on the doorframe startled you out of your thoughts. You sat up quickly, your heart skipping a beat as you looked toward the entrance. A boy stood there, leaning casually against the frame with his arms crossed. His sandy blonde hair was messy, like he’d just come from sparring, and there was a faint smear of dirt on his cheek. He looked about your age, maybe a little older, with an easy confidence that made you feel even more out of place.

“Hey,” he said, his voice light but curious. “You’re the new Athena kid, huh?”

You nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

He grinned, pushing off the doorframe and stepping inside. “Figures. You’ve got that look about you.”

You frowned, tilting your head. “What look?”

“You know,” he said, gesturing vaguely, “all serious and... thinking about ten things at once. Classic Athena kid behavior.”

You weren’t sure if that was a compliment or not. “And you are?”

“Jake,” he said, sticking out a hand. “Son of Apollo.”

You hesitated for half a second before shaking his hand. His grip was firm but friendly, and his smile was disarming. “Nice to meet you, I guess.”

“Guess?” he repeated with a mock pout. “Wow, tough crowd.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little, despite yourself. There was something about him that put you at ease, even if his confidence was a little overwhelming.

“So,” he said, glancing around the cabin before turning back to you, “how’s your first day going? Overwhelmed yet?”

“More like completely lost,” you admitted. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Jake nodded knowingly. “Yeah, that’s pretty normal. Everyone feels like that at first. But don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. Just... try not to overthink everything. I know it’s, like, in your DNA or whatever, but trust me, this place is way easier to deal with if you just roll with the punches.”

“Right,” you said, not entirely convinced. “Easy for you to say. You’ve probably been here forever.”

“Three years,” he said, shrugging. “But it feels like forever sometimes. You’ll get used to it, though. And if you ever need someone to show you the ropes, I’m your guy.”

Before you could respond, there was a loud clang from outside, followed by a chorus of cheers. Jake glanced toward the window, his grin widening.

“Looks like the sparring matches are heating up,” he said. “You should come watch. It’s a good way to see what you’re up against.”

You hesitated, glancing back at your bed. Part of you wanted to stay there, to retreat into yourself and avoid the chaos outside for just a little longer. But another part of you—smaller, quieter, but undeniably there—wanted to see what this world was really about.

“Alright,” you said finally, standing up. “Lead the way.”

Jake’s grin grew wider, and he gestured for you to follow him. “That’s the spirit. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, newbie. Time to see what you’re made of.”

You stepped out of the cabin, squinting against the sunlight as Jake led the way toward an open training area. The sounds of sparring filled the air—the clash of metal against metal, the thud of bodies hitting the ground, and the occasional shout of victory.

The training ground was a wide, dusty circle surrounded by spectators, most of them campers who were either waiting their turn or simply enjoying the show. In the middle, pairs of campers were locked in combat. Some used swords and shields, while some fought barehanded, relying on strength, agility, and strategy to try and knock each other down.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Jake said, glancing over his shoulder at you.

You nodded, your eyes wide as you took in the scene. “Yeah. Intense, though.”

Jake chuckled. “You get used to it. Let’s introduce you to some of the gang. You’re going to be seeing a lot of these faces, so might as well start remembering names.”

He led you over to a group of campers who were sitting on a bench, watching the matches with keen interest. They turned as you approached, their expressions ranging from curious to welcoming.

“This is Soobin,” Jake said, gesturing to a tall boy with jet-black hair and kind eyes. He offered you a small smile, his voice calm as he spoke. “Son of Apollo.”

You nodded, trying to commit his name and face to memory. “Nice to meet you, Soobin.”

Next, Jake pointed to a girl with short, choppy hair dyed a silvery gray. Her arms were crossed, and she had a confident smirk that told you she didn’t take herself too seriously. “This is Chaewon, daughter of Ares. She’s one of the best fighters here, so don’t get on her bad side.”

Chaewon snorted. “I’m not that scary.” She winked at you. “Unless you’re dumb enough to challenge me, of course.”

You laughed nervously, making a mental note to stay far away from her during sparring sessions.

Jake moved on to a pair of twins who were practically radiating energy. They had identical bright smiles and matching dimples. “These two are Jiwoo and Jiyeon, daughters of Hermes. If anything goes missing, it’s probably their fault.”

“Hey!” Jiyeon protested, though her grin didn’t waver. “We’ve been so well-behaved lately.”

“Relatively,” Jiwoo added with a wink.

You couldn’t help but smile at their playful energy. “Got it. Keep my stuff locked up.”

“Smart girl,” Jiwoo said approvingly.

Jake led you around the rest of the training ground, introducing you to more campers.

There was Minho, son of Hephaestus, a quiet boy with soot-streaked hands and a shy smile who loved to tinker with weapons and gadgets. “If you need a custom weapon or armor, come find me,” he said softly.

Then there was Yeji, daughter of Demeter, who was tending to a small garden on the outskirts of the training area. She wiped her hands on her jeans and smiled warmly. “If camp food gets boring, I can help you find the best fruits and veggies around.”

And finally, Jake introduced you to Seungmin, son of Dionysus, who was leaning against a tree with his arms crossed. “Good luck surviving your first week.”

“Uh, thanks?” you said, not entirely sure if that was encouragement or a warning.

By the time Jake finished the introductions, your head was spinning with names, faces, and parentage. You did your best to commit them all to memory, but you had a feeling it was going to take a while before you got them all straight.

Jake clapped you on the shoulder, grinning. “Not so bad, right? Everyone’s pretty chill once you get to know them.”

“Sure,” you said, though you still felt a little overwhelmed. “But it’s a lot to take in.”

“Trust me, you’ll be fine,” Jake said confidently. He nodded toward the sparring ring. “Now, want to watch a match or two? Or are you feeling brave enough to give it a try yourself?”

You glanced at the campers sparring in the ring, their movements fast and fierce. Part of you wanted to jump in, to prove to yourself that you could handle this new life. But another part wasn’t quite ready.

“I think I’ll stick to watching for now,” you said with a small laugh.

Jake nodded, his grin never fading. “Fair enough. Let’s find a good spot, then. You’re going to want to pay attention—there’s a lot you can learn just from watching.”

Jake led you to a shaded spot under a tree with a perfect view of the sparring ring. He plopped down on the ground, motioning for you to do the same. You settled in beside him, your eyes fixed on the action.

"See that?" Jake nudged you, pointing at one of the fighters. "That’s Hyunjin, son of Aphrodite."

You nodded, watching as Hyunjin disarmed his opponent with a flourish that looked almost effortless.

The match ended with a loud cheer, and you were about to ask Jake a question when the atmosphere in the training ground shifted as someone new stepped into the ring.

He was tall—easily the tallest person you’d seen so far—and carried himself with a quiet confidence that was somehow more intimidating than if he’d been loud and boastful. His dark hair fell just over his sharp eyes, and in his hand, he twirled a sword with the kind of ease that made it look like an extension of his arm.

“Who’s that?” you leaned over and whispered to Jake, unable to tear your eyes away from the newcomer.

Jake followed your gaze and chuckled softly. “That’s Ni-ki,” he said. “Son of Hades. Don’t feel bad if he gives you the chills—he does that to everyone.”

You didn’t respond. You were too focused on Ni-ki as he stepped into the center of the ring, his gaze cool and unbothered as he sized up his opponent. The person across from him was someone you didn’t recognize—a stocky boy who looked strong but not nearly as composed.

The match began, and from the very first move, it was clear that Ni-ki was on a completely different level. He didn’t just fight—he dominated. His movements were precise, calculated, almost lazy in their efficiency. Every swing of his sword, every step he took, was purposeful. It was like he was playing a game of chess, except the pieces were his opponent’s mistakes, and he was three moves ahead the entire time.

You found yourself holding your breath as you watched. The other boy lunged, swinging his weapon with all his might, but Ni-ki sidestepped effortlessly, his expression bored. With a flick of his wrist, he disarmed the boy, sending his weapon skidding across the ground.

The fight ended in seconds. Ni-ki didn’t gloat, didn’t smile—he simply turned and walked away, his sword resting on his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

The crowd erupted into cheers and murmurs, but you were still frozen in place, your eyes following Ni-ki as he disappeared toward the edge of the training area.

“You okay?” Jake asked, nudging you lightly.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, though your voice felt distant even to your own ears.

Jake smirked knowingly. “Yeah, he has that effect on people. Don’t let him intimidate you too much, though. He’s not as scary as he looks.”

You glanced at Jake, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Okay, maybe he is,” Jake admitted with a laugh. “But he’s not all bad. He’s just... intense.”

Intense. That felt like an understatement. You looked back toward where Ni-ki had gone, half expecting him to be watching from the shadows. But he was gone, leaving you with a strange, lingering curiosity that you couldn’t quite shake.

As the sparring matches wound down, you decided to take the chance to explore more of the camp. There was so much to take in—the cabins, the armory, the various training areas—it all felt like a strange blend of summer camp and battlefield.

You were just passing by the archery range when something zipped by your head, close enough that you felt the breeze as it passed. You yelped, instinctively ducking as the arrow thudded into a target a few feet away.

“Oh my gods, I’m so sorry!” a voice called out.

You turned toward the source of the voice, your heart still racing, and froze. The guy jogging toward you was... well, there was no other way to put it: stunning. He had soft, wavy hair that caught the sunlight just right, warm brown eyes, and a jawline that looked like it had been carved by one of the gods themselves. Was everyone here this ridiculously attractive?

“Uh, it’s okay,” you managed to say, brushing off the shock. “I dodged in time.”

He let out a huff of relief, running a hand through his hair. “Phew. For a second there, I thought I’d actually hit you. That would’ve been one heck of a first impression.”

You laughed nervously, trying not to stare too hard. “Yeah, not exactly the warmest welcome, but I’ll survive.”

He grinned, his confidence shining through. “Still, almost hitting the newbie? That’s got to be a new low for me.” He extended a hand toward you. “I’m Wonbin, son of Aphrodite. And before you say anything, yes, I’m that good-looking because of my mom. Comes with the territory.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his candor as you shook his hand. “I’m Y/N. Daughter of Athena.”

“Ah, an Athena kid,” he said, his grin turning into a smirk. “Figures. You’ve got that sharp, calculating look in your eyes. Kind of intimidating, actually.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Intimidating? Me? You’re the one firing arrows at innocent bystanders.”

Wonbin laughed, the sound light and easy. “Fair point. I’ll owe you one for that—free archery lessons, maybe? You know, to keep you from dodging arrows next time.”

You rolled your eyes, but the offer didn’t sound half-bad. “I’ll think about it.”

“Do that,” he said with a wink. “Anyway, I should probably get back to practice before Chiron yells at me again. See you around, newbie.”

As he walked back toward the range, you couldn’t help but shake your head with a smile. If nothing else, Camp Half-Blood was full of... colorful personalities.

--

Your aimless wandering had brought you to the edge of the camp, where the cabins grew more spaced out and quiet. One cabin in particular caught your attention—it was darker than the others, its aura foreboding and unnervingly still. The door was closed, and the windows were tinted, making it impossible to see inside. You tilted your head, curiosity tugging at you as you wondered which camper called this place home.

“You’re pretty far from your cabin.”

The sudden voice made you jump, and you whipped around quickly, heart thudding in your chest.

Oh.

It was Ni-ki.

He stood there like a shadow given form, his dark eyes glinting in the dim light. His expression was unreadable, and he seemed even taller up close—towering over you with an intensity that made you instinctively take a step back.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, his voice low and even, though there was a hint of something in his tone—amusement, maybe? Or just curiosity?

You cleared your throat, hoping he didn’t notice how startled you were. “I, uh… I was just exploring. Didn’t mean to wander this far.”

Ni-ki’s gaze flicked to the dark cabin behind you, and for a moment, his expression softened—just barely. “This isn’t exactly the friendliest part of camp,” he said. “Especially for someone new.”

You glanced back at the cabin, suddenly feeling a little foolish for standing there. “Whose cabin is it?”

“It’s mine,” Ni-ki said simply.

Your eyes widened slightly as you looked back at him. “Yours? Oh.”

He raised an eyebrow at your reaction, crossing his arms over his chest. “What, expecting a skull on the door or something?”

“No,” you said quickly, then hesitated. “Well, maybe.”

Ni-ki huffed a quiet laugh, though it was more like a sharp exhale. “Relax. It’s just a cabin, not the gates of the Underworld.”

You weren’t entirely sure about that, given the eerie vibe the place gave off, but you decided not to push it. “Right. Sorry for… lurking.”

He studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were trying to figure you out. The silence stretched just long enough to feel uncomfortable before he finally spoke again.

“You’re the new Athena kid, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Jake doesn’t shut up,” he said bluntly, though there was the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

You let out a nervous laugh, unsure of how to respond. Ni-ki didn’t seem like the kind of person you could easily read—or impress, for that matter.

“Well,” he said, shifting his weight slightly, “if you’re done wandering, you should probably head back to your cabin. This side of camp isn’t exactly the best place to hang out.”

“Why?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Ni-ki’s expression darkened, and for a split second, you thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then he stepped closer—just enough to make you aware of how much taller he was—and said quietly, “Let’s just say not everything here is as safe as it looks.”

A chill ran down your spine at his words, and you swallowed hard, nodding. “Got it. Heading back now.”

Ni-ki stepped aside, gesturing for you to go. As you walked past him, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. He was still standing there, watching you with an unreadable expression, the dark cabin looming behind him like a shadow.

Something about him lingered in your mind as you made your way back to your own cabin.

When you pushed open the door to the Athena cabin and paused. Inside, the girls were gathered in a tight circle on the floor, their heads close together, whispering and giggling in a way that seemed almost conspiratorial. Books, notebooks, and even a small chalkboard sat in the middle of the ring, covered in scrawled notes and diagrams.

The moment you stepped in, all eyes turned to you. You froze under their collective gaze, unsure of whether you’d just walked into something secret or sacred.

“What are you doing?” you asked hesitantly, glancing between them.

Sophia, the girl who’d first greeted you when you arrived, smiled and gestured for you to sit beside her. “Come join us. We’re just quizzing each other—it’s kind of a thing we do regularly.”

You hesitated for a moment before shrugging and stepping forward. Sophia shifted to make space for you, and as you sat down, you noticed the mix of curiosity and warmth in the girls’ faces.

“We’ll start a new round for you,” said Haewon, her voice steady but kind. She had a book open in her lap, the pages filled with notes in tiny, precise handwriting. “Do you want to give it a try?”

“Sure,” you said, unsure of what exactly you were getting yourself into but willing to play along.

Ryujin grinned, leaning back on her hands. “Alright, let’s see if the new girl can keep up.”

Yunjin nudged her with a playful glare. “Be nice.”

The first question came from Soyeon, who looked at you with sharp, calculating eyes. “Who was the mother of Perseus?”

Your brain scrambled for the answer, and you barely managed to get it out. “Danaë.”

Soyeon nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Good. Next.”

The questions came rapid-fire after that, bouncing between Greek mythology, mathematical equations, Roman history, and even abstract, theoretical problems.

“What’s the square root of 729?”

“27.”

“Who was the first Roman emperor?”

“Augustus.”

“If a tree falls in the forest and no one’s around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

“…Uh, depends on your definition of ‘sound.’”

The girls laughed at that one, even Leeseo, who had been scribbling furiously in a notebook the entire time.

Every time you got an answer right, you felt a surge of pride, and when you got one wrong, the girls explained it without a hint of judgment.

Sophia leaned over at one point, nudging you with her shoulder. “You’re doing better than I did my first time.”

“Really?” you asked, half-laughing as Haewon fired off another question about theoretical physics.

“Really,” Sophia said with a grin. “You’ll fit right in.”

You had proven it to yourself. You were one of them.

--

The morning light filtered through the trees, as you stood in the training area, still feeling the weight of the armor strapped to your body. It wasn’t much—light armor, a sword, and a shield—but it was enough to make you feel like you were suddenly expected to be someone else, someone capable of defending themselves.

You awkwardly adjusted the straps, wondering just how much of a disaster your first training session would be. You didn’t even know what to do with the sword yet—let alone how to hold the shield properly.

That’s when you felt it—someone’s gaze on you. You turned, and your eyes locked with a guy standing just a few paces away. You recognized him immediately. It was hard not to—he was a son of Ares, and he looked the part. Broad-shouldered, with a sharp, aggressive expression, his dark eyes narrowed as he sized you up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Are you just going to stand there all day, or are you going to learn how to use that thing?” he called out, his tone sharp, almost challenging.

You straightened up, heart racing. “Uh… I’m not really sure what to do…”

He snorted, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, I figured. Don’t worry, kid. You’re about to find out.”

Before you could react, he was on you—his movements swift and brutal as he lunged forward, his sword aimed directly at your chest. You barely had time to raise your shield, the force of the blow almost knocking you off your feet.

Your heart pounded in your ears, and for a moment, you wondered if you should just give up—if maybe you weren’t cut out for this. But then, a quiet voice in the back of your mind reminded you who your mother was. Athena. Goddess of wisdom and strategy. You weren’t just any camper here. You had the blood of a warrior in you, even if it felt distant.

“Focus,” you whispered to yourself, trying to steady your breathing.

The son of Ares swung again, but this time you were ready. You sidestepped, your body moving almost instinctively as your shield blocked the next attack. You could feel the heat from his strikes, the raw power behind each one.

“Not bad,” he grunted, clearly surprised by your ability to dodge. “But don’t just block—counterattack!”

Counterattack. You barely had time to think before another strike came at you, but this time, your instincts took over. You shifted, raising your sword and parrying his strike. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to push him off balance. You swung back, though he easily blocked it with his own shield.

This continued for a few more rounds, the fight becoming more of a dance between the two of you, until you found yourself growing more comfortable, your movements becoming sharper and more deliberate. The son of Ares didn’t give you an inch, but you were beginning to see the patterns in his strikes—predicting where his next attack would come from, even as your breath grew heavier.

You didn’t win the sparring match—he was still faster, stronger, and more experienced—but by the time it ended, you felt greatful to be alive.

“Not bad for a newbie,” the son of Ares said, stepping back and giving you a nod of approval. “You’ve got some guts.”

You wiped the sweat from your brow, your heart still racing. “I... I didn’t think I could do that.”

He gave you a look that was almost approving, though his face still carried that rough edge. “You’re a daughter of Athena, right? You should’ve known you had it in you.”

You nodded, though doubt still lingered in the back of your mind. Were you really your mother’s daughter? Sure, you’d dodged and blocked the attacks, but did that make you a true warrior?

The son of Ares turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your sword in hand and your shield still raised, as the sounds of camp life continued around you.

Just as you were trying to catch your breath, still processing the son of Ares’ brutal training session, you heard a voice—a familiar, mocking tone that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Well, well, looks like you’re still standing,” Ni-ki said, his voice smooth and teasing.

You looked up, and there he was. He was dressed in light armor like you, a sword and shield strapped to his side, his posture relaxed as he twirled his sword in his hand, almost as if he were showing off. The corner of his lips curled into a smirk as he locked eyes with you.

“What? You’re gonna just stand there?” Ni-ki teased, his tone light but laced with challenge.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could even form a sentence, Ni-ki moved.

His sword came down fast and hard, the sharp clang of metal on metal ringing through the air as you barely managed to raise your shield in time to deflect the blow. Your heart raced, your hands still shaky from the last sparring session, and now here he was—moving with a confidence and skill that was hard to match.

“Come on, I thought Athena’s kids were supposed to be smarter than this,” Ni-ki called out, his voice laced with amusement as he swung again. You had no choice but to dodge, the blade narrowly missing your side.

His attacks came rapid-fire, each one pushing you to the edge. It was like he was anticipating every move you made. You were barely keeping up, forced to sidestep and block with everything you had. He kept moving, his footwork impeccable as he darted around you, only giving you brief moments to catch your breath.

“Come on, you’re not still getting outclassed, are you?” Ni-ki called, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he swung again. You could feel the heat of the sword as it sliced through the air.

Frustration burned in your chest. You couldn’t keep dodging forever.

Without hesitation, you swung your sword at him, a wild, almost desperate strike aimed at his torso.

Ni-ki parried the blow effortlessly, deflecting it with a flick of his wrist. Then, he stopped and actually clapped.

“Well, at least you’re trying now,” he said, his smirk widening.

You froze for a moment, bewildered by his nonchalant attitude. Before you could process, he vanished.

One second he was in front of you, and the next—he was behind you. You didn’t even have time to react before you felt the lightest push to your back, and you were sent tumbling to the ground.

You gasped, staring up at Ni-ki as he stood over you. “What… what was that?”

Ni-ki simply raised an eyebrow, his gaze cool and almost bored. “That? Oh, just a little trick I picked up from my dad.”

Your mind raced, trying to comprehend what had just happened. “A trick?” you asked, still on the ground, trying to push yourself up.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice casual. “It’s an ability. Using shadows to teleport short distances, just like that.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. Teleporting? From his father, Hades? It was the kind of power you’d only heard about in stories, something that seemed impossible to even imagine.

“Right…” you muttered, still on the ground, looking up at him in a mix of awe and frustration.

Ni-ki simply shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Not bad, though. You’ll catch up eventually. If you don’t want to end up on the floor every time.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked off, leaving you sitting there in the dirt, your sword and shield at your side. You could feel the sting of both your physical exhaustion and your bruised pride.

He made it look so easy—effortless.

You stood up, brushing off the dirt from your armor with a frustrated sigh, your fingers lingering on the spots where the ground had scraped your skin. You were still catching your breath, but it was clear—combat wasn’t going to be your immediate strong suit, not like it was for some of the others.

“Yeah, I may have a long way to go with combat,” you muttered under your breath, “but there’s still other stuff I’m good at.”

That thought pushed you forward, and soon you were walking toward the archery range, a small glimmer of determination lighting the way. The bow had always felt more natural to you than the sword and shield, even before you knew about your mother.

The sound of arrows hitting targets echoed through the area as you arrived. The archery range was lined with targets, some already peppered with arrows, others waiting for their turn. A few campers were already practicing, some with impressive skill, others just beginning to find their rhythm.

You walked to one of the nearby racks, grabbing a bow and quiver of arrows. It was lighter than you remembered, but sturdy in your hands. You took a moment to steady yourself, feeling the familiar grip, testing the tension in your fingers.

"Mind if I join?" you asked, glancing at the nearest archer—a tall, lean girl with long black hair who was effortlessly nailing the bullseye on her target.

She turned to you, her eyes scanning your form before giving a small nod. “Sure, go ahead.”

You didn’t say anything more. You simply nocked an arrow, drew it back, and aimed. Your focus sharpened, everything around you fading away as you lined up your shot. A deep breath, and then you released the arrow.

It flew true, hitting the target dead center.

The girl raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. “Okay, I admit it. You’ve got skill.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. It wasn’t combat, but this—that felt like something you could excel at.

“Thanks,” you said, adjusting your stance and preparing for another shot. “I’ve always been better with a bow.”

You didn’t have the strength or speed that the others seemed to carry so naturally, but this was something you could control, something that felt more like you.

For a while, you just kept shooting, blocking out everything except the pull of the string, the release, and the thrill of hitting your target. It was grounding, in a way.

After a few more rounds, the girl who had been watching you approached again. She was still eyeing your shots, but this time with more interest.

“You’ve got good instincts,” she said, a hint of respect in her voice. “I’m Emily, daughter of Ares.”

You smiled at her, setting down the bow for a moment. “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N. Daughter of Athena.”

Seoyeon nodded. “I can see that. You definitely have the focus of your mom.”

You didn’t know if it was a compliment or just an observation, but it felt like the first time someone actually saw the connection between you and Athena in a positive way.

“Thanks,” you said again, feeling a sense of pride. Maybe you still had a lot to prove, but you were starting to see the things you were good at.

A few days passed, and you’d settled into a routine at Camp Half-Blood. Though you weren’t great with a sword yet, you’d at least stopped embarrassing yourself entirely.

One morning, while heading back from the archery range, you spotted a familiar face lounging near the stables. Wonbin. He wasn’t holding a bow this time, nor was he causing chaos by almost hitting you with an arrow. Instead, he was leaning against a post, his arms crossed casually as he watched a group of campers walk by.

You hesitated for a moment before walking over, unsure of what to expect.

"Still dodging arrows, or have you gotten better?" he teased as you approached, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m not dodging anything anymore. And, for the record, I’m actually pretty good with a bow.”

“Oh, I know. I saw you at the range yesterday,” he said, surprising you. “Not bad for a newbie.”

“Wow, high praise coming from you,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

Wonbin laughed, the sound light and easy, and for a moment, you realized just how relaxed he seemed compared to some of the other campers.

“You’re fun to mess with, you know,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “But I’m not just here to tease you. You looked a little stiff when you were sparring the other day. Want some help?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You want to help me?”

“Why not? Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t embarrass yourself in front of everyone,” he said with a wink. “Besides, I’m a great teacher.”

You snorted but nodded. “Alright, fine. Show me what you’ve got.”

The two of you made your way to the training grounds, where it was surprisingly quiet for the time of day. Wonbin handed you a wooden training sword, the weight of it familiar but still slightly awkward in your hand.

“Okay, first things first,” Wonbin said, stepping in front of you. “Stop gripping it like it’s a lifeline. You’re not strangling the sword. Loosen up a bit.”

You adjusted your grip, and he nodded in approval.

“Good. Now, let’s see how you move.”

He took you through a few basic drills, correcting your stance and showing you how to shift your weight when you swung. Unlike the other demigods, Wonbin was patient. He didn’t push too hard or make you feel like you were failing every time you messed up. Instead, he laughed when you tripped over your own feet and offered encouragement when you got it right.

“You’re getting there,” he said after a particularly decent swing. “But you’re thinking too much. Stop trying to overanalyze every move.”

“Thinking is kind of my thing,” you muttered, adjusting your stance again.

“Well, turn it off for a bit. Just feel the movement. Trust me, it’ll click eventually.”

And to your surprise, it did start to click. Slowly but surely, the awkwardness of holding a sword began to fade, replaced by a sense of control you hadn’t felt before.

“You’re actually pretty good at this,” you admitted after a while, lowering your sword to wipe the sweat from your brow.

“Told you I’m a great teacher,” Wonbin said with a smirk. “But you’re not bad yourself. You’ve got potential. Just stop overthinking.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Easier said than done.”

The two of you sat down for a break, and you found yourself relaxing in his company. Wonbin was suprisingly easy to talk to.

“You know,” you said after a moment, “you’re actually kind of fun to be around. When you’re not shooting arrows at me, I mean.”

Wonbin grinned, leaning back on his hands. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And, for the record, I wasn’t trying to hit you. Just keeping you on your toes.”

“Sure you were,” you said, rolling your eyes.

While laughing at one of Wonbin’s jokes, you suddenly felt a strange sensation, like the weight of someone’s gaze on you. It was sharp, unrelenting, and impossible to ignore. You turned your head, scanning the area, and that’s when your eyes locked onto him.

Ni-ki.

He was leaning casually against a tree not far from the training grounds, an apple in one hand as he bit into it with an air of complete indifference. But his eyes told a different story. He wasn’t just looking at you; he was staring.

For a moment, you froze, caught in his intense gaze. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in the way he was watching you that made your stomach flip.

“Uh, hello?” Wonbin’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You still with me, or did you just see a ghost?”

You blinked, tearing your eyes away from Ni-ki to look back at Wonbin. “What? No, I’m fine. Just… thought I saw something.”

Wonbin followed your gaze and immediately caught sight of Ni-ki. He let out a low whistle. “Ohhh, I see. Tall, dark, and broody over there, huh? That’s Ni-ki for you. Likes to stare people down for no reason. Don’t let him get to you.”

“I’m not letting him get to me,” you said quickly, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

Wonbin grinned, clearly amused. “Sure, sure. Just saying, he’s got that whole mysterious bad boy thing going on, doesn’t he? It’s kind of his signature.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but your curiosity was already piqued. Without realizing it, your gaze drifted back to Ni-ki.

This time, he smirked. Just the faintest twitch of his lips, but it was there, and it made your heart skip a beat. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Wonbin caught the exchange and snorted. “Oh, this is gonna be interesting. You two haven’t even talked yet, have you?”

“Not really,” you admitted, feeling a little self-conscious.

“Well, you better get used to it,” Wonbin said, leaning back on his hands. “Ni-ki doesn’t just stare at people for fun. If he’s looking at you like that, he’s either curious or he’s decided you’re worth messing with. Either way, good luck.”

You swallowed hard, stealing one last glance at Ni-ki before turning your attention back to Wonbin.

“Yeah, thanks,” you muttered, trying to shake the strange mix of nerves and intrigue Ni-ki had sparked in you.

You found yourself staring back at Ni-ki, unable to stop. His gaze was unwavering, sharp, and entirely unapologetic. There was a challenge in it, though you couldn’t tell what kind. Instead of looking away, you tilted your head slightly, trying to match his intensity, as if silently asking, What? What do you want?

Ni-ki took another bite of his apple, his eyes never leaving yours. That smirk tugged at his lips again, subtle but undeniably there, like he found your silent defiance amusing.

Meanwhile, Wonbin was still talking. Something about strategy, sparring tips, or maybe camp gossip—you weren’t really sure. His voice had faded into the background, your attention too firmly locked on Ni-ki.

“...and that’s why you never spar with a son of Hermes if they’re smiling,” Wonbin said with a laugh, nudging your arm lightly. “You listening?”

“Mm-hmm,” you mumbled, not breaking eye contact with Ni-ki.

Wonbin followed your line of sight and let out a low chuckle. “You’re still looking at him? Wow, he’s really got you hooked, huh?”

That snapped you out of it. You turned back to Wonbin, your cheeks heating up. “I’m not—! I was just—!”

Wonbin grinned, cutting you off with a knowing look. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. But seriously, if you’re gonna have a staring contest with Ni-ki, you better prepare to lose."

You glanced back toward the tree, but Ni-ki was no longer leaning there. He had disappeared, as silently as he’d been watching you, leaving nothing behind but the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze.

“See? Creepy, right?” Wonbin said, shaking his head. “He’s like a shadow.”

You frowned, a mix of confusion and curiosity bubbling in your chest. “He’s… something, alright.”

Wonbin laughed and stood, brushing dirt off his pants. “Come on. If you keep thinking about him, you’ll drive yourself crazy. Let’s hit the dining pavilion before lunch is gone.”

You followed him, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Ni-ki. There was something about him, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

--

You swore life had a vendetta or something against you. Beacuse no matter where you went, no matter how much you tried to focus on your surroundings, he was there.

It wasn’t just his presence that was getting to you—it was how he lived in your head now, too. Every time your mind wandered, it seemed to settle on him.

Ni-ki, leaning against a tree.

Ni-ki, passing by with that ever-present smirk.

Ni-ki, sparring in the distance and throwing a glance your way like he knew you’d been watching.

It was irritating, frustrating, and honestly a little confusing. You didn’t even know the guy, but somehow, he’d gotten under your skin.

Finally, you decided you needed to clear your head. Without telling anyone, you set off on a walk, leaving the noisy heart of camp behind. The greenery stretched out around you, tall trees swaying gently in the breeze. It was quiet here, save for the rustling of leaves and the occasional birdcall.

You didn’t have a destination in mind, nor did you need one. All you wanted was space to breathe, to think without distractions, without Ni-ki lurking in your peripheral vision.

The further you walked, the more you began to relax. The sunlight filtering through the leaves painted dappled patterns on the ground, and the earthy smell of the forest calmed your racing thoughts.

You found yourself stopping by a small clearing, where the grass was soft and the air felt lighter. Sitting down, you let out a long sigh, letting yourself unwind. For the first time in days, your mind felt quiet.

But of course, the peace didn’t last.

“Running away from something?”

The voice was low, smooth, and instantly recognizable. Your eyes shot open, and sure enough, there he was—Ni-ki, standing at the edge of the clearing, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

You groaned, throwing your head back. “Seriously? Do you just appear everywhere, or do you follow me on purpose?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Why would I follow you? You’re the one who always looks at me.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you scrambled to your feet. “I do not always look at you!”

Ni-ki stepped closer, the smirk on his face growing. “You sure about that?”

“Yes!” you snapped, though the heat in your face betrayed you.

For a moment, he said nothing, just studying you with that unreadable expression of his. Then, he shrugged. “If you say so.”

“Why are you even here?” you asked, crossing your arms. “Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

Ni-ki shrugged, the corner of his mouth curling up in that signature smirk. “Probably. But where’s the fun in that?”

He started walking, slow and deliberate, circling around you like a predator sizing up its prey. His steps were light, almost lazy, but his eyes—sharp and dark—never left yours.

“You make it too easy,” he continued, his tone teasing. “The way you get all flustered? Kind of entertaining.”

Your arms tightened over your chest as you turned to keep him in your line of sight. “I’m not flustered.”

He stopped just behind you, leaning in slightly. “You sure about that?”

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as his voice dropped lower, teasing and amused. You spun around to face him, trying to hold your ground.

“Yes, I’m sure!” you snapped, glaring at him.

Ni-ki raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Alright, if you say so.” He resumed his slow pacing, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “But, you know, you’re kind of fun to mess with.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “Why me, though? There are literally dozens of other people you could annoy.”

“True,” he said, tilting his head as if he were considering it. “But they’re boring. You’re… different.”

“Different how?” you demanded, narrowing your eyes at him.

He stopped in front of you, leaning slightly to meet your gaze. “I haven’t figured that out yet,” he said, his voice soft but still laced with that infuriating teasing edge. “But I will.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he stepped back, cutting you off before you could speak.

“Anyway,” he said casually, stretching his arms over his head, “don’t let me stop you from enjoying your little walk.”

He turned to leave, but just as he passed by, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “Try not to miss me too much.”

Your jaw dropped, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “Miss you? I—”

But Ni-ki was already walking away, his soft laughter trailing behind him as he disappeared into the trees.

You stood there, fists clenched at your sides, your face burning with frustration. “Unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath, walking away while muttering a string of complaints that only the trees around you could hear. “Unbelievable. Who does he think he is? ‘Try not to miss me too much.’ Ugh, I’ll show him who’s missing who.” You kicked at a stray rock on the path, watching it skitter off into the grass.

Your footsteps were heavier now, fueled by frustration, and your face was still hot from the way Ni-ki had managed to get under your skin again. It wasn’t just his teasing; it was how effortlessly he seemed to read you, like he knew exactly which buttons to press to rile you up.

“Stupid smirk. Stupid comments. Stupid Ni-ki,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t realize you were stomping deeper into the forest until the sound of laughter and chatter from camp faded into the distance.

You stopped, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. The forest around you was quiet and peaceful, the sunlight filtering softly through the trees. It was supposed to help, but instead, your mind kept replaying the look on his face—the way his smirk seemed permanently etched there, like he knew he’d won whatever game he thought you were playing.

You let out a frustrated groan and plopped down on a mossy rock. “Why does he even care?” you muttered, staring at the ground. “Why can’t he just leave me alone?”

The forest offered no answers, just the distant rustle of leaves in the breeze. You stayed there for a moment, trying to push thoughts of Ni-ki out of your head. But of course, it was easier said than done.

After a while, you sighed and stood up, brushing the dirt off your clothes. “Fine. Whatever. Let him play his little games,” you said, mostly to yourself. “I’ve got better things to do than worry about him.”

With that, you turned back toward camp, determined to focus on literally anything other than Ni-ki. But as you walked, you couldn’t help but feel like this wasn’t the last time he’d find a way to cross your path—and your thoughts.

And you stuck to your decision. You ignored Ni-ki completely, refusing to give him even a shred of your attention. No glances, no responses, no reactions. If he was leaning against a tree in your line of sight, you’d look the other way. If he passed by during training, you’d keep your eyes locked on your target. If he tried to make one of his smug comments, you’d act like he wasn’t even there.

It wasn’t easy—he had a way of commanding attention whether you wanted to give it to him or not—but you were determined to win this silent battle.

But of course, Ni-ki figured out your plan quickly.

And now? Now he seemed more determined than ever to get under your skin.

“Awfully quiet today, aren’t you?” he’d say as he casually strolled by during your sword training, his voice laced with amusement.

You’d grit your teeth and keep practicing, ignoring him completely.

“Oh, come on, are we doing the whole ‘silent treatment’ thing now?” he teased another time, walking alongside you as you headed to the dining pavilion.

You didn’t even glance at him, speeding up your steps instead. He just chuckled, easily matching your pace.

And the more you ignored him, the harder he tried.

He’d pop up in the middle of your archery sessions, leaning casually against a tree just within your peripheral vision. He never said anything, just stood there with that maddening smirk, watching you until you missed a shot.

“Looks like you’re distracted,” he’d comment, his tone smug.

Still, you wouldn’t take the bait.

But Ni-ki didn’t give up.

One afternoon, during a strategy session with your cabinmates, you were deep in thought, discussing battle plans with Sophia when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“I bet I could come up with something better,” Ni-ki said casually.

You tensed but kept your eyes on the map in front of you.

Sophia glanced between the two of you, her brows raised. “Uh… should we be concerned about this?”

“No,” you replied firmly, not even turning around.

Ni-ki leaned closer, his presence annoyingly obvious even though you refused to look at him. “Really? You’re just going to ignore me like that?”

“Yes,” you snapped before you could stop yourself.

Damn it.

Ni-ki straightened up, a victorious grin spreading across his face. “Ah, there you are. I was starting to think I’d lost my touch.”

You glared at him now, your resolve cracking. “What do you want, Ni-ki?”

He shrugged, his grin never fading. “Nothing, really. Just nice to know you’re still paying attention.”

You groaned and turned back to the map, pointedly ignoring his laughter as he walked away.

--

From the moment Ni-ki first laid eyes on you, something inside him shifted—something he didn’t recognize, didn’t fully understand, but couldn’t ignore. You were standing there, looking so out of place in your awkwardness, clutching a sword and shield like you had no idea what to do with them. You didn’t seem particularly strong, or fast, or even confident. And yet, he couldn’t stop staring.

It wasn’t just the way you looked—though that certainly didn’t hurt. There was something about your presence, something about the way you held yourself, even when you were nervous and uncertain. You didn’t cower, didn’t shrink away. You were stubborn in a way that amused and intrigued him.

Ni-ki had never believed in love at first sight. His father made it very clear that love—real love—was a dangerous thing, a distraction at best, a weakness at worst. But this? Whatever this was? It wasn’t weakness.

It was craving.

The kind of craving that gnawed at him, that made his chest tighten and his mind race. He wanted you, needed you, and it wasn’t just physical—though that was certainly part of it. It was deeper than that, more consuming. He wanted to know you, to unravel every layer of who you were, to understand what made you tick.

And he wanted to own you.

Not in a controlling, possessive way (or maybe it was, a little), but in the way that he wanted you to think of him the same way he thought of you. He wanted to occupy your every thought, to haunt your dreams and distract you during the day.

The rational part of him—the part that listened to his father’s warnings and tried to follow the unspoken rules—knew he shouldn’t feel this way. It was dangerous. Relationships between demigods were complicated enough, and this? This felt like it had the potential to destroy him.

But Ni-ki didn’t care.

Screw his father’s advice. Screw the rules. He’d never cared much for them anyway. All that mattered was you.

At first, he tried to keep his distance, watching from afar as you stumbled your way through camp life. He thought he could resist it, thought he could just… observe. But that only made it worse. The more he saw you—the way you laughed with others, the determined furrow of your brow during training, the moments when you thought no one was looking and let your guard down—the more he wanted you.

No, not wanted. Needed.

So he started testing you. Little things, at first. A teasing comment here, a smirk there, just to see how you’d react. And when you fired back, when you glared at him with that spark of defiance in your eyes, it only made him want you more.

You didn’t shy away from him like others did. You didn’t try to impress him or avoid him. You stood your ground, even when you were clearly annoyed—or flustered.

That was when he knew he was done for.

Was it love? Infatuation? Obsession? Ni-ki didn’t know, and he didn’t care to figure it out. All he knew was that you consumed him, and no amount of time or distance seemed to lessen the pull you had on him.

He couldn’t help it. You were the challenge he couldn’t resist, the flame he couldn’t stop himself from chasing.

And one way or another, he was going to have you. Even if it meant burning himself in the process.

--

You hadn’t really delved much into Greek mythology before. Sure, you’d heard the basics—Zeus, Hera, Poseidon—but the details? The stories? All the little quirks and scandals of the gods? None of that had ever crossed your radar. But now, you decided it was better late than never.

So, you borrowed—or, well, stole—a few books from one of your half-sisters. She probably wouldn’t miss them for a while anyway. Clutching the worn leather covers to your chest, you found a quiet place by the water, a spot where the trees cast long shadows and the sound of the camp faded into the background.

Settling down on a smooth rock, you cracked open the first book, its pages yellowed and filled with ornate text. As you began reading, the stories unfolded like vivid dreams in your mind. The gods were… messy, to put it lightly. Petty, dramatic, and surprisingly human for beings who supposedly ruled the cosmos.

It was fascinating, though. Each page gave you a little more insight into the world you were now a part of—the powers at play, the legacy you carried. You lingered on the pages about Athena, your mother. The goddess of wisdom, strategy, and war.

You ran a finger over an illustration of her, dressed in shining armor, an owl perched on her shoulder. It was hard to believe you had any connection to her. She seemed so… perfect. So otherworldly. How could someone like that have a daughter like you?

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the sound of footsteps behind you until a shadow fell over the pages of your book.

"Stealing books now? You’re full of surprises," a familiar voice drawled.

You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Ni-ki,” you sighed, your tone flat. “What do you want?”

He crouched beside you, his sword dangling lazily from his belt, an apple in his hand—again. He took a bite and chewed slowly, like he had all the time in the world.

“Just curious,” he said, tilting his head to look at the book in your lap. “Ah, some light reading i see?”

You ignored him, turning the page and pretending to focus on the words in front of you. But you could feel his eyes on you, studying you like you were some kind of puzzle he was determined to solve.

After a moment of silence, he leaned closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “So, what are you reading about? Your mom?”

You gave him a sideways glance. “What’s it to you?”

He shrugged, taking another bite of his apple. “Just wondering if you’re finally starting to take this whole ‘demigod’ thing seriously.”

“I’ve always taken it seriously,” you shot back.

“Sure,” he said, his smirk widening. “That’s why you’re hiding out here instead of training.”

You snapped the book shut and turned to glare at him. “Do you ever get tired of bothering me?”

Ni-ki leaned back on his heels, his grin never fading. “Not really. You make it fun.”

You were about to turn and fire off a snarky comeback, something sharp to wipe that smug grin off his face, but the words got caught in your throat the moment you saw how close he was to you now.

When did he get so close?

Ni-ki had been leaning back a second ago, but now he was right there, barely a breath away. You could see the faint scar on his jawline, the sharp curve of his cheekbones, the way his dark eyes seemed to glint with something unreadable. It wasn’t just the physical proximity that unsettled you—it was the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Your body stiffened, unsure whether to step back or hold your ground, but your body refused to move. You told yourself it was irritation, frustration with his endless teasing, but deep down, you weren’t so sure.

“Cat got your tongue?” Ni-ki asked softly, his voice low and teasing, but it didn’t carry the same playful edge as before. His gaze flicked to your lips for the briefest of moments before meeting your eyes again, his expression unreadable.

You blinked, finally snapping out of whatever strange trance you’d fallen into. “What—what are you doing?” you managed to ask, though your voice came out quieter than you’d intended.

Ni-ki tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curving into that maddening smirk. “Just wondering what it’d take to finally shut you up,” he murmured, his tone light but carrying an underlying intensity that made your stomach flip.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the words died on your tongue when a voice interrupted from behind.

“Hey, uh… am I interrupting something?”

Both you and Ni-ki turned at the same time, and there stood Wonbin, looking between the two of you with a slightly raised eyebrow. His expression was casual enough, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he took in the scene.

He didn’t linger on Ni-ki for long, though. His gaze settled on you, softening as he asked, “Do you want to grab something to eat? I was just heading to the pavilion, and, well… figured I’d ask if you wanted to come along.”

His voice held a hopeful edge, and you didn’t even hesitate.

“Yes!” you said, a little too quickly. You scrambled to your feet, brushing off the dirt and leaves. “Absolutely, I’m starving.”

Ni-ki raised an eyebrow, his smirk twitching as if he were trying to stifle a laugh. “Starving, huh?” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement.

You shot him a glare but didn’t dignify him with a response. Instead, you walked over to Wonbin, grabbed his arm, and practically dragged him away before Ni-ki could say anything else.

“Let’s go,” you said, your voice a little sharper than intended as you pulled Wonbin toward the direction of the dining pavilion.

As you walked away, you could feel Ni-ki’s gaze burning into your back. You refused to look over your shoulder, but you didn’t have to. You could already picture the smug expression on his face, and it only made you grip Wonbin’s arm tighter.

Wonbin glanced down at you, a little surprised but clearly pleased. “Wow, I didn’t think you’d say yes that fast,” he said with a small chuckle. “Guess you were hungrier than I thought.”

You managed a smile, though your mind was still racing from the tension you’d just escaped. “Yeah, something like that,” you muttered, trying to shake off the lingering heat in your cheeks.

Wonbin didn’t press, simply walking beside you and chatting about something light—camp rumors, training schedules, the usual.

--

Ni-ki watched as you walked away, dragging Wonbin by the arm, your laughter drifting faintly on the breeze. It wasn’t loud or directed at him, but it still gnawed at him in a way that made his jaw clench.

Something primal and possessive stirred deep in his chest, demanding he act—run after you, grab your wrist, pull you away from Wonbin, from anyone, and keep you hidden where only he could reach you. The thought sent a dangerous thrill through him. He could do it. He had the power, the determination, the will.

But no. Not yet.

He leaned back against the tree, biting into the apple in his hand to mask the frustration clawing its way to the surface. His dark eyes stayed fixed on your retreating form, lingering on the way your head tilted toward Wonbin as if he deserved your attention, as if he could actually be worth something to you.

The thought was laughable.

Wonbin was nothing. Just another pretty face with a bow in hand. He didn’t know you—not the way Ni-ki did, not the way Ni-ki could. Wonbin didn’t see the sharp wit hidden behind your hesitance, the way your eyes lit up with determination when you put your mind to something, or the rare, fleeting smiles you gave when you thought no one was looking.

Ni-ki saw all of it. He memorized every moment, every word, every glance you spared him, even if it was in irritation. And the more he saw, the more he needed.

No, Wonbin couldn’t make you happy. Not the way Ni-ki could.

Ni-ki’s grip tightened on the apple, the fruit cracking under the pressure of his fingers. He’d go to the Underworld and back for you—literally, if it came to that. It was his realm, after all. His father may have warned him against becoming attached to others, especially demigods, but Ni-ki didn’t care. Whether it was love or infatuation didn’t matter. All he knew was that you belonged to him, and one day, you’d realize it too.

You just needed… a little push.

Ni-ki’s lips curved into a slow, dark smile as he took another bite of the apple, his gaze never leaving the direction you’d gone.

He could wait. He was patient, after all.

But he’d make sure you saw it soon enough. That he was better than any other guy in camp, better than Wonbin, better than anyone who thought they could have a place in your life.

And when that moment came, when you finally saw him for what he truly was—yours—there wouldn’t be anything or anyone that could take you away from him.

Ni-ki stayed by the tree long after you disappeared from view, his fingers idly turning the half-eaten apple over in his hand. His mind raced with thoughts of you, each one tightening the knot of desire and obsession in his chest.

He could picture it so clearly—the moment when you’d finally stop running from him, stop looking at him like he was some bothersome shadow in your life. One day, you’d see him as he saw you. One day, you’d understand that no one else could ever care for you, protect you, love you the way he could.

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax. There was no need to rush. The more you resisted him now, the more satisfying it would be when you eventually gave in.

Ni-ki tilted his head to the side, his dark eyes glinting with quiet determination. He knew what he needed to do.

First, he’d let you play your little game—ignoring him, giving your attention to others like Wonbin. It was amusing in its own way, watching you try to distance yourself from him, as if that would somehow change the pull between you.

Then, when the time was right, he’d push. Not too hard, not enough to scare you, but just enough to remind you who was really worth your time.

And finally? He’d make sure you understood that he wasn’t going anywhere.

It wasn’t just about winning you over. It was about showing you what you were missing—what life with him could be like. He’d keep you safe from everything and everyone that didn’t deserve you, even if that meant disobeying his father to ensure it.

Ni-ki straightened up, tossing the apple core to the ground as a small smirk tugged at his lips.

This wasn’t just about patience anymore. This was about strategy—something his own father had taught him well.

“Enjoy your little moments with Wonbin,” he murmured under his breath, the faintest trace of amusement lacing his voice. “It won’t matter in the end.”

With that, he turned and strode away from the tree, his mind already working on his next move.

You could try to ignore him. You could even try to hate him.

But it didn’t matter. Not to Ni-ki.

He’d seen the way your eyes lingered on him for a fraction too long when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. The way you always seemed to know exactly where he was, even when you claimed you didn’t care. You could tell yourself that you didn’t feel the pull between you, that his presence didn’t affect you, but Ni-ki knew better.

He always knew better.

He didn’t care how long it took, or how many distractions you tried to throw his way—Wonbin included. None of it mattered.

In the end, you’d come to him. You’d have to.

Because Ni-ki wasn’t the kind of person to lose, especially not when it came to something he wanted.

And he wanted you.

--

You were doomed—completely and utterly doomed—from the moment you were born. Your life would’ve been so much easier if your father had just fallen for a regular mortal instead of a literal Greek goddess. You could’ve gone through life oblivious to this whole other world of gods, monsters, and irritatingly attractive demigods. But no. Instead, he had to send you here, to this camp.

And because of that, you got to know Ni-ki.

You tried sticking by Wonbin. He was fun, charming, and easy to be around. He didn’t make your blood boil with irritation or tie your thoughts into knots that you couldn’t untangle, and you appreciated that. You told yourself that staying close to him was the best way to avoid the storm that was Ni-ki.

But it was no use.

No matter where you went, no matter what you did, Ni-ki was always there, lingering on the edges of your mind if not right in front of you. He wasn’t like Wonbin—he didn’t make small talk or try to keep the peace. Ni-ki thrived on chaos, on teasing you, testing you, pushing every button you had until you didn’t know whether you wanted to yell at him or… something else.

It was maddening, frustrating, exhausting.

You caught yourself looking for him more often than you cared to admit, your eyes darting around camp during training sessions or meals. Even when he wasn’t near, you could feel the weight of his presence, like a shadow always lurking just behind you. And when you did see him? The infuriating smirk on his face made your heart race in a way that left you cursing under your breath.

You sighed as you sat by the campfire that evening, staring into the flickering flames. Wonbin was beside you, laughing and chatting with a group of other campers, but his voice faded into the background. Your thoughts were elsewhere—on the dark-haired boy who had somehow managed to weave himself into every corner of your life without your permission.

“Why do you look like you’re plotting murder?” Wonbin asked suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You blinked, turning to look at him. “Huh?”

“You’re glaring at the fire like it insulted your family or something,” he teased, nudging your shoulder.

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “It’s nothing. Just thinking.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further, thankfully.

Still, your mind refused to settle. You were doomed, all right. Doomed because no matter how hard you tried to ignore Ni-ki, some part of you always ended up being pulled back to him. Like gravity.

And the worst part?

A small, treacherous voice in the back of your mind whispered that maybe you didn’t want to fight it as much as you pretended to.

In fact, it was growing louder with every interaction, every smirk, every time Ni-ki’s dark eyes locked with yours like he could see straight through you. It was infuriating. It was maddening. But it was also… impossible to ignore.

You tried to shake it off, focusing on anything else—Wonbin’s jokes, the camp’s bustling energy, even the endless stream of chores and training drills. But none of it worked. No matter what you did, Ni-ki was there, lingering at the edge of your thoughts like a shadow you couldn’t escape.

You hated it. You hated how much space he took up in your head, how his teasing smirk and smooth voice haunted you even when he wasn’t around.

But what you hated most of all?

The way your heart raced when he was around.

You let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back against the log by the campfire. The flames danced in front of you, but their warmth didn’t do much to ease the chill of confusion and frustration that settled in your chest.

You stood up abruptly, brushing the dirt off your hands. “I’m going to bed,” you mumbled, not really looking at anyone.

Wonbin glanced at you, concerned, but he didn’t say anything as you turned and headed toward the Athena cabin. The night air was cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the fire. You welcomed it, hoping it might clear your head.

When you pushed open the door to the cabin, you were surprised to find it empty. Normally, your half-sisters were gathered around, quietly reading.

You didn’t think too much about it as you made your way to your bed. Sitting down heavily, you groaned, letting your body relax for the first time all day. The mattress creaked under your weight, and you leaned back, staring up at the wooden ceiling.

Your mind, of course, wouldn’t quiet.

Ni-ki’s face flashed in your thoughts—his smirk, his sharp gaze, the way he always seemed so calm and in control, as if he knew exactly how to get under your skin. You groaned again, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes in frustration.

“What is wrong with me?” you muttered to yourself.

This wasn’t like you. You didn’t let people get to you like this, especially not guys like Ni-ki. He was aggravating, arrogant, and far too sure of himself.

And yet.

Your thoughts drifted back to the moments when his teasing tone softened just slightly, or the way his presence seemed to shift when it was just the two of you. It made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t want to admit.

You sat up abruptly, shaking your head as if that would somehow shake the thoughts loose. “No,” you said firmly, as if declaring it out loud would make it true. “I’m not doing this.”

The next day, you were in the middle of a match, your shield raised and your sword slicing through the air as you managed to disarm your opponent with a clean move. Breathing heavily, you stepped back and lowered your weapon, a small grin tugging at your lips.

Straightening up, you turned to face the group. “Alright,” you said, brushing a hand across your brow. “Who’s next?”

The crowd shifted slightly, and then you saw him.

Ni-ki, standing at the edge of the group, his hand raised lazily as that infuriating smirk spread across his face.

Your stomach sank.

“Me,” he said simply, stepping forward with a casual confidence that made you grit your teeth.

He unsheathed his sword, the metal glinting in the sunlight as he spun it once in his hand, almost lazily. “Don’t look so excited to see me,” he teased, his voice low and taunting.

You groaned audibly, earning a few chuckles from the others watching. “Of course it’s you,” you muttered under your breath, gripping your sword tightly.

Ni-ki’s grin widened as he stopped a few feet in front of you, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp. “Ready to show me what you’ve got?”

“Don’t you have anyone else to fight?” you shot back, raising your shield and positioning your sword defensively.

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Nope,” he said with mock cheerfulness. “You’re my favorite target.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could fire off another retort, Ni-ki lunged. His sword came down fast, and you barely managed to block it with your shield. The force of the blow made your arm ache, but you quickly recovered, stepping to the side and swinging your sword toward him.

Ni-ki parried with ease, his movements fluid and almost effortless. “Not bad,” he said, circling you slowly. “You’ve been practicing.”

“Shut up and fight,” you snapped, aiming a quick thrust toward his side.

He dodged it easily, his smirk never faltering. “Feisty,” he teased, blocking your next strike with his sword. “I like it.”

You groaned in frustration, your swings becoming more aggressive as Ni-ki continued to block and dodge with maddening ease. He wasn’t even trying to land a hit yet—just toying with you, testing you, like a cat playing with its prey.

“Stop holding back!” you shouted, lunging forward with all your strength.

Ni-ki’s eyes flashed, and for a split second, his smirk turned into something more serious. He sidestepped your attack and, with a quick flick of his wrist, knocked your sword out of your hand.

Before you could react, he stepped closer, the tip of his blade resting lightly against your collarbone.

“Looks like I win,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away.

Your heart pounded, but whether it was from the fight or the way Ni-ki was looking at you, you couldn’t tell.

“Maybe next time,” he added, stepping back and lowering his sword.

You glared at him, your cheeks burning with a mix of frustration and something you didn’t want to name. “Don’t get used to it,” you muttered, bending down to pick up your weapon.

Ni-ki just chuckled, spinning his sword once before sheathing it. “I’m counting on it.”

--

The day had been long, exhausting even, but despite the ache in your muscles and the overwhelming need for rest, sleep refused to come. You lay in bed, staring at the wooden ceiling of the Athena cabin, your mind swirling with thoughts you couldn’t seem to shut off.

The cabin was quiet, the soft snores of your half-sisters filling the space. You should’ve felt comforted by the familiar surroundings, but instead, you felt restless. Like there was something pulling at you, demanding your attention.

With a frustrated sigh, you sat up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Maybe some fresh air would help clear your mind. You grabbed a light jacket and slipped out of the cabin as quietly as you could.

The camp was quieter now, most of the other demigods asleep, save for a few shadows moving by the campfire in the distance. You tugged your jacket closer around you and glanced up at the night sky.

The stars twinkled faintly above, scattered across the inky black canvas. You let out a soft sigh, your breath visible in the chill. “If you’re listening, Mom,” you murmured, tilting your head upward, “a little guidance would be nice right about now.”

Of course, there was no response. You didn’t expect one. Still, the act of asking felt oddly comforting, like maybe she was watching, even if she couldn’t answer.

You shook your head, trying to dispel the lingering frustration and confusion from your thoughts. Wandering through camp aimlessly wouldn’t help. You needed to do something. Anything.

Your gaze landed on the training grounds nearby. Rows of weapons were neatly arranged on the racks for the next day’s use, and your hand instinctively reached for a sword. It wasn’t the same one you had used earlier during training, but it felt good in your grip nonetheless.

Without a second thought, you made your way to a clearing a little farther from the cabins, away from prying eyes and the ever-present chatter of the other campers.

You adjusted your stance, gripping the sword tightly as you took a deep breath. Then you started practicing.

It was awkward at first—your swings too wide, your footing unsteady. But you didn’t stop. You moved through the motions you’d been taught, the echoes of Wonbin’s voice guiding you. The weight of the sword felt familiar in your hands now, and the repetition of each movement slowly began to calm your racing thoughts.

Slash. Step. Block. Pivot.

Each strike and parry chipped away at your frustration, leaving behind a faint sense of satisfaction. The rhythmic movements grounded you, a reminder that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as out of place here as you felt.

The clearing was quiet except for the sound of your blade slicing through the air and the occasional rustle of leaves. The stars above seemed to glow a little brighter, as if approving of your effort.

But then, a soft sound broke through your focus—a quiet crunch of leaves behind you.

You froze mid-swing, your heart skipping a beat as you turned around sharply, sword raised defensively.

There, leaning casually against a tree, was Ni-ki. His dark eyes reflected the moonlight, and his ever-present smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Practicing alone?” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Didn’t think you’d be the type.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you turned back around. “Don’t you have something else to do?” you muttered, raising your sword to continue your practice.

The satisfying swoosh of the blade cutting through the air was short-lived, though, as another crunch of leaves sounded—closer this time.

You stiffened, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. Slowly, you turned back around, only to find Ni-ki standing much, much closer than before.

Too close.

You instinctively stepped back, gripping the hilt of your sword tighter. “What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended.

Ni-ki didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he unsheathed his sword in one smooth motion, the blade catching the faint glow of the moonlight.

Without a word, his sword clashed against yours, the force of it sending a jolt up your arm.

“Training,” he said simply, his voice calm and deliberate.

Your breaths came faster as you struggled to hold your ground. His strength was undeniable, and the weight of his blade pressed hard against yours.

“You could’ve warned me,” you bit out, gritting your teeth as you pushed back against him.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ni-ki replied smoothly, tilting his head as he studied you.

You narrowed your eyes, trying to focus on his movements as he pulled back slightly before swinging again. You barely managed to block the strike, the clash of metal ringing loudly in the quiet night.

“Stop holding back,” he said, his voice low and almost taunting. “Or are you scared?”

“I’m not scared,” you snapped, stepping forward to swing at him, only for him to parry your attack effortlessly.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he teased, his smirk growing wider.

Your frustration bubbled over as you struck again, this time with more force. Ni-ki blocked it easily, but instead of countering, he let his sword linger against yours, his face mere inches from yours now.

“See?” he murmured, his tone soft but no less infuriating. “You’re getting better already.”

His closeness made your heart race, and you hated that you couldn’t tell if it was from irritation or something else entirely. You pushed his sword away with a sharp motion and stepped back, glaring at him.

“Why are you even doing this?” you demanded, lowering your sword slightly.

Ni-ki tilted his head, his smirk fading just a fraction. For a moment, you thought he might actually answer seriously.

But then his lips curved again, and he stepped forward, his blade tapping lightly against yours.

“Because,” he said, his voice dropping into a near-whisper as he leaned in closer, “I like seeing you fight back.”

That was it. That little smirk, the taunting lilt in his voice—it was enough to light a fire under you. If he wanted a fight, you weren’t going to back down.

“Fine,” you snapped, gripping your sword tighter as you took a step forward. “Let’s see if you can handle it.”

Ni-ki’s grin widened, his dark eyes gleaming with excitement. “That’s more like it.”

He struck first, his movements sharp and calculated, but this time you were ready. You blocked his attack and retaliated quickly, your blade swinging toward him in a controlled arc. He parried with ease, the metallic clang of your swords echoing through the clearing.

The fight intensified, your strikes becoming faster, more precise. Ni-ki moved like a shadow, fluid and unpredictable, but you weren’t as easy to throw off now.

“You’re learning,” he said, his voice steady even as he blocked another one of your attacks. “But you’re still predictable.”

“Shut up,” you shot back, using your shield to deflect his next swing and stepping closer to try and land a blow. He sidestepped easily, his laughter low and infuriating.

“That temper of yours is going to get you in trouble,” he teased, but there was something almost approving in his tone.

You didn’t bother replying this time, focusing instead on matching his movements. You swung again, your blade aimed for his side, and for the first time, you saw the faintest flicker of surprise in his eyes as he blocked you just a fraction too late.

Your sword glanced off his armor, the impact making him take a half-step back.

“Not bad,” Ni-ki admitted, his smirk returning as he circled you. “You’re starting to make this interesting.”

The praise caught you off guard, and you couldn’t help the slight swell of pride that followed. But you didn’t let it distract you.

“Better than you expected, huh?” you said, unable to resist the jab as you pivoted to keep him in your line of sight.

Ni-ki’s grin turned sharp. “Don’t get cocky.”

He lunged suddenly, his movements faster and more aggressive. You barely managed to block him, your arms straining as he pressed his weight against your blade.

For a moment, you were locked together, his face inches from yours. His dark eyes bore into you, filled with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“You’re enjoying this,” he said softly, his voice teasing but laced with something deeper.

You didn’t deny it. Somehow, in the midst of the fight, you’d forgotten about your frustration, your doubts, even your irritation with him. All that mattered now was holding your ground against someone as skilled as Ni-ki.

“Maybe I am,” you admitted, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

Ni-ki blinked, momentarily caught off guard when your sudden, unexpected move knocked the sword clean out of his hand. The blade clattered to the ground a few feet away, and you straightened, your smirk growing wider as you stared at him triumphantly.

“Didn’t see that coming, did you?” you teased, the satisfaction in your voice clear.

For once, Ni-ki seemed genuinely surprised, his dark eyes flicking to the fallen sword before locking back onto you. “I’ll admit,” he said slowly, a hint of amusement coloring his tone, “that was clever.”

You were about to bask in your victory, perhaps even throw another jab his way, but before you could, Ni-ki’s leg swept out suddenly, catching you off guard.

Your balance gave way, and you stumbled backward, ready to hit the ground hard—except you didn’t.

In a flash, Ni-ki’s arm shot out, wrapping securely around your waist and pulling you back up against him. The world tilted for a moment, and when you opened your eyes, you realized how close you were.

Your noses brushed lightly, and his face was only inches from yours. His dark eyes bore into yours, filled with that maddening confidence and something else that made your breath hitch.

“You should never celebrate too early,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Your mind scrambled to process what was happening. His arm was still wrapped firmly around your waist, his other hand pressed lightly against the small of your back. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, the way his chest rose and fell with each steady breath.

You should’ve said something—anything. A snarky comeback, maybe, or even a protest about his unfair tactics. But instead, all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

Ni-ki tilted his head slightly, his smirk softening into something more curious. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

That snapped you out of it, and you quickly shoved at his chest. “Let go of me,” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed despite the heat rising to your cheeks.

He chuckled but released you, stepping back just enough to give you space. His hand lingered for the briefest second before he let it fall to his side.

“Nice move, though,” he said, his tone almost genuine—almost. “But you’ll have to do better if you want to beat me.”

You scowled at him, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “I did beat you. I knocked your sword out of your hand!”

“And yet,” Ni-ki said, bending down to retrieve his sword and twirling it effortlessly, “I still had the upper hand.”

You clenched your jaw, watching him looking too pleased with himself. The smugness on his face only made your frustration burn brighter.

“I don’t know how you can be so damn confident when you just got outplayed,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to hide the fact that your heart was still racing.

Ni-ki chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Outplayed, huh?” He took a step closer, still twirling his sword. “You’re getting better, I’ll give you that. But you’re not there yet.”

“You’re a cocky bastard, you know that?”

“I’m not cocky,” he said, the teasing tone never leaving his voice. “I’m just confident. And you’ll get used to it... if you’re smart.”

You raised an eyebrow, not backing down an inch. “Smart, huh?”

Ni-ki leaned in slightly, lowering his voice in a way that made your breath hitch again. “Yeah. Smart enough to realize that you’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

“I never wanted to get rid of you,” you snapped, trying to regain your composure. “I just wanted to be left alone.”

Ni-ki took another step closer, and this time, you didn’t pull away. His presence was overwhelming—like he could consume you entirely if you let him. “You say that, but we both know that’s not true.” His lips curled into a smile as he tilted his head slightly. “You wouldn’t keep coming back to me if you didn’t want something.”

Your mouth went dry, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe. What was he getting at? Why was he suddenly so... intense? You didn’t know if it was the way he was looking at you or how close he was, but you felt something shift between you, something that made it harder to focus.

Before you could respond, Ni-ki backed away just enough to give you some space, but not before his gaze lingered on you with an unreadable expression. “You’ll figure it out eventually,” he said softly, almost like a challenge. “But for now, don’t forget—I'm always watching.”

He turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, breathless, a mix of anger and confusion swirling inside you. You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out.

What the hell was that?

Over the next few days, something between you and Ni-ki shifted. It wasn’t immediately obvious, but it was there, lingering.

At first, it was subtle. A glance that lingered just a second too long, a playful comment that felt just a little more personal than it used to be. He still teased you, still pushed your buttons the way only he could, but there was a new layer to it. Every time he sparred with you, there was something in his eyes—something that made your heart beat faster, something that made you feel like he was seeing right through you.

It was hard to tell whether you were imagining it, but you felt it, that strange connection you couldn’t shake. It wasn’t just the usual back-and-forth banter, the constant friction. No, this time, there was something deeper. Something charged. You found yourself waiting for his gaze across the training grounds, your stomach tightening whenever he’d casually stroll past you, like he was waiting for you to say something, anything.

One afternoon, you found yourself in the training yard again, sword in hand, working through some drills. You were trying to focus, trying to shut everything else out, but there he was—Ni-ki, watching you from the edge of the field, leaning casually against a tree. You tried to ignore him, but every few seconds, your eyes would wander over to him, and you’d catch him staring right back.

Finally, he pushed off from the tree and walked over. “You know,” he said, his voice drawing your attention even before he was close enough to speak, “you’ve gotten better. I’m impressed.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to keep your composure. “Don’t get used to it,” you shot back, though the words came out more lightly than you’d intended.

Ni-ki smirked, his usual arrogance taking over. “Oh, I’m not. But you’re not as bad as I thought you’d be.”

You felt the familiar spark of irritation flare up. “And here I thought you might actually give me a compliment.”

“You really want one from me?” he teased, his voice lowering just slightly. It was almost like a challenge, but there was something else in his tone—something that made you pause.

You crossed your arms, forcing yourself to act unaffected. “What’s it going to take for you to just leave me alone?”

He took a step closer, that teasing smile still tugging at his lips. “You know, I don’t think I can do that.”

You didn’t know why, but you found yourself holding his gaze longer than usual. You were still mad at him for everything, for the way he always seemed to be in your face when you least wanted him to be. But there was also a strange pull, a curiosity that gnawed at you. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were starting to care about the things he said, about the way he looked at you.

You cleared your throat, breaking the moment. “Don’t get too cocky, Ni-ki. I’m not interested.”

He chuckled softly, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Maybe you’re not. But I don’t think you can ignore me forever.”

You took a step back, your heart pounding as you tried to collect yourself, but Ni-ki’s presence was magnetic, pulling you in with an intensity you couldn't fight.

"You're not as good at pretending as you think," he said, his tone a challenge, but there was something softer in it this time.

You clenched your jaw, irritated with yourself for letting him get under your skin. "I'm not pretending," you snapped, your words sharper than you intended. "And I’m definitely not the one who’s making this complicated."

His lips curved into a smile, and he moved just a little bit closer, his gaze intense, unwavering. "You always make things more complicated than they need to be," he said, almost like a confession, like he was admitting something without saying it outright.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. What could you even say? What was there to say when everything between you and him felt so tangled?

Ni-ki took a step forward, not giving you a chance to speak. "I know you feel it too," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You can’t keep pretending like you don’t want this."

Your breath hitched at his words, your chest tightening. You wanted to push him away, to tell him off like you always did, but this time, the thought didn’t come. Instead, you stood there, frozen, staring into his eyes, realizing that he was right. You couldn’t keep pretending, couldn’t keep pretending like it didn’t affect you, like his teasing and his relentless pursuit didn’t make something inside you stir.

A small, dangerous part of you wanted to give in, to let yourself feel whatever this was between you. But you couldn’t—could you? You weren’t sure what this was, what you were supposed to do with it.

Ni-ki took another step closer, and you found yourself backing up slightly, your heels hitting the soft earth beneath you. "You’re scared," he said, his voice softer now, like a quiet understanding. "But I won’t bite, not unless you want me to."

His words made your stomach twist, the light touch of a dare in his voice, a challenge you couldn’t quite ignore. You felt your pulse quicken, every nerve in your body alert, wanting to resist him, but at the same time, craving what he was offering, whatever that might be.

So why not act on it?

Your heart pounded in your chest as you acted on impulse, unable to resist the magnetic pull any longer. Before you could second-guess yourself, you reached up and grabbed his shirt, pulling him toward you. The suddenness of it caught him off guard, and for a split second, he froze, eyes wide in disbelief.

But then, almost as if a switch had been flipped, Ni-ki closed the distance between you, his hands finding your cheeks as he kissed you back. His lips were hungry, as if he had been waiting for this moment, and the intensity of his kiss made your head spin. You could feel the heat of his touch, the way his fingers slid through your hair, tugging you closer, as if trying to pull you into him.

Your mind was a blur, every thought drowned out by the sensation of him—his scent, the taste of his lips, the urgency that seemed to pulse between you both. It felt like something had shifted, like everything else had faded away, leaving only this moment, only him.

His hands were gentle but firm, holding your face as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing closer to yours.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, the air between you thick with unspoken words. Ni-ki’s eyes were dark with something intense, something more than just the teasing that had always been there before. He stared at you for a moment, his fingers still lingering on your face as if he were trying to make sense of what had just happened.

“You…” He trailed off. “That’s one way to get my attention.”

You swallowed, your pulse still racing, but now with a new, more dangerous energy. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d actually kiss me back,” you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Ni-ki chuckled, like he was both impressed and thrilled.

"You’re dangerous," you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them, not sure if you meant him or the situation.

Ni-ki smirked, leaning even closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "And you love it," he whispered, his voice sending a ripple of heat through your entire body.

You didn’t deny it. In fact, you didn’t have to.

"I’m not sure this is a good idea," you admitted instead, but there was a part of you that wasn’t sure if you were still trying to convince yourself or him.

Ni-ki’s grin grew wider, and he traced his thumb across your lips, almost teasing. "Good ideas are overrated," he said, his tone playful. "Besides, I’ve never been one to shy away from a little chaos."

You pulled back slightly, your breath catching as you tried to regain some semblance of control. "Our parents wouldn’t like this," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Ni-ki's grin never faltered, and his eyes gleamed with mischief. "I never listened to my father," he said, the words casual, but you could hear the underlying truth in them. "And your mother? She has so many children to worry about. What’s one more mess to clean up?" He chuckled, the sound almost a challenge, as if daring you to argue with him.

Every logical thought you had was drowned out by his presence. You should have pulled away. You should have stopped this before it went any further.

But then Ni-ki was closer, so close that you could feel his breath on your skin, and all those thoughts faded into the background. You let him take that final step, let him kiss you again, as if the world outside didn’t exist.

His lips were urgent, almost demanding, and you found yourself responding, giving in to the pull.

He had won. There was no turning back now.

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Bold ones are untaggable* Wanna be in the perm taglist? Lmk <3

[nitewrighter]

It's actually very hard to judge the severity of a disaster in Metropolis because, obviously, that's Superman's town and he tends to turn stuff around pretty efficiently. The people of Metropolis have this meme called "The Lois Lane Tank Top Disaster Index" which functions similarly to the "Is Anderson Cooper in a tight black t-shirt" disaster index. It's actually a surprisingly accurate indicator of how far things have gone to shit.

Lois Lane is in her full cool reporter outfit: We're fine. Supes has this handled.

Lois Lane has ditched her jacket at some point: Okay so this guy's actually knocking Supes around pretty hard, but Supes is getting some decent punches in. Be wary of falling rubble and glass.

Lois Lane has that Jurassic park look going where you have the open dress shirt over the tank top: Oh man Supes is taking a beating. Kryptonite or magic might be involved. We may be seeing backup from the Justice League, which like, be prepared because you never know what that's going to look like.

Lois Lane is in a tank top: Oh god we're so fucked get out of the city.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

His Name | Soulmate!AU

~1.1k words

Jason Todd. That's the name that etched itself on your thigh the night of your sixteen birthday. Which is great, you have a soulmate. The issue is that you know– knew a Jason Todd. He happens to be six feet under the dirt in a graveyard you visit every Saturday. Which is not so great.

Being soul bound to a dead person gets you a lot of pitying glances from the people you know. You tell them there's more than one Jason Todd in the world. It makes your family shake their heads. You try not to dwell on the heartbreak on their faces when you tell them that, when they think you can't see it. They saw you and Jason together when he was alive. There won't be another Jason Todd in your life.

It's something you've slowly come to terms with, when no other Jason Todd finds their way to you, the idea of never seeing your name permanently marked on someone else's skin. The fact that you might never really have the person that's supposed to be yours.

That's why you might have reacted kind of poorly when Red Hood brings you up to a quiet rooftop, tugging off his leather jacket in front of you, dragging the material of his suit up and over his forearm to reveal your name on his skin.

You weren't even doing anything dangerous to get here, just at the wrong store at the wrong time, while some third-rate rouge went on and on about conquering the city. Standard Gotham experience.

What wasn't normal was Red Hood crashing through a window, brutal and efficient with every movement until each person with a gun was knocked out and beaten on the floor. Sure, you were aware he wasn't exactly a crime lord anymore, labeled a 'turned vigilante' by the press, but press also said he doesn't tend to leave crime alley. And you definitely weren't in crime alley. None of news stories of him saving people exactly calms the adrenaline coursing through you when he picks you up like it was the easiest thing in the world for him, hoisting you like you're made of glass over his shoulder and grappling you both to a nearby roof. You're alone before you even have time to process it.

You stumble back when he gently, so gently it makes your heart stutter, sets you on the ground. "Who do you think you are? You can't just grab people–" your biting words cut off as you register the black lettering across his skin. Your name. Your name is there. On Red Hoods arm.

You reach out to touch it before you can stop yourself, fingers trailing down his forearm and over each letter of your name. He lets you, not speaking words, only sighing in what sounds like relief. You force your gaze from the mark you could stare at forever to meet the glowing eyes of his mask. "You're- Jason Todd?"

He nods, every nerve of his body completely locked on you. It doesn't clear anything up. He can't be Jason Todd, at least, not the one you buried.

You make a face and step back, crossing your arms, "Yeah right."

He seems to blank, arm still held out, showing your name permanently engraved on his skin. "Yeah, right?" He echos, deep and robotic through the modulator of his mask.

You set your jaw and nod.

He tilts his head, lifting his arm higher to make you see the mark. To see your name. "Do you think I faked it?"

That makes you falter. Why would he? There's nothing to gain by pretending to be your soulmate. "Well, no. But you still could have the wrong person."

He exhales a laugh, breathes out your name with more fondess than you've ever heard. "Always so stubborn."

Your frown. Sure, maybe you could be stubborn but he doesn't know that.

He says your name again, reaching up to tug his hood back, reaching for his mask.

It makes you freeze, eyes going wide in shock when you make out his face. Jason. Your Jason. "How–" You start, but can't quite manage to finish, eyes darting over the face that's so familiar, only older, more tired, more scarred. But his eyes are still the same. Intent and focused and bright when everything around him is dark.

"It's a long story." He says softly, before starting to ramble, nervous to upset you, to lose any chance of knowing you again. Any unease you felt around Red Hood fades as you recognize the boy you grew up with in him. "Maybe I could tell you? Over coffee? I have safe house nearby. But, only if you're comfortable. Or we could meet during the day, if thats better?"

His voice sounds more familiar without mask, and you study him, almost accusing. "You didn't have to kidnap me to tell me you're alive. Or that you're my soulmate, you know."

He stumbles over your words, taking half a step closer to you. "I didn't! I mean, I wasn't trying to. I swear– I just couldn't take all of this off down there." He gestures to the mask, a little frantic to gain your approval.

It brings a small smile to your face, and he stops still at the sight of it, breath catching in his throat as you speak, "I'm glad you're here, Jason."

"I'm glad you're safe." He exhales out, eyes softening and tension draining from his muscles in relief.

You can't quite fight the urge to reach out for him, so you do, taking his hand and gently flipping it over so you can read your name again. You have questions, absolutely. Gripes. Proably a lecture that he should have come seen you sooner. But you settle on how right this feels in your bones, how your soul feels like its missing piece slotted into place. "Do you have creamer?"

"Creamer?" He asks, voice airy and memorized by the feel of your skin against his hand.

"For the coffee?" You prompt, smiling a little wider at his dazed expression, his eyes following your hand, like he can't believe you haven't run screaming for the hills.

"Yeah. Course. Anything you want." And when he focuses back in your face, you know in the very essence of what you are that he means it.

"Coffees a good start." You say, a little fond as you pull away your hand away, and he reluctantly lets your fingers slide from his.

"Coffee it is." And it is a good start. To know your other half again, to follow the warm, soothing feeling in your soul when you touch him, you'll try as many starts as it takes.

[ram-bles]

HELLOOOO

I got a silly little ask, just a drabble from you would be fine 😁

Like- the reader (gender neutral) wasn't very open about their hobbies and such. One of their hobbies was like martial arts or smth (THIS IS VERY CRUCIAL ☝️☝️☝️)

Wellll, one day Jimmy (🤮) decided to try and touch the reader inappropriately and they just throw him over their shoulder saying something along the lines of "Do NOT touch me."

I KNOW IT'S CRINGE BUT PLEASEEEE, IT WOULD BE SO FUNNY 🙏🙏🙏🙏

I saw you're writing for only Curly and Daisuke, but if you wanna you can add other characters into the mix. It's all platonic, just a silly little ask cuz I wanna laugh 😁😁😁

[ Tulpar Crew & Reader ]

Oh I love this one. Also this reminded me to update my list thank u 4 unintentionally reminding me anon.,.,. ALSO DONT WORRY I DONT THINK IT'S CRINGE !

gender neutral reader, it gets silly later on i promise. not proof-read. wrote this really quick.

⚠️ tw: stalking, jimmy being a little too forward and close

The day was pretty much mundane, like always. Everyone was in their designated work stations, including you of course. Though, something felt off. It had been like this for the past week, and you hated it. You even blamed your lack of sleep for it. It seemed like there was something— someone, watching and following you when you were alone.

One time, you'd even woken up to the sound of your quarter's door closing. You stayed up all night, not wanting to inconvenience the other crew members for what you think might just be all in your head. Well, that is until psych evaluation day came and you opened up about this to Anya who so easily believed you, but seemed so uncomfortable with the topic. You decided not to pry out of respect. She offers her company when you need it.

That same night, Daisuke offered to host a game session to which everyone reluctantly agreed to.

Establishing good bonds between workers is key to an efficient working environment!

Anya, Swansea and Daisuke were sitting by the sofa, Curly dragged a chair just beside the game table, whilst you and Jimmy sat beside each other on the floor. The game involved four players and the crew decided that whoever loses first has to swap with whoever hasn't played yet for the next rounds. The game was getting heated, Daisuke and Anya, neck on neck. Unfortunately, not the only thing neck on neck. Everyone else was too focused on the game to even notice what Jimmy was doing. You can feel his breath against your skin. You eyed the others in hopes that they would see. Too busy. Annoyed and grossed out, you elbowed his ribs in warning, glaring at him. "Jimmy, don't touch me." He seems pissed, but that doesn't deter him from getting his entertainment. Jimmy presses on and you swear you felt your eyebrows twitch. The balls of this guy to even do this here.

Daisuke throws the dice, the three leans in in anticipation as they watch it slowly roll to a stop and—

CRASH!

Some game pieces flew in different directions, two table legs snapping from the force and Jimmy's weight. It was radio silent for a moment. The crew having different variations of shocked expressions. You had grabbed his arm and flipped his body onto the furniture.

"Fuckin' pervert. Are you deaf, or what? I said do NOT touch me."

Daisuke threw his hands up in the air and settled it on each side of his head, frustrated. "Oh, come on, man! I was so close to winni—!" His whining ceases when Swansea nudges him, instantly shutting up and processing what had just happened. It took a few blinks for him to register and he eventually bursts out laughing and pointing at Jimmy. It took everything from Swansea not to burst out laughing as well. Instead, he crosses his arms and huffs with a proud smile. 'Atta' kid.'

Anya on the other hand slips out a gasp, covering her mouth. Mostly out of shock, and no sympathy for the man whatsoever. When the other intern started laughing, she had to bite her lip and look away to suppress her own fit.

[ History of glenohumeral joint subluxation.

It happened way too fast for Jimmy to even process what just happened. He spits out something hard, probably a tooth. His shoulder slightly stings as well, probably dislocated. He'll get back at you some other time, he can't get back at you when everyone else is here and that pisses him off even more.

Curly had mixed feelings. But of course, he prioritizes his role and he has to mediate everything first and foremost. Rubbing his face, he sighs and stands up, putting his hands on his hips. He calls your name and you tilted your head to look up at him. "I have to discuss... this with you later on. Please drop by the cockpit, yeah?" You roll your eyes and nod, pouting. "Swansea, could we borrow your intern real quick?"

"Shift's over, go ahead."

He gives the eldest a nod. "Daisuke, please assist Anya. Help her bring Jimmy to medical."

"Youuuuu got it, Big C." He finger guns towards the captain then stands up to hover over the co-pilot. Curly could only give Daisuke an awkward smile at the nickname.

"Never call him that again."

"El Capitano." Daisuke helps Jimmy up, making sure he's pulling them up by the injured arm, making the man grit his teeth and groan in pain. Before the guy could even cuss at the intern, Swansea continued bickering.

"Do your damn job."

"Yessir. Swansir."

Anya and Daisuke finally went off the bring the poor injured co-pilot to treat him. And if you'd like to know, Anya taught Daisuke how to pull Jimmy's shoulder back to place. Yes, everyone heard him when it happened.

You helped Swansea clean up the mess by the lounge and in apology, offered to help repair the table the next day. He agrees and even offers Daisuke to assist you.

Curly had to lightly reprimand you for your actions, but you'd explained to him what happened. The best he could do for you for now is lie on the report.

Sustained through occupational accident.

Employee confirmed inebriated while working.

Property damage docked to Jimmy.]