#but i had already spend enough time this black history month drawing white people so i just saved what I could

[gingergari]

winter fun is not forever 💔

companion/sequel post to this

[sondepoch]

Hogwarts, Basically (Solomon x Reader)

When you finally leave RAD, the last thing you expect is to be whisked off by Solomon to a human school of magic. What you expect even less is for the white-haired mage to become your dormmate, and to be forced into a life of spells, potions, and wizardry. But what you expect the least is to find yourself pining after the sorcerer, reduced to something akin to a lost puppy, staring at him in longing at every chance you get. Or, correction: What you expect the least is for Solomon to feel the same way.

~Oneshot

MASTERLIST

At the very beginning, Lucifer warned you: stay away from Solomon. Never trust the shady sorcerer. Keep your distance at all costs, and do not interact.

But you never listened.

No, you were convinced that you knew better. That the white-haired mage had good inside him, that he wasn't a demon in human skin with an agenda more suspicious than Diavolo's own. For an entire year, you believed in him, and the two of you stayed by each other's side the whole time you were in the Devildom.

You have so many good memories with him.

The two of you pulled pranks on Asmo. Downloaded TikTok onto Lucifer's phone. Ran a scam where you auctioned your souls off on D-Bay and kept the Grimm. You egged the student council hall on April Fool's day, and you even shared your food with the guy.

So many good memories.

So many tainted memories.

If you had known where it would land you, you never would have allowed yourself to get close to him.

"I fucking hate you," You grumble, darting forward and flopping onto your bed the second Solomon opens the door, groaning as you burrow your head in your pillow. It reeks of magic, much like everything else in this godforsaken place, and you're entirely sick of it, but you're too exhausted to even care right now. "I can't believe you fucking did this to me."

"Oh please, you're acting like this is the end of the world." The mage closes the door, and you hear the sound of shuffling as he puts his books away for the day, taking off his school jacket. His actions are innocent enough, but you're certain he finds amusement in your state, and the very thought fills your lungs with even more resentment toward your current situation.

"It is the end of the world," You grumble in protest. "I'm supposed to be relaxing right now. Playing video games with friends. Hanging out at a club. Wasting time on twitter, sending celebrities stupid pickup lines. Not doing more schoolwork at another fucking school of magic."

Solomon laughs lightly, a warm sound that you wish you didn't like.

"Technically, RAD wasn't a school of magic," He tells you.

"Oh, who fucking cares? This school is! You've kidnapped me and dumped me in Hogwarts, basically, and I hate Harry Potter!"

"How unfortunate for you, then." Solomon grins boyishly as he rolls your body over, eyes twinkling with mirth as he gazes at your utterly unamused expression. "Relax. You'll begin to enjoy your time here, once you get used to the course load. I dare say you might even find it fun to learn about our magical heritage."

"When pigs fly, Solomon," You quip back, opting to ignore the fact that your potions teacher told you that your end-of-year project would actually be to create a solution potent enough to give farm animals wings.

You sigh grumpily and roll over, closing your eyes and relaxing quietly as the sorcerer pats your shoulder, quietly telling you not to nap for too long, so you have time to finish your homework later.

You ignore him, for the most part.

I'll never enjoy it here, you convince yourself. As much as you love spending time with Solomon, you don't have it in you to completely change your life and begin studying magic, irregardless of how much the teachers at this school want you to. Ignoring the sound of scribbles as Solomon begins his own homework, you tell yourself that the mage is wrong, that all you need to do is flunk out during this first semester and then you'll be returned to your normal life in your home country.

What you don't expect is for Solomon's words to be proven true.

One week into your time at the academy, you've just begun to grow used to the course load. The students at school stop raising eyebrows at your face, and as you begin to grow accustomed to the school, it becomes accustomed to you.

Two weeks in, you've already fallen into a loose rhythm.

By three weeks, you've developed what a less apprehensive person would call "friends," and by four weeks, you're genuinely giving your studies your all, learning spellwork and enchantments with an almost-passionate fervor.

By the time the month has ended, you've actually forgotten your plans to flunk out.

And though you're surprised by your change of heart, the never-fading smile on Solomon's face makes you suspect that he predicted this from the start.

You glance up at him from your textbook, momentarily halting your note-taking to study the way the enthralled light never fades from his eyes, even as he glances from book to book while continuing to draw a summoning circle for his demonology class, somehow looking pleased even as he cross-checks his image.

You groan.

You've found yourself glancing up at Solomon more and more often in these past few days, distracted from your own studying by the way his hair falls over his forehead, or the way his chest sometimes peeks through when he undoes the top buttons of his dress shirt, or the way he sometimes bites his lip cutely when going over a particularly difficult passage. Hell, you once spent five minutes staring at the sorcerer's hands, because they looked oh-so-soft as he took notes on the book he was deciphering.

The first few times, you convinced yourself that it was merely because of how eye-catching he was. And that was a fair enough excuse. After all, the colors of this academy are black and gold—Solomon's pale skin stands out against the dark fabrics of the uniform and the even-darker furnishings of your dorm room.

But after catching yourself gazing wistfully at his lips a few too many times, you were forced to confront the truth.

You have a crush on the aggravating, annoying, sassy, difficult, handsome, cute mage.

But that's not even the worst part.

You think he knows.

A warmth creeps onto your cheeks the moment you begin to think about all the instances where Solomon has caught you staring at him over these past few weeks. There are almost too many examples. Early in the morning, when his hair is all messed up. Right after breakfast, when his lips have changed color to whatever potion he drank. On your way back from school, when you walk back to the dorm together. During homework sessions like these. Right after he steps out of the shower—oh, he's caught you gawking at him far too many times after returning from the shower. (You tried to play it off by saying that you were merely studying his pact marks, but you know he knows the truth. His abs are loosely defined, but they're there, and you want to lick them so bad it hurts.)

"MC?" Solomon calls, and you blink.

Fuck, you think, suddenly realizing that you were staring at him while you daydreamed about him.

Add one more to the count, you think with an internal groan, silently wondering how many more times the sorcerer will catch you staring at him.

"You good?" He questions, and you can see the smirk he's trying so hard to fight off his face.

"Uh—I'm going to the library," You blurt, opting to avoid the sorcerer's gaze as you grab your jacket, looping your arms through it with deftness despite how utterly befuddled your thoughts are as you escape the room. You don't have your books with you, or your library card for that matter, but anything is better than responding to that all-too-playful question.

You flee before Solomon has a chance to say anything else, all but running to the stairs and sauntering on down until you're outside the dorm building, the air crisp in your lungs as you inhale sharply.

I'm such a mess, you think to yourself, the lingering warmth on your cheeks beginning to cool as you fold your arms and walk in the direction of what you hope is the library. A few people crossing you nod their heads in greeting, quick smiles thrown your way as you return them, but no one stops to converse with you, and you're left alone to debate your affections for the sorcerer.

You sigh, trying to sort out your thoughts.

Solomon must harbor some affection for you, you know that.

After all, he's spent far too many nights explaining foreign concepts to you, calmly navigating you through the waters of magic where he could have simply directed you to a tutoring board.

Moreover, you've seen how he behaves with other students here at the academy. No matter who has come to your dorm, be two kids it for a group project or a single friend in preparation to summon a demon they're interested in, there's a barrier of cool distance Solomon maintains with everyone else, one that simply seems to disappear around you.

Distance, you think, recalling the awkward way Solomon avoids physical contact with others, using sorcery to do things as simple as handing a glass of water to a guest. With you, though, you've both only grown closer, once-awkward pats now having turned into comfortably leaning on each other whenever one of you is tired. Last week, Solomon even ran a hand through your hair, and though he blinked afterward in surprise, as if he hadn't meant to do that, there was an undeniable feeling of closeness to his actions, something which others would hardly expect to see from him.

Another sound of frustration spills from your lips, aggravated at your situation with the sorcerer. The two of you are closer than others, but still not close. More than casual friends, but hardly intimate. Beyond nothing, but not yet something.

You kick a rock lying on the ground, watching it sail into the grass as you brood over the fact that Solomon is more confusing than the history of magic.

And you might brood some more, maybe even consider confessing your affections to the sorcerer in question, if not for the fact that you randomly look up and the building that greets you is not the school library.

You blink, abruptly turning around to check the way you came, but it is also a road that you've never seen, never heard of, and certainly have never navigated.

"Fuck," You mutter to yourself, realizing your predicament.

You're lost.

***

In your dorm room, Solomon is growing increasingly frustrated over the summoning circle he's been instructed to sketch. His fingers are supposed to be tracing the emblem of Mephistopheles, but it's so similar to Barbatos (and he's so used to drawing the summoning circle of Barbatos) that he keeps messing up at the end and has to restart all over again.

Or at least, that's what he tells himself is the cause for his repeated failures.

Solomon is hardly dumb—he's well aware that the reason for his utter inability to focus right now is caused solely and explicitly by you, and that this would not be happening if he weren't worried for your whereabouts.

But at the same time, there's nothing he can do about the fact that you're already gone, or the fact that he just messed up again on this seal.

A frustrated groan leaves Solomon's lips, inwardly cursing himself for driving you from the room. 

After all, he really needs to get this assignment done.

Then again, it's not like he would be doing much of a better job if you were still here.

The sorcerer can never find himself fully able to focus around you, eyes always drawn upward to study you. It feels like if he casts his gaze away for too long, he'll miss something—the way your eyes light up every time you understand a concept, the way your eyebrows furrow every time you don't. It's the little things he tries to pay attention to: how you silently nod your head at the end of every sentence you read to the way you aimlessly fumble with your blanket whenever an assignment bores you.

Solomon is positive that he's successfully picked up on every one of your little quirks, by now. At a single glance, he can tell what subject you're studying by the way you're sprawled out over your bed, and if he looks a little longer, he might even be able to tell how good a mood you're in based on the way you tap your pen against your notebook. Give him enough time, and he's even picked apart how the way you kick your feet in the air relates to how nervous you are for an upcoming quiz.

Yeah, Solomon really hasn't been doing too well in his school, with how much he's been focusing on you.

Of course, you don't notice it at all. No, Solomon cast a spell long ago which makes it look like he's studying diligently even as he gazes absentmindedly at the way you run a hand through your hair when you're tired, making it incredibly easy for him to catch all the little glances you've been giving him these past few weeks.

Does he feel guilty for watching you watch him?

Absolutely.

Does he think about removing the spell?

All the time.

Does that mean he will change anything?

Most definitely not.

The look of shock on your face every time he casually "catches" you staring at him is too attractive for him to stop, especially since the immediate state of fluster it induces is so amusing to watch.

But that doesn't stop him from regretting calling you out just now, because while he's pretty sure you know your way around the campus, he's also well-aware that whenever your head is in a jumble, you lose all sense of awareness.

I'll wait, he decides, rapping his pencil against the outline of the sketch he's working on, reaching for a ruler. I need to finish this assignment, anyway.

But then ten minutes turns into twenty, and by the time Solomon is done with his assignment, the hour is over, signaled by the four loud rings from the grandfather clock on the ground floor.

The mage glances at your empty bed, set just six feet across from his, and he frowns.

I'll wait a little longer.

But one hour stretches into two, and two stretches into three, and nearly four hours have passed by the time the sun sets, and Solomon is pacing back and forth in the dorm, glancing at the door every time he turns, in hopes that you'll walk through it.

Fucking hell, he thinks to himself, grabbing his academy jacket as he flips his book closed and shoves it onto his desk.

He isn't going to torture himself any longer like this.

Hell, he'll confess if that's what it takes to bring you back, because right now, he's going crazy cooped up in this room and there's only one thing that's going to calm him down.

Shoving his keys into his pocket, he yanks the door open, all final hopes of you standing on the other sides crushed when he sees the almost-empty hall, and the questioning eyes of students wondering why he's heading out when it's so close to curfew.

He huffs in exasperation, slamming the door shut as he walks out, long legs carrying him in the direction of where he suspects you got lost.

He's really fallen for such a troublesome person.

Then again, Solomon adores even that part of you.

***

You've never been so relieved to see a clump of white hair.

Or, well, maybe you have—you know, given that Mammon has saved you more than a few times from Lucifer's wrath—but you've never been so relieved in the human world to see a familiar, fluffy clump of white hair.

"Solomon!" You exclaim the moment you set your eyes on the mage, sprinting forward to capture him in a tight hug. He stiffens at the contact, and you inwardly note that this is probably the closest you've ever physically been to him, but you don't care. Maybe it's the instincts that were drilled into you after being surrounded by demons for a whole year, but you had seriously begun to think that you would die out here.

"How on earth did you get here?" Solomon asks incredulously, gazing at your surroundings.

"I, um." You suddenly feel embarrassed. "I got lost, and then I sort of just picked a direction and walked."

"You..." Solomon pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, unable to even bring himself to repeat your words back to you. "You do realize that that's the worst possible thing you could have done, right?" The mage shoots a frown your way. "Do you even know how far off-campus we are right now?"

You ignore his words off with a smile, following him gleefully as he shakes his head in disapproval. "Then isn't it wonderful that I had you to come find me?"

You laugh, the sound filling the otherwise empty night, missing the way Solomon fights off an instinctive smile at the sound.

"If you turn tail and run away every single time I catch you staring at me, we're going to have an issue," The sorcerer mutters, more under his breath than to you. You ignore his words, neither wanting to nor knowing how to respond. "Your crush on me is only going to bring more trouble to us, if things continue on like this."

And that gets to you.

(And though you don't know it, the sorcerer is equally mortified by his statement. He certainly hadn't wanted to confront you like that.)

"You know?!" You exclaim, eyes round in horror. You always knew that he must have had his own suspicions, but for him to just come out and say it? You stare at the man with a mouth agape, raw embarrassment warming your cheeks for the second time today.

"Ah, yes," Solomon comments lamely, wincing when he hears how his words must sound. "I mean, ahem, I would actually, erm, consider myself, goodness look at that goose, to harbor similar sentiments.

"You...what?" You ask suspiciously, partially confident that Solomon just confessed but at the same time confused whether his words mean what you think they do. "You like me?" You ask hesitantly, watching the mage's expressions carefully.

"'Like' is such a strange word," Solomon begins. "One might consider it to be an expression of indifference, whereas another would—"

You cut the mage off with a sharp elbow to the stomach and a pointed glare, warning him to stop being around the bush.

"Fine," He mutters, shooting you a sulky glare. "Yes. I like you, okay? Are you happy now?"

A warm smile blooms on your face as you hear the sorcerer say those words, savoring the beautiful pink that swells on his usually-pale cheeks as he averts his eyes and crosses his arms.

"Yes, that does make me happy," You muse, grinning. "For how long?" You probably didn't have to ask that question—but Solomon's evident embarrassment makes it impossible not to milk this situation for all it's worth.

"Since...the Devildom," He mutters, the pink on his cheeks surging with even more prominence.

You blink at that.

The Devildom?

That's even longer than you've liked him!

"Wow," You confess, eyes slightly round in wonder. "I...I had no idea, this whole time."

"Yeah, I...kind of made sure of that."

"What do you mean?" You pause in your walk to glance at the man standing next to you. "How'd you stop me from figuring it out?"

"I, uh," Solomon scratches the back of his neck, glancing away sheepishly. "I may have used magic."

Wow.

Well, that—

Yeah, that was entirely expected.

A huff leaves your throat, and you cross your arms dramatically as you saunter ahead of Solomon, not bothering to acknowledge the fact that Asmo once warned you that, if Solomon ever started liking you, this was exactly the sort of thing he would do.

You pause, glancing right and then left as you approach a crossing, completely unsure of which way to go but unwilling to reduce yourself to asking the sorcerer from help. Not when you can feel the waves of apology radiating off him.

"Are you mad?" He asks when you stop, and the hesitant inflection of his voice only makes you fall for him more because of how annoyingly adorable you find it.

"Maybe," You respond, deciding to keep him in suspense. "But you can make it up to me."

Before Solomon can ask how, you walk in front of him and turn around such that you're facing him, one arm on your hip as you send a confident smirk.

"Given that we both like each other, see..." You trail off, standing in front of him with a devilish grin on your face as you wait for him to piece together what you're hinting at.

You see his eyes widen, the moment of realization dawning in his eyes as he understands what you're asking him to do.

Solomon doesn't hesitate much after that. He barely spends a single moment preparing himself, and then one hand is reaching for your cheek while his lips pull closer, and you savor the sight of his eyes closing as he presses his lips to yours, and then your own eyes are closed, basking in the feeling of warmth as you grin and lean into the kiss, lifting your own arms to his neck, looping them around to play with his hair the way you've thought about so many times.

Something about the situation is undeniably blissful, undeniably comfortable, and undeniably right as you both kiss, and the very notion that you could have ever been so hesitant about doing this makes you both laugh, the two of you smiling and giggling into the kiss like fools.

You lean back slightly, pulling away to beam at the sorcerer with a proud smile, but Solomon chases your lips, dipping his head forward and halting you from going further back by snaking a hand around your waist. Not at all minding this development, you grin as he turns the kiss passionate, slipping his tongue through your lips with a determined force you can't help but be turned on by, and then the lightheartedness of the previous moment is replaced by a sudden passion for more of this, more of the feeling of Solomon's mouth against yours, more of him.

You bring your hands to his chest, pushing him backward and onto a bench that could not be more conveniently placed as you press his body down onto it, and he doesn't bother commenting on how you're wrinkling his shirt when you grab fistfuls of it and straddle his lap. Or maybe he does try, but you'll never find out, because seconds later your lips are back to being pressed against his and everything else in the world disappears.

"Fuck," Solomon whispers, gasping when you part for air, his fingers just about to slip under your shirt as he caresses your waist.

"Yeah," You respond, knowing exactly what he's talking about. When your eyes dart from his flushed neck to his eyes, the look he gives you is nothing short of sinful.

Seconds later, the two of you are kissing again—because really, Solomon can't look at you like that and not expect you to immediately throw yourself at him—and his fingers really do squirm their way underneath your shirt, the feeling of his touch almost electric as his fingers grip your waist firmly.

And then it really doesn't matter that you're both still in public, that you're straddling Solomon on a public bench and that it's almost well curfew, because holy fuck you've both wanted to do this for way longer than anyone should have to wait, and now that you've started, nothing will pull you apart.

Bonus:

From his lovely little cloud in the heavens, Simeon cheers, a warm smile on his face as he watches his two favorite humans give in to the attraction that has always been painfully obvious to him.

He hums peacefully, internally wondering how he'll go about collecting his money from Lucifer, now that he's won their bet about how long it would take for the two of you to grow intimate—but his bliss is short-lived as he watches you tug Solomon's tie off, a light gasp leaving both his and Solomon's lips, though for two very different reasons.

"No!" Simeon cries, gasping dramatically with a hand over his chest as he realizes what is happening. "You're in public! In public!"

He moans in distress, falling to his knees as he sends a prayer up to Father for you both, his horror widening as he catches sight of buttons popping off your shirt as Solomon slips his hands underneath it, both of you starved and desperate for more contact than your clothes can provide.

"Little lambs!" He wails in horror, and all the other angels stop what they're doing for a moment to wonder what has their Simeon in such a twist, nearly every angel in the heavens listening to the sound of his utterly defeated whimpers that follow as he crawls back into bed, trying his best to forget the unholy sight that now plagues his mind.

"Forgive me, Father," He murmurs, fingers darting from his forehead to his chest, then right and left. But then, he thinks of a better prayer: "Forgive them."

Bonus bonus:

Centuries later, Simeon will reluctantly (and drunkenly) recount this tale to Asmodeus, who will immediately cheer in support. The fifth-born will claim to have always sensed the unspoken sexual tension between the two of you, and has always been an ardent supporter of "giving in to temptation," regardless of how public one's surroundings may be. After hearing Simeon's story, he'll order another round of drinks for the bar, paying for it himself in honor of everyone's two favorite humans, the demon cheering both your names loudly and downing a shot before promptly passing out on Simeon's lap.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: Fun fact: originally, the academy that mc and solomon are at was supposed to be RAS - the royal academy of Solomon - just like RAD, but solomon was the headmaster (and there was a corresponding RAM run by Michael in the Celestial Realm) :) Not fun fact: I’m also working on a diavolo fic right now and it feels like every word is a breath of air being ripped from my already asphyxiated lungs :)

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[hansolmates]

jjk; angel’s trumpet [02]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut in future chapters w.c; 3.5k a/n; i know it feels like a lot of bg and internal conflict but y/n!! our girl is struggling! she’s processing and is going through some times BUT things will spice up soon so thank you for all the love +notes, see you again thursday! 

[01] [02] [03]-> masterpost

The two most frequent contacts in your phone (you hope it’s your phone? It’s the same edition and everything) are Jimin and Taehyung. 

Jungkook (or not-Jungkook) high-tailed it out of there as soon as he deemed your reactions unfit for basic human society. He muttered that you were crazy and probably under something, and sped off in his motorcycle just like that. Like you were a stranger. 

It's not easy to ignore the aftermath of your heart after taking yet another rejection, but you're independent and you must stride forward in this strange situation. Taking a cautionary look around the area, you clutch your phone like a lifeline, tethering you together in this unfamiliar place. There's not many people around, but you spot a large library and a playground. Professionals are mulling from building to building, zombies in wrinkled suits and dripping iced coffees. Your phone displays an innocent 7:51, revealing how early it is. Toggling between the two friends in your contacts you take your chances and start with Jimin. The phone rings once, twice, before his dulcet voice chimes in your ear. 

“Babe?” he croons, and your heart drops at the sickly warm tone, “you can’t get enough of me after what we did last night?” 

You’re going to throw up. Scratch that, acid is already bubbling through your throat and you force yourself to tamp it down. There is no, no way in hell could you have hooked up with Park Jimin in your lifetime. 

Unless this is hell. 

“Jimin,” you steel your voice, hoping he can’t hear how absolutely mortified you are. You can picture this version of Park Jimin now, laying around in bed with crossed legs and casually enjoying how much you’re squirming on the other line, “I just need you to tell me where I live so we can move on with our lives.” 

He laughs, giggles bubbling like soft pink champagne. “Wow, I really must’ve fucked your brains out if you can’t even remember where you live.” God, in what life would Park Jimin be “fucking your brains out”? Maybe you should find a trashcan just in case you do puke on the sidewalk. “Y’know, you signed your lease with Taehyung a month ago? You just moved in last week?”

“T-Taehyung?” you stutter, trying to imagine the notion, “I live with Taehyung?” 

A beat passes, and you realize that just like you scared not-Jungkook away, you could be doing the same to Jimin. 

He says your name softly, gone the cocky tone you were initially bombarded with. “Are you okay? You could’ve waited for me to wake up, y’know. We had a lot to drink last night.” he mumbles, almost cutely if it weren’t for the fact the he was insinuating sex two seconds ago, “Did you eat?” 

“‘M fine,” you mumble, trying to chalk up your previous question with inhiberation. “Just loopy, I guess. I almost got hit by a motorbike, so my brain is probably just catching up.” 

“You got hit? Did you call a hospital?” great, now Jimin’s panicked. “Where are you? I’m gonna go get you. Drop your location, I’m leaving now!” 

“I’m fine!” you snip, and you feel bad for nearly screaming on the line. “I’m almost home, I’m just gonna lay in bed and sleep it off. I’ll call you later, okay?” 

You don’t bother hearing his response, and you hang up. You then start to furiously scroll Taehyung’s chat wall, noting that he’s on an academic trip with his students until next week and you have the apartment to yourself. After a good ten minutes of scrolling and reading conversations that you can’t recollect you finally catch the address to your shared apartment. 

The city is the same, fortunately. So are the bus stops, and you’re thankful that your bus pass has some fare money. Turns out you’re starting your journey at the University of Seoul. The bus routes are the same as well, and you manage to take a tour of your side of the city, noting the tiny differences in the town. 

For example, there’s no BigHit Entertainment in its usual spot. Instead it’s an additional practice  space for Cube Entertainment. 

There’s no fanfare to your city tour, and it almost feels like you’re just a normal woman taking a ride home. There’s still the same trees and squirrels, familiar odeng stands and ice cream shops. It feels like you’ve been cut and pasted into this world with no rhyme or reason, a fever dream. 

The bus circles around the usual route once more until you’re in front of your supposed home, only a twenty minute bus ride from where Jungkook almost ran you over. 

It’s a lot, and you realize on the drive over that you’re probably in deeper shit than you could ever imagine. You pull out your keys, and instead of seeing the ramen keychain Jungkook got you when he went to Tokyo Disney, instead it’s replaced by a university ID labeled Assistant Professor under your full name. 

You pin that new fact for later and focus on getting inside.

Your apartment is nice, you muse. Simple black and white furniture, but there’s a definitive home-ness to it. There’s a moss green afghan folded up on the couch, presumably made by the artist himself. You’re glad Taehyung’s appeal for the arts hasn’t been lost, as revealed by the frames on the walls detailing pictures of you and Taehyung’s families, and some of Jimin and Taehyung. 

Deeper into the apartment you find your room. You choke back a sob at the familiar bedsheets your parents bought you at Target, and you even notice some familiar clothing pieces folded haphazardly in the corner. Instead of your bed being filled with shameless BT21 PR however, your RJ and Mang are replaced with simple panda and cat plushies. 

Finally letting your tears fall, you sob loudly into your pillows, hugging and grappling at anything to comfort you. You feel achy and tired, as if your heart has fallen out of your body and nothing can fill the void. As much as your bed sheets feel the same, as genuine as those pictures are in your shared living room, this isn’t your home. 

��━━━━━━»••»💮💮💮«••«━━•

Between your bouts of crying and forcing yourself to stomach cheap ramen, you find out a couple of things. 

You’re an assistant professor at Seoul University. At least this version of you is. A little part of you is pleased by this, you have always wanted to teach at the university level before settling with BigHit. To your chagrin however, you’re not a language professor. 

To your horror, you’re a pre-medical student teaching two “History of Neuroscience” classes. It’s only two classes because according to your Google calendar, you’re also balancing the completion of  your final thesis on muscular dystropathy among low-income neighborhoods. 

Dear god, if your parents ever found out you could’ve been a doctor in another life, they’d be surely choking on their own spit. In this world, you probably weren’t lazy and wholly capable of achieving the impossible. 

You don’t know why you spend the next two hours sending emails to your students about cancelling the next week of classes. Fortunately all your lessons are neatly packaged in your drive, and you send out an email with said lessons citing your mental health and how you’ll resume direct instruction the following week. 

From time to time, your eyes can’t help but travel to the frames and polaroids that decorate your walls. Some of the memories are vaguely similar, a house in the suburbs, an annoying cousin who can’t stop and won’t stop pulling at your pigtails, a movie night with unlimited pizza and breadsticks. 

Some of them are far and beyond your state of recognition. Jimin and you playing hopscotch by the river, Taehyung stuffing his face with fried potato skins in a cheap hole-in-the-wall, you winning the blue ribbon at your high school’s science fair. 

You could very well walk out of this life and just focus on going back home, but something tells you that you need to continue on with this life, at least for now. 

It feels too real to be a dream. When you tug at your hair tie, it’s painful when it snaps across your wrist. Your skin blooms with color upon impact. Could you die in this world? If Jungkook had not skidded in time, would you have survived a motorcycle accident? 

Three days pass like that. You’re contemplating, absorbing information. In-between pints of ice cream and crying your ducts out, you’re drawing conclusions. Could you be in a coma? A very realistic, painful coma? But Jimin and Taehyung are still sending you texts and the day turns to night as painfully slow as it always has. A coma can’t fake a forty person class, all of them vying for your attention through various emails and Zoom calls. It can’t be it. 

And as you rummage through your drawers, check every bit of social media and even your yearbook photos, you also confirm that Jeon Jungkook has no place in this version of your life. It saddens you greatly, and reminds you eerily about the heated conversation you had before all of this. The Jungkook from days ago, the one who looked terrified when you tried to touch him, only met you through happenstance. 

By day four, you get a phone call. There’s no picture next to the contact, only named Biggie Mentor. After a few rings, you finally get the courage to answer the call. 

A deep timbre seeps its way through the line, and you almost whine at how much you missed him. “y/n,” Namjoon says, but he doesn’t sound happy, “tell me why our students said you cancelled all of your classes this week due to mental health?” 

If Namjoon’s your mentor, that means you’re probably in deep shit for cancelling all your classes without his consent. 

“Uh, exactly that,” you say, and it hurts how much you have to strain your voice, trying not to pour any type of affection into this version of Namjoon. You’ve always had a soft spot for his gummy smile. “I’m sorry for not telling you beforehand. Something really traumatic just happened and,” you choke back a sob, trying to cover the microphone, “and I really needed some space.” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” his voice is like melted honey, and you close your eyes and picture yourself back at BigHit, Namjoon’s happy smile whenever he tries to cheer you up. It only makes you even more upset, and your mind is all shadowed and filled with fuzzies as you attempt to picture Namjoon as your boss, “I was just shocked, that’s all. Is everything alright?” 

“No,” you reply truthfully, “and I don’t know if it will be.” 

There’s a terse silence, both your breaths hanging on the line with no move to continue the conversation. If your personality here is similar to your true world, you would understand why Namjoon would have a hard time formulating a reply. You don’t even know how close you are with him here. What remains is that you’re the type to keep your secrets to yourself, and if they truly felt hindering, you’d tell somebody. Not to say you’re the suffer in silence type of person, but you weren’t one to immediately dump your feelings on someone. 

Finally, Namjoon musters a reply, “I have a break at two. Why don’t you swing by our usual lunch spot and we can talk? Their sandwiches always cheer you up. ”

“Joonie,” your voice cracks, and you shake your head despite the fact that he can’t see you. A slip of the nickname comes out before you can help it, and you hope this Namjoon is fond of the manner. “I don’t know where that is. Or what our ‘usual’ spot is. I don’t know what sandwiches you’re talking about either.” 

“Okay,” and you relax at the calmness in his tone, “I’ll swing by after my 5PM then. Set the table for us, yeah?” 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

Namjoon smells of dry-erase marker and antiseptic. 

He’s bounding into your apartment like it’s his own home, carrying two paper bags and a stack of leather bound books. The items fly across your coffee table, and you two work together to organize both your dinner and the books. Namjoon looks like a textbook nerd, wearing shades of burgundy and burnt orange as he breaks into your front door. Gone are the boots and sleek outfits that trim his figure, and you can’t help but go a little anti-starstruck at how normal this moment is.

But what remains is the bumbly stance as he makes his way through your tiny space, long limbs and all flailing to help you place his work in a safe space. The curve of his nose and dimples so deep you could fill a lake in them, you can’t help but muster a shy smile as he takes notice that you’re staring at him a little too much for comfort.

The two of you eat in relative silence, and you gratefully accept the bag he pushes in your direction. To your surprise the sandwich inside is a favorite combination of yours, and you wonder if this restaurant exists in your world. 

Your world. 

“Namjoon,” you place your sandwich down, despite the fact that your stomach is protesting for you to finish the first real meal you’ve had in days, “you know that movie, Avengers?” 

Namjoon’s face is puffed with bread, and you hand him a water bottle to chug it down. “Dunno,” he shrugs, “Marvel isn’t a popular franchise, so even if I had I wouldn’t remember.” 

“Marvel isn’t popular—” what kind of fucked up world is this? Your Jungkook would have a field day if he was in your shoes. “Anyway. There’s a concept from Marvel that there’s multiple Earths. Like you can create a rip in space and land yourself in another dimension if you’re not too careful. Do you think it’s possible?” 

Your tall mentor pushes his charcoal hair back, exasperated. “Is this why you’re taking off? Because you believe in some silly comic book series?” 

You feel your heart cracking, desperately trying to keep itself together. In your haste you grip Namjoon’s arm, desperate. “Please, just hear me out.” you warble, “a few days ago I was out drinking with a friend. Next thing I know, I’m in another world where I run into a boy. That boy is my friend, but he says he doesn’t recognize me! But I don’t recognize this life. Namjoon I can’t even imagine you wanting to be a doctor!” 

Namjoon is looking at you funny, and you know he’s really trying to believe you. Instead of the reassuring words you hope for, he instead says, “this isn’t even pseudoscience, y/n. This is supernatural! How could you possibly think you’re from another dimension? I just saw you last week and everything was fine!” 

“I saw you last week too!” you exclaim, clutching your chest, “and you cried again for the umpteenth time because you lost another pair of custom Airpods.” 

A pause. “That does sound like me.” 

Hope blooms in your stomach. “Doesn’t it?”

“Well, in this supposed other life. What is my profession?”

Your face falls. “Uh, you’re in a worldwide K-pop band. You’re making millions and producing beautiful music.” 

That sounded way better in your head. Out loud it sounded absolutely bonkers. You don’t even blame Namjoon when he bursts out laughing, wiping tears from his eyes. You let him, sinking further into your seat and hugging your knees. You really hoped Namjoon would’ve come through for you. 

However you’re not laughing along with him, and he immediately stops at your teary expression. He pushes himself over to you with his long legs, quickly moving to prevent yourself from tucking into your shell. He sees how small your form becomes and he reaches over to place a hand over your hair. “You’re really upset over this, aren’t you?” he questions aloud, and he can’t piece it together, “did you hit your head or something?” 

Defeated, you explain, “I may have gotten hit by a motorcycle the other day.” 

“What?” he squeezes your shoulder, “well, that explains a lot! What if you’re hallucinating? What if you have a concussion? You could be suffering from short-term memory loss!” 

You’re sure it’s none of those things, but you let him ramble. The explanation is clear-cut and so painfully normal that it’s the only conclusion that Namjoon will cling to. Your mentor insists you take a medical leave, and says he’ll take over your classes in the meantime. He gives you a number to call, explains there one of the best doctors for trauma and motor incidents. You don’t say anything to that, but you accept the number and lie when you say you’ll call them in the morning. Namjoon still treats you like a friend however, despite your fruitless confession, and you concede that his comfort is more than enough after such a rough week. 

•━━━━━━»••»💮💮💮«••«━━••

It’s been nearly two weeks since you’ve contacted Jimin. 

Sure, Jimin’s contacted you. A couple flirty texts here, some low-key sexy selfies there. Usually, you’d eat that up like honey and butter. Now, there’s only one-word replies and half-hearted attempts at continuing a conversation. He loosens his tie, thankful he’s working out of the office today. He can look at his phone all he wants, and no one will judge him. 

Jimin finally looks up at the photographer his marketing company contracted, who’s still mulling over the contract. “We’re not trying to jip you, promise.” Jimin assures, and he almost laughs at the comical way the young man’s large eyes catch his concern. “You’ll get all that money, and then some if you need to work overtime. It’s a sweet gig.” 

“Yeah,” the young man nods, and grabs the pen to sign at the bottom. “Looking forward to working with you.” 

“Same to you, Mr. Jeon,” Jimin grins, meeting him halfway across the table, “I’ve seen your work, I’m sure the commercial will be beautiful.” 

“You can call me Jungkook,” the new employee flashes him a quick grin, taking his palm in his. Jimin tries not to twitch at this cute kid, who is both devastatingly handsome and cute at the same time. He’s a little jealous, a little attracted. 

“Great, because Mr. Park is my dad. Jimin’s fine.” 

It’s then that Jimin’s phone lights up, both pairs of eyes darting to the picture of you decorating the wallpaper. 

While it’s not a completely flattering picture (you’re asleep with your wire-rimmed glasses half-off and there’s drool dribbling down your chin.) However it’s definitely you, the person Jungkook nearly killed a couple days ago.

Jungkook’s mouth goes dry, and he lets go of Jimin’s hand like it’s fire. Jimin hardly notices, grabbing his phone in hope that you replied to his text. To his despair, it’s just Taehyung. He ruffles his hair in frustration, letting the slick ebony strands fall out of his hairstyle.

“Fuck,” Jimin curses, shoving his phone in his blazer. 

“Everything alright?” Jungkook asks, trying to be polite. On the other hand, he’s rather curious about the girl from weeks ago, who still hasn’t left his mind. 

In the heat of the moment, Jungkook left the scene with you blubbering on the road. How wide your eyes were with recognition, and almost mother-like as you coddled him like someone to protect. He’s felt bad about it since, but he had an interview with Jimin’s boss and he couldn’t blow a job opportunity. It couldn’t be helped that your sad expression has been his midnight fixation when he can’t sleep or has a creative block. He should’ve at least called a cab to take you to the hospital or something, you were clearly not in the right mind. 

“Yeah, it’s just a friend.” Jimin forces a smile, not wanting to dump his baggage on the new employee. “She almost got hit by a motorcycle the other day,” Jungkook masks a wince, remembering the horror he felt when he saw you, just lying there across the street. “Ever since then, she just hasn’t been herself. I’m just worried. It’s like she’s seen a ghost or something.” 

“Oh,” Jungkook steals a glance at Jimin’s phone again, hoping to see your picture light up again. He does feel a little guilty pushing you off him and running away, but then again it was you that started being weird. 

How did you know him, and why were you so concerned for his well-being? Would he get fired if he asked Jimin about you? That would be the quickest job he ever got contracted for. Instead, Jungkook forces a smile and offers a neutral, “Well, I’m sure things will work out.” 

“Thanks, I hope so too.” 

Jungkook’s palms are sweaty, as if it’s a dark premonition that something will happen. With Jimin around supervising him, he has a feeling that if things don’t work out, things will happen regardless. 

Maybe he’ll understand why you were so concerned for a stranger’s well-being, and why you looked at him like that. 

Like someone in love. 

[somethingpoetichere]

speechless- caliban x reader imagine

a big ole prom cheese fest with some cinderella inspiration thrown in. a little angsty but DAMN will give you the feels. OC is Sabrina’s mortal cousin but a member of the Spellman household. 

you say you'll be down in five

the smell of your perfume is floating down the stairs

you're fixing up your hair like you do

i know that i'll be a mess

the second that i see you

you won't be surprised

it happens every time

it's nothin' new

Doctor Cerberus’s had the best pancakes in all of Greendale- not that you’d ever fess that up to your Aunt Hilda. Dr. Cerberus placed your order down with a smile, patting your head as he raced back to the kitchen.

Your happiness was short lived, though, as Sabrina’s band of younger friends raced into the diner. You groaned as they shouted your name, dropping your fork unceremoniously. Was nothing sacred?

“Have you seen Sabrina? It’s urgent!” Harvey panted.

You moved to answer that no, you hadn’t seen her all day, and really, she ought to start telling someone when she decided to drop off the face of the earth- when someone slid into the booth across from you.

“I just dropped her off at the Spellman residence, she’s likely to be there all day.” Caliban replied, stealing a french fry off your plate. 

Harvey glared. “And what were you doing with Sabrina? Why should I listen to you?”

Roz and Theo rolled their eyes, and you reached out to smack Harvey’s shoulder. “Turn down the testosterone for a minute, Harv. He just told you where Sabrina is- who is capable of making her own decisions, however stupid they may be.” You ignored both Harvey and Caliban’s protests, shooing the trio out with a huff as Caliban and Harvey continued their stare down.

You met Caliban’s gaze as you returned to your long-awaited pancakes. “Miss me, princess?” 

You eyed him drily. “Not particularly. Why are you late?” 13 minutes late, to be exact. Not that you'd been counting. Caliban was usually never late to your daily... meetups? That didn’t feel like the right word. But for the last two months, Caliban had met you here at exactly three o’clock, and in exchange for holding off the infernal trials- or whatever they were called- you told him about your mortal life. Stories, histories, that time Andy Simmons found himself with a slashed tire after he’d dumped your best friend. Anything you could think of, really- and Caliban was easy to talk to. Almost too easy. You didn't really understand his fascination with the workings of mortality, but couldn't really bring yourself to press him too hard.

“Aw, was the little princess worried about me?” He crooned, pausing to order from an approaching Dr. Cerberus.

You took a moment to observe him. He spoke animatedly to the man as he ordered his usual- a burger, chocolate shake, and a side of fries. His blonde hair was artfully tousled, as if he’d just walked off the catwalk and not sprung straight from some hell-bound mission with Sabrina. You were always fascinated by the contrast between his hellish leather outfit and Caliban in mortal fashion. Clad in a simple pair of jeans and california sunshine shirt, he looked fresh off the surf- sunkissed and everything, with a smattering of barely-there freckles on his nose. 

“See something you like?” He teased, drawing you from your reverie as he tucked the menu away and shrugged off his faded denim jacket- a new addition to his wardrobe that you’d selected when he dragged you to the mall last week. 

“You’re avoiding the question.” You huffed, fighting back a blush as you kicked him under the table.

His features schooled into a serious expression, eyebrows furrowing sharply. Caliban’s features were decidedly strong, jaw and cheekbones so angular that even the light shied from them. You rarely liked to be so poetic, but really- did he have to look so effortlessly perfect? 

He deflated a little. “The plague kings have been on my case about the next challenge. An escape is desperately needed.” 

“And I’m the escape?” You arched an eyebrow at him, suspicion evident on your face as you sipped your shake.

“Darling, you are my salvation.” He grinned mischievously. “Now what's this ball Sabrina has been telling me about? Is it a courting event?”

“Prom?” You laughed. “It’s not a ball, so to speak, but it is a formal thing. Everyone dresses up in gowns and suits, spend the night dancing, usually the punch gets spiked, then someone throws a rager somewhere, and then Tommy Michaels gets found in the bushes outside the police station- for the third year in a row. Everyone makes a pretty big deal out of it.”

“And do you go alone?” He continued, thanking Dr. Cerberus as he placed down his order- who paused to throw you a conspiratorial wink that you pointedly ignored.

“Most people go with dates.” You explained. “Why?”

“No reason beyond pure curiosity.” Caliban smiled, “now tell me about your day, princess.” 

it's always on a night like tonight

i thank god you can read my mind

'cause when you look at me with those eyes

“Do you want to go to prom together?” Caliban asked, leaning against the doorway of your bedroom with an alarming air or normalcy that did not suit the question he had asked.

“Prom?” You sputtered. “Why on earth would you want to go to prom?”

Caliban crossed his arms, eyeing you expectantly as he knew you were avoiding the question. “You said it’s a pretty big deal. Sabrina said it’s quite important. Would you want to go?”

You eyed him with barely concealed suspicion. “I mean, I was planning on skipping. I don’t have a dress or a date.” 

“Well, I can take care of both of those things. All you have to do is say the word.” He smirked.

You could hardly believe your own hearing. What was with his sudden interest in a mortal school dance? “Why do you want to go to prom with me all of a sudden?” 

“Can’t I just want to take a beautiful girl to a dance? You’re part mortal, princess. I imagine it would be nice to have one night outside the realms of hell. I realize my experiences outside damnation are... limited.” He spoke softly, and for a moment you could see the vulnerability in his eyes. Caliban, for all his pride and charm, was nervous. To ask you to prom.

The thought almost made you laugh.

“I’d love to go to prom with you, Caliban. But what about tickets? I think it’s all sold out.”

“Like I said, princess-“ he winked, all traces of former vulnerability gone as it was replaced with his usual troublemaker smirk- “leave the rest to me.”

i'm speechless

starin' at you standin' there in that dress

what it's doin' to me ain't a secret

'cause watching you is all that i can do

and i'm speechless

you already know that you're my weakness

after all this time i'm just as nervous

every time you walk into the room

i'm speechless

You’d spent the better part of the next day at the mercy of Hilda and the Weird Sisters, who were all too delighted to wreak havoc on you. Your entire body was scrubbed and perfumed, your hair had certainly never been so clean and tamed- the soft curls cascading down your back, expertly twisted at points with silvery pins- and your makeup looked so effortless that it almost looked like Prudence hadn’t spent nearly two hours on it. You’d been poked, prodded, and pinched to the point where you’d almost damned the whole thing and stormed off to hell.

But it was all worth it when you reached the top of the stairs and met Caliban’s gaze. A giggle escaped your painted lips as he froze, jaw slack in awe. Your silvery blue dress glittered like starlight in the low light of the foyer, just long enough to trail behind you on the staircase as you descended to greet your date. For a fleeting moment you’d wondered how he’d known your exact measurements- but you supposed that was Caliban for you.

You wobbled slightly on the last step- the glass heels he’d conjured weren’t the most practical, certainly. Caliban lunged over, catching you in his arms effortlessly as you nearly tumbled.

“Careful, Cinderella.” Caliban grinned softly, delicately placing you back on your feet without releasing you from his arms. “You look... you look radiant, princess.”

His voice cracked on the term of endearment, and you were overwhelmed with an unexpected surge of affection for the clay prince. 

“How do you even know about that mortal fairytale?” You asked with a breathy laugh, reaching up to fix his tie. Caliban was gorgeous, for lack of a better word. His black suit fit him perfectly, and you smiled at the silvery handkerchief tucked into his suit pocket- a subtle attempt to match your dress.

“It’s your favorite, and I figured if I was going to do this- I was going to do it well. I mean it, though. You look beautiful.” He smiled again, finally retrieving his hands as he ran them through his hair. A nervous tick of his, you’d noted.

Why the heaven was he nervous?

“Thank you.” You blushed, hating yourself for it as he chuckled. “I have something for you. A mortal tradition.”

You pulled the boutonniere from the hidden pockets of the dress (a wonderful touch on Caliban’s part), a simple white rose surrounded by an array of baby’s breath. Caliban eyed it curiously as you reached up to pin it to his lapel. 

“You said you wanted a mortal night.” You whispered, doing your best not to pinch him with the pin. You chanced a glance at him, and his expression nearly took the air from your lungs. There was no trace of mischief or smirk on his face- his eyes were warm and lips tugged up ever-so-softly at the corners. You quickly looked away, fighting back another blush. What was happening to you?

“There.” You grinned victoriously at your accomplishment, gently straightening his coat. “All set.”

“Not yet.” Caliban hummed. “I’m afraid your aunts are here to take pictures.”

You turned to face an exuberant horde of admirers- even Zelda and Sabrina looked thrilled- and fought back a groan.

“The things I let you drag me into, Caliban.”

it started when you said hello

just did something to me

and i've been in a daze

ever since the day that we met

you take the breath out of my lungs

can't even fight it

and all of the words, out of my mouth without even tryin'

“Just to prepare you, I turned down a few guys and told them it’s because I have a boyfriend- so you better stick to that story if you don’t want your face in a punch bowl.”

“Who wouldn’t want such a violent girlfriend?” Caliban smirked, hand moving to rest on your thigh from the stick shift. He’d chosen a blue chevrolet convertible for the night- a decidedly vintage pick that perfectly suited your outdated little town. 

You scoffed, rolling down the windows to let in the cool evening air. “It must be why they’re all in love with me- knowing I could beat them up.”

“It is most certainly a kink of mine.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you, sparking a laugh. 

You reached over to smack him on the shoulder. “That’s because you’re sick, Caliban.”

“Love-sick, princess.” He crooned, gripping your thigh tighter through the dress as you felt your heart rate spike. 

“You better watch those wandering hands in there, or Miss Wardwell might have you exorcised for demonic behavior.” You grinned, not daring to move his hand in the slightest.

“You’d be a horrible girlfriend for enjoying that.” He laughed, and you felt your lungs constrict as he tossed his head back. Caliban was always handsome- you weren't blind- but tonight he’d been managing to take your breath away a little more than normal.

“You’d be a horrible boyfriend for leaving me dateless, but I’m sure I could find Tommy or Vick to console me.” You teased, hand moving to rest on top of his.

Caliban’s gaze went dark. “Good thing you’re mine then, princess.” He spoke firmly, gaze hot on your face as he moved to take your hand in his. He brought your hand to his lips, softening slightly as he kissed them, his words a grazing whisper against them. “If only for the night.”

Damn him.

The moment was broken as he pulled to park at the little reception hall tucked into Moon Valley, and he disappeared in a flash and reappeared outside your door. He opened the door with a flourish, extending his arm to help you out of the car with a brilliant smile. “After you, mademoiselle.”

Caliban was so... different, tonight. While always mischievous and wild, he so rarely seemed so weightless. You had certainly never been so girlish and nervous. It was if Sabrina had plucked you out of your infernal daily lives and tucked you into the pages of your favorite Cinderella storybook.

If only for the night.

and i'm speechless

starin' at you standin' there in that dress

what it's doin' to me ain't a secret

'cause watching you is all that i can do

and i'm speechless

you already know that you're my weakness

after all this time i'm just as nervous

every time you walk into the room

i'm speechless

Moon Valley Estate had been pristinely decorated- the storybook theme the prom committee had picked decidedly less cheesy in actuality than it had seemed on the flyers. You admired the fairy lights and lanterns hanging from the trees as Caliban led you up the carpeted stone steps, stopped only by the lingering prom photographer who informed you that you were late- but Sabrina had called and ordered him to stay put (of course she did).

“How late are we?” You asked with a nervous smile, tugging on Caliban’s arm- that you hadn’t let go of since you’d taken it, not that he’d mentioned it.

“Well-“ Caliban began, smiling as the doors opened to a packed ballroom full of your peers all turning to look at you- “I’d say we’re fashionably late.”

You barely stifled a groan.

Even the music quieted a little as everyone craned to look at the pair of you- whispers and wide eyes following you as you descended the staircase.

“You planned this.” You hissed through your smile. “And you are so, so dead for this.”

Caliban moved his hand to the small of your back, gently guiding you towards the center of the dance floor as he basked in the hushed whispers that followed you. “I’d be glad to continue our night in Hell, princess- I didn’t know you moved so quickly.”

You took the opportunity to elbow him sharply, although your words lacked the bite you'd intended. “I’d like to skip to the part of the night where I ditch you to get really drunk on spiked punch, and then throw up on your tux.”

“Prince Charming is hardly deterred by such things. I’m offended at your lack of faith in my dedication here.” Caliban grinned, extending a hand out to you as he bowed dramatically. “Would you allow me this dance, my lady?”

Your answering laugh was wicked- a decidedly unladylike noise at the decidedly un-Caliban-like behavior. “The perfect opportunity to step on your feet- how can I pass up such an opportunity, my lord?”

Your wit died on your tongue as Caliban placed his large hand on your waist, using the other to gently grip yours. He guided you expertly across the dance floor- and you hardly noticed the floor clear for you.

He spun and twirled you around, pausing for just a moment to dip you. It was fanciful and fast and fun- something that positively took your breath away, and not just from the dancing.

You could hardly contain your giddy laughter as the music died, the song drawing to a reluctant end as Caliban slowed. “I didn’t know you could dance so well!”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, princess.” He smiled, hand still tightly clutching your waist. “But the night is still young, and so we dance.”

yeah, baby, mmm

it's always on a night like tonight

i thank god you can read my mind

'cause when you look at me with those eyes

And so you danced.

You spent the night in his arms, lifted and tossed and spun to your heart’s content. You’d certainly never felt so carefree- and never so content as you did in his arms.

Caliban never grew tired- you reckoned it was some infernal making, but his smile never dulled nor did his arms loosen around you. He smiled at you and your clumsy feet like you weren’t just Sabrina’s cousin- neither divine nor half as damning. In Caliban’s eyes- you had always been more than enough on your own.

Or had you been?

As midnight drew closer, the couples around you grew more restless- be it the spiked punch or the weed you knew had been smuggled into the bathrooms. Whatever it was- you were itching to make a break for it, and the slow song starting up was a perfect exit.

“One last dance?” Caliban crooned, sensing your readiness to leave before the night got dicey. 

You smiled breathlessly, tucking yourself further into his arms as you rested your head against his chest. He smelled like ocean- something salty and windswept and altogether Caliban. “Tonight has been perfect, Caliban, thank you.”

“Thank you,” Caliban chuckled, burying his face in your curls, “for a mortal night like this. I can see why you love it the way you do- this life.”

“It’s not always perfect,” you mumbled, pulling back slightly as you entwined your hands behind his neck. 

His arms encircled your waist, bringing your face closer to his. His breath fanned your face as he smiled at you- a small one, devoid of all mischief but just as sinful. “No, but you are.”

“So cheesy tonight, clay prince. No smoothness for me- no charm?” You teased gently, playing softly with his hair at the nape of his neck.

“I fear my heart can only speak with honestly tonight, fair princess.” He waxed, voice poetic as it so often was on his dramatic tangents. “Your lips are so quick to scorn and quicker still to wound me- I wonder if such wicked, bitter things could still taste sweet?”

He leaned in closer- if that was even possible- eyes warm as his hands moved to caress your waist. “I wonder....”

And he kissed you, his lips burning as they moved against your own. You responded in turn, brain melting through your shoes as he enveloped you.

Caliban was the first to pull back, smiling softly down at you as he did so. He opened his mouth to say something- when it clicked in your head.

You turned and ran, the clang of midnight echoing behind you.

i'm speechless

you standin' there in that dress

girl, it ain't a secret

'cause watchin' you is all that i can do

oh, i'm speechless

you already know that you're my weakness

after all this time i'm just as nervous

every time you walk into the room

i'm speechless

You found yourself tucked into your favorite booth at Dr. Cerberus’s- ignorant of the curious looks you received at your gown, tear stains, and single shoe. A steaming mug of tea sat before you, but it felt cold in your hands. You felt hollow.

You cursed yourself for falling for the infernal prince- the challenger to your cousin’s throne, the demonic entity surely to be satisfied once he knew your heart was in the palm of his damned clay hand. After all- you weren't Sabrina.

And that had been fine. You loved your foolish, brilliant, damning cousin. You had never been envious of her- even now, even like this. You had never needed to be special- you’d seen what it had done to Brina. But tonight you’d caught a glimpse of that fairytale- and it stung to know that a mortal girl could hardly be enough for a prince. 

Even one of hell.

“You lost this.” A miserable voice filled the air, heavy and soft as the owner slid into the booth across from you.

You glanced up in shock, quickly moving to wipe the tears from your eyes that threatened to fall. It was Caliban- looking similarly disheveled, tie undone and shirt partially unbuttoned and untucked. He ran his a hand through his hair, slouching into the booth.

Caliban held the glass slipper out to you, regretfully placing it on the table when it was clear you would not accept it. It was silent for a moment- the tension in the booth nearly drowning you as you swallowed the hurt building in your throat.

“What do you want? Come to gloat that the game is up? That you won?” You demanded, the anger sounding hollow even to yourself. 

Caliban looked momentarily stunned. “What are you talking about? I’m here because my date left me on the dance floor after I spent the entire night trying to win her heart and- like a fool- believed she could love me back.”

“What are YOU talking about!” You forcefully demanded back, slamming the mug down so hard on the table it spilled over the edges. “I’m here because my date faked this whole night- these whole two months- as some plot to get at my cousin somehow, and I’m here looking like a fool because even though I knew that from the beginning- I went and caught feelings for him anyway!”

“You thought this was all all a game?” Caliban roared, suddenly every inch the infernal prince you knew him to be. Your froze in momentary fear- you’d never seen his eyes burn like that.

At the look in your eyes, Caliban softened ruefully. “See? The worthless demon, going and screwing everything up. How could you love a monster like me? How could I be worth it?”

How could he not be worth it? You looked back on the last two months and the night with a heavy heart. For all his faults, Caliban was always kind to you- listened to all your trivial bullshit with genuine interest. He walked you home after spending hours together in this booth- offering his coat in the cold or rain- and a kiss on your cheek as he bid you goodnight. On weekends he’d let you drag him all over town, and at night he’d sit through the drive in with you, buying too much popcorn and always managing to piss off the cars next to you. He made you laugh until your sides ached, smile until your face hurt, and compliment you “just to see that pretty blush of yours, princess.” You’d never been as happy as you’d been these last few weeks.

And then tonight. He’d gone through all of this trouble to bring to life your favorite mortal story- he’d even conjured glass slippers. He’d been the perfect gentleman- your very own prince charming, you thought to yourself with a watery giggle. There was an unpleasant sinking in your chest as you realized you’d gone and messed up big time.

“You love me?” You asked quietly, forcing yourself to meet Caliban’s eyes. He looked... defeated, almost- and you felt your heart splinter further.

He seemed surprised at the question. “I... I thought if I took this night- the most mortal night I could think of- and made it perfect, that I could show you. That you would see me as something other than the clay prince. I love you. I love how weightless you make me feel. How I don’t have to pretend around you- how you make everything so easy when it’s not. How I’ve lived through so much, but never felt as alive as I do when you lean your head on my shoulder. Gods, I don’t deserve someone as perfect as you- but I’ve been trying to be better. I never wanted you to see this- to see me- as a game.” Caliban trailed off at the end, his words hardly a whisper as he stared down at his hands. 

You moved out of the booth, steeling your resolve as you slid into the seat beside him. He eyed you curiously, the question dying on his lips as you took his face in your hands.

“I love you.” And you kissed him, hard and long and full of all the emotions you knew you would never be able to put into words the way he could. He responded in turn, arms wrapping around you tightly as you smiled into the kiss.

And for once, it was enough.

-------

please please please give me some feedback I was super unsure about this one!! 

[madeyed]

(   *  💀  /  aria shahghasemi, cis man, he / him  )  —  is that alastor moody i just saw rushing down the corridor ? i hear they’re a twenty-one year old hufflepuff, returning for their seventh school year, but their friends would tell you that they are protective & astute as well as paranoid & disagreeable. if you want to know more about them, i guess i could tell you that they’re pureblood, and from what i hear, they’re currently allying with the order. when our divination professor looks into their crystal ball, they see: a well-worn journal, locked & spelled shut; empty firewhisky bottles lined up along the windowsill; dark circles beneath suspicious eyes; the fading shadow of youthful bravado; a supple leather coat that still smells like home.  —  ( kit, she / they, 23, cet. )

tw — parental death ( murder ), assault & violence, mourning, alcohol mentions, allusions to mental health issues & addiction, hospital mentions. 

basics ,

full name.  alastor jawed moody. known as.  alastor, moody, al only to select friends. age / date of birth.  twenty-one / september 19th, 1958. year.  seventh year. blood status.  pureblood. house.  hufflepuff. alliance.  the order. gender / pronouns.  cis man, he / him. orientation.  bisexual. extracurriculars.  beater for the hufflepuff quidditch team; member of the charms and toothill duelling clubs.  additional stats.  click here. pinterest.  click here.

early life ,

alastor moody is born at home, in a small brick house by the seaside that has been in the family for generations; the yard is quaint, if somewhat overgrown, the wooden window frames spiderwebbed and peeling white paint, the chimney billowing smoke in the winters. although he often longs for a sibling, he remains an only child all his life. at the time of his birth, his parents are early in their careers as aurors, and thoughful, foresightful people above all; with their demanding schedules they think no more than one child is best. it’s not a terrible decision, by any means, and there is enough love in the household to go around.

he is raised with strong values, and a strong sense of duty, family, and respect; he is made aware of the weight of the world at a young age. or, his parents try to impress this upon him, making the world appear darker and heavier than it seems to the young boy. he loves and respects his parents, but he tends to disregard their warnings, to play more recklessly than they might like. 

although his parents always make time for the shabbat, for birthdays and holidays, their job is by necessity demanding, and alastor learns independence at a young age. an only child, he longs for meaningful friendships, but struggles to make friends with muggle children in the village; instead, though he does his best, he spends much of his time alone or with children of his parents’ friends. 

he thinks almost all his life that he is ready for death. it was a simple and honest truth in the moody household that their work, though important and necessary, was dangerous. he sees narrow brushes with danger all his young life, accompanying his parents to too many funerals to count; he learns protection charms before he learns to tie his shoes. and so he thinks of death as a family friend, a familiar acquaintance, and foolishly pats himself on the back for being so well-adjusted, for accepting reality instead of fearing it.

hogwarts ,

when he first arrives at hogwarts, he is calm, unassuming; he doesn’t arrive, like so many purebloods do, with the weight of countless expectations upon his shoulders. nor does he feel like he is escaping some restriction, and finally free; if anything, he is less independent here, under the watchful eyes of prefects and professors, and he grates a little against rules he thinks are foolish or unnecessary.

when it’s his turn to be sorted, the sorting hat only hesitates for a moment between gryffindor and hufflepuff; he is brave, yes, fearless to the point of recklessness, but when the hat poses the question, all alastor can do is shrug. his mother was a slytherin, his father a hufflepuff, and so he doesn’t really mind either way; he knows who he is, regardless of what house colors he wears, and that is enough for the sorting hat to know where he belongs.

he fits in well in hufflepuff, but doesn’t restrict himself to just that; he’s never felt particularly inclined to draw harsh lines in the sand, and makes friends across houses and even years. it helps that his name commands some respect — not from some purebloods, who sneer and consider him and his family all blood traitors, but from the rest, who read the headlines about aurors apprehending dark wizards and are pleased. 

in his second year, though, the headlines change. he is called out of history of magic class — something he had almost enjoyed, at the time, and still hates himself for — and brought to the headmaster’s office, where he’s made to wait until his mother arrives. he’s sixteen when he hears of his father’s death, and it feels like the unshakeable world comes crashing in. he thinks he can prepare for death, steel himself against the pain and struggle through mourning with a straight spine and dry eyes, but he’s a fool, and just a boy at that. 

he’s outgrown his childhood funeral suit, so he wears his father’s mourning robes to the funeral; they’re well-worn, mended at the hems, and alastor finds two knuts and a sickle in the pockets. he leans on his mother, and she leans on him, and she seems both stronger and more vulnerable than he’s ever seen her. they sit shiva together, the two of them in their little seaside home. alastor’s always felt distant from the muggle locals and neighbors, friendly but unable to connect, but they show up all the same. in twos and threes they arrive with their food, condolences, well-wishes, their offers to weed the yard or pick up groceries for the mourning family; it’s their good will that helps the moodys through their grief, more than the ministry’s stiff condolences and posthumous honours.

he returns to hogwarts changed; more anxious, more wary. his heart leaps in his throat every time he receives a letter, fearful it will be news of his mother’s death. he grows harder, less tolerant of snide anti-muggle comments even when they’re almost innocuous. he’s always been a relatively serious boy, but now he hardly laughs at all, and when he does, there’s a bite to it. he excels in school, working doubly hard, already certain he must become an auror and insistent upon achieving it, but there’s no pride in it, no competition; he just knows what needs to be done.

but as months turn to years the passing time lulls him into a false sense of security; at some point, the pain of loss turns from a sharp agony to an ever-present but dull ache. alastor joins the quidditch team, the duelling club ( where he quickly gains a formidable reputation ), has his first of many hogsmeades dates, and feels, foolishly, that life might simply carry on, without too much effort on his behalf. even as war brews on the horizon he assures himself it will be an easy victory, that strength and righteousness will always win out. he prepares, but with a youthful foolishness; he thinks this might be the chance to avenge his father, to protect the weak, to prove himself a warrior. 

the summer between his sixth and seventh year, his mother is so busy she’s barely in the house; when she is, it’s never long before she’s called to yet another meeting, yet another raid. he visits her office often, tea and sandwiches in tow, memorizing the names and faces that are pinned up around the auror office, the most wanted, the suspected conspirators, the known associates. the writing is on the wall: danger approaches. the house is reinforced, protection charms everywhere, locks re-spelled, alarms at all entrances, but at the same time, life goes on.

it’s a rare evening when the two of them are home together, barbecuing kebab in the yard in the late summer sun, a moment of peace among all the concern. they share a bottle of firewhiskey, reminiscing, and laughing together, and making plans to weed the front yard, paint the window frames, and mend the fence — helpful little things alastor can do over the summer while his mother is so very busy at work.

he crawls into bed drunk and at peace, thinking about paint swatches, warm breeze through the open window, the cat curled up at the foot of his bed — and startles awake hours later, still half-drunk to the sound of crashing, glass shattering, the very foundations of the house trembling. the smell of something burning rises from the stairs, and despite his fear he jumps up instantly. there are death eaters in the house ( alastor counts four but thinks there may have been more ), in their black robes and silver masks, and by the time he’s halfway down the stairs his mother is already dead. he fights back as well as he can, but he’s alone, unprepared, and is hit with a curse before he can do much of anything. 

they leave him there, unconscious in the slow-smoking ruins of the sitting room. something about not unnecessarily spilling pure blood, and he’s only a boy, and clearly no threat. he is awakened as other aurors arrive, his parents’ colleagues and friends, and he’s so out of sorts he must be petrified and sedated before he can be taken to st. mungos. this time, he is drunk at the funeral, hiding red eyes behind sunglasses, and he sits his shiva alone, permitting no visitors. he takes what he needs from home: clothes, books, heirlooms, the sneakoscope and foe glass and his father’s old coat, and leaves, renting a room at the leaky cauldron for the rest of the summer.

he returns to hogwarts changed once more; furious, pained, burning the candle at both ends trying to find a way to win a war that hasn’t even truly started yet. 

personality , hcs , etc. ,

alastor has always been confident, wavering between self-assured and simply cocky, depending on who you ask. he was raised to respect and value everyone, and that includes himself, but he has always also thought of himself as a little more clued in, a little more worldly, than most others. this is in part because his parents confronted him with the reality of the world at quite a young age, and in part because of the horrors he has himself witnessed. although he isn’t usually a dick about it, he does tend to think he’s the most aware, clued in person in the room, or the only one who really knows how the world works.

he’s also quite concerned with projecting the image of strength, not because he’s really that concerned with what other people think, but more because he believes pretty strongly in the whole ‘fake it till ya make it’ idea, and feels like showing weakness means you are weak. plus it makes you a target.

has a fat orange cat named fried egg, or just fry for short; she’s four years old, and the grandchild of the same cat his father had when he was at hogwarts. she’s a hellish little demon cat who does her best to catch rats, frogs, small owls, bowtruckles, bag charms, and pretty much anything else she can get her little paws on. can and will claim a whole couch in the common room by stretching out right in the middle. if there’s a small dead creature in the hufflepuff common room or dorms you know who to blame. 

alastor enjoys quidditch, but isn’t particularly competitive; he likes playing beater as it’s a pretty good release for aggression. he plays an aggressive match especially against slytherins, and will more use quidditch as an outlet for his personal vendettas, rather than that it informs them. absolutely fearless on the pitch, and has broken multiple bones, including his nose. don’t play chicken with him, he can and will run straight into you just to prove a point.

although he’s something of a duelling prodigy ( or rather, he’s been well trained since a young age ) and excels at defense against the dark arts and transfiguration, alastor’s top favorite class is care of magical creatures. he just thinks they’re neat. is he a bit of a dragon fanboy ? maybe so.

deeply paranoid, suspicious, and untrusting, especially now. he keeps a notebook of notes, newspaper clippings, observations and overheard conversations, helpful spells and countercurses, and a running list of which classmates and families he suspects of being death eaters, and of which students he fears might become targets. it’s well-spelled to keep out prying eyes, but you can often find him scribbling in it when he should be taking notes in class. 

more to be added ! 

plots ,

just wanted to say first of all that i love plotting, hc’ing, brainstorming, etc. so please hit me up ! if nothing here works i’m super happy to think of something else. also, every single one of these is open to all genders unless specified ! i also especially love plotting based on other connections ( i.e. muse a and muse b are friends, muse b and muse c are exes, therefore muse a and muse c do not get along, or smth ) idk i just have a lot of ideas !

best friends.  any house, but preferably for seventh years ? should be either order aligned or neutral but sympathetic to the order. these would be the very few people in the world alastor is still somewhat vulnerable around, and the few who can still get him to smile these days. also the only people he will take any shit from. the people he considers family, now that he has none of his own left. 

other order members. the options here are so many ! people who fully share his convictions and with whom he can share his theories, who problem-solve and discuss together. people ( particularly muggleborns or younger students ) whom alastor feels very protective of and worried about. can be annoying and overbearing or he’s just keeping an eye on them from a distance, or maybe helping them train. or people who are in the order but whom alastor doesn’t trust; pretty much any pureblood / slytherin / anyone with death eater family would fall under this. lots of options ! 

family friends.  alastor’s parents were very well-respected in the wizarding community, upstanding citizens, well-known and talented aurors, and all around good people; they could have gone to hogwarts with your muse’s parents or otherwise gotten to know them from work or through pretty much any other avenue ! this could go a few different ways, either they can be good long-term childhood friends, or perhaps they never got along but had to suck it up because their parents were friends, etc. 

enemies.  listen, i’m sure alastor has a ton of these ! gimme all the baby death eaters, slytherins, and pureblood supremacists. or even just characters who are just neutral but tangentially related to anyone who might be a death eater. alastor doesn’t discriminate between hatefulness and cowardice, it’s all the same to him: two sides of the same self-serving coin that gets other people killed. he can and will cause problems for them on purpose. absolutely will not hesitate to cause physical injury, or curse someone if they are out of line; you use the word mudblood in his presence and he can and will hex your tongue in a knot or, idk, turn you into a ferret. 

people involved in his family’s deaths.  ok this would definitely be quite a heavy plot and would need to be discussed quite a bit, but i think it could be neat ? alastor’s father died in the line of duty and may or may not have been targeted, but his mother was explicitly killed by death eaters because of the threat she posed. that could have been your muse’s death eater parents, or the hit could have been part of your character’s death eater initiation ( and maybe even the reason why al was allowed to live ? idk man just gimme the drama ) but either way ! alastor is investigating, angry, suspicious, and there will be hell to pay if he figures it out. think it could b a cute terrible dramatic plot.

exes.  gimme a handful of these, with a bit of variety, please, i love them. something short-lived and intense over the course of one semester, that ends when one or both of them gets a little too far into their feelings ! something sweet and quaint in their early years, with first little hogsmeade dates and hand-holding ! a former fwb thing with bad communication that falls apart and leaves them both with some hard feelings ! good friends that think they have feelings for each other, date for two weeks, and then give it up and go back to just being pals ! honestly especially when he was slightly younger and less paranoid, depressed, etc. alastor was definitely weak as fuck for a pretty face. 

the one bad ex-ish.  listen i just very specifically love the idea of alastor having some insanely intense chemistry with a death eater aligned character, that enemies to lovers ( who are still definitely enemies ) vibe. every time they hook up they both regret it intensely, and are to embarrassed to ever tell their friends. they both kinda think they hate the other person, and know they’re on different sides of a brewing war, but also. brain empty very sexy.

crushes / unrequited / un-acted-upon feelings.  ok listen, correct me if i’m wrong, call me out, etc. but alastor’s a whole 6′2″ of broad shoulders, gorgeous hair, green eyes, he’s all tall dark and handsome and also tortured, also a quidditch player, intimidating, etc. and i love the idea of people having crushes on him bc he’d be either annoyed or oblivious and that amuses me greatly. what a man tbh. also love the idea of him having feelings for someone, perhaps even over a longer period of time, but absolutely not wanting to tell them bc he has a bit of a martyr complex, is afraid of losing the people he loves, and also thinks he’s no good and gonna get them killed ! also could just be someone he had a crush on earlier and no longer does, but still thinks they’re just incredibly cool and admires them. could go lots of ways tbh.

study buddy.  so, honestly, alastor’s not concerned that much with school beyond needing the qualifications to become an auror. this would probably be someone with similar aspirations/goals; someone who wants to get the grade but spends more time researching obscure defensive spells and countercurses and hex reversals which will never be on the test, because those are ultimately more important. they both just help support each other academically to make sure they get where they need to be, and practice and work on more advanced combat magic together as well.

neighbors.  kind of, not really ? after his mother’s death alastor’s been living in a rented room in diagon alley, avoiding his family home at all costs. this could be someone who either lives there or in london more generally who he keeps running into over that summer. he’s probably deeply unpleasant particularly at that time so forgive him in advance pls.

drinking buddies.  does alastor have a drinking problem ? maybe. but he also has much, much bigger problems he has to solve first, hence the drinking. he’ll manage just fine on his own too, but that doesn’t mean it’s not nice to sit in relative silence next to someone. he prefers the quiet and general Bad Vibes at the hog’s head over the three broomsticks, but isn’t that picky. 

duelling rival.  a member of the duelling club who alastor absolutely hates, and who hates him. they absolutely drive each other to perform better and push each other hard, but that’s not because they’re trying to help the other improve; it’s because when they duel they are actually straight up trying to kill each other, while making it seem like an accident.

[giorno-plays-piano]

One Of A Kind

Pairing: yandere!Steve x Reader.  Warnings: obsession, graphic depiction of violence, death of minor characters, unstable skinny Steve.  Words: 1963.  Summary: the ones hunting your family knew nothing of a monster in human shape lurking behind your back.  Ps. I’ve finally decided to choose Steve for this one. Thanks to everyone who participated in the discussion!  _____________________________________  Steve was an odd kid. Well, technically, he wasn’t much of a kid - he had already turned 18 - but with his extremely skinny built he looked younger to you. You knew his mother fell very sick when she was pregnant with him, and it explained a lot about his physique. It wasn’t his physical health that troubled you, though.

He was really into this military stuff, secret operations, death traps, serial killer hunting, things that guys of his age were not often interested in. Not to this extent, at least. His room was full of war history books, documentaries, scary posters with roaring bears, his own drawings of knives, guns, grenades and things like that. Steve didn’t talk much, and sometimes he even preferred gestures to communicate with others. You thought that maybe his anger manifested itself in this way. You didn’t even want to imagine how severely Steve had been bullied at school before moving here. Thankfully, most of the time he was really sweet to you, smiling shyly, helping you out with the choirs and trying to adjust to living together. Your dad married his mother a month ago, and now you all moved into a new house, pretending to be an average happy family.

Except for Steve’s disturbing hobbies, it wasn’t that bad, actually. You were slowly getting accustomed to the presence of someone other than your father, having nice family dinners together, going to shop with your stepmom who was always treated you nicely, playing cards with Steve in the evenings… You could get used to it. One of the hardest things was trying to think of Steve as your younger brother because you just didn’t feel like it. You were growing closer and closer with each day, true, but to consider him your relative wasn’t that easy. Maybe you couldn’t accept him this way at all. Maybe him just being your friend would be enough.

The first day you moved into a new house your stepmother asked you to keep an eye on him when she wasn’t around. She said something about his health – he needed to take his meds every day – and pleaded you to forgive Steve if he would be rude to you. She asked you not to tell anything to your father. It was surprising, considering the fact you dad wasn’t really strict or unkind, but everyone had their fears, right? In the end, you meant the world to your him. She was afraid he would hardly tolerate her son’s bad attitude towards you.

Anyway, you knew your father wanted you to became closer to Steve, and you did the best you could. At the end of the month it was you bringing him his medication every evening, not his mom. You were wishing him goodnight and turning off the lights in his room as if you truly were his older sister, and he was more and more willing to spend time with you. As the time passed, Steve didn’t seem so scary to you anymore. He was just a poor kid mistreated by people.

It all changed when those men showed up in your house one morning. They were heavily armed, black balaclavas concealing their faces, their beefy figures advancing upon your father. The next moment he was laying dead in the hall. The blood gushing from the hole in his chest quickly covered the grey floor you had only washed yesterday.

Steve’s mother was the next one after a man asked her something and was not satisfied with her answer, apparently. You heard the gun firing in the kitchen, and you knew what had happened to her. But the only thing you did was staring at the floor covered in your father’s blood, your body frozen to the point you forgot how to breathe.

They were dead. They were dead, and you were all alone in the house with five murderers. The only reason why you were still alive was because they simply didn’t see you standing on the top of the stairs.

No, you were not alone. You had Steve. You needed to get him out of the house before these men caught you.

“Get the kids!” Somebody yelled from the kitchen, and you ran without thinking.

Steve’s room. Steve’s room. In the end of the corridor. To the left.

Somebody was already following you with such speed you could hardly outrun him. You didn’t dare to glance back, but you knew it was a large tall man with a knife or something like that in his hand instead of a gun because he didn’t shoot you outright. He would either kill or rape you in the next 10 seconds. Maybe he would kill you once the leader got whatever he wanted from you.

“STEVE!”

You jumped to the door and suddenly fell onto blue carpet in his room, Steve standing right in front of you with something in his hand. You blinked and heard the loud steps of a man behind you.

“Help me!”

Your head was not working properly, panic ruling over you now. Why did you ask him for help? What could tiny Steve do against a 6’5 feet tall armed man who was obviously not some rookie robber? It would take at least several policemen to bring him down, not a scared to death girl with shaking hands and a kid skinny as a rail.

Then you heard a weird bubbling sound somewhere behind your back and saw Steve’s black boots moving instantly. Why was he wearing his combat boots in the house? And, more importantly, did he just throw something at the man?

Crawling further to the opposite wall, you didn’t dare to turn around until you felt the boy’s gentle hand pulling you up with a strength you never expected from him. His sickly-sweet smile was now gone, one of his hands covered in blood and clenching a small knife, the other holding your arm. You looked at his unnaturally calm expression, all emotions wiped from his face.

“I will help.” He said quietly and moved to the door, punching the man’s legs to the side to close it.

Then you finally saw the intruder laying down on the floor and not moving. Did Steve knock him out? Did he throw the knife at him once he entered? The pool of blood under his face was growing so much you realized Steve must have cut his throat right after that.

There was no time for second thoughts when the boy motioned you to the open window. He got on the red roof first and helped you to come down, then jump right into the bushes. You were shaking feverishly, understanding absolutely nothing but following Steve to the forest without a word. At that moment he was godlike to you, your protector, your saviour, the one who had just saved your life. You didn’t ask where he got the knife or how he managed to kill that big guy. Nothing else mattered than your survival.

The next moment you were fully conscious the two of you were somewhere in the woods, Steve wandering around some garbage and fiddling with rusted metal and pieces of rope. He had bandaged your leg that you scratched badly while clawing your way through the bushes. Where did he get the bandages? You looked around and saw a first-aid kit on the ground near you. When did he?..

Now watching him you thought Steve was way too collected. His face betrayed no emotion when he placed a plank with long nails in the grass. Then he pulled the string somewhere close to the fallen tree, setting some kind of a trap. You could not comprehend what he was doing.

You reached down the pocket of your shorts instinctively, searching for anything that might help. Instead you found one of Steve’s white pill cases with his meds. You often carried them with you not to forget to give him a few every evening.

When he suddenly touched your arm you almost jumped, shivering and letting out a gurgling sound. The boy was standing in front of you and gazing at the pill case in your hand.

“Your… your meds.” You mumbled under your breath. “For the evening. You’ll be ok.”

He smiled, rubbing your shoulders with his unbearably hot hands dirtied with dry blood. For some reason Steve looked happy as if you two were not in the middle of the woods, chased by fi… four murderers. Why was he so calm? He heard the gun twice; he knew his mother was dead.

When you watched him as he took your hand again and pulled you forward, you saw him wearing his black jacket, t-shirt and tactical pants. Why? He didn’t plan to go anywhere this morning; it was Sunday. When did he get dressed? Did he do it when he heard the men coming? But it happened in the matter of two minutes maximum. Did he start gathering his things once he heard the first shot?..

“Steve.” You felt tears streaming down your face when you saw an old metal bear trap close to one of the multiple trails on the forest glade.

He pointed his finger to the other places around, and you saw snares and ropes everywhere.  

“Steve.” You repeated weakly, thinking of everything that happened. You were ready to cry. “They’re dead. Our p-parents… These people will kill us too.”

In a second, he let go of your arm and stepped closer to you, his hands now on the sides of your face. His hollow eyes stared at you sharply. Opening his mouth wide, Steve pressed the tip of his tongue to the roof that way you could see and then exhaled slowly. After that he closed his mouth and inhaled through the nose for a few times. You realized you were repeating after him – he was teaching you to control your breath. Steve was helping you to calm down.

You were breathing with him for a few minutes until you felt your heartbeat returning to normal.

“If you want my protection,” he said calmly, touching the lock of your hair, “I will protect you.”

You squeezed his hand in yours, staring him into the eyes. You only realized now something was very wrong with Steve. He acted nearly… inhuman. He wasn’t bothered by the death of his parents. He wasn’t frightened like any sane person would be in a situation like this. No, instead he planned how to get rid of those guys, setting death traps right before your eyes. He made them so thoroughly and so fast as if it weren’t his first time setting them. And where on Earth did he get a real bear trap?

Something was telling you he was far more dangerous than any of those men breaking into your house. You had never asked his mother what mental issues he had, right? You had never found out what his meds were for. Were they really just for helping him to calm down before going to bed? Why was his mother always keeping him in her sight? Why had his hobbies always involved depiction of extreme violence?

You bit on your lip and looked at Steve’s face. Whoever he might be, he was your only savior. So be it. If it was the only way to survive, to avenge your parents slaughtered like pigs, so be it. Whatever he would do, these people deserved it.

“I want it, Steve.” You whispered to him, gently rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb.

He gave you one of his sweet smiles in return and showed you the safe path on a glade full of his traps, guiding you by the hand.

[ampleappleamble]

—

Axa could feel them watching her as they settled into their room at the Goose and Fox that night, could feel them wanting to know her. Not only so they could understand why she had done what she had with Purnisc and Kaenra, but also so they could (no doubt) uncover and examine all the painful, humiliating life experiences behind her every decision, all her successes and failures, and then judge her accordingly. Like kith will, she thought, of course. That’s normal and healthy to think.

Genuine concern mingled with morbid curiosity, hung palpably over the group like a scythe posed to reap as everyone sat in awkward silence and waited for Axa to break the silence. So she drained her goblet, got out her pipe and her whiteleaf, and with a grim sense of determination, she told them about it.

About the career she'd built back in Ixamitl, where she had lucked into a scholarship to one of her hometown's more prestigious lore colleges, bestowed on her by a generous politician acquainted with her father. Because she'd always loved to learn and hear stories about kith from around the world, she had chosen to put her good fortune to good use and study to become a naturalist, concerning herself with the cultures and languages and histories that constituted the kith population of Eora.

While most of her colleagues had decided to specialize in Vailian– a popular choice for the political or business-oriented crowd– Axa fancied herself an intellectual, and so she had challenged herself with mastering Ordhjóma: the exotic, mysterious language of the Glamfellen, separated for 10,000 years from their tropical Sceltrfolc cousins in the far-flung, frozen south, in The White that Wends. She had thrown herself into her studies, blowing through massive tomes and ancient scrolls like a hurricane, outperforming her peers with ease. Within four years, Axa had risen like a Dawnstar to the top of her class.

And then the field work had begun.

"It's one thing to read about a people, learn their language from books and study up on their culture," Axa explained, stuffing her pipe slowly, taking her time. "It's quite another to visit their homeland, speak with them, live among them. I was barely seventeen, I'd never even been out of the city..."

Kana winced, painful recognition in his black eyes. "Culture shock can be particularly difficult for younger scholars. We have certain expectations after all our years of academic study, and to find out that the genuine article doesn't quite measure up after all that work can feel disorienting and disappointing. There's not only the shock, there's anger at the natives, and then the guilt over said anger..."

Axa accepted Aloth's proffered light while Kana trailed off– it always delighted her, using arcane flame for something so trivial as a smoke– and sighed. "That's what was really odd about it. I did experience some culture shock, but ultimately the problem wasn't me. It was them. I know it sounds like I'm just being bitter, but... honestly, for whatever reason, the whole village really was actively freezing me out."

"Nice," Edér chuckled, grinning at the unintentional pun until Aloth's glare chastised him back into solemnity.

"No one wanted to talk to me," Axa continued. "Oh, I tried, incessantly, but they just... kept turning away, or answering with nonsense or... or riddles. My colleagues had little difficulty integrating, but I felt like I was just barely tolerated by the villagers. I tried asking the other students about it, but they either feigned ignorance really well or they honestly couldn't tell what these Glamfellen had against me."

"Some sort of... racial prejudice, perhaps?" Aloth looked as uncomfortable as he sounded, but at least the topic was finally broached. Axa shrugged.

"I don't think so, but I honestly have no idea. The other three scholars with me weren't orlans, but they weren't Glamfellen either. And no one ever specifically said anything about my being an orlan."

Sagani nodded. "In my experience, while most Glamfellen tend to be as standoffish as any elf– no offense, Aloth– they don't usually have specific prejudices like that."

"Right? Ordinarily, unity and hospitality are taken very seriously in the frozen south; to support one another is indispensable to survival. Nevertheless, I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong by them, and it was driving me out of my gods damned mind. I was supposed to be studying local accents, dialects, and colloquialisms, but that's somewhat difficult when nobody will actually speak with you. So I ended up spending a lot of time eavesdropping on people, mostly outside, by myself."

Sagani shook her head, drawing her whetstone across her hunting knife. "Bad idea to go it alone out there in the White. All kinds of dangers hiding in the snow."

The orlan barked a sharp, sardonic laugh. "You're telling me. That's how I met Vaargys."

As soon as his name was out of her mouth, Axa could feel her entire demeanor transform, and the atmosphere in the room with her. It was the first time she'd said his name since she'd left home, and even though she knew they'd already been listening, her little audience really seemed to be listening now. She felt her face get warm and her eyes sting from the impending tears, so she turned to the window, trying hard to focus on the streets outside and not at her own reflection in the glass.

Come on, girl. You’ve run far enough. It's time you faced this.

"I spotted him from afar one day at dusk: a dark, distant, shaggy figure out there among the rocks, shambling around just beyond the village's borders. It took me a few minutes to even realize he was kith. My colleagues noticed me watching him eventually, warned me away from him: the 'wild man' the locals called the 'Cursed Vagabond,' the 'Exiled Priest.' And he was out there all alone, struggling to survive because nobody wanted him around, and no one could say why..."

"You had a lot in common," Aloth murmured gravely. It wasn't difficult to see where this story was going. And he couldn't help but think it sounded similar, thematically, to one he knew quite well.

"And kith will paint a face on a rock with their own blood if it means they can have someone to talk to," Sagani sighed sadly, sympathy heavy in her chest. She could see where this was going too, and she dug her fingers into the thick fur on the back of Itumaak's neck for comfort. He grunted in appreciation.

"So I introduced myself, like you do. He was... cautious, but receptive. It helped that I'd brought gifts." Axa exhaled, and blue smoke curled up before her, walling her off. "We got to know one another, and over time we became fond of each other. We started sharing meals and stories about ourselves, our lives. He told me he was a priest of Wael, self-taught, and exiled from his clan for venerating the Eyeless Face instead of the Beast of Winter... He let me get close to him, cut his hair, tend to his wounds..." The tears spilled over at last, and she paused for a moment, hid her face.

"And you fell in love," Sagani finished for her. Classic. Tale as old as time.

Axa smiled again even as she brushed her tears away, dragging her little fist across her golden brown cheeks. "And I fell hard. I was his first real friend, gave him his first kiss. And very soon, I became his first lover." This made the men blush and look away. Axa and Sagani paid them no heed.

"I was fascinated by him, and he adored me. We made our own little world together there in the caves, in the snow. And we lived there, separate from everyone and everything else. Until I had to return to Ixamitl, of course. But I had a plan: Before I could talk myself out of it, I asked him to marry me– the very night before I was to return to the Eastern Reach. ...Gods, I had known him for only five months."

"And... wait, how old were you?" Edér spoke up for the first time since Axa had started her story, confusion clear on his face.

"I– Seventeen, almost eighteen by the time I went back home," she clarified, miffed at the interruption. "I'm twenty-two, now."

The blond man held his hands out in front of him, squinting at his fingers, baffled. "And... and how old were you when you left home? Hey, how old was he?"

Kana sighed and leaned over, patting him on the shoulder with one huge hand and confiscating the man's pipe with the other. "Erh– Never mind that now, my friend. Please, Axa, continue." He smiled that big, toothy smile at the little woman, and she blinked very slowly.

"...I brought him home to meet my family and colleagues, to assist me in my studies since all I'd really brought back from the Land was him, and ultimately, hopefully, to become my husband. In the interest of brevity– albeit somewhat belated– here’s how all that turned out: my family and colleagues hated and distrusted him, and after I had defended him so fiercely I'd alienated myself from most of my peers, I found out that about three-quarters of everything he'd ever told me about his home and his language was complete horseshit and all of our work together was complete bunkum. So! I burned it all in a big bonfire behind our house before telling him to leave and never come back." She ticked her misfortunes off on her fingers as she described them, her hands trembling, and then gesticulated fiercely before letting her fists fall to the small tabletop before her. "And then... I left, too. And now, here I am."

...Gods, that was easy. Much easier than I thought it'd be. Why was it so–

She rambled on before she could lose her nerve. "So. That's why I... wanted to do that for Kaenra. My fiancé lied to me and fucked up my life, too, and I can't just ignore that kind of shit when I see it anymore." She sighed, turning to the window again with her pipe still burning away in her hand. "Vaargys is the reason I had to leave my home and everything I've ever known, because his lies ruined my career and my academic standing and my reputation. How could I just stand by and watch as it happened to someone else?"

"Yet, you advised Kaenra to forgive Purnisc?" Aloth twisted his fingers together in his lap, staring at them rather than looking at Axa as he spoke. "After... all he'd done?"

Sagani glanced at him, narrowing her eyes as he reached up to smooth his hair– and wipe away a stray bead of sweat in the process. Is it my imagination, or is he...?

Axa kept her gaze fixed on the street below. "Yeah, that sort of surprised me too, to be honest." She spotted a stray soul, its violet wisps of essence drifting slowly amongst the city goers, and she squeezed her eyes shut, felt them burn behind her eyelids. "I suppose... I just got the feeling that it wasn't too late for them, that what they had for each other wasn't so broken it couldn't be repaired. Vaargys and me... not so. There was no coming back from what he'd done, and we both knew it."

"Whatever became of him? Of Vaargys?" Kana leaned forward eagerly, his eyes shining with compassion. For once, he actually wasn't taking notes on the conversation, and Sagani noticed that, too.

Axa opened her eyes, and saw the lost soul on the street no more. She shuddered. "After I confronted him, Vaargys simply... left. Vanished into the horizon, just as abruptly as he'd first appeared to me. And then, I got to clean up after him– after us– all alone. I wasn't up to the task; wasn't really up to the task of anything but hiding in bed and regretting my entire life. I could really only scrape together the wherewithal every now and then to go out and sell off or give away all the ridiculous trinkets and baubles we'd accumulated together. A few of the things I tried to get rid of turned out to be stolen, of course– big surprise, Axa, he's a thief and a liar– which did my already brutalized image no favors. Nor my purse, when I was obliged to pay out of my pocket for his chicanery."

"Villain," Kana spat, shaking his head slowly. "Scoundrel! ...Oh, how dastardly, to sow discord between the woman he loves and her neighbors and colleagues, then to abscond, completely free of reproach!" His sorrowful frown was as huge and expressive as his smiles always were, almost theatrically so.

Sagani just barely looked over in time to spot Aloth surreptitiously roll his eyes, and she couldn't suppress her grin. I thought so. Ondra's Lure, they're pretty obvious now that I think of it...

The elf cleared his throat and took the reins. "Shall we assume, then, that your family and friends were unable or unwilling to aid you in your time of need?"

Axa scoffed. "My little brother was sympathetic, but ultimately powerless to help me. He's stuck too far under our mother's thumb. He's a Godlike, and it's made things... difficult, for both of them. He feels obligated to her. As for our mother, she blamed me for my own misfortunes, for 'shacking up' with a man like Vaargys in the first place. So... that sort of says it all about our relationship. My father hasn't been in the picture since I was 13, and any non-academic friends I hadn't already traded for school, I ended up trading for Vaargys. I'd made him my whole world, and he–" She stopped herself, puffed on her pipe. "I don't... really make new friends easily. Never have."

Kana laughed good-naturedly. "With all due respect, present company seems to indicate quite the contrary."

"Ha! Since becoming a Watcher with her own castle who offers to help everyone she meets solve all their problems, I do seem to be quite popular, yes," the orlan agreed with a wry smirk. "...I jest, of course. In any case, the friends I do make, I tend to keep. And cherish." She smiled at Kana earnestly, and now he averted his eyes and went ruddy in the face.

Sagani and Aloth surprised one another, simultaneously faking coughing fits to cover their derisive snorts. Kana went even redder, but still managed a sheepish smile as Axa quickly redirected back to the topic at hand.

"In any case, it was my mother who gave me the idea to relocate to the Dyrwood. She brought back the notice advertising the caravan from the marketplace, threw it at me as I lay in my little nest of quilts and despair, and told me I had better either try and do something to rebuild my life or I may as well just return my soul to the Wheel to start a new one, save it some time and trouble."

"So... in response to your fiancé sabotaging your career and your reputation in your own home community, your own mother told you to... choose between self-exile and suicide?" Aloth spoke very quietly, very carefully. When Axa nodded and shrugged, puffing nonchalantly on her pipe, he couldn't quite come up with anything to say to that.

"As harsh as it sounds," she pressed on as she rose and crossed the room to stand before the hearth, "I agreed with her. I still do. Mama grew up a slave and only finally earned her freedom by running away, so maybe she's biased, but... I was never going to be able to move on like that, lying around like I was dead already, surrounded by bad memories. I had to do something, get up and get out. And wouldn’t it be my luck, she dropped a nice, pre-packaged escape plan in my lap, just like that. Nicest thing she'd done for me in a good long while. ...So. That's what lead me to the Dyrwood."

"And then it lead you to the bîaŵac, the Engwithan ruins, the machine," Kana murmured, rubbing his chin and studying the little woman. "Perchance, did you ever pray to Wael that you might live an interesting life? Because if so, you've had your wish granted many times over!"

"It's funny," Axa sighed as she bent and tapped her pipe against the bricks of the fireplace, "you'd think I'd hold a grudge against Wael, allowing Their priest to make a fool of me like that. But in the end, I had to admit that although he betrayed my trust and wrecked my life, Vaargys hadn't actually ever violated any of Wael's tenets. ...Made me rethink the gods, a bit. Maybe he was a true servant of Wael after all, sent to guide me here for some reason. And I do still pray to Wael for guidance, on occasion."

The aumaua sat up in his chair, beaming. "Ah! Shall we go to the Hall of Revealed Mysteries tomorrow after all, then? We can ask the scriveners' opinion!"

"Gods! I spill my guts to you, and you're still thinking about going to the library?" Axa shook her head and chuckled. "You're a mystery, Kana."

"Wait, so... you were gonna marry a pale elf?" Edér mumbled into his pillow, half asleep and trying to kick his boots off. "But you're an orlan. Would that... how would that work?"

The little woman threw the sheets back on her bed, using a little more force than she'd meant to. "Another mystery, Edér," she snapped, rolling her eyes. "Mysteries abound."

The other two men winced as Sagani laid a gentle, steady hand on the orlan's shoulder. "Hey. ...Hel of a day for all of us. Let's call it a night, yeah?"

So they did.

—

[sope-and-shine]

-> Pairing: Loki!Yoongi x Pregnant!Wife!Reader -> SFW // Fluff // Marvel Universe  -> Word Count: 2.1k  -> Summary: Cute fluff with your husband, Prince Yoongi of Asgard -> Warning(s): Minor minor minor spoiler for Thor, the story at the beginning is a bit graphic as it describes how the cosmos were made from a giant.

A/N: This is my 3rd idea for a Loki!Yoongi oneshot. I blame no one but Tom Hiddleston for this sudden urge to write about Loki!

The story at the beginning is also not mine. Obviously, it’s Norse mythology. I took the short excerpt straight from this website:  

Source: https://norse-mythology.org/tales/norse-creation-myth/

Also, a big thank you to the loml @multycoloredtaco​ for reading over this! 💕

* * *

In a quiet corner at the front of the palace library is a window bench covered with a large red cushion and throw pillows in various patterns of red and gold. You sit just under the stained glass window with a pillow behind your back against the wall, another pillow under your knees to prop them up, and a large book resting atop of your swollen belly. The sun peeking through the glass leaves colorful rays over your text, adding a pop of color as you read.

“-So, Odin and his brothers slew Ymir and set about constructing the world from his corpse. They fashioned the oceans from his blood, the soil from his skin and muscles, vegetation from his hair, clouds from his brains, and the sky from his skull.” You read aloud. You’ve always held an interest in the creation of the cosmos and Asgard’s history. It fascinated you to no end, and you could spend hours upon hours reading and rereading the legends from battles long ago. It’s a wonder to all that you don’t already know them all by heart.

You take a moment to turn the page, “A fine tale if I do say so myself.” 

Before you can continue your reading, two small kicks just under the left side of your book draw your attention, “Ouch! Could you stop that?” You ask. All morning the rascals inside of you had done nothing but kick and move. You’ve tried eating, walking around the palace, and even stretching as your healer suggested, but you’re always met with nothing but soft kicks. 

When another pair of feet on the opposite side of the first join in the kicking, you let out a sigh, “Well, you both can tell each other a story if you don’t like it!” This earns you more kicks in response. You’d always thought talking to your children was a silly thought, that they couldn’t truly hear you or understand you. But this was the easiest you’ve ever been convinced to believe an old wives tale.

“I swear, one of you better take after me.” You mumble, resting the hands that held your book on top of your stomach to gently rub away the small aches. Your husband was a wonderful role model and would no doubt teach them what it means to respect others and be respected, but his childish tendencies and smug demeanor could poke at your nerves at the wrong time. Just as the incessant kicking of your unborn children were beginning to drive you up a wall.

The door to the palace library opens with a creak, alerting you to a new intruder. You turn to see his slightly tousled black hair move past the door, long green cape billowing behind him as he walks towards the center of the room completely missing your presence.

“Sweetheart, are you in here?” Yoongi calls. He looks through the rows of shelves beside him, completely ignoring your stare from the very visible corner. It was funny to think how such an observant man could easily lose track of you. Especially nowadays.

“Over here! In the corner!” You call out to your husband. He turns on his heel, revealing a pair of black pants with a dark green shirt. He breaks into his beautiful gummy smile that you love so much as he comes towards you. You’ve always known that if you could only have one view for the rest of your life, then a vision like the one before you was all you’d ever need. When he’s within a few feet of your bench you slightly tilt your book towards you, “I’m just doing some light reading.”

“Your version of light or mine?” He asks, taking a seat next to you on the bench.

“Very funny, Yoongi.” You nudge his arm with your own and he feigns hurt, causing you to giggle at his playfulness. You stretch your arms out in front of you and leave the to rest on top of your book, “Tell me, what have I done for the Prince of Asgard to grace me with his presence at such an hour?”

“Well, if you must know then you’ll have to come with me.” He goes to take the book away from you and you pull it towards your chest in a hurry, “But my reading time!”

“I apologize, I didn’t realize 3 in the afternoon was such an inconvenient time.” He teases, pulling his hands away to hold them up in mock surrender.

You pout, “It’s for your children...” 

You rest the book in the position you had it before you were interrupted to continue your reading, childishly avoiding his gaze while doing so. He is not so easily swayed, however, as one of his hands comes to rest over your own. You can feel him lean in next to you, placing a feather light kiss to your temple, “It can wait just an hour, dear.”

If there was one thing Yoongi knew about women that his brother didn’t know, it was how to deal with an angry woman. Of course, he enjoys riling people up at the most inconvenient of times, but he knew when enough was enough. Riling you up was a favorite pass time of his before you’d become pregnant. Now, he settles for small quips that most likely won’t leave him frozen to the floor thanks to your own powers and shortened temper.

You sigh in content, allowing your eyes to close, “Be grateful that I am your wife, or I would curse you until you went away.”

“I’ll do my best to keep that in mind.” He laughs. He takes the book from your lap and places it open at the end of your bench, turning back to offer an open hand to you, “Now, shall we?”

You accept his open hand and allow him to help you stand from the bench, one hand coming to rest at your waist while the other holds your hand to guide you out of the library. This action alone was one most of the palace was still becoming accustomed to. It wasn’t that he’d never enjoyed public affection, but he’d become more and more attentive to your needs as your pregnancy has progressed. Holding hands, calming hugs, and even kisses that most would keep secret had become a normal for the two of you to express openly. If you had asked him to even blow a kiss to you 6 months ago he would have laughed in your face and called you cute - if only that Yoongi could see himself now.

You pass by the occasional palace worker as you walk through the corridor, offering a small nod and simple “good afternoon” on your way to the mysterious destination. It is a surprise when you begin to realize where he’s taking you.

“Why have you brought me to the nursery? And why is it being guarded while no one resides there?” You ask as you come to a stop, staring in confusion at the two guards in front of the doors.

“It’s very important that nothing happens to this room, sweetheart. Why don’t we open the doors and you can find out why?” His smile is so bright you think for a moment he’s actually the sun in disguise the way he beams with pure joy. 

He motions to the men guarding the doors to open them, and as soon as there’s just a crack of space between them you’re met with the refreshing smell of lavender waving through the air. It draws you closer to the doors as they open, and ignites further excitement and sheer joy when you finally see the interior has changed since you’d last seen the room. 

The once plain white walls were now a beautiful yellow, resembling the petals of the sunflowers that bloom in the palace garden. At every window, forest green drapes hang pulled to the side to let in the light. Matching sets of dressers, bookshelves, and chests rest on opposite walls from each other on the sides of the room. A large, circular brown rug rests in the center of the room with two over-sized bassinets resting on opposite sides of the other and a lone rocking chair at the very center between the two. 

When you’d first been given a room for the new family members, you had only asked that they put beds in the room as they would be sleeping in your room for the first few months. You hadn’t felt there was a need to waste time with more cribs or toys when they weren’t truly needed. But this...it was more than you ever dreamed you would have.

“Yoongi...” You’re left completely speechless, unsure of what to say. Though it would seem Yoongi takes your lack of speech as a bad sign.

 He moves in front of you with his back turned to the room, walking backwards with his hands held out almost as if he wishes to calm you, “Now, I know the healers said we’d have one of each but I didn’t want to get in over my head just in case-!”

“Yoongi-” You try to reassure him, but the man has already turned away from you to pick up something he’d placed in one of the beds.

He pulls out a blanket as white as snow and holds it up for you to see it in its entirety, “And I know you said you wanted everything to be perfect for them when they were ready to sleep in here-”

“Yoongi-” 

The poor man continues on his rant while refolding the blanket he’d picked up in a haste, “Of course they’ll be in our room for the first few months. Maybe a year. How long until they have to have their own rooms?” He asks, turning to find you standing right in front of him with the blanket still in hand.

“Yoongi!” You take the fluffy blanket from his hands and lay it in the bed he’d taken it from, turning back to gently take his hands in your own. You smile, “I love it.”

“Good...good.” He lets out a breath, one he hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding since he went off on his tangent.

“I know you’re nervous about becoming a father, especially now that you’ve stepped in for Odin while he rests and Jeongguk is still banished to Midgard-” You see his face twitch and you stop. So much in so little time had changed and it must be now that he’s finally noticed. You realize that his sudden displays of physical affection may not just be for you. You drop your original thought and reach up around his neck to pull your husband into a much needed hug, “You make a fine leader, Yoongi. You’ll make an ever better father.”

Yoongi sighs, pulling you as close as he can with your bump in the way, “I just want to ensure that our family will be well taken care of.”

“We are~” You chuckle at his sudden anxiety and pull away. He’s never been one to truly be nervous for anything, and now he was becoming scatterbrained! You reach and gently cup his cheek, with a teasing smile, “You worry too much, you’ll get wrinkles.”

You watch as his calm exterior falters with an unamused frown, “Wrinkles are not my current concern.”

You tilt your head and turn your attention to the hairs that have fallen out of place on his head, “They should be.” 

“I-” You turn your attention back to him, pausing the attention you were giving to his hair. He looked as though he wanted to say something, like something was on the tip of his tongue and he wanted to spit it out and just tell you but he couldn’t. Your brows furrow in concern and he sighs. He averts his eyes to the space between you, “I’ve made plans for a few...small changes.”

Both of your hands make their way to his cheeks this time. Only this time your gentle smile is replaced with a serious look, “Yoongi, whatever you do will be for the better of Asgard. I have faith in that and you should too!”

He smiles, “I’ll try.” 

“My King, the universe is in your favor~” You wrap him in another hug, this one tighter than your last with a hand entangled in his hair.

“I hope it works in our favor as well.” His hold on you tightens as well. Only this time is in hopes that you never find out what he’s done and intends to do to win his father’s favor.

[purplesurveys]

1195

survey by n0b0dysp3rf3ct

—:: Who ::—

... was the last person you saw face to face? I passed by my brother last night when I had to go to the kitchen to fill up my tumbler.

... was the last person you texted or messaged online? Angela; I was just asking her for the difference among A4/A5/A6 since I’m now planning to buy a binder and sleeves for my rapidly increasing collection of photocards and postcards. It really frustrates me that A4 is the biggest one and A6 the smallest :((((

... was the last person who asked you for a favour? Kata, my manager. She filed a half-day leave last Friday to get herself and her family vaccinated in her town, so she had sent me over a very long to-do list of deliverables that she asked me to fulfill while she was out. Eventually she ended up filing a whole-day leave since she felt feverish after being under the sun all day, and also possibly from side effects of the vaccine, so I ended up carrying the entire workload for the day. I like Kata and she’s a very easy person and superior to work with, so I honestly couldn’t complain about it.

... was the last person you lent something to? Ooh, I don’t remember. I don’t really lend people things.

... was the last person who told you a secret/confided in you? Andi was just sharing to me their worries about taking the LAE (scheduled for today) and how they’ll be okay if they don’t pass.

... is the tallest person you know? Jo is like 5′7″ and we all look like beans when standing next to her. One of my uncles is also very tall; around 5′10″ or 5′11″ if I’m not mistaken.

... the shortest person you know? I think Aya? That’s just a smart guess, though; I haven’t seen most of my friends in more than a year.

... your oldest (in years) friend? Mik is turning 28 this year. Sometimes I forget just how much older he is than me since we vibe really well together during the rare times we did get to hang out. I’m still bummed we never got that smoke break we wanted to have.

... is the oldest (in length of time) friend? Angela.

... is your youngest friend? Hannah was born in 2000. Peter was born in 2001 but we aren’t that close yet.

... is your newest friend? I haven’t made any new friends recently. Stan Twitter is lonelier than I thought it would be; everyone is already friends with everyone so it’s hard to break that space. Not to mention everyone is also grossly younger than I am – I keep seeing profiles with ‘2004′ on their bio :/ I should start making an effort to look for older ARMYs lol, I definitely feel like I’d have more fun that way.

... is your closest relative? My eldest cousin on my mom’s side, my Kuya.

... was your favourite teacher? My music teacher from high school. I neeeeeever liked music as a subject and it was never a priority of mine, but she always kept our classes something for me to look forward with her advice and the way she was always able to make lessons interesting.

... was your least favourite teacher? Those who made it clear they didn’t like me, even though I didn’t do anything to deserve such hostility.

... did you spend the most time with when growing up? My siblings and cousins since we all lived together at one point.

... knows you the best? My two best friends.

... always beats you in games or sports? Andi would probably be able to beat me in any game. They just let me win because they know I can be a sore loser.

... who is the most creative of the people you know? My family is pretty artistic and I have a lot of talented relatives - my sister and my cousin Maggie paint and draw; my mom can make any kind of craft she wants, with her hnds; and one of my grand-aunts regularly does paintings. I think all of them are amazingly creative in their own way.

... is the funniest person you know? Probably Andi. Hans makes me crack up too.

... is the most organised that you know? My mom.

... that you know has travelled the most? My dad. Both our fridge doors are filled from top to bottom with magnets from places he’s travelled in due to his line of work. He’s toned down quite a bit in the last few years and has taken to staying within Asia, but back then his traveling history was super expansive – Germany, Jamaica, Italy, Belize, Aruba, Italy, France, Monaco, Denmark, Norway, the UK, US, Estonia, Portugal, etc.

... has always been there for you? Angela never left my side.

... has given you the most personal gift? I can’t possibly pick, my friends are pretty good at giving me gifts...like Andi getting me a Petals For Armor CD and a Punk shirt that hasn’t been produced in a while, and Angela giving me a personalized Friends mug because she knows I like my coffee and she knows I like Friends.

... has an annoying laugh? I don’t think anyone I know has an annoying laugh.

... never forgets a birthday? That would be me.

... do you live with? My parents, my two siblings, and our two dogs.

...,do you have the most in common with? I’m not so sure about this one, actually. I share bits of my personality with a lot of people - like me and Jo liking BTS, me and Andi liking wrestling, Blanch and I having similar personalities, me and Laurice being super meticulous when it comes to our work, etc. - but I haven’t met anyone who’s virtually a duplicate of mine when it comes to my traits and interests.

...is the sportiest person you know? I’m also not sure. Most people I know are into watching a bunch of sports, but none of them actually play.

...was your last missed call? It was an unknown number that I kept ignoring because THEY WOULDN’T TEXT WHO THEY WERE. If you have enough load credits to call me multiple times, then surely you can text me and introduce yourself first, and maybe then I can pick up the phone.

...did you last open your door for? My sister knocked last Friday because someone wanted to talk to me via landline. It was weird since no one calls via the phone anymore, but I have a gut feeling it was that ^ same person who had been trying to call me through my phone but never texted me. Eventually I learned it was one of the bloggers I’m talking to for work who just wanted to ask a few questions about our ongoing engagement.

... has your heart? Kim Taehyung. Expect the same answer for this type of question moving forward.

... has your respect? I gotta hand it to Tina for consistently doing well in her studies and excelling in every subject while doing photo and video editing for two orgs, working on her thesis, and being a board member in our mutual org, all while living alone. She does so well I wish I can tell her to give herself the occasional break to avoid burnout.

...do you share a special song with? I don’t think I have that with anyone.

...do you miss right now? Literally allllllll my friends.

...last made you angry? It’s been a while since I’ve directed my anger towards another person. When I get pissed off these days it’s usually over a situation that goes awry or out of my control.

...did you last buy a gift for? So this was not technically meant to be a gift, but what happened was I accidentally secured two orders of the same poster set, which was a part of this new BTS photobook coming out later this month, from two different shops. One of the shops merely posted an ‘interest check’ for the poster set so I signed up for it thinking it was harmless, but when they got back to me they already attached an invoice :/ I ended up having to pay for it just so things won’t get complicated between myself and the shop anymore; and I told Angela she can just keep the extra set I bought and that she can consider it a gift.

...did you celebrate your last birthday with? My family and technically my workmates since I didn’t file a leave that day. I also had food delivered to their house so I guess that can count as my ‘celebration’ with them.

...have you gone to a concert with? I went with Angela for my first Paramore show.

...can make you laugh? Anyone can tbh. It’s not very hard to make me laugh.

...has taught you how to do something? Nina taught me how to embroider and do basic needle/thread skills back when I was still getting into the hobby.

...has lost something of yours? I am almost certain my ex never kept the handwritten letters I used to write her. She never seemed to remember or bring up the things I wrote.

...has broke your heart? Gabie but I’m over it.

...has stood you up? Hasn’t happened to me before.

:: What ::

Is your favourite colour? Pastel pink.

Can you do that most your friends can’t? Type fast, apparently.

Is your birthday? April 21.

Colour eyes do you have? Dark brown/black.

Form of transport do you take to work/school? I work from home. But under normal circumstances I would drive my car.

Music do you like to listen to in the car? I connect my Spotify to the car’s Bluetooth and listen to whatever artist or playlist I’m into at the moment. The music I put on could also depend on my current mood for the day.

Languages can you speak? Filipino and English. I’ve also been able to pick up looooots of Korean phrases and expressions because of the amount of content I watch. I’m nowhere near fluent, of course, but I’m increasingly able to pick up what people say based off a few Korean words I’ll hear in a sentence.

Was the last thing you drank? Continued from idk. I finished off my glass of water from dinner.

Was the last thing you ate? My mom made pasta.

Time did you wake up this morning? Depends on how late I slept the night before and how tired I was, but it usually ranges between 5:45–7:30 AM.

Colour are your bedroom walls? They’re white.

Drink do you usually order when eating out? I never order drinks unless I’m at La Creperie, in which case I always get their San Gines hot chocolate; for everywhere else that isn’t a bar, I just get water.

Food can you cook well? ...I can’t cook.

Animals have you had for a pet? Dogs, rabbit, lovebirds, goldfish, and technically a cat but she was mostly Nina’s.

Are your initials? RC.

Kind of activities do you like to do on the weekends? I’m still kind of stuck at home during the weekends :/ so I can’t do much, but I’m not complaining since I actually prefer staying in these days. Anyway, most recently I’ve taken to catching up on BTS content I’ve missed over the last 8 years, so I like watching shows they’ve done like Bon Voyage, Run BTS, etc.

Movie do you know line by line? Two for the Road, TITANIC, and probably most of White Chicks.

Band(s) have you seen in concert? Paramore, One Direction, a bunch of local bands.

Do you buy/get to treat yourself? It’s usually food - I like giving myself a feast every Friday night - but I’m putting that in the backseat for now as I’ve realigned my money to be spent on BTS merch. My big purchases are saved for the albums for now, but every now and then I’ll see a postcard or photocard I like and buy them. Once I complete the albums I’ll be moving on to the concert DVDs, then the special packages, then probably BT21 plushies. Needless to say I have a longggggg way to go haha.

Colours your phone cover? I have a clear case.

Part of the world would you love to visit? Another continent would be nice.

Question do you dislike being asked? Even though I know people mean well, I don’t like being asked “How are you?” but tbh it’s more of a me thing because I just never really know what to say.

Subject were you good at in school? History.

Careers do your parents have? They both work in the hospitality industry.

Brand of clothing do you buy most often? For clothes clothes I’m not really loyal to a particular brand; I buy from different brands and shops all the time. But for shoes, I like sticking to Nikes.

Chocolate bar is your favourite? Not a big fan of chocolate bars. I love Reese’s Cups, though.

TV show have you watched every series of? Friends, Perfect Strangers, Breaking Bad.

Radio station do you listen to the most? It’s a little hard to tell at this point considering I haven’t driven regularly in over a year. But back when I used to do it, I usually flipped among 93.1, 99.5, and 87.5.

Podcasts are you subscribed to? I’m not the biggest fan of podcasts. Find them a tad bit boring.

Is your favourite dessert? Macarons or cheesecake.

Can’t you do that most around you seem to? Ride a bike.

Are 5 qualities you value in a friend? Loyalty, thoughtfulness, honest, sensitive to my needs and those of others, and intelligent.

Are 5 qualities you value in a partner? ^ Pretty much the same thing.

Size pizza do you usually order? Family size usually.

Cuisine do you like to order or cook? I’ve been getting Japanese so many times recently. I rarely go outside sushi.

Colour(s) dominate your wardrobe? Black and white, and colors that were in at one point like mustard yellow and pastel pink.

Toothpaste brand do you use? Colgate.

Sounds can you hear right now? My insanely loud aircon.

Is the weather like today? Like hell. I believe we’re reaching a heat index of over 50ºC every day now, so...that’s fun. It gets absolutely difficult to work in the afternoon when the temperature is at its most brutal, and its times like this I wish I got to work in the office so that there’s aircon and I could at least work comfortably :/

Are your plans for tomorrow? Just work and have tons of meetings, the usual.

:: Where ::

Do you keep your phone when not using it? I keep my phone near me even when I’m not using it since I could always get an important notification.

Were you born? Manila.

Do you go to unwind? Most days it would be the rooftop, but under normal circumstances I like staying at a coffee shop somewhere to escape life and my responsibilities for a short while.

Is your best friend right now? I believe they’re both at home since they have no reason to be out anyway.

Can you go nearby to have a good time? Personally, I would just go to the Starbucks near our village lol. If I’m feeling a bit more adventurous I’d head to Katip, which is prrrretty close by but not quite.

Is the nearest restaurant? We have a McDonald’s literally right beside the village. Then besides that is a Shakey’s, and right across that is a Burger King, then the aforementioned neaby Starbucks. Just makes me realize how urbanized my town has gotten in the last few years.

Is the nearest beach? If I had to guess, the nearest beaches would be in Batangas which is 2-3 hours away, but it really depends on how fast you can drive lol. I’m not too good with long car rides so in both times I’ve driven there I had always taken 4 hours.

Did you meet your closest friend? I met Angela in grade school, and I met Andi at a local rally in my university.

Did you go for your last vacation? Tagaytay, though it was a staycation more than anything else.

Is the nearest mall or superstore? It’s like a 3-minute drive away from the village.

Did you last get an injury? I have loadsssssss of new scratches and gashes all around my wrists from playing with Cooper.

Is the most extravagant place you’ve stayed at? It’s a toss-up between Aids’ or Gian’s house. Gian would probably win since I never actually got to go inside Aids’ place, and his was the first house I’ve been to that was able to literally take my breath away. OH and Shaun’s house was pretty fucking swanky as well.

Do most the local kids play? I would have no idea since I’m neither a kid nor a parent.

Have you been with your family? This is a very vague question lol...what do you mean where have we been? We’ve been to different towns around the country and several countries together, if that’s what you’ve been asking.

Did you spend Christmas last year? We visited a couple of relatives, and we also spent it at home.

Did your parents grow up? My mom grew up within Metro Manila; my dad in a city a little outside of it.

Did you buy the shoes you’re wearing? I’m barefoot at the moment and always am at home.

Would you like to go right now if you could? If life had still been normal I would probably be having after-work drinks at a bar near the office.

Do you miss the most from your childhood? I’m not sure how to answer this with where.

Is the best restaurant you know? I’m still searching for it.

Will you never go again as it was so bad? It’s not that it was bad, but I’d probably never dine at 8Cuts again because their burgers are not worth the hype and are very overpriced for their size.

:: When ::

...was your last vacation? My family’s last legit vacation was in August 2019; but we did have a quick escape to Tagaytay in January of this year.

...did you graduate? I officially ‘graduated’ from college in August, if you could even call it that.

...did you decide what career you wanted? Somewhere between my 2nd and 3rd year of college. That was when I decided I hated journalism and preferred PR, but since PR is under journalism’s umbrella there was no need for me to shift courses.

...did you have your first kiss? Continued. Like WHEN when or how old was I when? In any case, it was in January 2015 and I ws 16.

...did you learn how to swim? Idk, pretty early on. My parents liked taking us to water parks when we were younger, so we had a lot of exposure. I’m not sure if there was ever a time where something just clicked and I learned how to swim; I believe it had just come naturally.

...did you have your first relationship? By the end of 2014.

...did you meet your best friend? I met both of them in school, but at different points.

...do you feel the most at peace? Probably when I’m able to stay at the rooftop all alone.

...do you usually fall asleep? I’ve readjusted my body clock now (I used to want to be in bed by 9 or 10 PM, lmao) and I stay up until anywhere between 12-2 AM on weekdays.

...do you usually wake up? Ranges between 6-7:30 AM.

...did you last watch a movie? September.

...did you last go to a party? Around Februaryish, 2020.

...did you last cry? I can’t really recall. The last moment I can remember was crying over Life Goes On sometime last month, when I heard it for the first time. I’m just not sure if that’s accurate or when exactly in April that happened.

...did you laugh really hard? I always have a good laugh at least once a day.

...did you buy something pricey last? Idk what you would count as pricey but I bought the new BTS photobook set when it dropped back in April. Cost me around ₱3750. I wasn’t able to buy from the first press (it sold out in like 7 minutes lol) which included an exclusive poster set, so I had to look for a local shop that was already offering the poster set separately, and ended up shelling out another ₱2200 for it...which means all in all I spent around ₱5950 for it or roughly $125.

...did you have an argument last? Earlier this evening but I don’t want to get into it as it made me cry from sadness and frustration for the first time in months.

...did you last have a sick day? May last year.

...did you last recieve a hug? I have no idea. February, I think? when I hung out with my friends.

...when is your best friend’s birthday? July 22 or September 15, depends on which best friend.

...did you learn how to drive? I started getting lessons when I was 17, but I didn’t start feeling comfortable with it until I turned 18.

...did you last receive a surprise? Around a couple of weeks ago when my dad came home with Jollibee for us.

:: How ::

Many pets do you have? Two.

Many houses have you lived in? Three that I can remember, but I know my parents moved around a bit when I was a newborn.

Often do you shower? Every morning before my shift. I hate feeling sweaty and icky when I report for work.

Well can you cook? I can’t at all.

Many close friends do you have? I have two people I count as my absolute best friends, but I have a handful of close friends as well.

Many Brothers or sisters do you have? One of each.

Often do you go swimming? I don’t swim much at all, really...I haven’t done it since 2019, so that should say enough. As relaxing as it is, I feel like the clean-up afterwards can be such a challenge lol. Like if you swim in a pool you have to rigorously wash the chlorine off of you; and if you swim in the sea you have to also be thorough about making sure you’ve removed all the sand from your body.

Many times have you texted today? I don’t think I texted today but I did spend my whole day on chat platforms.

Do you like your toast (colour, topping)? I don’t have super particular preferences; I just like mine on the burnt side.

Do you like your tea and/or coffee? My coffee has to be sweet for me to enjoy it. I can take black coffee/Americano; I’ll just wince a lot with every sip. No tea for me thanks.

Do you like to celebrate your birthdays? With a lot of food.

Are you feeling today? A little frustrated because of an argument incident this evening. But I’m shaking it off and just focusing on the release of Butter tomorrow. My first BTS comeback!!!

Serious are you about your career goals? Very.

Many rooms are in your house? In total, 9.

Many bedrooms in your house? 4.

Did you do in your school exams? I was never consistent. I slacked off a looooooot in grade school; couldn’t give less of a shit about my classes then. I got a bit more hardworking in high school, but I still was a bit lax and I allowed myself to not put a lot of effort in subjects I didn’t care a lot for and that I know I would never have to use in real life, like chemistry or accounting, so there were exams I really excelled in and others that I would fail. It was only in college I started taking my studies incredibly seriously and I believe that showed in the grades I eventually got.

Close do you live to your parents? They’re like, five steps away.

Close do you live to your siblings? My sister’s literally in the room next to mine.

Sensitive to criticism are you? I know it’s something that can never be avoided, so I’m always open to hearing them, especially if it’s meant to help me. It doesn’t mean I enjoy it as it is being given.

Motivated to make changes are you? Depends on my mood and mindset. 

Creative are you (1-10): -0.5.

Hard working are you (1-10): Probably a 22 if I really put my head into a task.

Sporty are you (1-10): I dunno, maybe a 6? I do like playing table tennis, but I’m pretty meh at any other sport.

Musical are you (1-10): 0.

Do you prefer your eggs? Runny yolk; scrambled; or a really packed omelette.

Often do you go out to eat? Before the pandemic, I liked eating out 2-3 times a week.

Would your best friend describe you? Not sure, I never tried asking them this. I hope it’s all nice things, though.

Can someone cheer you up if you’re sad? Send me photos of V. Hahahaha

Often do you meet up with your friends? ...What do you think? D:

Important is religion to you? It is not a part of my life whatsoever.

Old were you when you first stayed overnight from home? 15 or 16, I can’t really remember.

Old were you when you got your first pet? I was maybe 6.

Tech savvy are you? I know enough to survive my own, but I obviously can’t hack into other computers or things like that.

Do you show you appreciate those you care for? Buying them food.

Often do you cut your hair? I only take a trip to the salon once a year.

Often do you paint your nails? Never.

Many countries have you visited? Six.

Boyfriends/girlfriends have you had? Just one.

:: Why ::

... did you choose your username? Because it was straightforward.

... did you take this survey? I like surveys made in categories, and this seemed interesting and varied enough.

... did you choose the career you did? I found that I enjoyed it MILES more than journalism.

...did you last leave the house? I had to go to a local LBC for a work errand.

...did you last give up on something? She wasn’t worth the effort anymore. She hadn’t been for a while, but it took me forever to realize.

...did you search the last thing you searched? I wanted to sing along to the song but it was in Japanese, so I had to look up its lyrics.

...would you give up on someone completely? Oof, I guess you can refer to one of the previous questions. ^

:: If...::

You could live in any country which would you choose? Canada.

You could choose any animal as a pet which one? I’m perfectly content with dogs.

You could be famous for something what would you like? Being known for a funny tweet would probably be enough lol. I have no desire to be famous.

You are sad, how do you combat it? I don’t really get sad anymore these days, so I can’t super remember the go-to tactics I depend on...I guess I like listening to sad songs and allowing myself to wallow in the sadness, because I know I have to accept and process my feelings first before I can be able to calm down.  

You can drive when did you learn? I learned shortly before I started college, when I was 18, because no one was going to be able to take me to university when the school year started.

You could have any job what would it be? Idk, I like the one I have now.

You could go anywhere for a vacation where would you go? Somewhere with a completely different feel and atmosphere, like Norway, Sweden, Finland...that part of Europe, basically.

You could eat anything right now what would it be? Samgak gimbap :/

You wrote a book what genre/topic would it be? It would be a book of essays or maybe a memoir.

You had a theme song what would it be? Idk I don’t really think about this.

You could meet any band/singer in person which one? Billie Eilish seems awesome and easy and fun to talk to.

You could act in any movie which would it be? No thanks.

You get married what venue would you like? Hotel.

If you have kids do you have names picked out? I have one name picked out for a girl but that’s it.

Could describe your dream home what would it be like? Brutalist and minimalist, with large windows, cove lights, and a lot of white space.

You could go back in time what would you change? Break up with Gab earlier.

Could use 3 words to describe your childhood which ones? Could’ve been better.

Could get the answer to any question which question would you choose? When I would die and how, just so I can have peace of mind.

You could have an endless supply of something what would it be? Money, because of course.

Meet anyone who no longer lives who’d you choose? My great-grandfather, mom’s side.

:: Can ::

... you ride a bike? No, never learned.

... you ski? I’ve never even seen snow, so no.

... you bake a cake? I can try but it will probably be very clumsily made as I don’t bake.

... you sing well? I wouldn’t say that. I like singing when I’m alone, but it doesn’t mean I’m any good.

... you do your own taxes? I’ve never tried haha so I guess not.

... you remain calm in a crisis? Depends on how serious it is.

... you do first aid? Let’s just say I wouldn’t volunteer if it comes down to it because I feel like I’d commit one fatal mistake that would make the situation graver. 

... remember your best friend’s family members’ names? Both of their families, yes.

... you fire a gun? I’ve never tried so I doubt it.

... your parents drive? Yep.

...your best friend dance well? They’re not ‘dancers’ per se but sure, they can bust out a move or two.

...you make people laugh easily? Not everyone, but sure.

...stand up for yourself? That’s what I’m trying to learn these days.

...you do a martial art? No.

:: Would ::

You like to learn a new language? That’s always a welcome opportunity.

Save the life of a stray animal? Absolutely.

Know what to do if there was a hurricane? We have several ones come in the country every year so yeah, I can definitely say we’ve long been well-prepared for them.

Try a new cuisine? I do this as often as I can.

Risk your life for anyone? Yes.

You like to get back in touch with someone? No, I’m good now.

You drive in the middle of the night to get a stuck friend? Ina heartbeat.

You Know how to perform CPR? In relation to the first aid question, I wouldn’t volunteer myself in case I make a wrong move.

You likely win in a game of chess? I don’t even know how it works, so no.

You stop talking for a day for $100? Easily.

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Writer’s Month Prompts Day 5

Day 5: Summer Vacation (KISS Kollege AU)

Moving right along to Day 5! Requested by @tanookiroxx <3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

So maybe Paul enjoyed the summer break—give him, well, a break. He didn’t have to worry about classes, he could paint as much as he wanted, and best of all, he didn’t have to see anyone he didn’t want to see (coughMEGcough).

One of the people he did want to see was Bruce Kulick the History professor. He’d been such an amazing model for his charcoal drawing that Paul had (totally not shyly) asked him if he wanted to model for other paintings. Bruce had simply smiled, in the way that made Paul’s heart beat faster, and said yes.

That was what led him to be down at his studio off of Woodward on this fine Wednesday morning. He was setting up his art supplies and a canvas on his easel so they could get started. As usual, he had his radio on, and while usually he played 94.7 WCSX, today he decided he would play 93.9 instead.

When he switched to the different station, he found himself having switched right in the middle of a Whitney Houston song. “—wanna dance with somebody! I wanna feel the heat with somebody!”

Paul smiled to himself and went back to work, humming along under his breath. He didn’t know all the words, but he was pretty sure everybody and their mother knew the chorus to this song.

He got everything set up, and was simply waiting for Bruce to arrive. He looked over his paints thoughtfully. Did he want to do a multicolored picture, or did he want to go black, white, and grey? Then again, he’d already done a charcoal drawing, so maybe he could go with the different colors. It would be an explosion of color—yeah, that sounded good…

“Ohh, I wanna dance with somebody,” he sang under his breath as he took out the paint he would use. “I wanna feel the heat with somebody. Yeeeah, I wanna dance with somebody. With somebody who loves me.”

Bruce immediately flashed in his mind, and he smiled wider. He’d never danced with Bruce before, not even when their little friend group had gone to Common Pub or the Stray Cat. Bruce never seemed like the kind of person to get up and dance. Maybe he would to this song… He imagined dancing along to the song with Bruce, and the thought of beanpole Bruce waving his limbs around to the song made him laugh.

He began to sing louder as he straightened up his studio. “I need a man to take a chance on a love that burns hot enough to last. So when the night falls… My lonely heart calls…”

He whipped around his dusting rag and starting dancing around the room, singing his heart out to the chorus. “Ohhhh I wanna dance with somebody! I wanna feel the heat with somebody! Yeeeah, I wanna dance with somebody! With somebody who loves me!”

But really, how wonderful would it be to dance with Bruce? His… were they boyfriends? He wasn’t sure what Wayne State’s policy was about being able to date fellow faculty. They were keeping their relationship quiet, much like Gene and Vinnie, except of course they didn’t spend all of their time together screwing each other’s brains out. But anyway, dancing with Bruce; it sounded amazing. At Bleu Detroit, maybe? He liked that place. Did Bruce like going to clubs?

“Don’tcha wanna dance, say you wanna dance, don’tcha wanna dance! Don’tcha wanna dance, say you wanna dance, don’tcha wanna dance! Don’tcha wanna dance, say you wanna dance, don’tcha—”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Paul jumped out of his skin and nearly screeched, then whirled around to see Bruce standing in the doorway. The History professor had a wide smile on his face. “Hey,”

Paul’s face went red. “U-Uh… Hi…” He quickly hurried over to his radio and turned it off. “Did you just get here?”

“Yep.” He grinned at Paul. “You didn’t have to stop on my account. You looked like you were having fun.”

“W-Well, I… Well, c’mon, who doesn’t love that song?”

Bruce nodded in concession as he entered and closed the door behind him. “True. My brother can sing that song real well when he’s had a few and there’s a karaoke machine.”

That made Paul smile and laugh. Bob the guitar tech, drunk? Now that was something he wanted to see.

Bruce walked over to him and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re a good singer,”

Heat rose to his face again. “Thanks… Should we get started?”

“Sure. Where should I sit?”

“Over here. It catches the light best.”

Bruce sat down in the stool Paul had set up, and as Paul was picking up his apron to tie on he suddenly said, “Hey, Paul?”

He turned around. “Yeah?”

Bruce smirked at him. “Wanna feel the heat with me sometime?”

A pink blush exploded across his face. But he quickly recollected himself and smiled back. “Name the time and place, Brucie.”

[anotherkpopvictim]

Into a New World (Through the Gate) - BTS OT7 Fantasy Story Chapter 1

(Pic Source - Jaiho? (I found this on a pinterest but I don’t think it was this person’s) ((Edit is by me tho))

A/N: Hi, so, this is a multi-chaptered story that I’ve had swirling around in my head for a while. I’m not sure how many chapters it’s going to be, and I’m not sure how often I’ll update (especially because I have a few other stories I need to update first) but I will finish this story one way or another.

Happy Birthday, our Hobi <3

Relationship: BTS X BTS

Rating: T (for now)

Words: 2928

Hurt/comfort, fluff, fantasy

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Chapter 1: The Banishing

Worldbuilding Notes on Fairies:

The origin of how fairies came to be is rather unknown. Their attributes and used honorifics suggest they are of Korean descent.

Fairies can be creatures of trickery. Though not inherently evil, fairies possess the ability to manipulate easily if they so please (not all use this ability, though). While they can also sometimes use aura reading to detect whether someone is lying or not, a fairy’s downfall is that they themselves cannot lie. Despite this, they are talented at twisting words and finding loopholes in different situations.

A Fairy’s magic ability is similar to that of witches, but it is easier for them to learn as they are born with a close connection to magic itself, while witches spend years and years learning to connect with magic. Fairies are often good spies as they have their smaller form that can easily hide. Fairies are born with a given color - the color of their hair and eyes. These colors represent common personality traits (though not always 100% accurate from person to person, and not all fairies have all the traits the colors represent). A mix of two or more colors just means that the person has personality traits of multiple colors (i.e. a very dark blue would have traits of both blue and black).

(Link to the basis of color symbolism I’m using - https://www.color-meanings.com/)

Colors and their meanings:

(This part is optional to read, but I will be using this as a basis for fairy personalities in the story)

Red - The color of passion and energy. Red draws attention like no other color and radiates a strong and powerful energy that motivates us to take action. It is also linked to sexuality and stimulates deep and intimate passion.

Orange - The color of enthusiasm and emotion. Orange exudes warmth and joy and is considered a fun color that provides emotional strength. It is optimistic and uplifting, adds spontaneity and positivity to life, and encourages social communication and creativity. It is a youthful and energetic color.

Yellow - The color of happiness and optimism. Yellow is a cheerful and energetic color that brings fun and joy to the world. It makes learning easier as it affects the logical part of the brain, stimulating mentality and perception. It inspires thought and curiosity and boosts enthusiasm and confidence.

Green - The color of harmony and health. Green is a generous, relaxing color that revitalizes our body and mind. It balances our emotions and leaves us feeling safe and secure. It also gives us hope, with promises of growth and prosperity, and it provides a little bit of luck to help us along the way.

Blue - The color of trust and loyalty. Blue has a calming and relaxing effect on our psyche, that gives us peace and makes us feel confident and secure. It dislikes confrontation and too much attention, but it is an honest, reliable, and responsible color and you can always count on its support.

Purple - The color of spirituality and imagination. Purple inspires us to divulge our innermost thoughts, which enlightens us with the wisdom of who we are and encourages spiritual growth. It is often associated with royalty and luxury, and its mystery and magic sparks creative fantasies.

Pink - The color of love and compassion. Pink is kind and comforting, full of sympathy and compassion, and makes us feel accepted. Its friendly, playful spirit calms and nurtures us, bringing joy and warmth into our lives. Pink is also a feminine and intuitive color that is bursting with pure romance.

White - The color of purity and innocence. White is a true balance of all colors and is associated with cleanliness, simplicity, and perfection. It loves to make others feel good and provides hope and clarity by refreshing and purifying the mind. It also promotes open-mindedness and self-reflection.

Black - The color of power and sophistication. Black is an incredibly strong and intimidating color that exudes authority and makes us feel secure and protected. Often seen at formal and prestigious events, this mysterious marvel arouses and seduces our senses with its elegance and sexiness.

Gray - The color of compromise and control. Gray is neutral, conservative, and unemotional. It is practically solid as a rock, making it incredibly stable, reliable, and calming. It has a peaceful, relaxing and soothing presence. Gray avoids attention but offers mature, insightful advice to anyone who asks.

Brown - The color of stability and reliability. Brown is dependable and comforting. A great counselor and friend full of wisdom. You can count on its help if you need an honest opinion, support, and protection. It stabilizes us, helps us stay grounded, and inspires us to appreciate the simple things in life.

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Hoseok listened to his older brother babble on to the other five high council members, trying to manifest the courage to speak up to him about what had been weighing him down since the last meeting.

Minseok, his brother, was not a bad person. However, he also wasn’t necessarily a good person either. As the crowned King of the Fairy Kingdom of Aurora, he wasn’t the worst candidate in their long history, not by a long shot. Hoseok had watched him exile a butler after he brought him an indigo-colored robe instead of a dark purple one by accident, but had also seen him send fresh-baked loaves of bread to the orphanage nearby as a treat for the children. He was a man capable of coming up with creative solutions but sometimes allowed his power and authority to cloud his judgment.

An enigma, his brother most certainly was.

This was why Hoseok was so nervous to bring up the topic on his mind. He wasn’t sure how Minseok was going to react, though no one ever really knew. Nevertheless, he needed to give it a try, for the good of their people.

“King Minseok,” Hoseok addressed, standing up from his seat when a lull came in the conversation. He bowed politely towards his brother. “There is a concern of mine that I needed to bring up, brother.”

The older man with a head full of shocking dark purple hair and eyes the same color looked at him curiously. “Yes, Hoseok-ah. What is the matter, brother?”

Hoseok gulped against the lump forming in his throat and forced himself to speak. His brother was being kind right now, but he knew the man could turn on a dime. “The army, brother. They have been urging us for some time now to give the soldiers more time before sending them to war.”

Minseok raised an eyebrow, “We have an alliance with the jinns, a promise to fight with them against the demons.”

“I know, my King,” Hoseok replied. “But our soldiers are being slaughtered on the battlefield. If we could change the laws in place and give them a few more months of training to build up their skills-”

“So, what you’re saying is that I should spend more money and time on our soldiers when the war they are fighting isn’t to be a long one?” The King asked, interrupting Hoseok’s words.

It was predicted that the jinns were going to win the war with the demons, though it was a slow process. “We’ve lost thousands of our citizens, Minseok-hyung.” Hoseok urged. “Lives were lost when they could have lived if only they had more skills and endurance. The captains have been coming to us since they realized the pattern months ago.”

Minseok furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance. “We already give so many resources to the military, we don’t have anything to spare.”

“We’ll find some, we’ll find a way-”

“ENOUGH!” Minseok boomed, standing up from the throne and slamming his hands down on the table. “The way the laws are written right now give our soldiers plenty of time to refine their skills before they are sent off to fight. More soldiers come back than don’t and that’s more than we could ask for. I will not spend another second on this unimportant topic when there are other issues to be resolved.”

“But, hyung,” Hoseok pleaded. He knew he should just shut up, but the worried words of the captains wouldn’t leave his mind. “Perhaps you could just allow some of the captains to tell you their worries personally. I really think that we need to-”

Minseok’s dark purple hair began to lift around his golden crown, glowing and sparking with magic. That was when Hoseok knew it was over for him.

“Hoseok-ssi, you know better than to talk back to your King!” his brother hissed.

“Hyung, my King, I’m sorry-”

“You’re banished!”

Hoseok nearly choked. “W-What?”

“I’m banishing you from Aurora. How dare you rebel against the King!” Minseok raged, motioning for guards to grab onto Hoseok.

Hoseok could see the anger in his brother’s eyes, the betrayal, and knew that there was no changing the crazed, overdramatic sentence given to him.

“Minseok,” Hoseok looked at his brother with one final plea, “Please don’t do this. I didn’t mean to offend you in any way.”

Minseok snarled, his bright purple hair starting to glow and move as his power began to build up inside of him. “You’ve betrayed the crown. You’ve betrayed me. There is no place in Aurora for you any longer.”

Hoseok bent his head, knowing that his brother had truly made his decision and nothing he could say would change his mind. His own shocking orange hair lay flat against his head, no spark of power anywhere to be found - a sure sign of any fairy’s defeat.

The five councilmen who were occupying the table with the two brothers sat in silence, eyes sympathetic as they watched Hoseok being escorted out of the room.

There were ten guards that led them towards the Gate that was situated just outside the castle walls, two of them holding onto Hoseok’s arms like he was going to even try to get away. He knew better than that.

A misty, swirling wall of fog lay just behind the golden bars of the Gate. Hoseok could only watch with a defeated look in his eyes as his brother opened the right door of the Gate and then turned to look at him.

“Jung Hoseok, you are hereby banished from Aurora under my authority, King Minseok of the Fairy Kingdom. Shall you ever choose to return, you will be greeted with death.” Minseok snarled out his brother’s sentence with such malice it made Hoseok cringe. Then the King turned to the two guards holding Hoseok’s arms and ordered, “Throw him through the Gate.”

Hoseok, whose heart was racing with fear in his chest, didn’t fight the two men at all. As he was forced forward, he shut his eyes tightly and braced himself. He merely accepted his fate as he was pushed harshly into the swirling fog.

Now, Hoseok had never traveled worlds before, so he hadn’t ever experienced what it was like to go through a Gate before.

At first, it felt as if he was falling at a great speed, the breath snatched from his lungs. Then, he suddenly felt himself slow down before dropping onto some sort of hard surface.

Laying on the ground, Hoseok was reluctant to open his eyes. He knew that he must be on Earth now, as Earth was the center of the worlds, but he didn’t know exactly where. He couldn’t hear much besides the ruffling of some leaves in the breeze and birds chirping happily. The temperature was slightly cooler than he was used to, and his attire of matching silk shorts and a shirt certainly didn’t do anything to keep him warm.

Taking in a brave breath, Hoseok opened his eyes and took in the scene before him. He was in a forest lush with tall, green trees. Pretty blue flowers bloomed in patches on the ground, bringing Hoseok a bit of relief. Surely the place couldn’t be too bad if there were beautiful flowers blooming, right?

From Hoseok’s limited knowledge of Earth, he knew that it was the center of the realms and welcomed those of all supernatural backgrounds. While most supernatural beings had their own realm to call home, there were a few that didn’t. Vampires, shapeshifters, and witches lived primarily on Earth. Creatures like jinns, goblins, demons, and yes, fairies, all had their own realm.

Gates only existed between Earth and these worlds, but they were plentiful all across the Earth. Most Gates were situated in Gate Stations (just like a train station) but there were some that were simply situated in the middle of nowhere.

Of course, it appeared that Minseok had to make things even more difficult for his brother by sending him somewhere obscure. Hoseok hadn’t had the chance to see exactly where he was sending him to. A childish move on the older man’s part.

“Well, gosh marbles!” Hoseok shouted into the trees as he stood up and dusted himself off. “What am I going to do now?”

Where was he to go? What was he to do? The Fairy Kingdom was all he had known his whole life.

“E-Excuse me?”

Hoseok yelped with a start at the sudden voice, his head whipping around to find the source. He caught sight of a young-looking man peeking out from behind one of the trees to his left. He had big, curious doe eyes and didn’t appear to be much of a threat, but Hoseok knew from experience not to let his guard down.

“W-Who are you?” he asked, kicking himself when he stuttered.

The young man came out from behind the tree, revealing his all-black ensemble; jeans, a leather jacket, and some army boots. Hoseok remembered reading that fashion was quite different on Earth, but he was still surprised. “I’m Jungkook. Who are you?”

(JKs look) (except no beanie)

“Hoseok,” he replied cautiously.

“Did you just come through the Gate?” Jungkook asked, head tilting towards said Gate right behind Hoseok.

“Yes.”

Jungkook hummed thoughtfully. “No one’s come through that Gate in years.”

“Oh...” Hoseok said intelligently. “Um, could you perhaps tell me where I am?”

“Well, I would assume you at least know that you’re on Earth, but more specifically, you’re just outside of Seoul, South Korea.”

“South Korea...” Hoseok repeated, wracking his brain for anything he knew about this place. He knew that he’d heard of it, but he wasn’t sure where from.

“You’re a fairy, right?” Jungkook asked, rather excitedly. “Many fairies seem to have Korean in their blood. So technically, you’re in your ancient homeland!”

Ah, Hoseok thought, that makes sense. Fairies were rather sheltered about things outside of their own Kingdom, so while Hoseok had heard that they were possibly descendants of Earth’s South Korea, he didn’t know much about it at all.

Hoseok blinked at the smiling young man before him, whose grin and scrunched-up nose made him look uncannily like a rabbit, not to mention his adorable front teeth.

“Ah, sorry!” Jungkook turned a little sheepish. “Ever since my Jimin-hyung came, I’ve really wanted to meet another fairy so badly!”

Hoseok didn’t have time to register that apparently, South Koreans used the same honorifics as fairies, as the more important part of the young man’s statement caught Hoseok’s attention. “You know another fairy?”

“Mhm,” Jungkook nodded his head dutifully, his shaggy dark brown hair bobbing up and down with it. “Jiminie’s color is pink. And he lives with us.”

“Us?”

“Me and my hyungs! There are six of us. We live just a couple miles away from here.” Jungkook answered with a fond smile.

“A pack, huh?” Hoseok gave the young man a once-over when he realized he had no idea what creature Jungkook was. “Are you...human?”

Jungkook shook his head before opening his mouth and pointing at some very tiny but pointy incisors that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “I’m a vampire, like my Yoongi-hyung. I was obviously a human, though, before he saved me.” Jungkook’s smile faded a bit as he seemed to get lost in a memory.

“A little vamp, I see,” Hoseok replied, feeling like he needed to lighten the mood. “How old are you?”

“I’ve been a vampire for seven years, and I was twenty-three when I was turned.” A pretty young vampire then. Hoseok had read about vampires who lived to be thousands of years old.

“Well,” Hoseok began with a gentle smile, “I’m one hundred thirty-eight, so I guess that makes me your hyung.”

Jungkook let out a sigh of relief. “Good, I don’t like being a hyung.”

Hoseok chuckled at the younger’s adorableness before he remembered where he was and what had conspired for him to be here.

Jungkook must have noticed his expression sadden because he gave a little gasp. “Hoseok-hyung, do you need somewhere to stay? I’m sure my hyungs wouldn’t mind housing you for now.”

Hoseok honestly questioned the young man. Who in their right mind invited a total stranger into their home? Jungkook the baby vampire, apparently. Hoseok doubted that he had any nefarious ulterior motives for inviting him, as fairies were fairly good at reading others and he didn’t sense anything from him, but it was strange nonetheless.

However, Hoseok really didn’t have anywhere to go or any money to get a place to stay. He’d been thrown out of the only world he’s ever known and didn’t know what he was supposed to do. And he was tired, just plain tired from the eventful day.

So, he gave the only answer he really could.

“I would love a place to stay, Jungkook-ah.”

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A/N: So...what did you think?

I’ve never written anything in the fantasy genre but I’ve been loving so many fantasy fics lately that I just had to take a try at it. I don’t know much about the specifics of the different supernatural creatures in legends and such, so these will mostly be of my own making, but with some common traits you probably know.

Please do not expect me to update this for a while, as I need to update a few other stories first, but I will not abandon this fic.

I tried to make it clear that Hoseok’s brother, Minseok, has an unstable mentality, and thus feeling like his brother betrayed him over something rather ridiculous and banishing him seemed reasonable to him. 

Please leave comments and likes as they fuel my motivation to write exponentially <3 And if you have any suggestions now or in future chapters for what you would like to see, I would love the ideas and will try to work them into the story (though I don’t have much solidly planned just yet anyways).

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So far we know:

Seokjin - ?

Yoongi - Vampire

Hoseok - Fairy (138)

Namjoon - ?

Jimin - Fairy

Taehyung - ?

Jungkook - Vampire (30)

(I think you’ll meet the others in the next chapter!)

[johndaltcn]

WANTED IN THE STATE OF NEW YORK: TAYLOR DANVERS or A DAY IN THE LIFE OF MISSING HER.

Drowning. John could think of worse ways to die. A car accident where you hurl out of the windshield like a ragdoll, some form of cancer, being beaten to death, a gas leak, poison. The list was seemingly endless. John could have conjured new ideas with each breath, with each turn of his head, which each greeting. He’d be sitting opposite a middle-aged man with a greying beard and a beer belly who needed a new motor for his boat and, suddenly, dying of old age alone in your bedroom. Though, there was still drowning in the ocean. Perhaps he would have eventually given up the good fight when he was out there for too long. He’d wade into the eerie quiet of the sea. On days where the list feels useless, he imagines Taylor doing just that. A product of her surroundings, growing gills and a tail like they do in the movies. She’d be blue but shiny like a wet marble. Her arms would be spread and she’d be smiling up at the blue, blue sky and quietly go the way the world wanted. The way she wanted.

Waves. An interruption to a dream about a man stranded on an island. John stirs under his duvet, light from his window peeking through the heavy fabric of his curtains. The man eats a coconut with one hand and draws shapes in the sand with another. First, he draws a circle and then turns it into a smiley face. Next came a hard penis and then an ocean wave. A lonely, makeshift masterpiece.

As the sun comes up, the room becomes brighter, earning the sun to rise in his dreamscape. It looms just along the horizon, casting a glimmer of white and pale blue across the darkened sea. The edges look transparent paired with the white foam that laps against the sand. His toes dig hastily into the warmth there before the cool of the ocean comes running up his hairy ankles.

This was a nice dream. For now. A miracle. The man wanders around with a smile. He is alone but he is satisfied. No burdens have followed him to his little island. He may starve one day and become a mummy in the sand. Rich people in need of normalcy will arrive one day and find his skeleton perched against a palm tree. Inside his hands will hold a now withered, torn note that says I loved it here.

Dying alone stranded on an island. A piece of John’s brain leaves a reminder to write that down on his list of ways to die.

The man wakes once again after another island sleep, stretching his limbs with a hearty groan. The sun comes up just the same. Glimmering, warm. Today, there was a grey cloud somewhere in the East. Light eyes look to it with confusion. How dare the weather interrupt his state of mind. His shoulders frump like a disturbed toddler, padding across the sand and into the wild jungle where the leaves hung low and sweat became his best friend.

He walks and walks. He’s not sure why. Perhaps he was looking for an answer or someone to scold. The weather was sickeningly humid, the kind that makes every inch of you damp and slick. John could smell his own skin in his sleep. His own sweat too.

The man follows a path down a long line of dirt and sand. He reaches the other end of the island which is much more bleak. The clouds hang low and are a muggy shade of black and grey. The ocean is almost green like moss. It doesn’t lick the shore like the other end. No, it clings to it. It’s thickened over time, probably from oil and other grimes that he couldn’t name in this moment. To his right, he hears a strange sound. A wet but also dry sound that makes the hairs on his arms prick and rise. He looks, there’s a fish. It’s dying, moving around, and gasping for air. His throat tightens. Is it food or a test? He looks to the sky for an answer, perhaps from God, but it only darkens. He was very hungry and a nice, dying fish over a fire sounded like a blessing. But, by some impulse, he scoops the slimy thing up in his shaky hands and goes running through the thick jungle once more. He scrapes his arms and legs on branches as he runs and runs. The beat of his own heart becomes loud like a speaker on high. His breathing is jagged and he begins to squeak with each breath.

Once his slice of heaven comes into view once more, he dashes to the water. His perfect water with all the blues and whites. When he’s close enough, he places the squirming fish into the water. It flops around uselessly. John thinks he might have been dreaming about the stupidest fish in history. It flies right out of the water and onto the sand again.

Did this damn thing wish to die?

With that, he scoops it up again and basically tosses it into the water. “I’m trying to save you!” He yells though his words come out muffled. It sounded like his throat had been piled to the brim with cotton balls.

Then he turns, only to find that the shore had been covered in dead fish. Most of them squirmed and jumped along the sand, bouncing off one another helplessly. The sound was atrocious, like someone chewing loudly in his ear or rubbing their thighs against a wet sheet of marble.

It grows louder, the sound of dead fish and now gawking seagulls falling from the sky. They were hungry for fish but are too ambitious in their endeavor to feed. They crash land to the island and accompany the still dying fish. They’re dying now too. The sound becomes louder and louder and louder. The waves sound like nails brushing together. Rusty ones that have been since forgotten inside someone’s garage.

The man covers his ears and screams. He screams his cotton ball scream and wishes to go home to the mainland. There’s a rotted human hand poking out of the sand just at his feet before John wakes up, gasping for air.

Like in the movies, he hoists himself out of his bed upon waking up. His sweaty back presses carefully into the headboard once he comes to. He was alive, awake, and dry. Well, almost. A hand reaches up brush strands of hair that stick to his forehead. John swallows hard, breathing heavily for a few moments. Mostly to collect himself. It was often that he had nightmares like this. Though they were all different in certain ways, they did all have one thing in common. Water. Sea. John has come to accept that this was the price he had to pay for knowing and missing Taylor Danvers. It might have been the price of loving her too.

The covers are thrown from his body then, draping down and across his bed. The bottoms of his feet move to touch the cold hardwood of his bedroom which grounds him. You’re alive, John. Light that pokes from behind his curtains moves across the floor, creating a line from the window and to under his bed where most of Taylor’s things were stored. He could have easily stuffed them in a box within the back of his closet but something about that made John uneasy. Embarrassed, even. To him, it seemed like such a cliché and John was already coasting the line of borderline cliché these days. The nightmares were enough.

Once the sleep was rubbed from his eyes, John heads to his kitchen to make himself some coffee. He checks the digital clock above his stove. The bright green numbers read 8:12AM. 

At least it was early. At least he hasn’t become like his father, waking up late in the afternoon and still drunk from the evening before. The smell of coffee begins to envelop his home as he opens the creaky cabinet above his head in search of a mug. He plucks one with a decorative J on the front, a lackluster birthday gift his mother had sent him one year. She was a month early but he appreciated the sentiment regardless. Sometimes anything was better than nothing from Jennifer Dalton.

While he continues to wait for the pot to brew, he pictures Taylor dancing around the kitchen in her underwear. She did that almost every day, making a mess in the kitchen as she attempted to make both pancakes and scrambled eggs at the same time. How she made a mess of something so simple, John would never know, but he had always found that endearing. Her dark, smooth hair was always thrown up in a bun at the top of her small head. Her eyes were wide and muddy brown like a cartoon lamb. She would kiss his cheek and say he looked “positively handsome” each morning and then slide him a steaming cup with his beverage of choice.

The memory makes him purse his lips into a tight line as he picks up the pot and pours the coffee into his mug. Though he can never quite combat his thoughts. A specific memory comes to mind as he moves to sit at the marble island in his kitchen.

....

Rain tapped along the large windows inside his living room. His home is Dallas was large but comfortable, something out of an interior design magazine you’d find in a doctor’s office. Taylor had been reading a book, cuddled underneath an old blanket of John’s. Taylor made a habit of staying the night after a while and John didn’t mind. He enjoyed her company. He had slid beside her, removing the book from her lap and placing it carefully on the coffee table. A wide, beaming smile graced her expression in no time. She ran her fingers through his dark beard. John had started to ask about her family. He thought maybe they could spend a Christmas or a Thanksgiving with them sometime. At the mention of family, Taylor’s expression fell. He knew that look, it was always the look she sported when something or someone made her uncomfortable. 

“My family is disgusting,” She said through gritted teeth, scanning John’s expression as if he should have known that much. He only shook his head, feeling guilty. “Oh,” Is what he started with, a little lost for words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Taylor then went on about how her sister was a backstabbing bitch and that her mother was a liar and her father just the same. Apparently they had disowned her, cast her out like some unwanted puppy. The idea not only confused John but also baffled him. She was so intelligent, so willing, so creative. He couldn’t imagine what had happened to make something like this happen. To make her family dislike her with such vigor. 

“Well, what happened?” John asked then, head canting to the side. He had to know. By then, John had told her everything. About her mother and her bloated lips, injected hips, and much younger boyfriends. His father and his proclivity for drinking himself into a haze. And, then, his sister, a Jennifer Dalton wannabe with manicured fingernails and a voice that sounded so feminine and so grainy that it made you want to rip your ears right from your head. 

That’s when Taylor’s own brows knit together, a look of anger flashing across her face like a stroke of lightning. Had he said something wrong? Was he not meant to ask? John can vividly remember the feeling of panic that had washed over him in an instant. He could still feel it now like he was reliving the moment. 

She had grabbed his arm. Tight. Her much smaller fingers left a reddened imprint on his skin there. “Do not ask me about my family. Ever. I’m here with you now, John,” She cooed, releasing his arm then to stroke the sides of his face, “Nothing else matters but me and you. I want to forget them.”

At the time, that seemed fair enough. John had done so much to forget his own family, as well, especially once he moved away and his parents got divorced. Who was he to judge her or her reaction? He’d learn more about her past eventually. Someday. Perhaps this was how love worked. You had to fight for it and you had to deal with the pretty and all the ugly too. He remembers reading that somewhere. But he also might have heard it come from Jennifer’s mouth.

....

Back to the present, back to reality. Looking back, he should have known. Even then. The truth of the situation was that Taylor’s family had endlessly tried to have her arrested. For many things, actually. Theft, stalking, assault, battery, and more. She had once broken a Coke bottle and threatened to stab her sister and her boyfriend with it before running off to wherever it is she went. She always did that, apparently. Ran away, even as a child. After her death, John had taken a detour to Long Island, where she was from. It was a brief visit though her family was willing to tell John just what he needed to know. 

Taylor was troubled, unsettling, and not the greatest person in the world. Not by a long shot. She stole and mostly survived, never really living. Apparently, they had a grandmother like this too who died of something that John can’t remember. All he remembers is something about alcohol being involved.

Meeting Taylor’s family, for some reason, made it easier to make up scenarios or reasons why. To this day, he does regret seeking out the truth. He wished he would have let it remain a mystery, an unknown woman coming into his life who made him fall in love but then died in the process. That sounded much better than discovering that Taylor Danvers was an unstable woman who had no true moral compass. 

But, she was exactly that. As time went on, John began to see her as a lonely woman rather than a bad one. He started to look for excuses that, soon enough, formed into a ball of guilt. Perhaps she was depressed, maybe her family wasn’t telling the truth, maybe she needed a friend, maybe she lied about stalking, maybe something happened to her when she was young, maybe this, maybe that, maybe anything.

An alarm sounding through John’s home rips him from his thoughts. He sets his mug down and races back to the kitchen. He doesn’t know when he wandered into his living room. This usually happened when John’s thoughts went too deep, when he spiraled. A pan of scrambled eggs were burning on the stove. John didn’t even remember putting them up. With a shaky hand, he shuts off the stove and tosses the pan into the sink, running it under cold water. He grabs a dishtowel and fans the place and then his smoke alarm until it stops beeping.

Burning to death in a housefire. He mentally writes that down, adding it to his long list of excuses.

[the-dragons-knight]

FFXIV Write 2020

Prompt #24 - Across the Room

Beam - ‘to smile radiantly or happily’

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The ballroom of the Fortemps manor was filled with excited chatter, members of every high house, and some of the people of the Brume all happily talking and laughing together as one. Never in the long history of Ishgard had so many people of so many different factions been gathered together in harmony enjoying themselves, and now thanks to the end of the Dragonsong War, not only were man and dragon in harmony once more, but high born and low born too shared a peace as one nation. It warmed Katsum’s heart to see everyone laughing and smiling, with no harsh words of judgment or discrimination being passed between others. How it reminded her of how her home kingdom once was, how joyous the festivals and parties would be, and it made her happy to see that Ishgard was growing to be just the same.

“You seem especially happy this evening, Katsum,” The blonde Miqo’te’s ears perked up as she heard Y’shtola speak, looking over to see the white mage gently sipping at her glass of wine, “And don’t make the same joke that Thancred did of ‘Are you sure you aren’t seeing things’. Your aether tells me all I need to know.”

“Come now, you knew I had to,” Thancred grinned from beside her, though it became sheepish when Y’shtola gave him a look, so he looked to Katsum before he could get himself in more trouble, “Anyway, we’ve been noticing you smiling at him all evening.”

Katsum’s eyes widened, “Him?”

“You haven’t noticed?” Thancred chuckled, “I suppose I should have guessed that.”

The Warrior of Light’s ears twitched as she narrowed her eyes, “Looking at who exactly? I’ve been looking at everyone.”

“Yes, but your eyes linger on Ser Aymeric a whole lot more than they do anyone else,” Y’shtola’s lips quirked up into a grin, “But don’t worry, he’s been stealing glances too. In fact, he’s looking this way now.”

Katsum nearly spun around to look over and sure enough, from across the room, her eyes met with his. Ser Aymeric was surrounded by the heads of the house of lords and the house of commons both, all happily chatting and discussing small topics to bring up at the next gathering. While he was at the center of their conversations, when they would speak amongst themselves, Aymeric’s eyes turned to her, just as hers had been whenever she’d scanned that side of the room. Now that their gazes met, he beamed at her, the most radiant smile she’d ever seen directed at her before. It made her fur stand on end and a dusting of red heated up her cheeks. She tried to smile back, yet her embarrassment at being caught by not only Y’shtola and Thancred, but Aymeric himself made her feel shy as she instead smiled softly and fiddled with the skirt of her dress with one hand while she waved lightly at him. He chuckled at her, she assumed, though he did it in time with the others to not draw attention to what he was looking at, waving back as his gaze returned to the men and women around him.

Katsum sighed with relief as she composed herself to turn back to Y’shtola and Thancred, finding them leaning closer to her and eyeing her carefully. She blinked and narrowed her eyes, her stoic expression resurfacing as it always did, “Can I help you?”

Thancred scoffed, “You’ve got that expression change down to perfection as always. Impossible to see what you are thinking...if we didn't know you that is,” He lifted his glass of wine and downed the rest of it with a smirk.

Y’shtola nodded with him, “Tell me when are you two going to start seeing each other? That is if you aren’t already,” She leaned closer to Katsum and whispered, “Are you…?”

The paladin’s heart jumped, yet she disciplined her expression to remain unreadable as it was now, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Mmhmm,” Y’shtola sat back again, taking a long sip of her wine again, “Of course you don’t.”

In truth, Katsum and Aymeric had been seeing each other for a few months now, ever since that day the True Brothers attacked the refugees of the Brume fires; the same day she’d leaped from the top of the Vault to catch that girl midair, and Vidolfnir saved the both of them. That night, Aymeric had called her to his office in the Congregation, and what started as him angrily scolding her for risking her life so much ended in the two of them confessing their feelings towards one another. They had also promised to keep their relationship a secret until a better time to announce it came along as they had been in the middle of ending the bloody war at that point. Now, the war was over, and new developments were beginning to draw the Scions back to their home in Mor Dhona, and they still had not told everyone of their secret. Though at this rate, they might not have to as it seemed Thancred and Y’shtola were already on to them.

“Katsum? Come back to us,” The warrior blinked as Y’shtola waved her hand in front of her face, “You must have been in quite some deep thought just now. What were you thinking about?”

Katsum blinked and turned her eyes to the crowd around them again, watching Tataru snatch a wine glass out of Alphinaud’s hand before he could take a drink, “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I see. Ah, Ser Aymeric, hello!” Y’shtola looked over Katsum’s shoulder, and the warrior whirled around with her tail lifting, only to find no one standing behind her and hearing a giggle of laughter from the two behind her.

Katsum’s tail lashed about as she turned back again, “That was rather naughty of you Y’shto-” Katsum froze as her eyes did not meet with the white, empty eyes of the other Miqo’te woman, but rather the suited chest of a much taller gentleman. Her gaze moved up slowly to meet Ser Aymeric’s smiling face and Katsum’s blush returned. Her ears fell a little as her shyness returned, “Oh, Ser Aymeric, hello.”

The raven-haired Elezen chuckled, bowing lightly to her, “Forgive me, I could not resist.” He straightened again and looked her over, “You look beautiful tonight, my friend.”

Katsum glanced down at the deep red dress she wore, one styled like those worn in Thavnair in autumn, the long sleeves, bodice, and skirt all lined with thick wool that could keep anyone warm in the frigid air of Coerthas. At first, it had felt so odd to wear a dress and corset again after spending her days exploring Eorzea and beyond in her various suits of armor, yet after a few moments, she had forgotten how much she had missed wearing her dresses. Now that she was looking at her so warmly, taking in her every detail, she almost felt exposed. Her gaze fell to the floor as she clasped her hands in front of her with a shy smile, her tail swishing around her skirt, “Thank you,” Suddenly realizing she should compliment him as well, she glanced back over to look him up and down, the sight of his dashing black suit and tie with a white shirt and the addition of his royal blue sash hanging down from his shoulder to his hip like always only making her blush darken, “You look very handsome yourself. “‘Tis good to see you out of your regalia for once.”

She heard him chuckle, then felt him take her hand as her ears perked and she watched him stare straight into her eyes and gently kiss the back of her hand, “I can say the same of you, my lady.”

Oh, Heavens, take me...She thought to herself, somehow biting back the words from being spoken out loud. She managed to steel herself enough to give him a smile that slowly grew the longer they stared at one another. Someone behind Aymeric cleared their throat, however, and Katsum’s trance was broken as her blush faded. Aymeric moved to the side as a smirking Y’shtola and Thancred came into view again.

“Master Thancred, and Mistress Y’shtola, I hope you both are having a pleasant evening as well?” Aymeric replied, and Katsum couldn’t help but envy his ability to shift back into his nobleman's voice just like that.

The midlander had found another glass of wine to drink as he swirled it around and nodded, “Oh yes, indeed. It is always a good time watching the crowds.” He winked at Katsum when he said that, or she assumed he did as the cloth over his other eye kept one hidden from her. Still, the blonde Miqo’te’s tail lashed about as she narrowed her eyes.

“Full glad am I to hear it,” Aymeric nodded, “I will ask, would you two mind if I borrowed Lady Katsum for a bit?” Katsum’s fur stood on end, yet she bit her tongue to keep her composure.

“Of course, please,” Y’shtola smirked, “She’s been standing here all evening waiting for someone to ask her to dance too.” She winked.

“I see. Well then,” Aymeric turned to her and held out his hand, “My lady, would you care to dance?” Why did he have to be so suave about it? And so graceful and princely in his movements. Katsum could have melted right in her spot there and she would have accepted her fate entirely.

With a deep breath, she forced herself to move, taking his hand as she lifted her skirt slightly with the other and curtsied, “I would be honored to dance with you, Ser Aymeric.”

He smiled and gently pulled her closer to him, holding out his arm for her to take which she did. Katsum ignored Y’shtola and Thancred’s cooing as they stepped away from them, hiding her face behind Aymeric’s arm as he led her to the dance floor.

He glanced down at her and beamed again happily as he whispered, “So much for keeping our interest for one another in a low profile.”

Katsum gasped and whispered back, “Says the man who’s been watching me all night as well!” He laughed again and Katsum turned her eyes to the dancing couples they were heading towards, “Aymeric, it’s been years since I danced...”

“Not to worry,” He placed a hand on hers where she held his arm to draw her sapphire eyes back to his icy blue ones, “Just follow my lead, I’ve got you.”

Oh, Heavens, AGAIN?!

“O-ok,” She nodded nervously, taking a deep breath to compose herself and try and find her confidence again, “I trust you.”

He smiled and patted her hand, pulling them out amongst the other couples as she followed his movements to prepare for their dance.

Yes, Katsum was sure they would not need to tell a soul themselves about their relationship, because everyone in the room could surely, surely, already see. And if they couldn’t, they were truly blind.

[arthurjdrake]

TIMING: Simultaneously with the finale chatzy. LOCATION: Arthur’s House PARTIES: Arthur & @humanmoodring SUMMARY: Nadia and Arthur finally have a heart to heart about the ghost that continues to haunt her memories and discuss the healing possibility that help from others might lend with ZERO interruptions.

TW: Vomit, Descriptions of injury & Blood

With Nadia coming over for a meal and general catch-up Arthur had taken the time to speak to Elena (as best as he could converse with the ghost) about staying upstairs if possible. She hadn’t seemed too happy if the message on his fridge was anything to go by, but judging by the lack of interference he had to his cooking he figured he’d convinced her well enough for the time being. The food was just in the oven - chicken parmigiana wrapped with parma ham, smothered in a homemade tomato sauce and mozzarella with a side of jersey salad and creamy mashed potatoes. He’d also gotten out a bottle of red to share, keenly aware of the fact they had also talked about discussing her mysterious history. Life had taught him one thing, and that was such talks were often helped along with the fortification of a good drink. He was just grabbing the plates out of the cupboard when the doorbell rang, hurrying through the house he pulled the door open with a smile. “Hey there, come in, come in” he ushered stepping back “not too tricky to find me I hope?”

The first thing Nadia noticed when she pulled up to Arthur’s house was that it was really fucking nice. Not in, like, an ostentatious way, but still impressive. She let out a low whistle as she got out of her truck and brushed off the front of her sweater a bit nervously, the material soft and comforting and nice even if the weather was getting pretty warm. Sweaters always seemed like an extra layer of protection to Nadia, and she felt like she needed it. Not because she thought Arthur was going to judge her harshly; she didn’t think that at all. But she’d never had this conversation in person. Not really. However, she wanted to tell Arthur in person. After everything he’d done for her, he deserved it. More than, really. In person was a bit more vulnerable, though, forcing her to deal with emotions, her own emotions, when writing allowed her to kind of distance herself from that. Still, she needed to do this. She smiled at Arthur as he let her in. “Not tricky at all. Nice house, by the way.” She looked around at the open space, relaxing a bit. It suited him, warm and inviting just as he’d been for as long as she’d known him. She shot him a look of concern. “How are you feeling, by the way? All healed up?”

Arthur could understand the use of clothes to help present the appearance and persona you wanted the world to believe and see you for. People, regardless of how good or non-judgemental they claimed to be, all formed first impressions by sight even if it was subconscious. Unlike the more formal appearance he presented at work, typically opting for suits and far more formal attire here in the space of his his home Arthur’s attire was by far more casual. A white tri-blend tee layered under a black and white flannel check shirt with the sleeves folded up above the elbow left intricately monochrome inked (and typically covered) arms free to play host. “Thanks,” he grinned warmly, “not bad isn’t it? Here, take your shoes off… I’ve got food on.” Though the moment of concern softened his grin to a smile, naturally inclined to settle other people’s concerns with words or general physical affection he reached out touching her elbow briefly though the heat of his skin always came as a shock to most people considering his body temperature averaged around 120°F. “All fixed and in working order, promise. Come on, wine and food that I hope you won’t judge too harshly considering your mum’s standards, yeah?”

It was nice to hang out with Arthur in a more laid back setting. Not that working stopped him and Nadia from teasing each other, but there was still always the added factor of them making sure to spend time researching. But the relaxing atmosphere was helping her considerably. It was cool to see Arthur’s tattoos, to see him as a young man and not just a wise, immortal being. This could almost be considered normal, if he wasn’t actually a wise, immortal being and she wasn’t here to tell him about her life. They were just two colleagues, two friends, eating dinner and catching up after a series of hectic weeks. “It’s fantastic, Arthur. And it suits you, too.” She unlaced her boots and sat them neatly near the front door before following him to the kitchen. Arthur’s touch was warm, hot, really, but she didn’t mind. She never felt warm anymore, hadn’t much since she woke up, so the heat was nice. “I’m glad you’re doing better.” Nadia followed him to the kitchen, where the food he’d prepared already smelled wonderful and, she had no doubt, would give her ma a run for her money. “Dude, I’m sure it’s gonna be fantastic. Especially if those cheesecakes were any indication.”

There were certain boundaries that had to be maintained at work, but it was nice to just step back and relax. “A part of me wonders if it’s too big… But in comparison to where I was it’s so much better,” Arthur explained as he wandered through to the kitchen while Nadia unlaced her boots. “It’s not really surprising, I patch up fast even from the worst of states,” there was mild humour in his tone even if the topic wasn’t the most cheery. By the time she joined him he was already pouring a couple of glasses of wine out, setting them on the counter as he went to plate up the salad. “Maybe, can’t say I’ve ever had to compete with someone’s mother when it comes to cooking though.” He grabbed a tea towel, folding it over and pulled open the oven to grab the baking tray out “where did you grow up? What was your life like before… All this supernatural shit? Can’t say I’ve ever asked.” After all, tonight was about getting to know one another.

It was a lot of space, probably too much for Nadia, but that didn’t make it any less homey. Touches of Arthur were all throughout the place as she looked around, eventually wandering to the kitchen. Even though she trusted his words, she looked him over closely. She couldn’t see any noticeable signs of damage. She gave a nod, pleased that he was better. “Those tears really do work wonders, huh?” She took a glass of wine and watched as he dealt with the food, wondering if she should help. “I mean, you stand a fighting chance. It’s been years since I’ve eaten my mom’s cooking.” God, could she even remember what it tasted like? “Do you need any help?” She could probably help him get plates and utensils if he showed her where everything was. As for her past… “I mean, the here and now’s always been more vital, dude.” She felt awkward; after months of giving the bear minimum, she was now having to figure out how to share about her life again. Like she’d ever done it before. Even back before White Crest, before the possession, she’d been shit at this kind of thing. “Uh, I’m from Phoenix, Arizona.” She smiled a bit. “Sometimes it’s kind of funny that I work for an actual phoenix. Can’t really lose my roots, I guess. But, uh, my dad’s Cuban. My mom’s Italian-American, from Chicago. How the fuck they ended up in the fucking desert of all places is anyone’s guess, but…” That was very little about her, about her life. “I mean,” she laughed drily, “my life kind of sucked before I woke up here. I was a lonely kid, a lonely teenager, only one real friend in college. Then, she left, and I went a little wild for awhile and,” and she got possessed, but the words were thick in her mouth. She took a drink. “Yeah. But what about you? What’s this life been like?”

“Bring you back from the brink of death more or less, last I heard they’re one of the rarest commodities on the black market… Not easy to get your hands on them. Phoenixes are rare to come upon and even harder to pick out of a crowd.” Arthur didn’t mind, it wasn’t the most complex meal but it tasted good and that was what mattered. “I think I’m alright here, could you grab the knives and forks out that draw there? Second one down,” he pointed out a drawer not far from where she was. “True, but it’s nice to know where people come from,” he countered lightly not in a prying sense but a simple sharing of opinion from someone that liked to get to know others. “Huh, go figure,” he laughed quietly at the irony but grew quiet as Nadia spoke.

Taking the plates over to the table nearby and setting them down he nodded along, but his expression grew sympathetic as she trailed off and he didn’t press for the time being. He settled in his chair, contemplating the answer “it’s been… I’ve been lucky, Mercy’s always tried her best whenever I’ve had to be rehomed… Always tried to put me with good people” it didn’t always work, but she tried and that’s what counted in his mind. “I was adopted by a couple from London, stayed there most of my life - school, the works. I was an only child which had its perks but I think I would’ve liked a sibling... My parents had… big expectations for me, and it was hard not to cave under the effort of trying to carry and live up to them.”

He took a sip of wine seeming to grow quieter, “I’m thankful for every opportunity they gave me but it was hard - coming to terms and trying to understand what I was without anyone there to help me understand…” he rested his chin on his hand “thought I was losing my mind when I started getting flashes of all these past lifetimes. Doctors couldn’t figure out what was going on. Did every scan under the sun… Eventually I knew better than to mention it… Until it eventually came back what I was.” It hadn’t been the easiest journey but he’d gotten there. “Anyway, how’s the food?”

“You need to keep safe, then.” Hearing that his tears were incredibly rare and valuable did nothing to help soothe Nadia. Worrying about Arthur getting attacked because of what he was added itself to her list of things to look out for when it came to her friends. She grabbed the silverware and helped him set the table before they sat down, a lot on her mind.

She smiled a bit as he mentioned how Mercy made sure he was well taken care of. “She’s a good friend, I can tell.” She remembered the older woman’s request, trying to think about how to best go about asking him what he wanted for his birthday. She’d figure out how to do that later. At the mention of him being an only child, she nodded. “I was an only kid, too. I was enough trouble on my own, and I was the kind of kid that wanted-- well, needed to be alone sometimes. Both my parents came from big families, though. I’m sure they wanted more kids, but I was a handful, I guess.”

She took a bite of food, savoring the flavor of it. She couldn’t remember her mother’s cooking. She couldn’t. It was a bit depressing to think about, but she figured that if Arthur’s cooking wasn’t just as good, it was a close fucking second. There were so many things from her life in Phoenix that she was beginning to realize that she was forgetting. The taste of her ma’s cooking, the type of beer her father drank, the color of Brooke’s eyes. She knew what it was like to get flashes of things that she didn’t understand, even if it was for different reasons that Arthur. “I think you’ve done a good job with getting from where you were to where you are now, for what it’s worth,” she told him. She took another bite of food. After she swallowed, she said, “It’s fucking fantastic.”

“I’m as safe as houses, barely anyone knows about me - besides you, Evelyn and Mercy… That’s it. And it’s how I’d prefer to keep it.” Arthur often got frustrated when people treated him with kid gloves because of his physicality, and it occasionally led to random acts of attempted heroics to try and prove them otherwise - which almost always ended up proving their point that he was extremely breakable. “Plus,” he added as an afterthought, “out of most supernaturals phoenixes are usually the ones that blend in the easiest… Except for the pinfeathers. But other than that we don’t have weird feeding habits, we don’t prey on people… We just… live.”

“She is. A pain in the ass at times, but I wouldn’t trade her for anything,” he admitted fondly. It was nice to be able to relate to someone in a way, “it’s weird, I get flashes of my first life - fragments really, but I had loads of siblings and I hated it… Yet now I hate not having them,” he supposed it just went to show what you took for granted at times. “Ah, yeah I was always too worried to act up as a kid… Felt like every moment had to count for something or else I’d somehow failed…” not the healthiest mentality for a child to have, but looking back he could recognise his faults. “But I get that - wanting to be alone, silence is good when you just need to recharge but sometimes you need people to balance that…”

He ate a few mouthfuls, a comfortable silence settling over the room between the clinks of cutlery and occasional sip of wine. Nadia’s remark broke the silence and he gave her a smile, “you too… You’re a long way from home,” it was an idle remark, made in passing contemplation of the little information she’d given “ life isn’t easy, but we all make the best of what we have don’t we? It’s what we do with it that truly counts for anything.” His smile broadened at the compliment, “if that’s the verdict on the dinner no clue what you’ll say about dessert.”

“That’s good,” Nadia said, glad she’d been cautious when talking to people about Arthur. If anyone guessed anything about him, it was probably that the man might be a spellcaster of some kind. She really had thought he was, like, a wizard or something after the way he’d healed after their first meeting, with his more bookish tendencies, and, as he’d mentioned, his mostly human facade. “You blend in pretty well. I don’t think I’d have guessed what you were if you hadn’t told me. I mean, I knew a bit about phoenixes in mythology, but I don’t know if I’d have figured you out.”

She smiled at the way he fondly talked of Mercy, reminding her of the way the woman referred to him online. They cared about each other, and it was nice to see. Nice to be able to feel, though it was muted and muddled. “I mean, you two have known each other for forever. Literally.” What was it like to know someone for that long? She couldn’t imagine. She also couldn’t imagine siblings. “I think it was for the best that I grew up alone.” Though, who knew? Maybe she’d be better at the emotions thing. Or, possibly, she’d be worse. “I didn’t act up too much. I kept my grades up and was usually quiet, even though I listened to the wrong kinds of music. My father and I got frustrated with each other a lot. He was always mad, and I always wanted to know why. When I couldn’t figure it out, I gave him reasons.” She took a drink, feeling like she was talking too much. She was talking too much, and about the wrong things. This wasn’t why she’d come here.

Nadia was a long way from home. She was as far away from home as she could be while still being in the same country. She missed home sometimes so much that it ached. But she knew she couldn’t go back. The few people that had she’d known and loved didn’t feel the same about her. “We’re both a long way from home,” she said quietly. She raised her glass to him. “You’re right. We’ve just got to make the best of it. Personally, I’m glad to be here. In spite of how I got here.” She grinned. “If deserts better than dinner, you might be stuck with me. Sorry, but you’ve provided me with a job, good conversation, and stellar food. I’d be a fool to leave.”

“That’s how I’d prefer it to be, most people make the mistake… I’m happy to let them believe it.” If not for certain other traits it was vaguely passable and Arthur would happily stick to that story because it meant keeping him off people’s radar for what he truly was.

“Yeah, kind of crazy when you think about it. She’s barely ever missed a birthday or like-- anything. Even though I can’t even remember my original one now.” It was part of what kept them both sane and in touch with the world around them. “Though doesn’t mean she doesn’t drive me mad at times,” he huffed, but regardless the words were spoken fondly. “You think?” who could say what anyone would be, circumstances and situations played a role in affecting how a person turned out. It didn’t do to dwell for long, but it was a curious thing to contemplate occasionally. Hearing Nadia explain her dynamic with her father caused him to cock his head a little, “it’s hard. Parents are just trying their best to stop kids falling into the same traps they did… But often I find in trying to avoid them they often help steer a path directly towards them anyway. Sometimes you just need to know when to be upfront.”

“True…” he raised his own cup marginally, “to finding new homes” and new families. Though that was left unsaid. “Yeah? I’m still not sure I’m sold - like on one hand it’s great to be in a place with so many other supernaturals but the risk of death or serious maiming is a big damper on truly enjoying it. You know?” He finished up his plate, looking humoured by the remark “well, offer’s always there if you need a place to crash and there’s always food to spare in my kitchen.” Gathering the plates up he headed back to the kitchen, dropping them in the dishwasher before returning with a plate of coconut and passion fruit slices. “Come on,” he waved her over from the dining table towards the lounge and the vivarium situated to one side of it where his tortoises roamed. “Get comfy.” Then they could sit down and talk.

“It’s certainly a good way to protect yourself,” Nadia said, still thinking about what Arthur mentioned about his tears being valuable on supernatural black markets. She dreaded to think what would happen to her friend if someone captured him to use just to make a few dollars.

“Birthdays are pretty important,” she said with a grin. “Speaking of birthdays, when’s yours?” She knew the answer thanks to Mercy, but it’d be best to hold off on that information. She still needed to figure out what he might possibly want, both for the valkyrie and for herself. She wanted to get him something nice, too. Even if she went with what she told Mercy and went the more homemade route. Time, effort, those were the kinds of gifts she’d appreciated when she actually gave a damn about that kind of thing. Birthdays hadn’t been a big deal for Nadia in years, though, even before the possession. These days, she’d appreciated being about to not think about it, drink a little by herself, and then not sleep. It’d been an average day of a birthday, and that had been what she wanted. She appreciated Arthur’s approach to talking about parents. It gave her a good out. “Yeah, everybody says they want better for their kids. Sometimes they just, like, go about it the wrong way, I guess.”

That was the kind of toast she could get behind. She took a drink and laughed, thinking about all the shit she’d been through during the last few months. “Oh, White Crest is hell. Like, probably literally? I was getting sent giant pallets of salt by a company run by demons. But I’ve felt more comfortable here than I have anywhere else, even back home. I have a job that I’ve always wanted and more friends than I’ve ever had in my life.” She grinned as they moved to the sitting area. “I might not crash on your couch, but don’t tempt me to come raid your fridge, Arthur.” She got situated, looking around for the tortoises she’d heard so much about. She was putting off the inevitable, really.

“It’s worked this long, though so far as the hunters I’ve met in town… Most don’t really seem all that good at their jobs, which… isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Arthur remarked thoughtfully. “But yeah, it’s worked so far so… I’ll keep on that track.”

“Mine? Depends, the original - I can’t remember but apparently it was sometime in winter but in this lifetime it’s around the twentieth of June… That’s the day I’ve celebrated though it might be out by a little bit.” Considering there was a period between him coming back and Mercy finding a family to place him with but more or less that was the way it had always been. It worked well enough so no point trying to fix what wasn’t broken. “How about you?” It’d be useful to know for himself, so he could try to arrange something for Nadia when hers did come around. It seemed like the right and good thing to do after all.

“It’s been referred to as a hellmouth in most of the texts I’ve read soooo… take that one how you will” he huffed, this truly was one of the most weird and interesting places he’d ever lived in his life. “By demons? You didn’t sign any contracts right?” He shifted as he settled on the sofa, folding a leg up comfortably. “You’re welcome to it, always spare food. I’ve got four spare rooms going upstairs as well if you ever do feel the need especially to escape those uh, screams…” But that was beside the point, he took a bite of the dessert square looking over at her. “So… You don’t like ghosts?” it was a gentle prod to hopefully lay the path for the true conversation this night was meant to be about.

Snorting a bit, Nadia thought about the hunters that she personally knew. Alain and Kaden were both good guys, even if she didn’t believe in the same things as them. She couldn’t imagine them hunting Arthur down just to sell his tears on the black market. But, then again, she didn’t really know them while they were hunting. Better safe than sorry. “Yeah, that’s smart.”

She nodded. “Twentieth’s pretty soon,” she said with a smile. “You know I’m gonna get you something, right? You could help a gal out, you know, give her a hint, maybe?” She twirled the stem of her wine glass slowly. “I mean, it was back in February. The twenty-third. I didn’t really celebrate.” She shrugged. “Wasn’t that big of a deal.” All things considered, it had been an alright birthday. It had just been a regular Sunday, which is exactly what she’d wanted.

“Hellmouth is fuckng right,” Nadia muttered. “No, no contract. Someone signed me up for a subscription. It’s been, like, cancelled now, though.” She relaxed a little, taking another drink of her wine. “I’ll definitely keep it in mind. My apartment’s mostly scream free… Mostly.” She grimaced a bit, thinking about the essential oils subscription and what a bitch that was going to be. “On second thought, I might be over here, like, once a month. Just when she gets a package delivered.” She picked up a desert square of her own, but, with his question, she wasn’t feeling too hungry. Nadia gave a slight laugh. “Not really ghosts so much as one in particular. But they,” she paused, “scare me.” She ran a hand through her hair. “One of them kind of, like, ruined my life, so.”

“It is,” Arthur agreed to the date being near, but really what did it matter? It was just another year and another birthday. “Honestly, I don’t have much I want. I’d be happy with anything you got me you know? The sentiment is more what matters… Really I’d be happier with like… people coming over, having a meal and just a nice ordinary night you know? Pizza and beers, maybe a barbecue - I haven’t had a good barbecue in ages.”

“Signed you up for a subscription? What are they? Fae? They love their deals, almost as much as spellcasters do” he groaned as he leaned back into the sofa pulling one leg up and tucking it comfortably under the other that still hung off the cushions. “Mostly? She hasn’t done anything recently has she?” he paused gauging Nadia’s reaction to his next question “I’m guessing you know about her… supernatural thing right?”

But talk turned to ghosts, and Arthur tried to be tactful in his line of conversation. Though there was no easy way to let a conversation like this come about. “Right… I got the impression… Do you… I know it’s hard for you,” he started sympathetically, “do you want to walk me through what happened?”

Well, that was absolutely no help to Nadia for Mercy, but it did solidify her thought that he’d probably enjoy something with thought and effort over something expensive. “You know, a barbecue doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I still have leftover fireworks from a thing,” she said. Which, she’d told Erin it’d be for a barbecue. This would certainly make it less of a lie.

She laughed a little bit. “She thought she was doing something nice. It’s the thought that counts. And, like, at least I can look back on it and laugh, now.” Of course, she wasn’t laughing any time Regan’s subscriptions came in and the screaming started, but still. “I mean, she can get a bit… loud sometimes,” she said, wincing a bit. “Yeah, I know about her thing. It’s the worst kept secret ever.” She couldn’t say what Regan’s thing was since she was still bound by Deirdre’s promise, but she figured, if Arthur was mentioning screaming, then he knew. Really, the fact that Arthur knew wasn’t even surprising. At the rate things were going, everyone was going to know about Regan before Regan even knew.

Nadia took a bite of her desert square. It was good, but it still stuck to her throat. She swallowed tightly. “Yeah, yeah, I can walk you-- I mean, there’s really not too much to tell.” She laughed breathlessly, humorlessly. “I was, like, a junior in college. Everything was shitty. We-- me, my parents, my single friend-- we thought I was depressed, which, I mean. But I was getting some bad blackouts, sometimes for days at a time. My friend, she-- I mean, she left. Whatever.” She took a long sip of wine. “It got worse, nothing was helping. I’d wake up and not know where I was, who I was, what I was doing.” She could see herself in a mirror, covered in blood. Whose blood? Whose? “Then, I don’t know. I woke up in White Crest in late December a few months ago,” she said quietly. “Some kids had helped me out. A human soul’s worth thirty thousand dollars, in case you were wondering.”

“A thing?” Arthur inquired curiously, though considering how often fireworks were used for things in America it wasn’t all that surprising of a thing to hear someone say. “Well, if you want to come along you’re more than welcome to.”

“I guess so, though salt seems like an interesting thing to be signed up for…” Useful for ghosts amongst other supernatural things he supposed but he could see how bulk orders could soon stack up to be infuriating. ��It is, Kaden accidentally told me but I wasn’t planning on mentioning it to her considering how she gets whenever that sort of stuff comes up in conversation.” It wasn’t surprising how entrenched people could become when the foundations of their very reality of life seemed to be under threat. In a way, Arthur felt bad for her but equally it was important to recognise the danger her denial posed to those that were around her. “The issue is, the longer her denial goes on the more harm she poses to those around her - including you, which unfortunately doesn’t sit very well with me.”

As Nadia spoke, Arthur remained quiet occasionally taking a sip of wine but otherwise he left her to tell her tale not wishing to interrupt her already staccato rhythm. “Do you know anything about the ghost that possessed you?” from the fragments of an overall tale it was clear enough to him that was what had happened. He set his glass aside, sitting forwards and reaching for Nadia’s hand slowly. A quiet show of support and reminder that he would always stand in her corner no matter what. Though he knew in a town like White Crest it wasn’t easy to say she wasn’t at risk again? “Has anything else like that happened while you’ve been here?” he asked, rubbing his thumb in a small soothing arc over her hand.

“I ended up not using them in the way I thought,” Nadia said breezily, not bothering to explain what exactly her “thing” was. Probably best to not mention blowing up the mime restaurant only to end up with the town invaded by mimes for weeks. Especially when those mimes ended up landing him in the hospital.

“Yeah, you ask a neighbor to borrow some salt one time, and you’re stuck with a reputation.” Not an unjustifiable one, though. Nadia kept salt lines up around her house for months, even after the banishment had been put up. She laughed a bit, thinking about just how Arthur bringing up Regan’s banshee-ness would go in a conversation. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best. But she’s really not dangerous. Not intentionally. And as long as I can predict when something might upset her,” she flinched a bit, “which, okay, not the easiest, but she’d only really hurt me in person, and I can-- I’m a-- I feel people’s emotions-- empath, so if she starts getting upset or whatever I can kind of prepare for things.”

This time, when Nadia laughed, it was sharp and insincere. “She was a fucking criminal,and she made me a criminal, and she ruined my life for six fucking years.” She sagged a bit under Arthur’s touch, one knee pulled up to her chest and her head resting on it. She didn’t know why it was both relieving and exhausting to tell him this. Maybe it was because it was in person, and his comfort felt real, and having him be here and listen to her meant so much. She should tell him the truth, that she was scared about getting possessed again, that it’d happened more than once, that she knew her ghost hadn’t given up quite yet. Instead, she gave him a watery smile. “It’s been a bit touch and go for a while, but I should be in the clear, ghost wise, now. Just lingering shit, you know? I’m sure your ghost is great.”

“Well, I love fireworks and anything fire related so you’re welcome to bring them along if you want. We can annoy the neighbours with them.”

Arthur laughed at the sentiment, it was kind of funny to hear her say that out loud and the idea of these ridiculously cursed subscriptions was a little bit funny. “Who else got one? I’m curious to know what hellish gifts people were getting from this company.” Nadia did her best to dissuade his concerns, unfortunately, he was schooled enough to know that glass wasn’t the only thing a sound that loud could damage. “Do you know how sound breaks things?” it was a question of genuine curiosity but he explained anyway slipping easily into his more studious nature “it makes things vibrate. The pitch influences how fast those things vibrate and if it’s high and sustained enough things break because of that….” He paused, Nadia might have faith in Regan’s control but Arthur wasn’t quite so certain on the topic “the control is what concerns me… From the stuff I’ve seen people posting online about damage and stuff she doesn’t have it. And depending on what kind of decibels those screams are hitting… If someone’s stood too close they could be seriously injured and they could potentially die. There’s not much that can prepare you for death - and that’s me speaking from experience.” Perhaps it was a solemn subject to touch on, but he wanted to make sure Nadia was truly prepared for the potential consequences of continuing to associate with Regan. Perhaps it was unfair, Arthur knew it wasn’t her fault but Nadia’s well-being was of more paramount concern to him presently.

As she sagged, Arthur continued to hold her hand rubbing the calming pattern into her skin. “What is it you’re afraid people will judge you for?” she’d mentioned it online before they’d arranged this, but Arthur wanted to try and help her work through some of her concerns regarding the things that ahd happened to her - which in his opinion were far beyond her own control. But admitting that was hard and scary in itself. In the kitchen his phone buzzed, but he ignored it. He’d call whoever was phoning back later. He didn’t prompt her to look up from where she’d rested her head, curling into herself in a protective fashion he’d seen countless times across his lifetimes. “Is that what haunts you at night?” the question was softly spoken, “or is it the fear of what this ghost would do if they did come back?” It could very well be both, despite their similarities they were distinctly separate. One concerned the past, and one the future. Her watery smile earned a sympathetic look, and he shifted to wrap his arms around her pulling her in for a tight embrace of comforting warmth that radiated from him. “I get that, but there’s no need to be ashamed of being scared… Possession is… it’s a violation of your person. Your very rights. Being scared of having your control taken away is one of the most valid fears anyone could ever experience - and I’m sure this is something you already know, but it takes time to adjust to life after experiencing something like that…” He pulled back a fraction looking at her with a steady and intense look, “but-- I want you to know if you ever need me. I’m here and I’ll always have your back, no matter the time or how bad you think things are. I’ll always be in your corner. Hm?”

“You know, I don’t know if it was a subscription, but a woman in town was getting sent mayo and bones.” Nadia shivered just thinking about sticking her hands in that fucking mayo, the demon with the goat eyes’ voice in her head. “And you probably saw that Kaden was getting sent large baguettes. That was fun.” She sighed, knowing that what Arthur said about the vibrations was true. Still, she had faith that Regan would figure it out. “I know that her denial is… concerning. But she doesn’t want to hurt people, and I think that’s almost enough to, if not stop the denial, then to at least put her in the frame of mind to accept help. I’m hoping she’ll talk to someone.” She paused, thinking it over. Hanging out with Regan was high risk, high reward. High risk because it could kill her. High reward because she was Nadia’s best friend, and she was easy to spend time with. Besides. Nadia was beginning to enjoy taking risks. “I know she could kill me, but it’s not going to happen. One because that would be such a shitty thing to do to her. Two because I’m going to be careful, I promise. I don’t have a death wish. I’ve got six years to make up for.”

Six years-- almost seven, really-- that she’d never get back. Her relationship with her parents was gone. Even if she could somehow get all the charges against her dropped, it didn’t matter. There was a stain on her now, one that would never go away. She felt it like a ghost, saw it in the mirror every time she passed by. What was she afraid people would judge her for? She was scared they’d see her the way she did late at night when she could do nothing but think. “I’m afraid they won’t-- I’m afraid they’ll just see a criminal or worse. They’ll just see someone to be pitied.” One day, someone was going to look too close and see that something was missing. Maybe the only reason she saw it was because she knew who she was supposed to be before all of this. “I dream about what I did while-- or what I might’ve done. What I could've done.” Everyone died, usually, in her dreams, and she’s left alone all over again. Arthur’s arms around her was the last strike against her resolve. She gripped him tightly, tears in her eyes. “I don’t know who I am, these days,” she said roughly. “But thank you for trusting me and being in my corner.”

“Bones in mayo? Or both separately?” Arthur questioned in mild concern, “see the bones I wouldn’t mind so much… The mayo, eugh” he contorted his face and stuck his tongue out. Definitely not a fan of condiments. The mention of the baguettes made him laugh, “I saw that… Didn’t realise it was Regan’s doing - that’s even better,” he couldn’t help the laugh it was unfortunate but it was kind of funny as a bystander to watch the torment. Even he wasn’t above a good laugh occasionally especially considering the baguettes really didn’t seem like that bad of a thing to receive.

His mood grew a tad more serious “doesn’t want to, doesn't equate to won’t Nadia.” Ultimately, it wasn’t his job nor his position to lecture her or anyone else, but he would advise caution where he felt it was needed. Not that this wasn’t something she had no doubt considered, but he had to at least give himself the peace of mind of saying it out loud. Making sure she heard him and understood his concern for her well-being. “Fine… But it doesn’t mean I don’t think that this isn’t something she needs to come to terms with. Is there no one that can help her with it?”

“Which is understandable,” he said softly, “but sometimes pity, sympathy, compassion - whatever you want to call it from other people isn’t the worst thing in the world. Sometimes it does us a world of good to let someone else feel sorry, step in and help take care of you…” That wasn’t to say it was easy, “taking down those walls that you’ve built if only for a little while will probably help you find some peace and time to recharge.” He squeezed her hands affectionately, “being vulnerable takes a great deal of strength and mental fortitude… To be open to letting other people listen and help and the fact you’re here, that you’re talking about it is a step in the right direction.”

Arthur kept Nadia hugged tight for a long while, pressing her face to his shoulder as he rubbed his other hand over the curve of her spine. “You will. With time, I’m sure you will,” he assured her quietly holding on for a little while longer before he eventually pulled back his hands resting on her shoulders. “I’m proud of you Nadia.”

“Separately,” Nadia said. She pause. “I think? The bones and the mayo were equally bad because they were apparently human bones and had to be examined.” Honestly, after putting her hands in the shit, she planned to never even look at mayo ever again. Laughing along with him, she said, “It’s funny now, and I know she was just being nice, but damn. It was the fucking worse.”

She sighed. “I know. I know. But I trust her not to hurt me. Not intentionally, and I’d never blame her for an accident.” Nadia pinched the bridge between her nose. She didn’t want to keep talking about this. She appreciated Arthur’s words and the fact that he obviously cared for her. It was touching. Still, she was a big girl, even if she didn’t remember six years’ worth of life experiences. She knew how to be cautious, and she could make her own decisions, even if they were fucking stupid sometimes. “It is, and she will, eventually. She’ll get help. It’ll be alright. I believe that.”

Taking in his words was hard, even if Nadia knew they were true. Because she felt all of it—pity, sympathy, compassion— so vividly from other people, and she knew when they were sincere about it, but that didn’t change the way she was. Part of it was the way she was raised: distant parents that wanted to help her but didn’t know how when time after time nothing they did seemed to help. Part of it was also experience: everyone she’d let into her life before left, sometimes cruelly. Countless arguments and phone calls and conversations that led to heartbreak and disappointment weren’t worth it, in the end. She didn’t see her walls as walls; it was more like a suit of armor, and once someone found the flaws and worked their way in, rust was more likely to set in. At that point, armor’s less of a protection and more of a hindrance. She laughed a bit, even though she was crying. She hated the weakness, though she wouldn’t say so. “Being vulnerable sucks major ass, bird boss, but if this is a step in the right direction, then I’m willing to work on it.” Even if it led to more hurt in the end.

They stayed there for a bit, and Nadia allowed the rust to set in. One day, maybe she’d lay her armor down, wouldn’t need it. Maybe in White Crest was different than Phoenix in that way. She was finding comfort and warmth here that she’d never felt before, and that meant something, despite the shit show the place seemed to be. As Arthur leaned back, she wiped her eyes a bit. “Thank you, Arthur.”

As Nadia chose to insist again Arthur fought against the urge to roll his eyes. “Fine,” but it didn’t mean the worry didn’t linger after the fact. But he didn’t want to push too far into that conversation tonight. It wasn’t worth delving into.

Arthur knew his words probably weren’t new. But the lesson of building walls or plating armour plate on top of plate could keep the world and new experiences from ever coming into your life. They could keep you safe and warm but when you waded into waters too deep armour would only weigh you down until you ended up being swept away by the currents. Not to mention their capacity for keeping people at a distance and protecting yourself from hurt was perhaps one of the oldest things he’d seen people do but in the end they had always been left wanting and lonely. That wasn’t something he wanted to see happen to Nadia and if it meant working to keep her safe, to see her through to those better times then he’d happily put the graft in to help where he could. “I know and it might mean down the line you’re opening yourself up to hurt… But you’re opening yourself up to love as well and if there’s one thing I’ve learnt it’s that love is always worth the pain.”

“Ah, least I could do…” he smiled at her fondly, before moving to take his near empty wine-glass. “I think we’re in need for a refill.” With that he got up and headed back to the kitchen but not before ruffling her hair affectionately.

It was mid-pour in the kitchen that it happened. A heat throbbing from the scar on his left palm, the searing pressure as if some invisible force had taken him by the throat as though intent on collapsing it in on itself. He gagged, choking as he felt his air supply cut off, as if it had suddenly been sucked out of the room. The glass and bottle fell, seemingly in slow-motion but in reality it was mere seconds, the crimson swirl glistening preceding the ringing crash of his glass smashing into hundreds of shards on the stone floor. His hands grasp his throat as he staggered, falling as black spots swam across his vision. There was a brief moment of respite, before the pain caused his body to lurch and the cry of pain was stifled into a weak gurgle.

Arthur could never claim to know what it felt like to drown, he’d never been in water for as long as he’d existed. But the shock of icy brackish liquid was instantly debilitating. Strangely, he supposed it was the nearest thing he could imagine to being set on fire, though this was not the familiar warmth but a blistering heat that felt like every one of his cells was being set alight. He gasped for air, but seemingly swallowed only water. Over and over he gasped and gulped greedily, for any hint of oxygen yet the act only served to allow more and more deadly water to be inhaled and swallowed. Hold your breath! He tried fighting for as long as he could until every cell screamed let me breath; his mouth was forced ajar once more gasping again as the phantom water forced its way into his mouth, up his nose and into his bursting lungs.

Tears burned like vinegar as they ran down his cheeks. It hurts. He thought. Why does it hurt so much? Please, please make it stop. Please, I beg of you.

In his last conscious moments, he tried to open his eyes, to see something familiar, but all he saw was the inky darkness of eternal night and a name upon his lips. “Freyja.”

As Nadia sat waiting for Arthur to come back with their wine, she thought about the night’s events, how they went better than she could have expected. Maybe she needed to stop expecting people to hate her for all of this. No one, not a single person she’d talked about this with, blamed her for what happened. She knew, deep down, that she was the victim in the scenario, as much as she hated it. She’d been the one to be possessed, she’d had her life taken from her. She didn’t remember any of the things she’d done, didn’t know how truly awful they were. Still, there was a part of her that expected to be stronger. She had always thought that she could fight off whatever problems came her way. Metaphorically, of course. She wasn’t a big fighter, otherwise. Obviously, the fight had been taken out of her for six years.

She was startled out of her thoughts by the sounds of glass shattering. Nadia jumped up from the couch and rushed into the kitchen, not sure what to expect. Certainly not Arthur, on the ground, water gurgling from his mouth, the corners of them burning from it. “No no no nonono,” she cried out as she ran to him, sliding on her knees a bit as she got close. She wiped away the water from his mouth, the tears from his cheeks. His pain, his fear and confusion, all of it was loud and awful in her head. She couldn’t imagine how bad it must be for him since she knew she didn’t feel everything. As he called out for Freyja, for Mercy, she pulled him into her lap, trying to make him comfortable. “It’s okay, Arthur, it’s okay.”

Closing her eyes, she begged for it to be okay. Because, truthfully, she didn’t know. For several minutes, she did her best to calm him and herself down. Before he passed out, he was acting like he was drowning, but he didn’t keep showing the symptoms once he was asleep. All she could do was offer him comfort, trying to assure him that he was alright. She moved them away from the spilled wine and waited for him to wake up. “Please, please be okay.”

Arthur wasn’t sure how long he was out for, seconds? Minutes? Hours? Time seemed to crawl to a stop as the darkness clouded his vision and a fatal liquid spilled from his mouth; corrosive like acid turning his mouth into a frothing grey mess and cracked his lips until they blistered and bled. His body contorted before it grew still, eyes unseeing and for a moment there was nothing.

He returned to consciousness with a rasping gurgled gasp, flopping over onto his side as he hacked up inky brackish water streaked with blood and spittal. His mouth burned and blearily he could make out someone else in the room with him. But only one thought was on his mind. “Mo-” he tried to say, but the word was cut off by another hacking cough that splattered beads of blood over the floor leaning over on his hands that crunched into the shards of glass on the floor.

“I-- mobile now” he felt faint, as if the world were about to spin away from him again if he moved too fast. But the world hardly mattered if the hollow ache that radiated from the palm of his hand was anything to go by. The lack of familiar warmth and connection from the person invisibly tethered on the other end. He slipped, tripping and catching himself as he blindly searched on the counter for his phone with a trembling hand.

When his fingers latched on, the device was wrenched off the counter and Arthur sank once more to the ground his back pressed into the cabinets. Hands shaking as he saw the missed calls and set about playing the voicemail she’d left. Fresh tears tracked down his face, stabbing the redial button and holding the phone to his ear. “Pickup pickup pickup. Pleasepleaseplease,” there was a strange desperation in the words.

It went to voicemail.

“Fuck!” he spat, jabbing the button again and waiting. Again, and again, and again.

Eventually, on the seventh try Arthur let the dial go through lines of healed skin contrasting to the gruesome maw of his mouth from the connection to Mercy’s death. “Frey? Frey! FUCK Please pick up, pleasepleaseplease. I need you to pick up right now and tell me you’re okay. I felt– it can’t– You didn’t–” he thumped his hand on the ground, blind to the glinting shards that pricked his skin and bled fresh trails of crimson through his fingers. “PICK UP. DON’T YOU DARE! PICK UP RIGHT NOW!” Did it matter he was screaming into the receiver curling over it to make his voice heard wherever she’d gone? Would she hear him then? He pressed the phone harder to his ear, a sob that shook the very foundations of his person working its way up his throat, voice breaking when he spoke after the extended silence. “Please… We only just found each other. I can’t– I can’t lose you now. Please come back, come home. Just one more time… One more time. For me. We’ll make it work. It’ll be different. I promise this time it’ll be different. I’ll be different.” He exhaled, blinking past the tears “I never got to tell you I lo- No. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you when you come back. Please come back…”

By the end of the call he was left staring in anguish at the photo ID on the call his breath short and sharp, shaking as he ended the call. Too fast. Too much. It was all too much. A trembling hand pressed to his mouth, trying to stifle the pain that settled in his chest as he shook his head against the overwhelming realisation of what had happened.

Yelping as Arthur started coughing and leaned over, Nadia sat back to give the man some space. The blood was concerning, and she didn’t have any time at all to process what was happening as he scrambled for his phone. Mercy, something was wrong with Mercy. She could tell before he made the call, before he started screaming into his phone. When he leaned against the cabinets, she moved closer to him, hoping to comfort him with her presence. She didn’t know what else to do. She really didn’t. So Nadia did what she could. She sat with him. His pain was like nothing she’d ever really felt before, but so was the love that was causing it. God, it was miserable. It felt so miserable, and she could barely process it.

When Arthur started breathing too fast, his words tapering out, she grabbed his hands. “Hey, no, hey!” She made him look away from his phone and towards her. “Hey. I don’t-- I don’t know what’s happening, okay? But it’s-- Mercy can’t die, right? Not easily. Right? So it’s--” Fuck, she didn’t know how to do this. “It’ll be-- She’s gotta be okay. She’s going to be okay.” Nadia really, really hoped so. Mercy, in the short time that she’d known the woman, was probably one of the toughest people out there, and the only thing that could kill her was having her head cut off. There was a brief moment of fear, the thought of Arthur choking because of some weird connection with Mercy that made it to where he couldn’t breathe, but he had seemed like he was drowning, not just suffering from no air.

The tables had turned, and Nadia found herself wrapping Arthur in a hug instead of the other way around. She couldn’t affect other people’s emotions; only feel them. But she tried to put as much comfort out as she could, hoping that somehow it would help. Hoping that, somehow, Mercy was okay. “It’ll be alright, Arthur. It will. I promise.”

[tessatechaitea]

Justice League International #7 (1987)

Kevin Maguire not really trying looks an awful lot like John Romita Jr at his best.

Ah! It feels good to be back! Taking a crack at John Romita Jr while he's just sitting there not doing anything particularly wrong. Just going about his business pretending to be a comic book artist! I don't know what John Romita's politics are but I bet he now agrees with Donald Trump on one thing: naming your kid after you is a huge fucking mistake. Was all that previous nonsense poisonous, vile, and toxic? I suppose one could argue the point. But I'd also guess that somebody arguing that point has never seen John Romita Jr's art. Or perhaps they have seen it and like it because they have a terribly underdeveloped sense of aesthetics. Otherwise nobody would argue with me at all! They'd just read the previous poisonous, vile, toxic nonsense and nod their heads in agreement while pausing for a second to snort a line of Adderall. Fine, I'm sorry, JRJR! Obviously you're an artist! Drawing squinty people with block heads and weird noses holding geometric guns without a single curve on them absolutely falls under the definition of art! Although I draw the line at accepting that Rob Liefeld is an artist. That's a bridge too far! What the fuck does that even mean, "a bridge too far"? It must be a term bombers in WWII used, right? "What the fuck do you mean, carpet bomb Dresden?! If we fly past the Geralthauskopfplatz Bridge, we're definitely getting scrawked by anti-aircraft flak, you bingehart!" Did that sound like an authentic American bomber pilot from the 40s? It's not like Catch-22 is my favorite book or something. Wait. Catch-22 is my favorite book. I guess I'm just no good at written impressions. I assure you it sounds exactly what you'd expect from an American pilot in the Forties if you heard me do the impression live. Also, this is probably the last month of my life where I'll be able to say, "Catch-22 is my favorite book." Because I'm over 500 pages into Gravity's Rainbow and it's just as fucking amazing as everybody who has pretended to read it says it is. This issue begins with Guy Gardner regaining consciousness after having been violently assaulted by his employer.

Why was the mouse glowing green?!

In my memory, Guy Gardner's change from dickhole to sweetest guy on the team came after Batman punched his lights out. But apparently that isn't the case. It's possible this new whack on the head is the cause or maybe it's something a bit later. I bet an editorial mandate came down which said they couldn't have Guy suffer serious head trauma from Batman punching him. So they had to add this new scene where Guy basically gives himself the head trauma that results in a catastrophic change in personality. The Justice League didn't quite finish destroying The Gray Man last issue so that story gets resolved pretty quickly this issue. Doctor Fate transported him to the Realms of Order where a big blob of Order disintegrates him. Which is what he ultimately wanted. It's what we all ultimately want. It's just you don't know that you want it until you've lived long enough for all the wonder to be bled out of life. That's why he's the Gray Man! Some people think life's too short but at 49, I'm beginning to suspect that it's way too fucking long.

This comic book passes the Reverse Bechdel Test: "Any story that has only one woman in it and every scene she's in, she's treated like a sexual object."

With The Gray Man out of the way, it's time to get to the important part of the story: turning the Justice League of America into Justice League International! I wonder how many people this change pissed off in the 80s? Fucking globalist woke elite bubble bullshit! People talk in derogatory terms about the coastal bubbles but they absolutely shouldn't. I won't disagree that I grew up in a totally different environment in the San Francisco Bay Area than people who grew up in the Midwest. A bubble? Sure. But it was a fucking good thing. I was recently showing the Non-Certified Spouse some of the station breaks from local stations in the late 70s and early 80s out of San Francisco and she was amazed at the representative shorts these stations presented, especially KTVU's "Bits and Pieces." Sure, there were the ones about ethics and morality humorously presented with a horse and bulldog puppet. But there were also the ones that showed different ethnicities and their lives, often ending with "I'm proud to be a Chinese American!" or "I'm proud to be a Black American!" The one about Japanese Americans even mentioned how Japanese families were put in interment camps during World War II. One was about Italian Americans and instead of Italian history, it just showed Italian art and various activities of people in the Italian community. One of the Japanese American shorts just had a Japanese American kid having to explain how he was tired of answering questions about being Japanese in America because he was fourth generation and just American as anybody else. But I guess that kind of commie pinko hogwash is why I'm a big fat America hating socialist! As I was saying before my politics politely interrupted (my politics interrupting impolitely would look like this: Trump voters should be forced to shit in their own mouths for all eternity), the main thrust of this story is to set up Justice League International. Judging by the cover, that means hiring some guy with a bucket on his head from Russia and Captain Atom, another white American male.

Ah yes! The introduction of the best character of the series: Big Barda!

Big Barda might not be on the team but at least there's another female character. Sure, Doctor Light was sort of on the team for three pages. And pretty soon, Fire and Ice will join. But it's mostly just been poor Black Canary having to put up with Booster and Blue Beetle's jokes about banging her. Max and J'onn discuss the United Nations possibly backing the Justice League while Superman talks respectfully with President Reagan. What a mistake! The biggest do-gooder on the planet normalizing fucking Ronald Reagan! He should be scolding him with a liberal smattering of Kryptonian tsk-tsks! That's when a Kryptonian gives you a little burst of heat vision every time you deny the AIDS crisis or invoke the spectre of Welfare Queens or destroy the economy by lowering the top marginal tax rates pretending that the money saved will trickle down to everyone instead of fat corporate cats simply keeping all the extra for bonuses and investors. Fuck that guy. I'm so mad now!

Of all the digs they could have taken with Reagan, they poke fun of his dementia?! Christ, Giffen and DeMatteis.

Hal Jordan drops by headquarters to give Guy a good talking-to but Guy doesn't need it because he's suffered a traumatic head injury on top of his brain damage alongside Batman's sucker punch to the face and now he's Mister Sweetbeans. And because he's acting so nice, nobody gives a shit that this is actually a medical emergency. Backing Maxwell Lord is a computer satellite in space. Is it Brother Eye already?! Are they already working together in 1987?! Or is it just some alien gizmo from the Millennium bullshit coming up? I don't remember! Heck, this Maxwell Lord might even be a Manhunter! Anyway, the satellite begins destroying shit on Earth with a giant heat beam. The Justice League, having nearly nobody who can do anything about it, doesn't call Superman to fix the problem. Instead, they decide to spend precious hours borrowing a space shuttle from STAR Labs to launch them into space to battle the space station. Also, they leave Guy Gardner back at headquarters on monitor duty. Because who needs the guy with experience battling in space with a ring that can protect every other member of the League while in space? Also the ring is the greatest weapon in the universe. So, you know, sideline that guy, right?

It's possible this was in the era where Superman couldn't survive in space either, really. But then that's even more incentive to get fucking Guy Gardner up there with them!

The Justice League manages to stop the satellite's destruction but mostly only because it was a huge set-up so every nation could see them save the world. Everybody wants them defending the planet now so the United Nations agrees to back them with one condition: two new members, one to pacify the U.S. and one to pacify the U.S.S.R.

I've read a lot of ridiculous things in comic books but Rocket Red's power levels being nearly equal to Captain Atom's might be the most ridiculous.

I love how Captain Atom's power level is 9+ but Rocket Red's power level is 8.43 instead of 8+. I guess the accuracy of whatever system they're using breaks down over 9. Captain Marvel quits the team and Batman steps down as leader so J'onn can lead. And that's about it, I guess! The issue ends with some kind of flim-flam about how its the 80s and we've become a global world and boundaries just don't work anymore and superheroes are cool as shit. I guess it's inspirational or something. There's still just one woman on the team though. Justice League International #7 Rating: B. Seven issues in and the Justice League has defeated two villains who weren't actual threats to anybody. They were just scams to get the Justice League some press. They also beat up and killed an old guy who was just frustrated with the boredom that came with the immortality the Lords of Order forced on him. So all in all, they're nearly as terrible as the New Titans who practically only ever battled relatives while putting the residents of New York City in danger every time.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Αιώνια αγάπη (DT AU), pt. 15

15/Finale: I choose you

A/N - Instead of a summary, I just wanted to thank everyone for bearing with me on this series and for all the support. I hope I did the story justice and gave you all something to look forward to in the past, to take your mind off real life even if it just for a few minutes.

Also, special thanks to @godlydolans for being Yashi in the story. Love you girl!

Word count: 3.2k

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Αιώνια αγάπη (DT Modern Greek god/frat! AU) MASTERLIST    

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Apollo and Hermes spent most of the next month half out of their mind and half pretending to be fine while they spent time with the kids. One would stay with her, the other reassuring two very confused four year olds who were convinced mommy turned into a sleeping beauty or Snow White and someone needed to kiss her in order to have her back. No one could tell them otherwise. And gods and goddesses have tried. All of them did.

"They're as stubborn as their fathers." Hera smiled softly, unable to contain the light inside her heart the kids have brought back to the surface after so many centuries of complete darkness.

"Is this where you tell us this is karmic justice?" Hermes groans, rubbing his forehead as if he's trying to keep a headache at bay. He's been human so long that he forgot headaches aren't just human traits - gods have them too, he just didn't realize they came after hours of chasing two very wicked little cuties, both of them his blood in various degrees.

"She always wished us to have kids that were like us." Apollo agreed, resting his head on the bed beside Y/N, clutching her cold hand in his for some sort of comfort. It's the only way to remind himself she's still there - her heart barely beating, but the change taking over with every passing hour. He knows she's almost ready to open her eyes, completely made new - still his beautiful Y/N, just a little less fragile.

"No. But I can't say I'm not enjoying this." Hera chuckled, giving Hermes a quick pat on the back before retreating to her room, overjoyed with the fact her grandchildren are sound asleep right when it's her turn to watch them.

"I miss her." Hermes whispers, taking her free hand in his much larger one, or so he felt like it is. Lying there on the bed, Hermes forgot how small she really is for her attitude and strength always gave him an impression of a much larger, robust human being that could force anyone on their knees begging for forgiveness over something they most likely haven't even done.

"Yeah, but look. She's already more like us than mortal. She'll be with us in hours. I can feel it." Apollo kissed the back of her hand tenderly, smiling against the skin fondly.

Standing up, he sighed deeply, hating himself for having to leave her behind but ever since Poseidon's been killed, he had to return to his kingdom and take care of business. He could find time to see her and the kids every day, spend hours upon hours, but at the end of the day he had to return to his new home and face his responsibilities. He's wearing thin, but so is Hermes. After all, he has a kingdom of his own to take care of - one as complex and as torturous as death itself.

Hermes stood up as well, just as torn about leaving his love alone, but he had a job to do and his job was never-ending. After all, people die all the time and while his old job has been taken care of for now, long enough for his son to take over once he's grown, he had to take his crown and rule as Hades and he had to make amends - starting with Hecate and Yashi, two women he did wrong more than anyone else.

"Back to Atlantis, brother?" Hermes smirked, having trouble hiding the giddiness over knowing not only does Apollo have to leave and he won't be the first one she sees in case Y/N opens her eyes, but also because he was genuinely happy his brother got a throne of his own. As a man who loved adventure and sea, nature in every form, he knew Apollo would do his new job well, even the old one - until little Valerie could take over.

"You going down too?" Apollo raised an eyebrow, kissing Y/N's forehead before starting his walk back to the door, side by side with his brother. He had already claimed his trident, picking it up just before walking out.

"See you in the morning, little bro." Hermes winked, his form clouded by a gust of black smoke just as Apollo is swallowed in a water portal, each of them gone from Mount Olympus, missing a crucial moment.

The very moment she's been left alone, Y/N's eyes opened, sitting up with a strangled gasp, looking around in panic. She placed a hand on her chest, not that she needed to touch her chest to feel her heart because it pounded too strongly, too loudly for her to miss.

"I'm alive." She whispered under her breath in disbelief, pushing her legs to one side of the bed, the one closer to a mirror placed in far left corner of the room. Struggling with the dress someone had seemed fit to put on her, she grabbed fistfuls of it as she rushed toward the mirror, stepping once her image showed in the reflection.

Her hair is long, longer than it was back when she met the boys and definitely not the mom cut she did after the kids took up all her free time that she had zero time for herself and the long hair she knew Ethan and Grayson loved on her. The curls formed down the thick mane her hair had become, drawing a smile up on her lips. But then she noticed the elaborate braid crown on her head too. She places her hands on her face, admiring the way her skin is soft like silk, void of any imperfections that brought her insecurities to a torturous level. Her eyes seem bigger, brighter, no longer surrounded by dark circles, rather framed by long and voluminous lashes she envied men for because they never knew how to appreciate their god given beautiful eyelashes. And then her fingers grazed her lips, slightly more plump, pink and gentle, definitely improved in comparison to her previous small lips. Her body is curved, yet still short in stature, but she didn't care as she admired the incredibly beautiful dress that clung to her body - like melting gold on earth and a perfect fit on all her curves. Twirling, she caught the ends of her hair spark purple under the light, a little reminder she belonged to Hecate's bloodline.

Running her hands down her dress and to her waist, Y/N straightened up and lifted her chin, smiling to herself for she finally made the ultimate sacrifice to be with the ones she loves. It would be a sure way to not only spend an eternity with her two gods, but have her children grow up in safe environments, nothing they could need for she could provide them with everything. She wondered what her power is, hoping she doesn't find out by accidentally making a mess.

The Underworld

Hermes paced back and forth, trying to find the proper words as Hecate and Yashi stared at him with unyielding glares sent his way. Neither of them understood why would the new king summon them, especially with the way they left things in life, and in death.

"I've done you both wrong." He stops, turning toward them, his hands set behind his back as they looked toward one another in shock and confusion. To hear Hermes even wanted them around was a surprise, let alone hear him confess to something for that part seemed almost impossible.

"Wait. Is this some new form of torture?" Hecate interrupted, looking around wildly like something would jump out at her any moment now.

"What? No!" Hermes shook his head, stepping down from his throne in order to make himself seem more remorseful and approachable. To be perfectly honest, he did feel bad. After going over their history, he's learned exactly how badly he messed up.

After taking Yashi's virginity and her heart, she had lost the one thing that mattered back in the day. At that time, men valued a hymen more than beauty in a woman, reducing her chance of love and moving on almost to nothing. She chased him off, true, but had she let him stay he would have returned to Mount Olympus and she would have stayed a disgraced woman, alone, possibly with child and at that time it was just as bad as a death sentence. He learned she pushed him away in order to take up an offer of arranged marriage her father set up for her. A man, one much older than her who didn't care much about her not being a virgin, had requested her hand in marriage and he was willing to pay a lot of gold for her. She didn't see a way out but to accept his offer and secure her family's standing in society. Not only did she lose her maidenhood, but she also did it with a man who wasn't of her religion nor did he have money to redeem that fact - basically, no one in her family would have approved of Hermes. But this man...he was kind to her and he protected her. She loved him, but she was never in love with him. Hermes knew he robbed her of the chance to have a true love in her life and she never forgave him for having to live without it.

Hecate on the other hand married another. By force, not a choice. She married Helios, the former god of Sun and all Apollo had attained once he was of age. He was a bitter god, banished to Tartarus and his hate for Apollo is spoken of in every story ever told of him. He was anything but kind to Hecate, the former wife of his worst enemy's brother. He abused and used Hecate as he pleased over the centuries, having a single child together. She, a woman who despised cheating, turned to mortal men for love and affection, having many more kids over the centuries that allowed her bloodline on Earth to continue. But he understood why she hated him. Not only did he cheat on her even though she loved him, which he couldn't even fathom at the time. But his banishment caused her to suffer even more ever since and he didn't blame her anymore. He just wanted to find a way to help her.

"I've done terrible things, caused horrid things to happen to you and all because I was selfish and crude. I want to change this." Hermes took in a deep breath, turning to Yashi first.

"If you'd like, I can have your soul reincarnated on Earth. Give you a chance of a proper life, a great love and with no meddling from me." He offered, seeing Yashi's eyes widen with the thought of having all she longed for.

"It's the only way I can think of to repay you for all the pain I've inflicted." Honesty was never his strong side for Hermes liked to manipulate, but Yashi could tell he's being truthful. One nod on her behalf, a single clap of his hands and Yashi was gone, sent back and reborn as someone he knew would have a much better life than the one she was dealt before.

"What can you possibly give me to fix everything you've done? Cause there isn't anything you can do to undo centuries of hurt, Hermes." Hecate's spiteful tone isn't lost on him, but he knew he could help make her afterlife somewhat better.

"How about I end your marriage with Helios by sending his soul to Chaos and you can finally be free of him? I'll reunite you with your children and send Persephone to live with you on the Isle of the Blest while she's here too?" He offered, raising both eyebrows once he noticed her usual frown is erased, exchanged by absolute shock. She didn't even know he noticed how close she and Persephone were, nor how badly she longed for her children to be with her for she didn't raise any of them. After so many men screwing her over, she was ready to be far from them and just enjoy the afterlife.

"I...That...would be nice. I'd like that very much."

Atlantis

"I'm sorry, your majesty, but there has to be an earthquake on daily bases. It's a rule Mother Nature set in place a long time ago. It's to keep the humans fearful of the gods, loyal to us."

Apollo turned around swiftly, his usually calm and beautiful face now twisted in rampant rage, uncensored as he feels his mouth foam unrestrained.

"I know! But I said a minor earthquake in the middle of the Pacific! Not right on the shore of one of the greatest cities!" His thunderous voice echoed the castle, spreading throughout Atlantis. Returning to his kingdom only to find his people have decided to set a natural disaster to happen without his approval had set him off and he had already sentenced more than a dozen to do some time in the Underworld. His brother would surely find a proper way to punish them for taking lives that weren't on the list quite yet.

"There is a list of mortals who are meant to die and none of them were on there! You've put a ripple in the timeline and destroyed the butterfly effect. We have to contact Chronos to rewind time just to erase your idiotic mistake."

And he did. Apollo had managed to strike a deal with Chronos to rewind time, saving a lot of lives. He knew he'd have to take lives in his rule, some would be evil and some innocent, but it's the heaviness of his job. He's no longer just Apollo, he's the new Poseidon and he has to preserve the butterfly effect and the veil of this reality humans call life. Without it, they'd all perish. And as hard as it is, he felt comfort knowing he won't be alone in the task. He'll have a good woman to keep him company, his brothers and sisters to keep him sane and his children to keep his heart light.

Mount Olympus

On cue, a dark cloud of mist appeared at the same time as a portal made solely of water, allowing the brothers to return to their home and see their love. They expected to find her in bed, nearly screaming at the top of their lungs once they found it empty, a smooth, kind voice coming up from behind them.

"Missed me?"

They turned around instantly, taking in the way immortality had sculptured their beloved just a little differently, giving her the poise and grace every goddess possessed, but keeping the merciful look behind her sweet doe eyes.

"More than anything." They said at the same time, rushing toward her, pulling her into a soul-crushing hug, each of them pulling her closer to them, but they couldn't really hurt her anymore. Not now, not like before. She could return the hug wholeheartedly and they could truly feel her press into them, let her lilac scent rush their senses and render them slaves to her will.

Parting, she smiled up at them, still unable to get used to her enhanced vision, seeing every little line of perfection and imperfection on their bodies, appreciating their beauty even more.

"I still can't believe you drank it!" Hermes exclaimed, claiming her left hand as his.

"I was sure you'd take the kids and go back." Apollo agreed, deciding the right hand is his as he intertwined their finger.

"Why? After all, I choose you. Every time. No matter what happens, I choose you. The kids will always come first now, but if once choice gives me all four of you, why would I let it pass?" She cocked her head to the side, her lips twitching into a small smile as they both caressed her with their eyes alone.

"So, you, uh...chose us both then?" Hermes wets his lips, wondering just how difficult this will be, knowing she can't fight her heart anymore.

It's humans who have decided monogamy is the right thing. It's the humans who claim that love should be restrained and placed in one person. But love doesn't work like that. You can't choose who you love nor is there a scale that will decide who you love more. The heart can only feel, love, it knows no rules of social conduct nor does it care. And her heart, pure as it is, has fallen for both of them.

Neither of them could ask her to break it in half and dispose of the part that held one of them inside. They couldn't handle losing any piece of her, not after they thought they had lost her entirely.

"I know it's wrong." She closed her eyes, willing to defend her choice, but Apollo placed his index finger against her lips, stopping her effectively.

"It's not. Not here. Not when we both have children with you. It will be hard for us to learn to share the time we spend with you, but ultimately, we don't care. We all have a kingdom to take care of now, each of us busy at one time or another, taking care of the world's fate or our children. We'll take turns, giving the other to spend time with you." Apollo reassured her, kissing her cheek.

"So, that means", she starts, Hermes interrupting her.

"That we choose you too." He smirks when she frowns, pursing her lips. Without a warning, she huffed, her hands emitting a light blue flicker that instantly dropped both brothers to their knees at her side considering they both held onto one of her hands - like a jolt of electricity that forced its way through their bodies.

"I don't like being interrupted." Y/N corrected Hermes' behavior, smirking at the way both their eyes widened and their mouths opened.

"Holy hell, I'll follow you to the end of the world woman!" Hermes blurted out, mesmerized by her for she's finally in her full form and glory.

For the longest time, he was sure this story wouldn't have a happy ending or it wouldn't end happy for him to the very least. He had believed he was past saving, unlovable, too hateful to ever have someone like Y/N love him.

Apollo had a similar thought. He was certain he'd never know love for he never loved anyone as much as his family and himself. He was selfish and self-righteous, someone who would end up alone for all the sins he had committed. Who knew he'd find a woman to not only love him, but bear him children?

"Is it weird that I liked this?" Apollo chuckles, not nearly enough vigil after the shock to notice Valerie as she jumps at him, tackling him to the ground with a high pitched "DADDY" leaving her mouth. Henry didn't hesitate to do the same to Hermes, rendering him powerless on the marble floor, stealing glances at Y/N who had the widest, sweetest, most happiest smile on her face while she watched all the pieces of her heart before her.

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