#Why do they all have to be so unnecessarily Close and far away at the same time

[poorwhayfairingstranger]

I still have no idea where my meds are.

[guppybibi]

i wrote this in under 30 minutes, not proofread, plus it's night so it's not actually me writing it.

This wasn't how his angel’s wedding was supposed to go, no not even the tiniest bit close! And whose fault was it? The pair of fucking attention seeking bastards sitting ‘prettily’ at the guests table, bragging about the unnecessarily expensive car they recently got to a bunch of people who couldn't even give two fucks. That wasn't even the worst part, the woman thought it was a good idea to show up to the wedding in white, when there was a specific color code for the women that was clearly stated in the details of the invitation. Oh and she even had the guts to defend herself like she was an innocent little thing who could do no harm when John confronted her about the dress.

“It's not white, it's chiffon! Two different things!” She exclaims, dramatically sighing as if John had physically attacked her right now. (He would've if she kept acting like this.) Whatever, a dress can't ruin your perfect day. Not on John’s watch at least. Until the pair pull another unexpected trick out their sleeve. It happened all too fast as well that John simply had to just watch the whole thing go down.

“Will you marry me?” The man asks, holding..well more like flaunting the tiny leatherette box that contained a shiny diamond ring. “Yes, yes! I do!” The woman agrees, practically jumping in her heels. And..everyone in the venue is confused, awkward whispers and congratulations filling the room. By this time, it's taking every fiber of John’s being to restrain himself from kicking their asses out of here. Every minute they spend here, he's basically questioning himself—why won't he politely tell them to leave? It's not like he's hurting anyone aside from their feelings so..why?

Maybe it's the way you tug at his arm and shake your head when you notice him fuming at the sight of the bitchy pair, attempting to calm him down and not get his blood pressure too high. “It's okay, let them be. They're my friends. I didn't expect them to do this but no matter what they do they aren't going to ruin my special day, trust me.” You whisper to him, eyes wandering around the place and locking onto the table full of an arrangement of food. “C’mon let's grab a snack.” You giggle, pulling him along.

He doesn't get it, not one bit. If he was you, he’d have the couple far away from here. Like, on top of Mount Everest kind of far. It leaves him questioning your choices the whole evening, and a question without an answer is enough to keep John awake at night. In hopes of a goodnight’s sleep, he asks you.

“I think you were too patient with them, love. You could've told me the words and I would've had them out of here in a heartbeat. Why did you let them stay?” He wasn't exactly sure what your reply was going to be but..

“Well it's not purely out of respect and politeness itself, John. I let them stay because no matter what they were planning, it wasn't going to ruin my day. As long as by the end of it, I’m Mrs. Price!”

[angstywaifu]

hey ....love your content...can you do one where how the fourth wing men would reject the reader...i understand if you don't want to tho

This was harder than I thought. We always look at these boys in such positive lights (to some extent). But I think I figured it out. You would also think for someone who literally just finished their reread of Fourth Wing this would be easy.... It wasn't.

Rejection - HC's Fourth Wing Boys

Garrick

Garrick wouldn’t beat around the bush. He’d be pretty upfront and straightforward while choosing words that wouldn’t hurt you unnecessarily. He respects those close to him and would want to handle the situation with dignity

He is also grounded and logical, so he would most likely give a reason for the rejection if its appropriate.

Despite rejecting you he would try to leave things on a good note, ensuring there is no lingering awkwardness

Bodhi

Bodhi would try to keep things light hearted to ease the tension. More than likely trying to use some humour to soften the blow, while also being upfront with his feelings

Bodhi would appreciate your courage for admitting your feelings, he knows it wouldn’t have been easy.

He would definitely comfort you afterwards if you let him, not wanting to leave you hurt or any awkwardness between you.

Xaden

He’s not the kind to sugar coat things, and often keeps his emotions in check. He would probably be pretty blunt but in a respectful way. He would want very little drama to come from this

He’d definitely offer you some reasons why, most likely to do with not having time and leading a rebellion and all that. But he probably wouldn’t give too much away about his true feelings

Liam

Despite being straight forward, Liam would approach the situation in a calm and respectful manner, not wanting to hurt you more than necessary. He would be direct but kind, and do his best to explain why.

Afterwards he would respect your boundaries to try make it easier, but he would still do what he could to make sure you were ok after. Getting your friends to check in on you, doing little things for you that wouldn’t lead directly back to him to not get your hopes up.

Dain

Dain is a strategist and often tends to act based on logic than his emotions unless pushed. His rejection would likely be influenced by a rational decision rather than his own personal feelings. Most likely noting practicality or necessity than it being personal

He wouldn’t want to appear vulnerable or conflicted, most likely hiding any emotions towards the situation.

While he might acknowledge the rejection would be painful for you, he definitely isn’t dwelling on the situation and would most likely avoid any conversations around it if it came up again.

Brennan

He would be kind and gentle in his approach to the rejection. Expressing his feelings with care, and making sure you didn’t feel hurt or rejected on a personal level, and making it clear that the decision is not a reflection of your worth. He would reassure you that you deserve love and happiness.

He would definitely offer you some emotional support after, making sure you feel heard and cared for. But he would leave that up to you, leaving the door open for if you want to seek comfort in him and the friendship you still have or with others.

Ridoc

He wouldn’t make the rejection feel like a huge, dramatic event. He would keep it light, and definitely cracking multiple jokes to try defuse the tension. Kindness but with a touch of humour.

Despite his easy going nature he would still be considerate and wouldn’t take the jokes too far (though you never know with Ridoc).

He’d definitely go back to normal afterwards though, acting as if nothing was any different between you two so no one would be none the wiser.

Sawyer

Sawyer would be upfront, but try keep the mood light. He would be kind and considerate. His natural charm would kick in, making sure to point out their great qualities and making sure they know its nothing to do with them.

Afterwards he would make sure to avoid any mixed signals towards you, not wanting to lead you astray. But you two are definitely remaining friends after (though lets be honest, you’d still be friends with all these boys after).

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 4

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You're new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: cursing, maybe. I don't think anything else. Sorry if there are typos.

Words: 1874

The One I Want Masterlist

---

“Are you excited?” Jake asks as he hands you a cup of coffee. 

You take a sip and let the liquid run down your throat, then pull the cup away from your face to examine it. Your eyes dart from the caramel-colored drink to your roommate and back. He keeps getting it right, and you don’t know how. It’s as if you wrote the exact measurements of the contents of your usual coffee order on a sticky note and slapped it on the fridge so he had no choice but to memorize it. 

“Thank you,” you say. “And, yea…I guess so. It’ll be nice to have a reason to get out every day, but I have a feeling I'll be bored sitting around.” Which you’re perfectly fine with. A job is a job in your mind, and stumbling upon the gift shop across from the beach was convenient for both hirer and hiree. But Jake doesn’t need to know just how unfeeling you are toward your new job. You wouldn’t put it past him to try to unnecessarily cheer you up.

He’s done it a lot. At any hint of distress, you find him beside you. And as someone who finds themself lost in thoughts that allow anxiety or stress or pain to seep onto their face, it means Jake Seresin is often close. Which also means you are constantly at war with what your mind is willing to accept. 

There’s the suspicious part consuming most of your mind, telling you that people—men like Jake, especially—don’t go out of their way. Not for someone like you. But another itty bitty piece of your mind wants to believe Jake truly is this nice and caring. You wouldn’t hate to have that kindness in your life be a permanent fixture. 

Since you moved in you can’t deny that you rise each morning a little less worried about what the day will hit you with. And you know it’s Jake who has fueled that—indirectly, even. He has yet to comment on you or your body or your clothes or what you eat. Neither positively nor negatively. Though you do catch him staring from time to time, whatever he is thinking doesn’t leave his mouth, which is far more restraint than others have shown in the past. 

Jake shoves his hands into his sweatpants pockets and shrugs. “We usually take an hour for lunch. I could always stop by.”

“And do what?” You can’t hold back your snort, nor can you conceal the upturned tick of your lips. Your first smile of the day, light as it is, and Jake’s eyes fix on your mouth until you say, “Are you overdue for a new keychain or cheap beach snow globe?”

“I might be. Those snow globes are great,” he says with a grin, endearingly crooked. “You know, you shake ‘em around; snow goes all over the place.”

“Yes, I’m aware of how they work.”

“Well then you understand why I might want a new one,” he sasses, all but sticking his tongue out like a child.

You hum to hold back your laugh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing you’ve started to find him funny in the last few weeks. Something tells you his ego doesn’t need it. Then, with your hand extended you pass him the mug and make your way toward the door to grab your purse off the nearby hook. “I’ll try to remember that. Thanks for the coffee.”

You are almost out the door, out of his sight and so close to gaining the distance you’ve decided you need from him, when he calls out to you.  “Hey, do you want me to pick you up at the end of your shift?”

The smile you’d finally let free from his earlier joke falls, and you swallow hard, suddenly wishing you’d had the money to keep the rental car you used to get yourself from one state to the next. Though you’ll have hours away from him for the day, and the days to come, Jake coming to get you when you’re likely drained from boredom will instantly ruin the mental fortitude you’re trying to regain. 

You’d never speak it into existence, but your new job benefits you in more ways than one. After coming up short on last month's rent, you’ll finally be able to put a dent in the money you owe him—because you are paying him even though he doesn’t ask for it—but you were also banking on the separation giving you the chance to get your thoughts and pulse under control. 

Anticipation has wormed its way into your daily routine lately. You wake. Wash face. Brush teeth. Dress. Think of Jake. Scold yourself for thinking of Jake. Itch to see him, for reasons you’d rather not focus on. Get pissed for the rapid beating of your heart. 

You don’t need it. Not the unexpected thoughts, not the chaos of your pulse, not the disappointment in yourself for failing to learn from previous experiences. Thinking of him too often will fuck things up and leave you worrying about much more than just Jake or his friends or the odd stranger paralyzing you from a sudden comment or snide remark on how you look. Before you know it, you’ll be digging into the front pocket of your suitcase for the final two notecards and tossing a coin. 

“It’s only a mile-long walk,” you say, praying the unsteadiness of your voice isn’t detectable through the wall segmenting hallway from kitchen.

“So?”

You sigh. Definitely not the answer you wanted. You don’t know how to respond. There’s no excuse on the tip of your tongue, so you settle on, “Have a good day, Jake. Go save the country or something.”

—

You were spot on with that boredom prediction. Hours have passed and you’ve been forced to fill the time with menial tasks that might just be shrinking a few brain cells. Examining every item in the shop, counting every item in the shop, recounting the little squishy sea critter toys after a group of preteen girls lingered too long in that aisle. As someone so used to being on the move, each minute is slowly eating away you. 

With limited options, there are opportunities to let your mind wander and, eventually, you drift into your memories. When the urge to stop them arises, you’re shocked that you kick it back. And before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re grabbing a pocket-sized navy-colored notebook and a pen with a plastic seashell for a cap. 

A self-help book you’d skimmed a year prior suggested writing things down to process trauma and grief. The author-slash-therapist didn’t ask for well-detailed memories and feelings, but instead, a quick scribbling of the first things that come to mind. Despite how simple the task seemed, you hadn’t considered it. It seemed silly to relive the pain, to rip open wounds. Even poorly stitched wounds, you won’t deny, that left ragged and raised scars. You’d just been content with no longer bleeding. 

But recently, you’ve neglected a pulling; a string threaded and knotted into your heart with a force trying to tug it free from the confines of your chest. Though you know that would only serve one unenticing purpose, to demand you examine the organ and assess the damage time has worn into it, you don’t reconsider flipping open the cover of the notebook. 

With a free mind, you write down names, places, and towns. You write down words that were thrown at you. You write down the first time someone attacked your most vulnerable parts. And the things said and done that drove you out of one location and onto the next. You write until pages of white are filled with what could only be compared to an insane person's pastime. You write until another customer comes in just as the sun begins to fade. 

You feel her presence before you look up from the notebook in your lap, and when you finally do, you internally flinch at the sight. 

The pin-straight yellow strands of her hair reach a few inches below her shoulders, her lips are coated in bright red, and her eyes are enhanced with heavy dark shadow tones. She is tits shoved together, pushing cleavage out the low V of her camisole, and tight ass filling out tighter, dangerously short, shorts, and tiny waist a man could wrap his hands around and touch fingertips. She’s everything you avoid, and she pays you no mind as she makes her way to the mugs at the back corner of the store before heading for the t-shirts.

It’s obvious she entered with a mission when you find her not one minute later standing in front of you and setting the items on the counter. As you scan and wrap the mug and place it in the bag with the shirt, you don’t miss the similar words written across both cheap gifts. My Boyfriend is a Naval Aviator flows in cursive script over the chest of the shirt. My Girlfriend F*cks a Naval Aviator curves with the rounded shape of the mug.

You wonder if that boyfriend is one of Jake’s friends. Rooster does have a girlfriend and you have no way of knowing if this woman is his type. You kind of hope she isn’t. 

“It’s sixteen dollars even,” you mutter. 

She reaches into her cami and pulls out a twenty, slamming it down on the glass countertop that doubles as a display case for the slightly more expensive, yet still cheap, merchandise. The leftover four dollars are then shoved back between her push-up bra and breast. The bag is ripped from your hand and she promptly exits. 

That’s one way to end a first day, you think. At least it was one more thing to do with your time. Annoying kids, a notebook you’re not going to dare touch for a few days, and a woman with underlying anger issues who reminds you too much of your past. You deflate as you realize tomorrow is not likely to end up nearly as eventful.

Closing the shop is, thankfully, a quick process, because you’d like to make it back to the apartment before the moon and stars become your main light source. Walking home in the dark doesn’t suit you but you weren’t about to accept Jake’s offer knowing it likely wouldn’t stop there. First he’ll be picking you up, then it’ll develop into him dropping you off, then you’ll be hanging out with him and his friends every weekend. And then what? What good will any of that do you?

As it turns out, though, you don’t have a choice. 

Once the building door is shut and locked, you turn to find a black truck pulling up beside you. Your heart misses its next beat as fear grips you, but then you recognize the vehicle. The passenger window rolls down to reveal sandy blond hair, then green eyes, then sharp nose, then wide grin.

“You didn’t actually say no,” Jake says. 

Fuck. 

With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you step closer, wrap your fingers around the car door handle, and pull. 

---

A/N: ended up having to do something tonight, so this part came a little early. I hope you liked it :)

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado @have-a-nice-day-k @inkandarsenic @kidd3ath

[figutii]

oh god. i have the idea of the decade fr.

fem!catwoman accomplice x civilian!jason todd

introduction: the boy is mine

bruce wayne's parents get to the black limbo without any accidents. no man with a pistol shoots at martha. thomas wayne never has to step in front of his wife. bruce doesn't have to relive a traumatic event for the rest of his life.

when bruce wayne does political posturing by visiting the yearly circus event near the city border, he doesn't know why it is a 7-year-old that has him on a chokehold. he grants the kid a scholarship, by that establishing a strong bond with the athlete. maybe it was the familarity when he saw the family trio successfully cloud swinging.

it doesn't end there. playboy bruce seems to be a magnet. after half a decade, his sports car gets disassembled on an open street at daylight. he had a meeting nearby. he doesn't file charges but instead sees potential in the neglected, young kid.

"uh, he's just another prick of high-class nepo babies," selina remarks with irony, stretching the thin black fabric of her knee socks over her leg. you know that she likes to play with men as if they are toys in the shape of mice, but still, you almost caught yourself believing that she was serious this time.

"just phone me when it's over and don't forget - if you wrap him around your finger…" her manicured fingernail glides across her matte lips, "then you'll do mami a favour, got it?"

here you are. the unnecessarily long taxi drive has led you to an antique manshion far away from the city center. it makes you raise an eyebrow at how selina has managed to play tom and jerry with the playboy bruce wayne. aren't there enough overpriviliged males in their 40s who don't reside near an isolated forest?

"ms reader? welcome to the wayne mansion, master todd is awaiting you inside," a bald-headed slim butler smiles at you, holding the door open to an entrance that has to be bigger than your kitchen, bathroom and bedroom together.

a neverending maze of long halls follows. portraits that scream auctions with a sum of money you don't want to imagine, a deer head not escaping from the corner of your eye.

"master todd, ms reader is here." so a simple knock on the door isn't how it functions here. the tiles beneath reflect your facial expression and remind you that you most likely wouldn't find your way out of this villa.

"thanks alfred."

when you look up, you almost forget to blink. the image before you reminds you of the several posts you've seen online - where girls decribe the boys they've encountered on their vacation. how they had one second of mutually intense eye contact before walking the other way and never seeing them again. that type of beauty.

black glasses, a shameful realization of a pair of fit arms and tall height. piercing blue eyes that immediately remind you of the copyrighted wayne images selina had shown you with popcorn on your laps.

"thank you mr alfred," you smile, the said man giving you a simple nod before dissapearing down the hall. you get a short fit of phobia when the entirely empty space re-appears.

"you can take a seat wherever you want," he closes the door behind him. the size of the room makes you jealous of your own shitty environment near the east end of the city. selina does have reasons after all. and you are sure that this isn't even his bedroom but an extension by just looking at the other door.

the table is clean and bigger than the second-hand table in your kitchen. chairs that don't scratch against moldy and bloated wooden plates. several posters hang above the pc setup. must be nice to live in abundance.

you don't notice that you've been all by yourself, internally. "which learning material do you want to begin with?" he asks as you eventually stop to slack off. the window grants you view to the trees, a fresh aroma spreading into the room. "i don't really mind… i have difficulties with this part," and with that, the depressing pile of unnecessary notes gets more comprehensible. for the first time in years you understand power point presentations that are devoid of words.

"makes more sense now, thank you."

after hours of learning and taking tips from the raven-haired, you quickly get a new image of the boy. you weren't that worried with how the adoptive son of the bruce wayne would turn out - like you already knew what spoiled brat you had to deal with. however, when he reveals himself as a kind and respectful young man, you feel embarassed at your false predictions.

"so, this is your special field?" your pen points at the bright blue banner of a motorcycle. arrows around it lead to boxes of text, probably describing the technical elemets of the vessel. the name of the vehicle is only quoted in kanji. you wouldn't be able to afford it anyway.

"yes, engineering," there is a slight shrug in his shoulders, him sounding nonchalant. "you don't like it?" you try to follow up with an interesting-sounding question, or at least you try to sound talkative.

"i wanted to sign up for an english literature course but my mother argues it wouldn't be worth the scholarship," he pushes his glasses back, looking at the table while doing so. you think longer after hearing his response.

"i get you. trying to make your parent proud, right?" you don't get too much of a reaction other than a nod. "you could still attend some extra curricula activities." it shouldn't be this complicated for him, no?

he meets your gaze, "i'm over it to be honest. the bookshelves are more than enough." the end of his sentence sounds like an assurance for you, but your are fine with that. you can't change much about it - well, nothing. you have to deal with loud neighbours and noisy people who can't live without permanent provocations.

"how 'bout you?"

you dramatically roll your eyes, which makes him smile. "i'm doing it for the money obviously," you joke. jason peter, as you later find out, reflects the same sarcastic sentiment with a knowing look. "just joking, it just happened to be this" you liar. "i hate every minute there, but hey!"

to have a longer conversation with him shouldn't shock you. he is open and genuine. too bad that you won't get to see him after this. as much as you like to be delusional and supportive of miss kyle, you know that he is a busy student with a schedule that's way worse than what you already have to deal with. ugh, the thought alone triggers you.

but before you say your goodbyes, you want to get some information out of him. not because selina has asked you to do so but due to gossip articles. "so, how is it living away from the city?"

he doesn't seem to be taken back, but more as in i'm used to it. he purses his lips, looking up to the ceiling, "as a child it felt very… hm, peculiar. now i've grown to love living here with alfred and bruce." you don't know why you are happy for him when he lives on more than quadruple the size of hectars. but then, alfred, him and even the playboy - they seem like good guys.

he also shares that he visits his mother on the weekends. that's the last talking point before you go.

"oh, reader! mind if i give you my number?" he exclaims when you descend the steps with alfred.

you can't help the grin. "my pleasure."

when the first drop of rain falls on your leather sleeves you are immediately rewarded with the peaceful scent of petrichor. as much as gotham is and will always be a hellhole, you can't get rid of its nostalgic values.

the billboard behind you is torn down, the face of a woman with a ring in her hand half-watching you stand on the rooftop across the lit apartments. the streets below you don't pose a danger, or at least not yet. you jump from balconies to muddy roof gardens until you reach the neighbouring districts.

the absence of too much police siren and screaming doesn't hold you back from looking out for women, children and other civilians. you relax with the regular rythm of water droplets until you have to scare away a drunk guy from a group of teenagers.

out of nowhere you hear bickering. you don't mind it much but pull up when it gets too loud.

"whaaat? scared, young boy?" three man with caps. "yeah, jus' give us the money 'n you go." another voice chimes in, "why else is a moneybag here, huh?" your observing shouldn't take longer than needed, but when you somehow recognize the pair of red jordans and strands of black hair above glasses, you freeze for a second.

"'m getting pissed now rich fucker! show me the money!"

you transport yourself to the other side, where the boy is standing against the wall. here you have a perfect view from the dripping roof.

"nah, we gotta get him," and when the low-lives stand a meter away, you don't expect jason to throw a punch at the man in the middle.

"the fuck are you doin' you son of a-" the bottom of your heels press against solid surface and you hear an immediate "what the fuck?!" you are a little bit out of balance until you see another mugger getting closer.

you target his knees and hit him on the side of his skull. your throat gets engulfed by wet clothing. another one is trying to choke you from behind but you are prepared and drill your fingers into his face with a kick into his groin. he cries out in pain as he folds into half.

when someone yells, you almost forget the last one. he holds a piece of what looks like a broken drawers in his hands. you are met with resistance as you nudge against him and are able to snatch it away after many attemps. then you smash it against his side.

what you don't expect is jason throwing punches at the macho in a yellow sweater. he does a good job but you take a hard swing with your leg brace and succed at bringing him down.

from the corner of your eyes you catch one of them trying to get up, but you signal jason to run. after turning into an alleyway, it's unbelievable that you still hear hawling. "get that bitch!" you don't say anything, holding tightly around his waist and having your grapple gun ready.

you are too consumed with the fear of falling when you wiggle sideways - opossed to vertically flying - that you almost blend out the stuck breath in his throat. the cityscape at night was mesmerizing to marvel, neon signs of cafés, motels and bars greeting you. different patches in blues, reds, yellows and whites coating bland skyscrapers in vivid colours. the most tireless character has to be the pearly moon above gotham.

your foot land on stable ground, plummeting onto all four. the boy next to you exhales, facing the night sky. you feel guilty for snatching him away like he is a puppet. he's definetely weighing way more than a doll, the close crash against a water pipe being proof. you really needed to get rid of those losers.

"hey-" you stop. no matter if you apologize, this isn't personal. you also fear of exposing yourself, jason todd is not stupid. anyone would put two and two together when they hear your voice. don't forget to lower your tone, or else cut if off completely.

he looks up. you catch yourself melting at the cute cat-like face he makes. cheeks red and glasses crooked. you stand up, beckoning him to do the same, the hook in your hand prepared for another wobbly flight. by the expression he makes - you know he'd rather jump off then risk another possible hit against concrete but the 9th floor isn't save for that.

without another word you have him against you, this time even managing to get smoothly between apartment blocks, spas and shouting men behind their windows. you are too focused to cherish the way he has his big arms around your shoulders. oh, and he is very warm and confortable. his head does move up once or twice, possibly goggling at the billboards.

you even take a detour to stay a little longer in the air, his longer legs entangling with yours. if you get home you immediately have to research how much this device can hold, just for the safety of your future missions.

his hair tickles your cheek when you drop him at a bus stop. the wealthier part shouldn't be as threatening as the east side. you quickly get on the roof of a bakery and crouch down. your index finger wiggles as you get his attention, voice distorting like you have a sore throat, "careful next time." you only see his curious blue eyes before you dissapear under the luna.

the digits on your screen scream anxiety, your thumb twitching. selina told you to just call him although you made it clear that it wasn't easy. there was no chance that the accomplice of catwoman would befriend a millionair's son. for her it's not a moral dilemma, and that's okay. it is just unrealistic for you, personally. a little crush would never last. on top of that, you don't have any right to expect anything. this isn't about you.

"gotham today, my name is valerie vale and we are in front of the crime scene at marco's jeweler. recent cases of high-end brands closing down their shops-" you yank off the cable. your belly aches, repeatingly inhaling for air.

you

hey, hope you're doing fine

how's your week?

the dark blue outlook does minimal work at easing your mind. instead, you take a seat and listen to the sink in the kitchen. you are restless - you can't figure out why. after all, he's free from injuries. maybe you were too harsh on him?

selina wasn't fazed by the incident. "great job sweetie," is what she sung as she danced through the front door. well, it can't be changed. he's well and that should be enough. visiting his parent's home at the end of the week is inevitable. bruce should give him a team of bodyguards if that's what's needed.

it's in the afternoon, sun dipping through the curtains. after some late-night errands you aren't motivated to do anything. your brain collects all your to-do's like a vacuum and you scoff. the brightness of your phone leads you to another fit of rage.

a message.

jason todd

good morning reader, my weekend has been rather out of the ordinary. it's a long story and i don't intend to bore you. how was your day?

you

i wouldn't mind jason

tell me

you face the walnut door weeks after the short exchange. bruce and selina have hit it off, the latter wanting you to accept another invitation. this time you have let the depressing bag of academic work behind and instead brought some books along with you.

"ah, i'm sure that master todd will be delighted by the present," alfred accompanies you up the stairs. "i'm quite devestated by the state of the heating stove so if you'll excuse me miss reader, i have a long way to go." you immediately reassure him that you can go find his room and part ways.

"jason?" you ask after there has been no reaction. five minutes are gone and you aren't keen on waiting another one. his room is empty but by the sounds behind the other door you allow yourself to sit down. it's not lady-like to barge into someone else's private zone but you aren't going to wait while stuffed bats are drilling holes into the back of your head.

you carefully place the paper bag on the free tabletop and examine. a few movie posters, stacks of literature and portraits of family. the room is halfway illuminated by the long monitor. must have cost three months of rent, you twist your mouth. the look is washed off your face when you stare into the white screen.

"catwoman and accomplice at it again! who is the unknown criminal next to the ex-arkham asylum detainee?"

your heart drills against your rib cage, legs stiff as the sickening font of black letters laughs at you. the door is still closed. you count down. then you do another round and the door doesn't open. that's when you step forward and bend closer.

"17th of this month has witnessed another victim of craftman's businesses throughout gotham city. it's none other then thief and arkham asylum escapee catwoman. after years, the police struggle to identify her real name and location. what we know from past documents are her ambitions: robbing and sabotaging the craftmanship of the working class," you crunch your face at the media fabrication, "a young policeman by the name of jim gordon tells gotham times that catwoman doesn't work alone but rather closely with another criminal-"

"reader."

· .’★: many don't know how muchhh reblogs help and motivate us writers. pls consider doing so and comment ur thoughts. likes alone don't change much. part 2 follows if there is enough support.

[wingedcat13]

Siren Call: 3

[We’ve had past and present Minerva, but what about future?]

One day, Minerva will be familiar with the island’s crags and shelves. She’ll know the way the shore slope becomes a drop off and where the sandbars are, the color and density of all the coral, the migratory patterns of the species who pass by.

Today, she knows enough to avoid triggering the sensors. Even pauses to adjust one that’s started sagging out of place.

Minerva chooses not to walk up the beach, not wanting to track sand into the - house? Facility? Building? - not wanting to get sand caked to her feet and legs. Jumping straight up to the roof in a waterspout is also unnecessarily dramatic when there isn’t a fight to get to. So she just gathers herself, waits for a wave, and urges it a little higher, placing herself at its apex.

It gets her high enough that she can reach the railing of the overlooking balcony, with enough momentum to curl and tuck her body, cartwheeling over the rail partially just for the joy of motion. Even the smooth tiles feel rough compared to the water, strangely unyielding, and she wobbles just a little as she catches her bearings. Belatedly, she realizes she almost kicked the crap out of one of the balcony’s chairs. The little swerve she does is automatic. At least there wasn’t an audience-

“Minerva.” Says Synovus, sitting on the table because they’re deranged. There’s a surprised tilt to the end of her name, like half a question answering itself. They’re wearing civilian clothes again, and some part of Minerva’s mind can’t help noting that their arms are bare. “Welcome - back.”

One day, Minerva won’t scowl at them on reflex.

Today, she demands immediately, “Were you waiting for me?”

“Y-es?” Synovus hedges, not moving. “But also no? I was - I thought you’d be coming up from the shore.”

They sound almost abashed. But that’s too close to ‘embarrassed’ and Minerva is well aware that Synovus has no shame. She may have genuinely surprised them - they’re perched on the edge of the table, and had leaned away slightly. Synovus wanting to be a problem would have chosen a much more… blatant posture. Or at least to sit further back in the shadows. The absence of either a gaudy attention grabber or deliberate stealth indicated this middle ground was not an act. Or perhaps that’s what she’s meant to think.

One day, Minerva will not have to consciously pick aside the paranoia to see what is in front of her.

Today, it takes effort - but she does it.

With a sigh, she closes her eyes, and focuses on each part of her body, bringing herself down from the mild surge of adrenaline. One hand draws back the wet strands of her hair. The other removes the mask that was a gift. She leaves her eyes closed while she rubs the red marks out of her skin.

With her eyes closed, it’s easier to skip past the defensive retort, and say instead, “You could’ve at least had a coffee waiting for me.”

“I don’t actually know your preferences in that regard.” Synovus admits, and for a heartbeat Minerva is worried this will turn into a far too blunt conversation about homecomings, but - “Do you take it black? Iced? Green?”

Minerva scoffs, but it might have just been a laugh. Even she’s not sure. “White chocolate mocha.” She answers. “One shot espresso, oat milk.”

“Ah,” Synovus says, as Minerva opens her eyes. They seem to have had a revelation. “So that’s why Alexandria likes those Unicorn frappes so much. Hm. And here I usually go for the cider.”

A smile tugs at one corner of her mouth at the thought - Synovus, dread assassin, going to a coffee shop and ordering hot apple juice with whipped cream.

Minerva sets her mask on the table. “Stand up a minute.” She tells Synovus quietly, her voice nearly lost in the sound of the waves below.

“I don’t take direction well.” Synovus replies, even as they slide off the table and to their feet, turning to face her. There’s a caution to their movements, but also curiosity, written far more liberally across the unobscured face Minerva once never thought to see.

If Minerva meets their eyes too long, she’ll lose her nerve, so she winds up staring somewhere around Synovus’s collarbone instead. There’s a scar there, hidden for now by a high-necked top, and Minerva knows that because she put it there. It had been a targeted move: Synovus had broken her collarbone the fight before.

She wants to be better at giving back things other than pain.

“Just - give me a moment. Don’t move, please.” She’s pretty sure it’s the ‘please’ that gets them. Synovus goes so statue-still that Minerva’s not sure they’re blinking. But they don’t protest. And they certainly don’t move as Minerva steps forward.

And in one of the most awkward movements of her life, slides her arms around Synovus’s ribcage, setting her chin gently on their shoulder.

This is instantly easier when she no longer has to look at Synovus’s face. Well. When she can’t look. Can’t fixate on finding and parsing the smallest of expressions, assigning meaning to the specific tilt of a chin or speed of a blink. She’s still bad at it - hugging - because she usually just lets other people hug her, and initiating it is weird, but she can’t imagine Synovus is particularly good at it either.

After all, they’re still standing stock-still, and if Minerva wasn’t currently very aware of their breathing, she might even think they were panicking.

“Not a trap.” She mutters, and feels as much as hears Synovus’s responding huff. But their arms slowly, cautiously, hesitantly come up to return the embrace, hands resting lightly on her back. The side of Synovus’s head tips gently into hers.

One day, Minerva might not feel awkward about body contact and physical affection. One day, she may find herself as familiar with Synovus’s scars as she is her own. And she just might reach a point, eventually, where one of them could make a joke about this just being an excuse to get Synovus wet and not immediately both perish from the agony of an accidental allusion to arousal.

For today, this awkward embrace is enough.

———————————————————

Minerva probably won’t ever see a crowd as something other than a threat to be monitored.

Large groups have always made her tense, and that instinct had only gotten worse over the years. Most villains respect the ad hoc agreement about making an entrance, but there are a distinct few who would kill from a crowd. And there are those who are not villains in the distinct, identity sense, but would wreak havoc nonetheless.

So she scans the mall’s sheltered internal colonnade from behind her sunglasses, and listens to her daughter tell her about her day.

“- I just told him that I’d come from further South, and he didn’t ask me any more questions after that, but then freaking Brad asked me if I was an ‘illegal’ and I know what you mean now, about temptation to cram people into lockers. He’s lucky he’s so tall; I couldn’t fold him up to fit without taking some limbs off.”

Alexandria huffs, taking an aggressive pull from her milkshake. The stress of her life is getting to her - no teenager should have worry lines, or bags under their eyes that deep - but she insists this is what she wants. Even if Minerva sometimes wonders whether Alexandria sees herself as a member of the school’s attendees, or just a spectator who sometimes catches a stray ball.

“Did you tell Brad that?” Minerva asks mildly, mostly curious.

Alexandria sighs again, “No.” She says sullenly, shoulders slumping. “I asked him if he thought the government should determine who gets to live where, and then when he started to argue with me I told him I hoped his yacht sank with him on it.”

“Alexandria.” Minerva was still learning to find the right tone. The right amount of reproach, without exasperation or accusation. She must’ve gotten close, because Alexandria just lifts one hand in a ‘not me’ gesture.

“Specifically so he’d wash up in Mexico or Hawaii and get to be illegal himself.” She clarifies. “I don’t think that convinced anyone I wasn’t an immigrant, though. Til Seanna pointed out my grades in Spanish would probably be better.”

Minerva’s sigh is more restrained, but she points out, “There are other languages in South America. Brazilian Portuguese, for example.”

She’s not sure why she’s entertaining this, really.

“That’s true.” Alexandria ponders that for a moment, drinking more of her milkshake. “I mostly just meant to imply I was from one of the towns that got fu- uhhhh, screwed up by the power grabs.”

Minerva briefly leaves the conversation, remembering that shell of a place. The layouts, the dressings of a town, not quite abandoned yet but with nothing else to bleed.

Judging by the nudge she receives under the table, Alexandria isn’t totally oblivious to her distraction. She’s also changed the subject.

“So.” Alexandria is saying, drawing one syllable into three, “How are you and my godparent getting along?”

‘Godparent’ has become Alexandria’s favored way of referring to Synovus in public. It’s a joke on multiple levels, some of which Synovus seems to appreciate. But Minerva thinks it also makes them slightly uncomfortable, in a way they refuse to express to Alexandria.

“It’s fine.” Minerva replies, on rote. Her eyes flick to Alexandria, then back to the crowds. “What is it?”

“What do you mean, ‘what is it,’?”

“You wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t want something in particular.”

Alexandria’s mouth twists down, “Can I just get an answer without fishing for it, for once?”

Startled, Minerva looks at her again. Takes a better assessment of her daughter’s body language, the tension there. She knows she’s also gone tense.

Anger creeps into Alexandria’s voice, replacing the annoyance. “I’m not going to lose control. I’m not-“

She cuts herself off, abruptly looking away. Her fingers relax around the plastic cup, deliberately demonstrating that her strength won’t get away from her.

Minerva has a suspicion of how that sentence might have ended. I’m not like you and dad.

Reaching out physically feels like the wrong move here. So does stiffening up further and refusing to talk about it. Be better, she thinks to herself desperately, her mind flicking back to an image of a person with one foot in the water, one on dry land.

“We still… disagree, on some things. Some major things.” Minerva makes herself say. She still doesn’t like that Synovus kills people. She doesn’t like that Synovus has ostensibly killed for her, or for Alexandria. But she also feels relief that Synovus did, and a sense of gratitude she can’t quite smother. It makes her feel dirty, oily, and she hasn’t found it’s root.

Taking a breath, Minerva continues, “But… I don’t think they mean either of us harm.”

Alexandria has relaxed a little, absorbed by what Minerva’s saying. And probably having to pick through it for what she isn’t saying either.

“Would you say that you, I don’t know, maybe, trust them?” Alexandria prompts.

Minerva’s grimace is answer enough.

Alexandria sighs, “Mom.”

“It’s complicated, Alexandria.” She says, but it’s not the abrupt conversation-closer it would have once been. More… beseeching.

“Do you trust anyone?” Alexandria asks, “And like, I don’t even really mean me, here, but like. Anyone?”

Minerva remains silent.

“Do you trust yourself?” Alexandria asks, sounding a little alarmed.

Minerva hesitates - but she can’t really answer that one either.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, just the background roar of the mall’s crowds between them. Minerva hates this. She hates feeling like she can’t actually control herself, can’t master the emotional impulses she’s forcibly crammed into a box for years. She hates that Alexandria is having to pick up the conversation, make the overtures, do the work.

But any time she tries to think of a way to do it herself, her mind shies away from it. The words wilt and die in her throat. Because what if she gets it wrong?

What if she has more to lose?

Eventually, Alexandria looks at the melted remnants of her milkshake, and asks, “Can we stop at the Hot Topic before we leave.”

One day.

———————————

A week later, Rosie pokes her head into the common room Minerva’s reading in. “Minerva?”

She’d finally been asked point blank by one of them what she wanted to be called, because Athena no longer seemed accurate. Committing to Naiad hadn’t felt right either, so she’d given up her civilian name. Synovus already knew it, what was the point?

(It had occurred to her, later, that the small thrill she felt at being addressed by it was possibly what Alexandria felt at being addressed by her chosen name.)

(Also, it would’ve made Albion furious.)

“What is it?” Minerva asks now, letting one finger hold her place in the book as she sits up.

“There’s a fight drifting our way - Zephyr and a few others against the Eye. He’s made another floating platform again.” Rosie rolled her eyes, providing her professional opinion.

Minerva tilted her head, hesitating. Zephyr was a hero she’d worked with before, though they had never gotten along. He’d offered to take her flying, she’d taken that as flirting and shut it down, they’d never really overcome the resulting awkwardness. She had no idea who he’d be working with.

Eye, in contrast, was Eye in the Sky - a villain obsessed mostly with surveillance, and not being observed himself. He was a center point of several conspiracy theories involving the NRA, CIA, and a number of international organizations. She’d never fought him before, just heard the stories.

“What’s the protocol?” Minerva asks, rather than offer any of that information. She was certain this group of people knew far more about everyone involved anyway.

Rosie smiles, “Not much of one, just a lower alert status. Doll and I will make the rounds and check on everyone, Synovus is going to suit up just in case, but we won’t get involved unless territory agreements are breached.” She added, “Alexandria’s still on the mainland, we’ve made sure she knows to be suited if she makes her own way home.”

Minerva taps at the cover of her book, thinking. She feels adrift, still. This isn’t an actual fight, unless she wants to go and be Athena, and the idea of that is physically uncomfortable. It would also invite too many questions. Naiad would-

Hm. “Does Synovus want me in uniform?” She asks, sardonic.

“I didn’t ask and don’t plan to.” Rosie replies flippantly. “If they want you to do something, I imagine you’ll hear about it directly.”

Somehow, that isn’t the response she wants. “I don’t-“

“They also haven’t given any orders that you’re to be stopped.” Rosie points out, cutting her off. “The rest of us will be either in the operations room or up on the roof to watch. Klaxon if there’s trouble.”

She gave Minerva another smile, twiddled her fingers, and withdrew. Minerva shifted, and opened her book again.

She made it through two more paragraphs, then left it unceremoniously on the floor.

———————————-

On the roof, Synovus was pacing.

In a way, that’s reassuring, because even Minerva knew by now that if there was imminent danger, Synovus would be stock-still. The sun glints off the dark helmet, and threw the matte black of the rest of the suit into stark relief against the sandy-colored rooftop. Wind off the sea ripples through the cape, keeping it blown back, perpendicular to the path Synovus is walking.

The sun is kinder to Minerva’s costume, and there is no cape to blow. The dark mask helps keep her from being blinded by the sun. Athena wouldn’t be of much use here; Naiad might be.

Doll - the larger, Russian man who Minerva thought of as Synovus’s second in command - stood up here too, a viewfinder raised to cover his face. He’s looking into the direction of the wind, angled out and up, and Minerva follows that direction.

There it is - flashes of distant, shimmering silver in a cloud bank that’s thinning. Some masking device, most likely, now disabled. There’s tiny flashes of what must be powers or weaponry at use, but she can’t make out more than that.

“How bad is it?” She asks anyway, brisk and businesslike.

“The wind isn’t in our favor.” Doll comments. He’s always answered her as if she’s a coworker, and she appreciates that. “I can’t tell how much of it is powered and how much of it drifts. If there’s been damage to it -“ He lowers the viewfinder to make a hand gesture. “It might not be able to control its direction anymore.”

“Sloppy.” The comment is out of Minerva’s mouth before she can stop it. It draws Doll’s attention, if not Synovus’s. At the slightly raised eyebrow, she sighs and continues, “Disabling propulsion or navigation creates unnecessary risk to everyone involved. The only time it becomes necessary is when there’s weaponry that absolutely must be disabled, and you don’t have either the training or the time to sort out different power systems.”

Doll nods, offering her the viewfinder. “It could be self-inflicted,” he points out.

“Possible, but suicidal. That would require an exit strategy. Do you think Eye has one?”

“He’ll have three, only two of them will work, and none of them will be enough to keep him from getting captured.” Synovus breaks into the conversation abruptly, annoyed. Or perhaps professionally offended. “They’ll be personal craft.”

Meaning the rest of the platform’s crew would be left to die. Incentive for the heroes to try and rescue them rather than pursue, but what a waste.

The viewfinder lets Minerva get a better sense of the platform’s size, and also an estimate of its height and distance. She can make out a glimpse of a gray-shaded costume, diving through the clouds: Zephyr.

“If you interfere,” She asks, while her view is disconnected from her surroundings, “What would that look like?”

There’s a hesitation. A gust of wind snaps at Synovus’s cape. The distant battle continues.

“If they cross the boundaries, there must be consequences.” Synovus says reluctantly. “I will destroy the platform. Survivors will become my prisoners. If the heroes protest, I’ll fight them.”

Minerva lowers the viewfinder, and returns it to Doll. Synovus has stopped pacing. “You don’t have the facilities for a mass casualty event.”

“No.” Synovus agrees. “I don’t.”

————————————

Rosie has come out to join them on the roof by the time there’s significant change. The wind has died down some - likely a marker of Zephyr changing it, finally reaching their shores. The air feels thick and dead without it.

They’ve mostly stood in silence, watching. It feels longer than it has been, and Minerva knows it’ll be worse for those actually fighting. She’s surprised she hasn’t felt more of an urge to intervene.

Though she has been keeping watch for anyone falling to the water below.

It’s hard to say which of them notices first - their attention is collectively on the sky platform, and not each other. But there’s a decided tilt to the mostly-exposed metal monstrosity now, and in very short order, it begins to fall.

“Catch it.” Minerva finds herself murmuring. “Catch it. At least slow it-“

But no one does.

The platform hits the water at the full speed gained from a several thousand foot drop, slamming into the ocean. Those watching know that the metal will crumple on impact, water at that height and velocity worse than slamming into concrete. The surface area only makes it worse; tilted in at a slight angle, it displaces the water in a specific direction.

Towards the island.

Minerva had studied the ocean as much as she could. She knows this phenomena, and can cite times in the past it’s occurred. Not caused by the shifting of the ocean floor or tectonic plates, but by a sudden mass displacement.

They call it a super-tsunami.

Synovus is a statue beside her from the moment the platform starts to fall. Doll catches on once the surface of the water rises - and then doesn’t fall again.

“Three minutes.” Minerva calculates, based on distance and the probable speed of the wave. As many miles to cross. Much taller. “Evacuation?”

“The Jet is under repair, we can’t get it into the air in time.” Rosie answers, grim.

“Seals on the inner portions of the facility might hold, but we don’t know how long we’d be underwater.” Doll says, hitting the klaxon anyway. “The fridges?”

“Only as good as long as the power lasts.” Rosie replies. “Alexandria?”

“Still on the mainland.” Doll growls, running a hand through his hair. “Even if she could reach us in time, we’d have to get everyone onto the plane-“

Synovus has, so far, said nothing. Minerva is the only one close enough to catch when they choke out a strangled, “-fucking submarine -“

Minerva had expected Synovus to have a plan. A power, a strength, a defense mechanism. The realization that they don’t is like a fire’s been lit at the base of her spine.

She doesn’t remember grabbing Synovus’s collar, or dragging them to face her. She does remember saying, “I can stop it.”

Synovus doesn’t hesitate. “What do you need?”

There is no questioning of if she’s sure, or recommendation that she go into the waves to ride it out. No suggestion of running.

“Get me in front of it.”

Immediately, Synovus has one arm under her knees, the other around her shoulders, and they’re running. Off the edge of the roof, not quite flying, flickers of shadow beneath their feet. Minerva doesn’t have time to question it, because her attention is on the big damn wave.

When she had said she could stop it, she had spoken with a bone-deep certainty. But she’d never actually tried to divert a tsunami before, let alone one of this size. The largest amount of water she’s worked with has always been as much as she needs to accomplish her goal, and nothing more. Diverting some rain-induced flooding is nothing compared to the power of the tides.

But she can feel the ocean beneath them, as Synovus clears the island’s coast. She can sense the oncoming wave, so fast to them, but to the ocean like a flinch in slow motion. The ocean doesn’t know how to control a fall.

But Minerva does.

The trick is in grasping the majority of the wave without over extending. She doesn’t need every droplet, every molecule, but she does need the vast majority of them.

It’s like trying to get a grip on something flat with only the pads of her fingers. It’s like misjudging a stair and finding herself both plummeting and ramming into an outside force. It’s like taking the first breath of rain-rich air in the early morning, and feeling life enter her lungs again.

Minerva twists the top back over itself, breaking the wave in the wrong direction. She cuts it down the middle, diverting it off to the sides. She forbids it to go forward, as though it’s met a cliff. And as the water falls, the wave collapsing, so does she.

It takes a brief second to put together that the body that had been holding her aloft is now limp, twisted slightly as though to put itself between her and the wave. Synovus is unresponsive, the shadows gone, only the cape whipping around them as they fall. Minerva is able to catch them, now, grabbing on before they can drift away.

She reaches for the water below them, calling it up to catch them with less than bone-breaking force. It’s easier, somehow, but also harder, and she’s having trouble fixing a direction in her mind for where the wave was and where the shore should be. Hot air, harsh wind, cool water and the dimming depths as they’re both drawn down.

And she remembers, finally, that Synovus can’t swim.

—————

The disorientation has mostly worn off by the time Synovus wakes up.

Minerva had managed to follow the upset currents, but hadn’t wanted to risk trying to shape and change them. Or to fight them overmuch, with her cargo. So they’d wound up washed not to shore, but to a small opening into one of the partial lava tubes at the island’s base.

Outside, saltwater rain is still falling, though it will stop soon. The ocean’s roar sounds, to her ears, slightly confused. The sun is still shining, and the wind has picked up again. ‘Calm’ is a subjective definition, but they’re approaching it.

Minerva had been relieved to find that Synovus’s helmet was intact, even with the impact to the water. She’d managed to find its clasps, and to remove it, making sure the seals had also held and that Synovus wasn’t drowning in their own personal fishbowl. They’re propped up against her legs, which are folded beneath her, and she’s prepared for a violent awakening.

But Synovus’s eyes blink open, and Minerva is able to watch their facial muscles work as they come to terms with their surroundings.

“You fainted.” Minerva informs them.

Synovus squints at her, but doesn’t immediately protest. They also don’t try to move much, other than a slight squirm that Minerva recognizes as a full body check. Do I still have my appendages? Do my fingers and toes all work?

“Yeah.” Synovus concedes. Their voice is raspy with saltwater, even though they didn’t get much of a chance to drown. This time.

Minerva should probably start somewhere else - like making certain they’re okay, or assuring them about the conditions outside, that the wave had been averted. Instead, she all but demands, “If you’re so terrified of water, why in the hells did you build on an island?”

She can see the balk in Synovus’s expression: a furrowing of their brow, a twitch of the nose. Synovus lifts a hand to consider covering their face, eyes the sand on their glove, and lowers it again.

“I already know you can’t swim.” Minerva says flatly.

“I can swim.” Synovus shoots back, annoyed. “I cannot swim well, there’s a difference.”

They sigh, and move to sit up. Minerva doesn’t stop them. She doesn’t expect an answer, at least not without further prompting, but Synovus continues:

“It’s… easier. The isolation. Clearly defined borders. This is mine, everyone else fuck off. And it…” Synovus shakes their head. “It serves its purpose.”

Once, Minerva would’ve accused them of grandstanding. Of the island being a show of wealth and status. She knows better now - knows that while that is true, there’s other reasons, layered beneath.

And she thinks about everything Synovus has ever told her about self control.

“It contains you.”

Synovus hesitates, partially grimacing, but nods. “Serves its purpose.” They repeat quietly.

The two of them sit in silence, in the dark shadow of the cave. They listen to the water, and the waves as they return to normal.

“Thank you.” Synovus says, into the silence.

“I don’t require thanks.”

“But I feel you deserve it, and it’s mine to give.”

“And if I don’t want it?”

“Refuse it. I will survive the disappointment.”

Minerva has the uncomfortable feeling that they are not discussing only gratitude. Rather than address that, or continue the discussion, she says instead: “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

Synovus doesn’t reply. They tilt their head, studying her in the dark. Minerva’s dragged them into a cave and confronted them with truths after they passed out from fear doing something on her word, she should give them a break. She doesn’t.

“I should be out there looking for survivors, or recovering the dead. I don’t want to. I should’ve involved myself in the fight, reminded them to be careful of the platform’s vulnerabilities. I didn’t. I don’t feel guilt. I feel… annoyed. Angry. Because they should’ve known better.”

Synovus just turns a bit, to rest their back against a rock. “And that in turn makes you feel..?”

“Foolish. Arrogant. A bad hero, and a worse teacher. I should be patient. Forgiving.”

“They nearly killed you.” Synovus points out dryly. “You’re allowed to be angry about that.”

“And more would’ve died if the wave had reached the coast.” Minerva grits her teeth. “But that anger should be - I can’t control them. I cannot fix them. But I didn’t even try to intervene until it was almost too late.”

“But you did intervene.”

Minerva gestures, attempts to pinpoint the logic fruitless and frustrated. “Am I a hero or not?” She demands. “Do I act for others or only my own skin? I’ve spent years - decades - so sure of the answer but now -“

She raises her hands, half-fisting them in her hair. The sensation provides a little bit of grounding, enough of a distraction she doesn’t think about the words before she says them. “- now you make sense to me, and the things I thought I believed in enough to die for are - are hollow or gone or dead. And I let you kill them. I let you kill him.”

Abruptly, she draws her knees up, burying her face in them. “I let - I made - my child - our child -“

Minerva can’t tell if she’s crying or not. Her breath is coming in gasps, and her face feels hot, and this was always the part of weeping that she hated the most; the lack of control, the inability to communicate. Her eyes burn. So does the center of her chest, her stomach.

And Synovus is here, as her witness. Why not? They’ve seen every other ugly part of her, every other failure. She’s spent a good portion of her adult life fighting this person, exchanging scars, only for them to pick up the pieces and try to protect her. She’s finally had the upper hand, proven that she does have power, that Synovus now owes her in the brutal calculus of lives, and instead of reassuring her it’s broken her.

Because Synovus doesn’t trust themself either.

But Synovus trusts her.

“Do you wish I wouldn’t have killed Albion?” Synovus asks quietly.

The answer is as simple and certain as the water. “No.” She says honestly. “No I - I don’t.”

There’s a pause. Then, “Do you wish I would’ve killed you too?”

That answer isn’t as clear to find. “I - some days.” She says hoarsely. “I committed the same crimes.”

Synovus exhales, across from her, and it isn’t quite a sigh. “Alexandria feels differently.”

Minerva stops breathing.

Of all the answers Synovus could’ve given, that’s the one she can’t counter. She can’t afford to do this. To wallow in self recrimination. Her daughter is out there. And while maybe - maybe her morals are falling to pieces, and she doesn’t know who she is, but she knows that whoever she is loves Alexandria.

“Is it pathetic?” She asks Synovus, in the dark she can’t see through and Synovus can. “To need someone else to determine who I am. What I believe.”

She can hear the twist in Synovus’s expression as they reply, “That’s… inherently not a question I can answer. But, Minerva?” Synovus doesn’t hesitate, so much as pick their way across uncertain footing, “I don’t think you would’ve been able to turn back that wave if you weren’t… as much as you are.”

It’s clumsily phrased. Wavering and uncertain. But Minerva, whether because she’s reading what she wants to from it, or because it’s actually Synovus’s intention, understands.

She takes a deep breath. Then another. Then she stands, and offers a hand in Synovus’s general direction. Her voice is much more certain, calm, when she says, “I need to go organize a search party.”

——————

Minerva may not ever come to terms with her role in her ex-husband’s death, or the harm she caused her daughter. She might not ever find the rock-solid beliefs that she once thought she had.

But she might - just might - come to terms with that uncertainty. The ocean doesn’t have roots either.

She’ll have good days and bad days. She’ll need to make decisions about who she wants to become, and how she feels about who she is. But as both Naiad, and Minerva, she has that freedom.

She’ll never touch the Athena costume again.

And one day, while she’s working on a laptop in one of the common rooms, Synovus on one of the other couches and Alexandria sprawled on the floor, Minerva will say, “I have an idea. Something I’d like to do about the Pacific garbage patch.”

And Alexandria will roll over to look at her, and Synovus will glance up. And Minerva will add, “It’s not precisely legal.”

And Synovus will say, “I’m listening.”

——————————

[And so ends Siren Call! This took much longer than it’s other pieces, and there were things I debated including and things I wanted to cut, but in the end, this was the flow the story took. I’m not saying I’m *done* with Synovus and co, but I will say that I’m glad to have this chapter closed and tied off.]

[As per usual, a copy of this will go up on Ao3 soon, and I’ll find out how long it is, because I’ve once again written directly into tumblr drafts. It’s where the Synovus muse lives, apparently.]

[just-some-user-hunny]

Pino taking care of a sick reader...

~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~

~ Alright for starters, Pino has very little knowledge on illnesses, but he's seen first hand of what the plague has done to the last few remaining people in Krat. He's witnessed the fleeting hope in their voices, and the pain in their coughs, so the moment he picks up on even the slightest wheeze or cough from you he's in shock.

~ You'll have a hovering mother hen of a puppet clung to you protectively. He is genuinely terrified for you, thoughts of having to witness your last breaths strikes him to his very core.

~ It's only when kind Sophia, or his father geppetto, explain to him that thankfully all you have is a cold, that he finally eases up. You can heal. You'll be ok, you're safe. Those are the things that repeat over and over in his mind. You're far too precious for him to lose.

~ Don't even think about getting out of bed. The moment Pino spots you loitering around in your pyjamas, you'll earn a stern look from the taller puppet, his gaze focused on you as he makes his way over to you. No amount of assurances will cease his protectiveness, and at once you're swept away in his arms back up to your room.

(Just Sophia softly chuckling as she sees pino walk past with you cradled in his arms securely, offering a little apologetic yet amused look as you pout a little at the puppets assertiveness)

~ He'll dutingly remain by your side whilst you recover as well. He'll fluff the pillows of your bed and help you climb in, tucking you in comfortably as he sits by your bedside and stays. He's like a guard dog in a way, refusing to leave your side until you're alright again. You may hold and play with his hand, pull him into bed besides you so you may lean on him as you read. Pino will fulfill any wish as long as you agree to rest.

If you try to get up unnecessarily, he'll subdue you to lay back down again with kisses and hugs. Just being hugged to lay down as he tucks his heavy head into your neck, light kisses pressed into the clammy skin of your jaw and shoulder as he tries to convince you to just lay and cuddle with him instead :((

~ Thankfully, Pino cannot catch what you have, so he uses that advantage to be as cuddly and affectionate as he wants. Cold porcelain lips traveling over the expanse of your clammy forehead, his head of dark soft chestnut hair splayed against your pillow as he gives you sticky-cough syrup kisses to your lips.

(He'll pout if you push him away. Why? It's not that gross). He'll look at you like a kicked puppy after that.

~ His legion hand is a little cold, so if you have a temperature he'll gently press his palm to your forehead to cool you down, using his thumb to lightly soothe little comforting circles into your temple to ease any pain.

~ Pino will crawl in beside you if that is what you want. Stepping out of his shoes, he'll shuffle himself beneath the covers and tuck himself besides you- close enough for you to feel the comforting presence of him, but also far away enough for you to tuck yourself closer if that is what you wish.

He'll sit up a little with his face rested against his propped up hand, watching you sleep. His expression soft, but troubled.

(Also he may have a habit where he subtly tries to feel for your pulse 💀 you sleep so soundly it makes him a little concerned. Yes, he is that dramatic)

~ He's a little over-protective of you when you're in this state, so he'll take the tray of food out of polandina's hands and take it to you himself.

(Ok but pino spoon-feeding you soup when you're too tired and shaky to do it yourself :( he's very attentive and gentle when doing so as well)

~ Overall, he's just extra cuddly and protective of you when you're sick. It's only when you've recovered does the worried knit in his brow disappear, and he's his usual Pino self

<3

[sodapopwrites]

a ballad of flame and shadow part four

pairings - lucien vanserra x rhysands sister!reader, azriel x rhysand's sister!reader.

summary - When she falls into another length of darkness after the events of Calanmai, her, lucien, and azriel all look back on past memories.

word count - 3.5k

a/n - oh my god. this is a long one and azriel is so down bad. i'm so sorry. i love writing him pining and upset and not knowing how to deal with his feelings. i swear it'll get happier. not soon maybe. but eventually. also shout out to the rest of the inner circle who have to deal with these two's bullshit.

read the rest of the series here!

“She doesn’t want it” 

His  stubborn words to Cassian interrupted his every thought. There was a strange truth to them. 

“He doesn’t want this. Not now.” 

He wasn’t supposed to hear that. It wasn’t for him. But the confession in her words haunted his every movement. It was her truth that she had disguised as his. She couldn’t do this. Not now. He was right. In some sense he was right when he told Cassian she didn’t want the bond. He tried to relish in that. In that small victory over Cassian. But it never stuck. 

When. When. When. When. 

It was all he could think. When would it be okay to tell her? When would the weight of it not crush her? When her brother returned? If he ever did. It had been too long. Rhysand had been gone for far too long. He feared that the damage done between them was something even the high lord couldn’t fix. 

In the days after Calanmai she had tried. Tried to go back to whatever normal her and Azriel had built. Tried to continue to let herself sleep in his arms. Tried to let his easy warmth spread through her. But she couldn’t. Not when that golden thread threatened to snap in place every time she drew too close to him. Not when she let herself once again fall into a spiral of guilt. 

“It wasn’t enough” 

Lucien's rage followed her back to Velaris. His curse a weight on her shoulders. A burden she unnecessarily chose to bear. And Azriel watched as she let darkness consume her just as she had done when Amarantha had first taken over. He knew that darkness well. He was forged from it. He let her withdraw from him and he let himself be consumed by memories of before. 

Starfall the year before Rhysand had gone under the mountain. The year before Amarantha’s party. 

Azriel’s gaze had not left her once since she entered the room. Her dress, a blue so dark it was almost black, sparkled with a thousand cobalt diamonds, they hung from her dress like glittering drops of rain. He tried not to think too hard about the color choice. Tried not to notice that the diamonds draping her form glittered the same blue as the siphon laid over the center of his chest. Tried not to wonder if it was a conscious decision on her part. Her hair flowed down her back in a cascade of midnight curls. He watched her eyes glitter, reflecting the light of the stars twisting through the sky above. Everything about her effervescent, bright with life. He wanted to drown in it. Instead he held himself back. In a corner of the room. Let his shadows curl around his chest protectively. He stopped himself from going to her, from reaching out to her. Her eyes finally found his, twinkling with a mischief that sent sparks through his entire body. His shadows circled tighter. 

She crossed the room and stopped in front of him, smiling like she knew a secret she wanted desperately to tell him. 

“Why is it that during every party I always find you skulking in some corner?” 

A smile played at the corners of her lips as he shrugged half heartedly. 

To keep myself from pulling you into the nearest room and consuming you whole. That’s what he wanted to say. But instead he held his facade of indifference. It didn’t deter her this time though. 

“You’re too beautiful to hide yourself away you know.” 

She was teasing. It was clear enough that she was teasing. It had to be. But when he held her gaze for a moment too long after her compliment she blushed and sipped her drink in an attempt to hide the flush of her cheeks. Maybe there was some truth to it. 

“More beautiful than me?” 

Cassian’s voice cut through the tension of the moment. Azriel had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes at his friend's intrusion. Instead he scoffed and received an offended look from the Illyrian general. 

“Aw Cass. You’re pretty too.” 

Now that was teasing. She laughed as Cassian clasped his hands over his chest as if he’d been stabbed. 

“Why is he beautiful and I’m pretty?” 

“At least I didn’t call you the funny one”

Cassian rolled his eyes. 

“I am the funny one” 

Azriel’s eyes flitted between the pair in front of him. Slightly amused. 

“I’m funny” 

His voice was soft and only  a little defensive. Cassian let a hand fall to his brother's shoulder and offered him a look laced with mock sympathy. 

“Oh Azriel. You are many things but funny is not one of them.” 

She tried to muffle her snort in another sip of her drink. Azriel looked to her, asking for some sort of defense. She gave in immediately. 

“Maybe you’re just not bright enough to pick up on the subtleties of Azriel’s humor.” 

Cassian scoffed at her comment and looked her up and down, “Nice dress. Those diamonds.” He let out a low whistle before sparing a quick glance at Azriel’s siphons, “They look awfully familiar.” 

Azriel watched her closely. Waiting for her response with a new found intensity. She only shrugged before saying, 

“I like blue.” 

Cassian’s eyes were filled with mirth as he watched the shadow singer's eyes rake over her body, over the glittering diamonds. He knew exactly what Azriel was wondering, he was wondering it himself. 

“Any particular reason why?” 

He was baiting her. If there was one thing Cassian loved to do, it was bait the pair before him into a conversation about their unspoken feelings for eachother. She brushed the question off and turned entirely away from Cass, looking now only at Azriel. 

“Dance with me.” 

It wasn’t a request. Azriel pushed himself off the wall and let himself take the hand she had outstretched to him. He let her lead him to the dance floor. Let himself wrap his arms around her and hold her closer than he ever should have. He let her wrap her arms around his neck. Her fingers playing gently with the hair at the nape of his neck. The touch sent a shiver down his spine. He swayed them gently to the music and only let himself look away from her once. He saw Cassian and Rhysand watching the two of them dance, snickering to themselves. He shot them a quick glare before returning his focus to her entirely. 

“What is the reason why?” 

His question came out as a hoarse whisper. It sounded much more desperate than he meant it to. She looked up at him. Knowing he was asking the same question Cassian had asked moments ago. She let her eyes fall to the siphons adoring him, and then back up to his face. She gave him a small smile. 

It was the only answer she could let herself give. The only answer that didn’t outright tell him she searched for small pieces of him everywhere. In every color, in every star, in every scent and feel. She searched for small pieces of him to carry with her. The only bits of him she ever dared to allow herself. 

Azriel's eyes were closed. Clamped shut. Trying desperately to hold onto that memory. He shouldn’t let himself look back, not after those days had been gone for so long. But he had to. It was all he could do to keep himself from following her into the endless haunting night she had resigned herself to. 

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

Lucien had grown quiet and more brooding since his encounter with her at Calanmai. He sat down at the sprawling lunch table with Tamlin. The high lord of Spring court’s gaze was fixed on his friend. He stared at him with a nervous concern. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

Lucien looked at him blankly before shaking his head. 

“You’ve been sulking for months, ever since the Rite, you’ve been just…” 

Lucien continued to stare at him. 

“...Well dare I say unpleasant.” 

Lucien sighed deeply. He pushed his food around his plate before responding, 

“Too bad you’re stuck with me forever. Or until Amarantha finally decides to kill us.” 

Tamlin let out a low growl. His patience stretched thin by the ginger’s foul mood. By Lucien’s lack of hope for their situation. Lucien bristled at the sound of it and stood up, excusing himself from the meal, and walking briskly out of the dining room. He made his way back to his room and sat on the corner of his bed. He let his head fall into his hands and he rubbed at his eyes. 

Regret flooded through him. Regret at the way he had reacted to smelling the shadow singer on her. Regret at the way he had made his resentment all too clear to her. Regret that he hadn’t embraced her or kissed her while he had a chance. He wanted it all back now. Everything they had before. 

She had come to him the evening after Starfall under some pretense of work. She always came to him as if they had something serious to discuss, and she always let it devolve into an easy flirtation. 

They lay beneath a willow tree, far from the manor, so no one would know of her presence. Lucien propped himself up on one arm to look at her. She was bathed in the orange light of sunset. Her eyes closed and her breathing slow, as if she was sleeping. His hand came to the side of her face and he slid it from her face, down her neck, and to let it rest on her shoulder. He traced lazy circles across her skin, letting his fingers swirl farther across her skin, over her collar bones and dangerously lower. She hummed at his soft touch and opened her eyes. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Admiring you” 

She smiled. The expression almost sad. Her eyes searching his so deeply it was like she was almost looking for someone else. He didn’t let it faze him. That expression was one she held often, and he chalked it up to having to hold the secret of the exact nature of their meetings. He cleared his throat. 

“So what exactly is the business you had to discuss with me?” 

His tone was light and careless as he leaned closer to her, waiting for her response. 

“Mmm. You know I can’t really remember”

He let a wicked grin spread across his features, “Oh no?” His hand traveled farther down her body and she arched into his touch. 

“Must not have been important.” 

Her voice wavered as his hand continued its exploration. He brought his lips to hers. She chased him as he pulled away and there was a clear amusement in his tone as he said, 

“How disappointed your brother would be.” 

She tried not to recoil at the statement, “Interesting time to bring up my brother.” 

“I’m just so sure he’d hate what this meeting has devolved into.” 

“Just shut up and kiss me.” 

She pulled him back to her lips, trying to kiss away every mention of her family. Of her complete lack of professionalism. Guilt laced her every movement against him. 

God maybe she had been right. It was all he could think. Maybe she had been right. When was he ever not concerned about her family? About where she came from? Why else would he be so secretive about his affections for her? It wasn’t fair to her. To hold that over her. But he never seemed to be able to help it. That deep seated mistrust of the night court and all it held. Those it held. 

He wanted it all back. He wanted her back. Maybe he could let it be different. Maybe he wouldn't have treated every moment with her like a distraction from her. From what she was. Who she was. 

He pushed his palms further into his eyes. The sharp pain of it sent some relief. An escape from memory. 

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

She stopped herself from seeking Azriel out constantly. Stopped herself from going to his room when nightmares sent her hurtling from sleep. Stopped herself from going to dinner just to sit next to him. Instead she spent her days traipsing to Amren’s apartment, much to the general annoyance of the silver eyed female. Or training with Cassian. She avoided Mor with everything she had. Not wanting to answer the golden haired female’s questions. Always about Azriel. Always about why she wouldn’t just tell him what he meant to her. 

She couldn’t let herself deal with it. 

She sat in a plush chair that resided in the corner of Amren’s apartment. Amren was reading some ancient text and ignoring her as best she could. 

She sighed. It was probably the fourth time she had let a gust of breath fall past her lips, all too audibly. 

“Oh good lord. What?” 

Amren’s voice was laced with annoyance. 

“Nothing”

“Just go talk to him”

“No”

“Stubborn girl” 

She looked at Amren, opening her mouth to spew some defensive excuse. Amren spoke before she could. 

“So Calanmai didn’t yield the results you hoped for?”

It was the first time anyone had brought that night up to her. She curled into herself now. Amren narrowed her eyes, 

“What exactly were you expecting from him?” 

“I don’t know”

“What did you want from him?” 

She thought about it. What did she want from Lucien? What did she want to happen when she snuck off to the bonfires of Spring Court. 

“Comfort” 

Amren clicked her tongue and shook her head waiting for the high lord's sister to try a different response. A more honest one. 

“Fine. Not comfort.” She paused, “Distraction I guess.” 

Amren gave her a small nod, “From Azriel.” 

Not a question. A statement. One that made her raise her hands in defense and shake her head. 

“No. From everything. From…from everything.” 

Amren studied the girl before her. Her gaze held the truth. It was a distraction from Azriel. A small use of the fox to distract her from the golden pull she feared so deeply. 

“What exactly are you so afraid of?” 

Amren’s voice was softer now, her best attempt to be sympathetic. 

“That he only wants me now because soothing some part of my pain, of my guilt, lessens his own.” 

“Are you really so blind?” 

She seemed a little surprised by Amren’s question. She quirked an eyebrow waiting for her friend to continue. 

“He doesn’t only want you now. Use your brain for once. Look past the darkness of the last few years and let yourself remember.” 

That was all Amren said before turning back to her book, shutting her out once more. 

Let yourself remember. 

When she returned from Spring Court, the day after Starfall. When she had slid into her seat beside Rhys at the dinner table. She avoided eye contact with everyone as she always did when she returned from a tryst with Lucien. She tried to make herself small enough that no one would notice her. It didn’t work. It never did. 

“Any news from Spring Court?” 

Rhysand kept his tone even. But asking the question simply to remind her that he knew exactly what she had been up to. He watched her deflate a little before lifting her head to respond to him, 

“Oh you know. Roses in bloom. Flowers….Usual spring stuff.” 

Cassian let out a small laugh at her lame attempt to play it off. Mor narrowed her eyes, 

“Spring stuff?” 

The judgment in Mor’s tone was evident. 

“Yeah spring stuff.” 

She started to eat. Still avoiding the gaze of everyone. Especially the shadow encircled male sitting at the end of the table. But Mor pushed the subject further. 

“Why him?” 

She shrugged. Really not wanting to talk about this. 

“Why not one of your own?” 

She looked up at this. Stared at Mor’s implication. 

“One of my own?” 

She didn’t miss the way Rhysand’s eyes flickered towards Azriel. Didn’t miss the way Azriel shifted in his seat and let his shadows unfurl, hiding him somewhat from her sight. The insinuation simmered in her stomach as she shook her head and continued eating. But after a moment of silence, a moment where everyone’s eyes were still on her she said, 

“The only people I’m ever around are you guys.” 

It was Cassian that spoke up now, 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

There was humor in his voice, as there always was when everyone ganged up on her. A small part of him enjoyed watching her squirm. Okay a large part of him. 

“Not a bad thing. Just a vaguely annoying one.” 

She stood up from the table, not able to bear it anymore. The judgment. The way Azriel wouldn’t look at her. Everytime she came back wreaking of Autumn and flame, he couldn’t bear to look at her. Couldn’t bear to be more than a couple feet away from her. As if he didn’t want to even be near the faint whisper of someone else on her skin. 

She swept out of the dining room and shut herself in her room. She ran a bath. Scrubbing herself of any trace of Lucien Vanserra. She let the warm water encompass her. She sank into it. Letting her head sink beneath the surface. She held herself under water. 

The way Azriel’s shadows came around him in a shield of defense everytime anyone mentioned their names in the same sentence together. The way his eyes lingered on her when he smiled, as if her joy could prolong his. The way he trailed close behind her like he wanted her every footstep to be filled with his own. 

She couldn’t breathe. She let the thought of him consume her. He didn’t want her. He didn’t want her. He didn’t want her. A chant. A reassurance. 

She’d been in love with him for too long. She’d wanted him for too long to no avail. 

He was too beautiful. Too powerful. Too important. He didn’t want her. He was too loyal. He wanted her happiness the same way he wanted Rhysands. He didn’t want her. He wanted to serve his highlord and he wanted to keep the inner circle safe. That was why he guarded her. He didn’t want her. 

She couldn’t breathe. 

She rose from the water. Taking deep calming breaths. 

A short knock came at the door of her bedroom. She closed her eyes bracing herself for some dull and vaguely mocking lecture on taking her duties more seriously from Rhysand. She wrapped her robe around her and headed for the door. 

It was not Rhysand. When she swung open the door. Azriel stood before her. He took in her wet hair and the way the robe clung to her damp skin. He swallowed once. Refusing to let his eyes drift from her face. She cocked her head in question. He pulled something from his pocket and held it out to her. 

A necklace. A thread thin silver chain with a small cobalt diamond dangling from it. 

She stared at it. She remembered her dress from the night before. Remembered the way his eyes lingered on the dangling gems. Remembered the soft questioning of their color. She looked up at him, at the shining cobalt siphons he always wore. 

She gently took it from his outstretched hand letting it dangle from her fingertips. A small piece of him…from him. Offered up willingly. 

“I uhm” His voice was low. Nervous even. “I thought you’d like it” 

He didn’t want her. He didn’t want her. The chant racing through her mind as she tried to come up with something to say. Instead she looked back down at the stone of the necklace. No. Not stone. The same glass that made up the siphon on his chest, on his hands, on his shoulders. A small piece of him. 

A nod was all she could muster. 

She was still looking anywhere but at him. He cursed himself silently. Maybe this was stupid. Giving her this. Maybe it was too much. Too obvious. But as he watched her leave the dining room. As he let Mor’s comment about her settling with one of her own and Rhysand’s immediate look towards him sink in. He had to do it. As soon as dinner ended he had excused himself and had retrieved the necklace that he had been saving for her. That he had debated giving to her for years now. He had let his feet carry him to her room. Had decided that he had to try. To give her some wordless notion of his feelings. 

He pulled the necklace from her fingers and motioned for her to turn around. She did so without question. She let him lay it around her neck, let him clasp it, let him brush his fingers so so briefly through her hair. 

She looked towards Amren once more. Letting her words wash over her again at the memory. 

“He doesn’t only want you now. Use your brain for once. Look past the darkness of the last few years and let yourself remember.” 

Maybe he had always wanted her. The thought made her pale. She shoved the feeling of the golden thread in her chest down. She couldn't do this. Couldn't let herself hope when everything seemed so hopeless.

When?

She didn't know.

[qin-qin16]

Wonder what it would feel like to have a soul bond with Ut sans someday, like- the fact that he trust someone enough to actually considering doing that is so wholesome.

Kinda wanna see how would he act when he realized he want to make a soul bond with reader, would he doubt himself? Would he just act on it? Would he just reassuring himself that maybe now is not the perfect time yet? There's just so many questions about how would he act on the situation makes me almost questioning myself lol.

I swear I love him so bad I wanna give him a smooch until can't think of the surrounding fiwhdlaizi2dnsoxgwxjayx

cw.: Sans x Reader, gn!reader, thoughts about soul bond, he is just a bit shy and anxious, fluff…

note: I didn't know if you just wanted my opinion or a oneshot, so I decided to write a little scene about it, hope you like it :D and I just realized that I never write for him before! Poor UT Sans.

He was always lazy — at work, with his puns, and even in his relationship with you -, but you didn’t seem to mind it. It had a certain domestic charm in a way.

However, he was being a little selfish in wanting a part of yourself just for him — a bit of your soul to bond with his forever. Yet, how could he express this to you? Do you even understand how precious and intimate this is?

Sans didn’t remember seeing anything like that in human culture; the closest comparison was marriage, but even that didn’t quite match the depth of soul bonding - and was unnecessarily expensive too. 

He tilts his head down, weary from thinking so hard about this. His weight seems to sink into the old couch, still tense with all the little engines working in his mind. You love him, right? So why the hesitation? Why is he so worried about your reaction? Is he afraid you might reject him?

No, you would never reject it — at least, not in the harsh way he imagined. You were kind and considerate, not someone who would cruelly laugh at his words.

“See? I told you I could match your lazy style!” He lifts his skull to you, seeing your figure appear in the doorway of your shared room — wearing one of his old blue coats and a black-stained shirt underneath.

Your proud smile in such a silly conquest made his own widen, finding your effort to amuse him funny.

“Well, I guess I’m not the only lazy bones around now.” He couldn’t resist the chuckle that escaped through his teeth when you snickered.

I can think about that later, Sans thinks as you come closer, your lips now pressed together but still showing traces of the wide smile from before.

However, he knows he can’t be lazy about this — especially when his own soul cries out whenever you're far away. I can think about that later, he repeats in his mind as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him again.

For now, he is content with the domestic life you share, mostly because he can almost feel your soul’s joyful rhythm against his chest whenever you’re in his arms.

[kaybug88]

Mirio x Fem!Reader

December 3rd:

"Nope! You've gotta' open this one last."

Mirio Togata x fem!Reader

Tw: Disgustingly adorable fluff

Wc: 2.1k

Requested: Nope!

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

Christmas night is going great. You, Mirio, Tamaki, and Nejire had snuck off from the rest of your classmates for some alone time. Sure, your class was great! Everyone was kind, and hardworking, what better class could you ask for? As for what you were doing now, you were all laughing about a patrol story Nejire was telling, hidden away in Mirio’s dorm. Well, you and Mirio were laughing, Tamaki was beyond confused on what was going on. 

“Please tell me you're making this up, Nejire!”

You laughed, clutching Mirio’s arm, who was laughing so hard tears were lining his eyes. Tamaki looked like he wanted to laugh, but he couldn't understand what was so funny about a Villain tripping while running away. Really, what could be so funny about that?

“It really di-”

Nejire said before the door creaked open, interrupting the girl. All four of you are looking towards the door, when a clearly sleepy Eri steps in, holding Aizawa’s hand.

“Oh! Hey Eri!”

Mirio said first, instantly brightening the little girl’s mood.

“Hello.”

She said with a smile and small yawn, her little fist curling up and rubbing her right eye.

“She wanted to see you four before she went to bed. She told me you guys helped her pick out presents?”

Aizawa asked, suppressing his own yawn.

“Yeah! We were going to wait until tomorrow morning, almost like an extra Christmas!”

Nejire chirped before you piped up.

“Mhm! You sure you wanna’ do presents tonight? We really don't have to.”

You reassure, getting up from your seat to pick up the girl, earning a giggle from Eri and an eye roll from Aizawa.

“Just call me when she's ready to go to bed.”

Aizawa sighs, closing the door whilst you all agree to his request. Warming Eri up to talk wasn't too hard, but still took a bit of time. She told you all about how class with 1-A went. The food was apparently delicious, Jiro played her guitar which was pleasant, Midorya made sure she was happy the whole time, and she handed out. . . Painted eggs? Whatever floats her boat. You all talked a little about Eri's Christmas so far, small comments from each of you.

“Well that sounds lovely, Eri!”

Mirio says with a small laugh that you rather enjoyed hearing. Behind him were a total of eight boxes, four bigger ones and four smaller. Eri helped pick out each and every present, going off with each person to find gifts for one another. You'd all already opened the presents from Eachother, and saved the ones for, and from Eri for tomorrow. However, since she was here now, why not open them now?

“So, Eri, wanna’ open presents now?”

You ask with Eri sitting in between you and Mirio, whose eyes are now sparkling just from the mention of more presents.

“Yes, please!”

She says excitedly. You laugh before reaching behind you to grab presents.

“Here's. . . Tamaki! And. . . All of Eri’s. Mirio, and Nejire! And there's mine.”

You mindlessly Say while you grab and pass out gifts, each one with its own wrapping paper. Mirio has. . . For some odd reason, Lightning McQueen with snowflakes. Eri's has reindeer with candy canes. Nejire has stars and presents, while Tamaki has presents and Santa hats. Yours has hearts and stars, how cute!

“Tamaki! Do you wanna start? Eri helped me pick it out!”

Mirio piped up, his signature smile on his face. Tamaki stuttered a bit before finally beginning to carefully undo the paper. Upon taking off the paper, he's presented with an. . . Amazon box!

“Can I please have scissors?”

He asks upon seeing the taped cardboard box, in which Nejire hands the designated present scissors that are meant to look like reindeer to Tamaki. He mumbles out a thanks, and takes the scissors, cutting the duct tape away. Now he's presented with. . . Another box! Instead, this one is the box for a heated blanket that Mirio will not be disclosing the price for (unnecessarily expensive).

“You're always saying how cold you get in winter, and I thought you'd like this. . .”

Eri speaks up, getting adoration filled looks from each of you. This girl is too darn cute. Her little red eyes dart from the box displaying the grey blanket to Tamaki, whose mouth is slightly open.

“Thank you, Eri, that's really sweet.”

Tamaki chuckles, and begins to open the box with as much care as he did taking the wrapping paper off. Eri’s smile beams even brighter when she hears Tamaki call the gift sweet. Before anyone can continue, Eri insists that Nejire opens hers, which Tamaki helped her pick.

“Oh! Alright.”

Nejire chuckles before ripping the carefully wrapped box. When she's done tearing away the paper she's presented with. . . An Amazon box! How cool!

“Wow! Just what I wanted, an Amazon box!”

Nejire laughed sarcastically with a smile, earning laughs from the rest of you, including Eri. Taking the reindeer scissors, she carefully cuts away the tape at the top of the box and pulls out an elephant stuffed animal with a tag that says ‘Put me in the microwave, and I’ll smell like lavender!’

“Aww, I've been wanting one of these lil’ guys for a while now! Thank you Eri, thank you Tamaki!”

Nejire said, hugging Tamaki, whose face turns red while she moves on to hug a beaming Eri. Who knew Eri picked such good presents?

“Ooh! Ooh! I wanna go next!”

Mirio says, reaching for his present but getting a small Smack on his hand from you.

"Nope! You've gotta' open this one last."

You say, getting a nod of agreement From Eri and a laugh from Tamaki and Nejire.

“See? Special orders from Eri.”

You shrug, getting a laugh from Mirio as he passes you your present. Your present is from Nejire and Eri, who're both looking at you expectingly.

“Oh this has got to be Legos.”

You say, aggressively shaking the box with laughter erupting From Eri. Eventually you stop shaking the present And take the wrapping paper off the Lego box, which is actually the first non-Amazon box to be opened.

“Oh wow! These are beautiful, Eri, Nejire, thank you!”

You thank, hugging both girls Respectfully. The Lego box is black with dark green edges, the Lego set in the middle. The set name, Botanical Garden, is in the top left corner, and the orchid below it in pink. The orchid legos are white with pink centers, tall green stems that stick out of a grey plant pot and droopy green leaves that go over the edge. Overall, the Lego set looks like tons of fun and pretty, especially since winter denies your ability to have real flowers.

“Now you can open your present.”

You say to Mirio, giving him a big ol’ smile, knowing exactly what's In the box.

“Dear lord, I got a little Amazon box!”

Mirio laughed, earning bright giggles from Eri and small chuckles from Nejire and Tamaki.

“Well, I really got. . . a little box?”

He questioned himself before opening the small jewelry box. The necklace inside was a heart made out of three puzzle pieces. The pieces didn’t say anything, all just a plain silver with the same silver chain. Carefully, he held the necklaces up, the heart keeping in tact.

“I wanted us three to be able to match. . .”

Eri said softly from Mirio's side, whose jaw was still slightly open. Sure, the necklace wasn’t anything crazy, but it still meant a lot to him.

“Thank you, Eri.”

He says softly, sniffling a little as she jumps up to hug the blonde who was clearly trying his best not to cry. He did cry a lot when Eri did something for him (Who wouldn’t? She’s literally the cutest thing).

“Eri, that’s really sweet!”

Nejire chirps from next to you, a soft smile on her lips while she watches Mirio take the pieces apart and pass one to Eri, and one to you. He reaches down to clasp the necklace around Eri’s neck, smiling just as brightly as she did at the concert.

“Wanna put mine on for me?”

You ask Mirio who's put his on and is Smiling down at the silver puzzle piece.

“Yeah, I do.”

He says, moving behind You and carefully doing the silver clasp. The chain hangs loosely around your neck, his soft fingers whispering against the back of your neck. Once you feel his touch leave, you hold the puzzle piece in your hand, remembering exactly how the moment with Eri went. She had been so insistent that you three have a matching something for his Christmas present.

You mumble out a thanks to Mirio while rolling the silver charm between your fingers. Next to you, Mirio Is helping Eri put her own necklace on with Nejire and Tamaki falling into conversation.

“Well, Eri, I think it's time for your presents, how does that sound? We each got you something, so there's four total.”

Mirio tells the little girl who's clearly getting more and more tired. You smile before Eri eagerly begins to open her first present, the sound of paper ripping filling the air.

“A. . . Box?”

Eri questions, earning small laughs From the rest of you while you cut the tape away to reveal a stuffed bunny that has the same tag as Nejire's stuffed animal.

“It's the same thing Nejire got, but it smells like apples. I got that for you."

You point out, and in response, Eri hugs the stuffed animal to her chest tightly. You let out a small chuckle with a warm smile before she proceeds to hug you next. You're taken by surprise before hugging her back. After she lets go while telling you a small ‘thank you', she begins opening her next present.

“Oh cool, an apple cookbook.”

Eri says before Miro points out it's from him so that they can make apple deserts together. Her eyes sparkled at The thought before hugging him as well.

“C'mon! Open mine next!”

Nejire persists, which is also a smaller present, clearly another book. As she opens it, she gets a confused look on her face.

“A guitar lessons book? But I don't have-”

She questions before Nejire pipes up.“Now open Tamaki's.”

Eri raises a brow before opening the biggest present, which has gotta be the Best present she's ever received. A guitar. Well, a smaller one that's good for learners, but a guitar nonetheless.

“You got this for me, Tamaki? Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

The girl cheers, jumping up to hug Tamaki, whose red faced and clearly having a bit of anxiety. Accepting the hug, he tells her a quick ‘You're welcome.'

Before she goes Back to her seat.Time passes with you guys talking and such, Eri yawning from time to time.

“Want me to call Aizawa so you can head to bed?”

You hear Mirio ask while you're talking to Nejire and Tamaki. You don't pay attention, but you can tell your boyfriend is on the phone with Aizawa, who comes no more than ten minutes later, and picks Eri up.

You all give your farewells, and not too Much later, Tamaki heads out, claiming he's also tired. Soon after, Nejire does the same, leaving you and Mirio.

“I-”

You go to say before getting cut off by a quick peck on the lips by Mirio.

“Nope, I'm afraid you can't claim you're also tired and plan to leave me.”

He says with a matter of fact tone. You roll your eyes before going to continue talking.

“Before you rudely interrupted me, I was planning on asking if you don't mind me staying the night.”

You huff, an amused smirk on your lips as you see Mirio’s mouth turn into a small ‘o’.

“Yeah, that'd be nice.”

He said before standing, helping you up in the process with a huff. You thank him by pressing a quick kiss To his lips, which he happily accepts. You feel his lips morph into a smile before you pull apart, and notice his arm reaching for something on his desk. That something being a Mistletoe.

“Is that-”

You try before being cut off.

“A Mistletoe? Yes, yes it is, and would you look at that? It's right above us, looks like you have to kiss me again.”

He teases, his eyes shining with mischief.

“Well shoot, guess I do, don't I?”

You giggle before reaching up to kiss his lips, feeling him drop the Mistletoe and bring his arms around you seconds after. The kiss felt like soft snowflakes falling onto an icy sidewalk with street lights highlighting every single drop of snow. Your lips unturn into a sweet smile, as do his. You each sit there for a little longer, lingering In the presence of your lover. After pulling apart he looks into your sparkling eyes.

"Merry Christmas, Love.”

He says sweetly, and you recite the words just a second later, clear adoration in the air you two share in this very moment.

“Merry Christmas, Love.”

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

A/N: I am not lovin’ this tbh. It felt more like Christmas presents with Eri and the big three, and not so much like a Mirio x Reader ;v;

[derww]

CW: Violence, temporary death, gore, vomit

Written on @mapicccc's plotbunny

Kab barely sees it in the corner of her eye, and it takes her too much time to realize: here, right in the middle of a spawn, on an arguably great sunny day, MapiccMC in a short exchange of blows pins ECorridor to the ground, and then just gnaws into his neck and.

 

Some people are still convinced that Mapicc has huge ass fangs and a dog's jaw, but she knows better: his teeth are unnaturally human-like. It doesn't stop him from violently tearing out a huge part of E's neck, opening some strange combination of threads, fluff and meat with arteries and spitting it out to the side with a strange disdain on a face.

 

As far as she knows, Mapicc won't attack her. She still wants to run away – part of an instinct, something embedded deep in her bones. Along with that, she feels like she can't let herself move. She continues to just watch, and it terrifies her.

 

E throws him off himself and even tries to get up, yet not really tries to close off a wound, but Mapicc refuses to let him go. Overpowering his weakening resistance, he grabs E's short hair in an armful and pulls-

 

She throws up her breakfast at the spot, and her eyes are watering, and she hides, trying to make herself breathe again. She still has the image of E's head being detached from the body, and she hates it. It's not like she hasn't seen any violence; it's just- it's too unnecessarily cruel. He could've just killed him. It would not be harder. He just doesn't have to.

 

When she looks out again, everything is already over. E's body evaporates to reform somewhere where his bed is, and Mapicc gets up, trying to wipe his mouth with the sleeve but only smearing it more. A path is still just a fucking blood puddle too. Fucking hell, how is she even supposed to clean this shit after?

 

She loses some time; she's not even sure how much – maybe a second, maybe three, maybe more. But when she notices the movement the next time, it's yellow. In a fast pace, Zam walks to the place of the murder, but she's too far away to see his emotion. But- but E hasn't even killed anyone on the server, she thinks. He is innocent. Zam can be Mapicc's friend, but he's the protector at first, and he couldn't just- ignore it.

 

"Why do you," she hears, and the rest of the question turns out to be muffled by the wind. She hears better than she sees, but still not enough. Very carefully, she goes closer, holding on to the wall. "20 hearts, Pentar's partner," she hears Mapicc's grumbling, quite unlike the voice of someone who has just killed someone. "-disagree, but he doesn't deserve them"..."to take them away."

 

Being Pentar's friend didn't make E guilty in Pentar's wrongdoings. You can't just shift someone else's blame onto another person. And how can E not deserve his hearts, It's just the amount he has, there are no laws and rules behind it-

 

She comes as close as she even can without being spotted and carefully pokes out of a wall to see what's happening and. And the PrinceZam, the spawn protector, carefully wipes the blood off Mapicc's mouth with a cloth, using his free hand to hold him just above the chin.

 

"I can't approve it," PrinceZam says, attentively touching the teeth as well, and Mapicc looks not really satisfied nor appreciative but stays at the place and lets it happen, "but I get it. I'm sad for him, but he had it waiting for him. But oh, gosh, why make such a mess?"

 

PrinceZam, who vowed to be a defender of the weak, who said that he can't take her abiding the Karmas Law and killing everyone who deserves to be killed, who refused to accept the killing of anyone besides ManePear and FlameFrags, he pedantically made sure that he had finished, and then forced Mapicc to carefully step back from the pool of blood so as not to dirty his shoes even more. She felt so, so sick. Was this a bias? Aren't PrinceZam was supposed to be fair? How can he reject the Karma's Law with all its obsolete fairness but be fine with the random killing of an absolutely innocent person?

 

The gruesome image of the murder was still standing in front of her. If she had something to vomit on, she would have thrown up again, but at this stage she only had acrid stomach acid left.

 

"I was angry," Mapicc admits. "His teammate and their buddies killed so many of ours, ignored all the rules and agreements, forced us to make concessions, and even planted the moles in our team. So fucking pathetic. I need all of them dead, and E is not an exception anymore. If he wants to be safe, he can leave PE and withdraw nine more hearts for me".

 

"Fair," Zam shrugs his shoulders. "Just try to be more civil next time, okay? 

 

"I'll try," Mapicc draws out and rolls up his eyes. For a moment it feels like at some point he stares right at her.

[bunji-enthusiast]

So. Uhm..

Have this small idea that came to me.

Sonic.exe world, with Knuckles(like maybe his soul version or before he gets killed) x reader (who can somewhat be like Sonic.exe? But more ,,, normal? Like. A kind & nice exe who saved him from being killed by Sonic.exe)

But with that, they kinda take his form? But their form looks more cartoony & classic-style. Kinda like a simpler and small form, easy to pick up Knuckles (maybe other survivors?) and run just as fast to a safe place. (kinda inspired by my own sonic.exe OC tbh,, but yeah). (You don't have to, tho! Just thought that this was interesting—!)

Mimicking Friend — Knuckles The Echidna

Note || this is a really neat idea! I hope I read this right. And if this is okay ^^

WC || 568

Sypnosis || If anyone told him beforehand he’d get saved by the one lesser of two evils, he would’ve laughed. Now he’s believing it himself.

He was confused as hell when it all began, the ebony grays and the scarlet red skies. It was all so menacing, but not truly to someone like Knuckles, he wasn’t very put off by any bit of the blood either. Only then he got concerned when he started to learn about Sonic, someone who he recently met. The echidna certainly didn’t expect the blue blur to actually kill his two-tailed fox friend, he thought they were as close as brothers can be. 

Knuckles felt fortunate when he managed to fight off the demon, the bloody hedgehog was a killer but he sure as hell was no fighter. Even then, he knows the killer can and will adapt overtime, especially with all the strange manipulation of reality he can do. When he was sure the damn demon was down for good, he ran as fast as he could. Knuckles certainly wasn’t about to stick around for that possessed hedgehog to actually succeed in killing the echidna, he couldn’t leave the Master Emerald without the guardian. 

When you finally made the decision to make an appearance before Knuckles, he was rather confused. You looked so similar to him, only tinier in size. Yet it was even more surprising when you possessed more strength he realized, carried as if he was a bride just married you ran even further then he possibly could (More so floated, but who cares?). You felt as if you had to keep Knuckles safe and hidden away from the demon, accursed and trickster with a knack for obsessing over things unnecessarily. 

“Who the hell are you?” He finally asked after you had whisked away the two of you to somewhere far and safe away from the bloody hedgehog, Knuckles felt as if he was close to snapping within his emotions. He was confused, mixed up about every recent event which had occurred in mere minutes away from each other. 

Why’d you save him?

Why do you look just like him? 

Many thoughts and questions had run through the echidna’s head, but the one he had uttered was something he found most important. 

You looked down, shifting closer to the ground so you could lay yourself for rest. “Someone who just wanted you to stay alive,” You began, feeling the words finicky to find. “Cause they know what it’s like to fail to do so.” Those words felt wrong, yet so right. You wince internally as you search his face for any hint of a reaction to your words. Knuckles sighed, complacency wasn’t his greatest idea of a deal begotten between him and a stranger who just saved his life.

“I owe you.” He spoke, finally decided to break the awkward silence. Knuckles took a moment of pause, closing his eyes as he crossed his arms. “Thank you, I suppose.”

You interject, “You owe me nothing, but I do owe you something.”

At this, he raises a brow. Eyes opening to reveal magnificent purple hues expressing interest in your next set of words, “You need answers yes? I can provide them.” Knuckles was albeit, relieved he could get them from someone friendlier than most entities right now. He wasn’t in a very grateful mood if he were to search for them himself. 

“Alright then..” The echidna begins, taking a walk towards the distance. 

He then gestures vaguely as he asks, “Who the hell was possessing Sonic?”

[ilikecrowns]

Rainy days

Grace Clinton x f!Reader

After a hard training session, there’s nothing more that Grace wants to do than have a coffee date with her best friend. After an unexpected spell of rain, the two friends realise something slightly more than platonic may be between them

based on this request here

warnings- fluff fluff fluff!!

1.2k words

this is my first fic on here so please be nice 😁

　　*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

“Ewwwww Grace get off me!” I yell, jokingly shoving off my best friend after she wrapped her strong arms around my shoulders.

“What, you don’t like the smell of success?” Her lips formed a cheeky smirk, as she kept her arms wide open, ready for my ‘loving embrace’.

Instead of succumbing to her whim, I rolled my eyes and starting packing up my stuff. Watching her train was always enjoyable, especially because she was so unbelievably competitive on the pitch. That probably explains her unnecessarily overprotective actions she floods me with when we are out in public.

I catch the sight of Alessia Russo, her England teammate and close friend, and give her a warm smile and soft wave.

I knew Grace so well that I could practically write her whole life and every action before it even happened, and therefore her little scoff and pout was too easy to see coming. “Don’t worry Grace, you can take your best friend for coffee now, I won’t keep you long. Plus Tooney and I are going out tonight so I’ve got to rush off.” She giggled at her younger friend’s reaction, and then picked up her stuff to leave.

“You know you’re my number one, Gracie girl.” I tried my best to make up for my ‘behaviour’, as Grace would say. However, I think I was just being nice!

Taking her arm in mine (after Grace cleaned herself up and changed), we made our way to our favourite café. It was only a five minute walk away from Grace’s apartment, which made it all the more easy to attend at least once a week after her training.

We sat down at our usual table, we both enjoyed sitting outside and watching the world go by. I ordered a frappuccino and muffin, whilst she ordered a plain coffee and croissant.

“So, star girl, how’s camp going so far?” I know she’s confident and cocky, but I can also tell when Grace is struggling. She tends to not show it on the outside, as she doesn’t want anyone to think of her as weak. I know the truth though, and seeing my best friend in pain is the worst type of feeling.

I could see her visibly tense up at the mention of camp, but her strong front didn’t stay for long. She knew she could trust me.

“Honestly, not great. I cant believe i’m here, playing with the best of the best. Like, Mary Earps is our goalkeeper, for gods sake! And did you see that trick Chloe did in training today? And, and, how on earth can Niamh and Hempo run that fast? I have no idea how I managed to get here!’ After softly nodding my head and taking Grace’s hand in mine, I take a deep breath.

“Love, you’re the best footballer i’ve ever seen. At least, to me you are. Do you know why? You’re so young, and yet you have so much talent! Your pace is incredible and your finishes are out of this world. I promise you one day, Gracie, you’ll see what I and the rest of England sees too. You’re here for a reason.”

I can tell my words meant something to her, as the once creased brow softened into her adorable puppy dog face, and her eyes dropped to where our hands were intertwined on the metal table.

As soon as she opened her mouth to share words of gratitude, the rain started.

It’s gentle pitter patter eventually grew to a heavy crash, and before either of us could have time to properly think of the next course of action, Grace stood up and grabbed my arm, propping her hood up.

I was now shivering as the cold rain trickled down my spine, my thin jumper not doing much to keep me warm or covered.

After running a few paces to a tree for a little breath of air, Grace noticed my lack of cover. Without notice, she tore her own coat off, draping it gently across my shoulders, focusing on covering every part of my shivering torso.

I gratefully smile, and stare into her deep blue eyes, enjoying this moment of joy and serenity, despite the harsh weather conditions.

This time I am the one to initiate movement, and I do so by hastily grabbing her now soaking wet hand and placing it in mine, and then start the fast run to Grace’s apartment. We didn’t have to tell eachother where we wanted to go, as it was fairly obvious.

Once we’d reached the entrance to her home, my shivering hands unlocked the white door. I had a key, of course.

“I hope my croissant doesn’t get too lonely and wet out there,” Grace jokes, making sure to rip off her top layer- an england jumper- from her body as soon as she step foot into her clean, warm home.

I laugh, making sure to take off her coat and place it onto a drying rack in the bathroom.

“If only you ran that fast during practice, Grace, you might just beat me in a race!” I joke, knowing she wouldn’t take it to heart. It was a common known fact that I couldn’t run to save my life, and therefore the wide grin on my face was wiped off as she wrapped her arms around me, and lifted me into the air.

“Oh yeah, what was that? Beat me in a race? Not in your dreams, love,” my grin was then matched by the taller girl with her strong arms clutching my waist, still keeping me in the air with ease. I made it slightly easier for her, by wrapping my legs around her hips, ensuring I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Bold of you to assume you’re in my dreams, Gracie girl.” I giggled, before tucking a stray bit of wet her behind her ear.

Sure, we’d had plenty of close moments like that, but this has felt different. Her eyes seemed almost darker, hee smile lighting the room up more than ever. The arms holding me now felt different too, and I knew I never wanted them to leave me.

We stared at eachother for a few moments silence, waiting for the other to be bold enough to speak.

Instead of words, however, I settled on something far more fitting for the situation.

I leaned my head down, holding her neck and back of her head with my hands. Flicking my eyes from her lips back up to her beautiful eyes to ensure this was what we both wanted, I closed the far-too-large-for-my-liking gap between us.

Her lips were gentle and soft, just like how she was around me. I’ve never been happier to be able to know the true side to my best friend. And now, I can see another side to her I’d never thought I would.

Breaking away once the butterflies in my stomach got too much, I let my eyes remain closed, basking in the pure joy of the moment.

“You may not be able to run, but sure can you kiss,” Grace’s composure appeared to return almost as soon as it left, her usual smirk gracing her lips again.

I gave her a roll of my eyes and peck back on the lips again, showing her how much I enjoyed it too.

“So, how about Netflix and Chill?”

[restinslices]

Oooh ummumumumum can you make a kitana (mk1) x f!reader fluff where reader sneaks a pet into the palace and tries to hide it from kitana with the help of mileena 🤗🤗

I’ve never written for Kitana so it’s short and kinda ass 😭

Word count: 1113

Kitana was an observant creature, typically able to spot when something seemed off. Finding out what it was though, was something completely different.

She could tell that you and Mileena were behaving differently but she couldn't figure out why. Everything seemed fine, there were no holidays or events coming up besides the Earthrealmers coming for Mortal Kombat but that usually didn't get a tense response like this.

Everyday Kitana would see you two. Your attempts to be sneaky were clear and in all honesty, a part of her was jealous. The idea that you two had become closer, a duo in a trio if you will, gave her this uneasy feeling deep in her heart that made her typically warm body run cold. It's not that you weren't allowed to spend alone time with Mileena. It just felt weird. Like you two created your own world that she wasn't invited to.

Maybe she was just being paranoid. Maybe…

She approached Mileena’s door, her nerves unnecessarily high. It wasn't because the Earthrealmers would be here soon. It was because she swore she could hear you both talking. So that's why Mileena had gone missing. She was with you.

She knew it was rude to listen in, but she couldn't help it. Her hand was frozen in a raised position, like she was mid knock.

“We should tell Kitana” she heard Mileena say in a poor attempt at a hushed tone. “I can tell her today”.

“No! Everyone is far too busy worrying about the competition and those Earthrealmers! You'll only worry her”.

Mileena sighed then and Kitana could picture the hand on the hip posture she acquired from their mother. “This is a bad idea. Kitana is suspicious”.

“How do you know?”

“I can feel it”

“Reliable source. Just a little longer-”

Kitana wasn't sure why she swung open the door. Maybe it was because being that close to finding out what the huge secret was but being denied made blood rush to her head. It was like being a rabbit and having someone hold a carrot over her head.

Kitana also wasn't sure what she'd see. Her plan was to confront you both then and there and demand to know what the secret was, but that didn't seem to be necessary.

She froze, her mind full of pure confusion. Mileena was standing and you were sitting with the secret, she presumed, in your lap. It was a tiny white kitten with grey markings and wide blue eyes that stared up at her.

“Um… it's an illusion?”, your poor attempt at lying made her unfreeze and process the situation. She walked in and closed the door behind her, making sure no one saw.

“What is that?”

“An illusion”

Mileena tsked and rolled her eyes but said nothing.

“You can answer to”

“It's a kitten” Mileena answered finally.

“I know that. Why is it here?”

“You didn't ask that” you said with a shrug. You started petting its head and Kitana had to admit it. The way it purred in delight made her heart squeeze, and not in the “my sister and friend have a secret. I'm so sad” way, but in the “that is the cutest thing I've ever seen” way.

She took in a breath and looked away from it, “this is what you two have been hiding?”

“I told you she knew…” Mileena muttered as she looked back at you. You, ever so calm said,

“You'd tell the Empress”

“You trust Mileena more than me?”

“Her spine is made of jelly. Yours is more solid. Like wood. It breaks eventually but not right away”. Kitana figured it made sense. It sounds terrible but Mileena was no stranger to secrets. Tarkat and Tanya, she supposed it made sense to go to Mileena. She could handle a kitten and wouldn’t turn it away. In the same breath though, Mileena didn't know Kitana or you knew about Tanya, but it was clear to anyone with two eyes and half a brain cell, so maybe you should have told Kitana first.

“It can't stay. You both know this”

“But why not?” You said with a small pout and held the kitten close. “It's well behaved”

“The Earthrealmers are coming. We're expected to be in public view and we can't have that-”

“You're expected to. Mileena is expected to. Not me”

Kitana hated that you had a point. Her and Mileena were princesses, but you were just a friend of the family. You attending wasn't necessary, so realistically you could watch it in their absence. Still though, with the luck you all had, someone would find out. Her mother would not be pleased about this random animal in the palace. It seems you could sense her hesitations since next you said “she won't find out unless we say something. I sneak it food, I snuck in a place for it to do its business, we use random bowls for water, plus no one comes in Mileena's room… apart from you obviously. Everyone else has to knock-”

“Apart from our mother”

“How often does she grab either of you personally?”. She stayed silent, because once again you had a point. After all, Kitana only found out about this because her mother didn't want to grab Mileena herself. Her mother typically sent someone to grab them, she never grabbed them herself unless it was urgent and they were near each other.

It's not that Kitana didn't like cats. She just really didn't wanna get in trouble. Once again though, you seemed to read her mind. You crept closer to her, cat in hand

“Oh please Kitana!” You said in a high pitched voice “please let me stay! You're so nice and perfect, surely you'll let little old me stay! You wouldn't throw me to the wolves, would you?”. You moved the cat closer to her, and Kitana swore it understood English and how to play its role because it rubbed its head against her.

She guessed you were right. Her spine was wood, and it had broke.

“Is it loud?”

“No and it's a she. We're thinking of names still”. Kitana took the kitten out of your arms and held it, feeling the soft fur under her fingertips. When the unnamed kitten looked up at her and blinked slowly, that's when she knew she had a new pet now, even if that was never her intention.

“She's in my room tonight”

“Of course Princess” You said with a bow and if she wasn't holding the most precious thing she'd ever seen, she would've hit you. Instead she rolled her eyes and looked back down at the small kitten, it sleeping peacefully in her arms.

I have two more fluff requests after this. Y’all make me violently ill. Where are the sad hoes?!

[houseoflibra]

Saint Seiya: The Lost Canvas – Bangai-hen Crimson Rebirth (Part 1)

This is the script for the special chapter that was published in January 2022, the first of a three-chapter arc about Defteros.

Page 1

Defteros: - (Why…?) - (Why have you stayed with me…) - (…Gemini?)

Pages 2 + 3

Defteros: - (Even though I'm the one who killed your master…) - (…my twin brother…) - (…Aspros!)

Pages 4 + 5

Defteros: - ! - (Frost…) - Hey! - Hold back your ice before you put out my fire… - …Aquarius Degel.

Page 6

Degel: - Looks like you remember me. - I'm glad, Defteros.

Defteros: - Cut the chit-chat! Why did you come here?

Degel: - I have orders! - The Pope has assigned a mission to you…

Page 7

Degel: - …the new Gold Saint... - ...Gemini Defteros!!

Page 8

Defteros: - Y— - You can't be serious!! - I'm a despicable star of ill omen that's lived in hiding!! - Making me a Saint is—

Degel: - And yet you were allowed to look after the Gemini Cloth, weren't you? - It seems to me like the Pope's decree is only reasonable. - After all, you are already qualified and able. - And this mission is on Kanon Island.

Defteros: - !! - What?!

Degel: - That's where you're going tomorrow, isn't it? Perfect timing, wouldn't you say?

Page 9

Defteros: - So that's how it is... - That Pope Sage… - How crafty is he?…

Degel: - Heheh… - It just means he trusts you. - This mission is not an easy one, though. - Have you noticed? - A few months ago, one of Hades's Dark Stars fell on Kanon Island.

Pages 10 + 11

Degel: - The island is now in turmoil under the influence of an evil cosmo. - Since it's close to our shores, Sanctuary has sent troops there multiple times, but not a single soldier has returned. - Several of the residents of Kanon Island have also gone missing. - They're so terrified that they are even spouting things such as…

Page 12

Degel: - …how a man-eating demon has occupied the island's volcano.

Page 13

Defteros: - Hey! - Do you Sanctuary people always go out wearing these restrictive clothes? - I don't get the point…

Degel: - Not everybody does, but it's best not to alarm people unnecessarily. - But… - Oh! You don't think they suit you?

Page 14

Defteros: - Stop that. - You'll drain away my motivation to go face the demon.

Page 15

Degel: - We can't have that. - I'll end up getting scolded by the Pope. - … - I'm sorry about Aspros.

Defteros: - !

Degel: - I heard about it. How he was killed after plotting to manipulate you with the Illusion Demon Emperor's Fist to assassinate the Pope. - I was one of the many who admired his intelligence and strong presence… - …but I never imagined that he would go that far.

Defteros: - Yes… - My brother was formidable…

Page 16

Defteros: - Now that he's gone… the world feels awfully quiet. - A whole new path that I never even imagined was possible has suddenly opened up before me and I'm genuinely bewildered. - From here, you can see the fumes of Kanon Island's volcano in the distance. - It's powerful and sinister. - Ever since I was little, I've wondered what it would look like up close.

Page 17

Defteros: - As somebody who lived in hiding, the world outside Sanctuary always seemed so foreign to me. - That's why, Degel…

Degel: - …

Defteros: - …I can't help but feel as if this quiet is only temporary.

Page 18

Defteros: - In his final moments, my brother struck his own brain with the Illusion Demon Emperor's Fist.

Degel: - ?!

Defteros: - Why did he do that? - Even after burying his remains, this ominous feeling won’t go away.

Page 19

Defteros: - It has to mean that he did not intend that to be the end.

Degel: - That's ludicrous…

Defteros: - I am going to meet this demon not for the sake of the mission.

Page 20

Defteros: - I'm going so that I can become the demon.

To be continued...

[curio-queries]

I just like reading your thoughts on things, so I'm curious, do you think bts will leave hybe when their contracts end in 2025?

Before 2024, or even just earlier this year, I would've said that question was ridiculous because why in the world would they, but as more comes out related to the legal battle with mhj about what is going on behind the scenes at the company and their incompetency (the leaked document today is especially damning which painted a target on jimn's back while admitting they do nothing about the hate the boys get that gets reported to them), handling of yoongi's situation, jungkook speaking out in a way that did not explicitly support the company, basically ass promotion for their work (the company has learned to rely too heavily on fans doing the footwork for bts), etc. it is kind of making me wonder. K-army across the board pretty much hate hybe and have for a while, everything that comes out just deepens their hate. I do think bts are in a weird position because a lot of the issues are coming from hybe, rather than BH and they seem very close with a lot of the staff who are also intertwined in all this. I also have no idea where they'd go. More and more kpop idols are leaving their agencies and starting their own, but I doubt bts wants to deal with all the business stuff.

Idk, 9 months ago I wouldn't have even considered this question, now I really don't know based on everything we're learning about the company. I do feel bad for jin though, hybe/BH mess plus yoongi's situation have kept bts' name being constantly dragged through the mud since he was discharged. I've been an army since 2016/2017 and I don't think I've experienced a period this bad. I hope all the boys are doing ok right now, I've seen some people say they're glad in they're in the military right now just to be away from all this, but at the same time I imagine it feels awful to be that helpless watching this stuff go down and you can't speak out or defend yourself or each other.

Hi anon,

Thank-you for sending this in; I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you with my answer though...or non-answer more like.

So, the short answer to your question is that I choose to have no opinion. I'll put the reason why below a cut so anyone not interested can pass:

There was a vlogbrothers video years ago about the concept of giving up having opinions on things and I've fully embraced this idea. Basically the idea is making an active decision to not hold an opinion on something. The example they give I think was about other people's m&m flavour preference? Something like that? But have you ever had the experience where someone shares a benign preference like them preferring the peanut m&ms over all of the other flavours and someone else respond with shock about they could prefer different one from you. Having an opinion on someone else's preference over something so trivial adds absolutely no value to your own life experience so it's just wasted energy.

Once I started noticing these kinds of inconsequential opinions that I was holding, and had practice in giving them up, I was also better able to recognize situations where an opinion on my part would just disturb my personal peace unnecessarily.

Back to your question about BTS possibly moving companies in light of the current drama. This is such a large issue that requires some specific insight. At minimum, here's what I would want to consult with an someone more knowledgeable on:

Landscape of the music industry in Korea both past and present

BTS's involvement in the actual hierarchy of the companies involved.

Knowledge of the current events surrounding the investigation

Confidence in the quality of translations

Cultural context

There's more but this is what's sticking in my brain right now. And all of these areas are so far outside the scope of my knowledge that I realized just how much work it would be for me to even feel somewhat confident and informed in making an opinion. When everything started unfolding, I had to make a conscious decision whether to dig in enough that I could get to that point. I recognized that I just don't have the energy or time to really do my due diligence in this area.

My engagement in kpop beyond just listening to the music is wholly an escape. If it ever gets to the point where I'm not ultimately being uplifted, I will stop engaging. Life is hard enough as it is without adding further burden from something that's supposed to be entertainment. So I'm purposefully not planning to delve further into these speculations.

I will give one piece of advice for anyone that is engaging in this. Be very mindful of the sources that you are listening to and try to become aware of what they may have to gain from presenting the events from either perspective. There was a while where I was getting fed some videos of people talking about it in my algorithms but there was always something that didn't sit right with the various viewpoints being presented, no matter which side was presenting it.

I've definitely seen some parallels between this situation and the endless 'discussions' regarding whether the members would receive exemption from their military service. It was so peaceful no longer being subject to that topic once the announcement was made.

Anyway, that's all I have to say on the subject. I hope you find some people that are able to engage in this discussion in the way you're looking.