#i feel like she might not get to kill him or if she does it wont bring her the satisfaction shes after

[inazuman]

FORSAKEN BY ALL THE GODS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forsaken by all the Gods —

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

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

“The prophecy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room clears.

“Kaiser, I —” 

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

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

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

“Master?”

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

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

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

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

“What was yours?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

“You dare-”

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

“They do.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I am as logical as they come.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That shocks the room like a bucket of cold water.

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

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

“My domain is truth. I cannot lie.”

“Oh, please.”

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

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

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

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

You almost frown. “Fine.”

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

“Human lives move quickly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles wickedly. “Demonstrate.”

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

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

“Oh gods, you’re like a pufferfish!”

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

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

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

“Right, and your suggestion?”

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

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

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

“Kaiser.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Demigod,” Kaiser corrects.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The water, it speaks to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

You nod to him, and the door clicks shut.

~

“She’s a what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She can’t dance, for one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh…”

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

Kaiser quirks an eyebrow. “The demigod?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t have the sword anymore.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, man. He’s gone”  

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

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

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

“You’re just a hater.”

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

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

~

Kaiser trains, every morning, from sunrise to noon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks like a hero.

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “So be it, your highness.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have no fluidity to you.”

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

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Hm?”

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

He stops, separating himself from you, scowling.

“This session is over.”

“Kaiser-,”

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

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

“And yet?”

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

“And yet you took it from me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve never seen you train.” 

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

“Oh? You won’t show me?” 

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something about your shell-shocked face makes him stir. 

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

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

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

~

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

“I have wondered about something.” 

“Hm?”

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

“Huh, so Nagi really wasn’t lying.” 

“Nagi, who is always with Reo?” 

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that so…”

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?” You ask him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did he say to you?”

You hum. You get the sense that maybe…

“Nothing of importance,” you tell him instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

“What happened?” 

“They’re gone.” 

“Ha?” 

“We had one drink. One.” 

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The water.”

“She speaks to you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

“Oh, so you’re the jealous type?” 

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He cups your face, and drinks you in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

“You- Kai-” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Mihya.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One more, okay?”

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

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

“You’re-, wait, we just- I just” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nuh-uh.” 

“I could cut you down here.” 

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

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

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

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

“Please, Mihya,” you sigh. 

“Mhmm. Please what?” 

“Please- please fuck me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good girl. Tell me again.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

“Answer me, demigod.”

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

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

“You are of divine nature.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

“Idle hands,” Kaiser starts.

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

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

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

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

“This is a distraction.” 

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

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

“Go on, then.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

“It is the safest room.” 

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

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

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

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

“That throne doesn’t belong to you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So be it, then.” 

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

“I see the prophecy has been completed.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In a blink, her form disappears. 

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

“The goddess-” 

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

“Relearning the water.”

“What does it say?”

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

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

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

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

“That, it does.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[lewistoferrari]

study hall [3]

uni student kyle who’s late for his session with you in study hall.

“she’s gonna kill me,” he mutters to himself as he pushes through the double doors, a groan slipping past his lips when he catches your eye.

if looks could kill he’d be dead.

fuck, i’m really in for it now, kyle thinks to himself as the urge to flee increases with each step he takes towards the table you’re occupying.

you really scared the shit out of him sometimes.

one look from you has kyle realizing how much trouble he’s in. you don’t even greet him like you usually do. he quietly dumps his backpack onto the table, while eyeing you warily when you kick his chair away from the table with more force than is necessary.

once he’s seated, kyle has a silent debate with himself. he’s wondering if he should explain his tardiness. but with the way you’re staring at him, he’s not even sure if it matters.

“45 minutes, garrick.”

that’s how late kyle is.

you almost let out a snort when he starts in on his apology right away. “i’m sorry, love. i was—”

but you’re not having any of it.

“save it,” you tell him, your patience finally worn thin. “your communication skills are sorely lacking if you can’t even be bothered to pick up a phone and let me know that you’re running late.”

kyle scowls at your little dig. “look smartass, can we just get this session over with.”

“gladly.” you’ll stop being mad at kyle when he’s no longer in his presence.

you spend the next hour watching kyle talk animatedly while he helps you with your coursework. you have an exam coming up and the class has been kicking your ass lately.

and you’ll never say it out loud—you have no desire to feed his ego—but the more kyle talks, you notice how intelligent he truly is.

no wonder his head is so damn big.

usually when kyle opens his mouth, it’s to utter something that’ll piss you off. he’s the only one who can get under your skin and stay there. you think you might hate professor price for pairing you with kyle, because now you feel like you’re noticing things about him against your will.

you’ve never seen kyle so laser focused, with his nose practically buried in his textbook. you notice the way he talks with his hands whenever he becomes passionate about a certain topic. you do everything you can to ignore the way his brows furrow, and the way he bites his lip when he’s trying to make sense of something.

you close your textbook immediately when you start staring at kyle’s fingers, and the way they grip his textbook. there’s a moment when you think about those same fingers gripping your ass. and you definitely shouldn’t be thinking about kyle’s fingers being anywhere near your pussy either, but you do. you have enough sense to suppress a groan. you shouldn’t be thinking about kyle or his hands. you’re supposed to be hating his ass.

shit.

this is bad.

and to make your situation worse, when you look up, pretty brown doe eyes are staring at you in confusion.

“why are you lookin’ at me like that? is something wrong?” kyle asks.

everything.

“nothing!” you blurt out quickly in a high pitched tone. you try your best to ignore kyle, who’s now looking at you suspiciously, while you shove your belongings into your bag. “i just remembered i have to—”

the shrill tone of your phone ringing interrupts your lie, which is a problem in itself when you see the name on the your screen.

it’s johnny.

not now, you think as you snatch the phone off the table to answer the call. you’re barely paying attention to johnny’s yapping though. you’re too busy staring at kyle, whose demeanor is slowly changing the longer you stay on your phone. your try to wrap the call up as quickly as possible by promising johnny that you’ll be available to help him over the weekend.

“why is soap calling you?” kyle demands as soon as the call ends.

he looks like he wants to throttle someone, but you don’t care.

“wouldn’t you like to know.”

kyle is way too calm for your liking when he asks you if you’re fucking soap.

excuse me?

“i’m not fucking anyone,” you hiss at him, while gathering the rest of your things. “and even if i was, how is that your business? i’m not yours.”

kyle eyes you up and down, “no?”

instead of responding, you walk off. you have every intention on putting as much distance between you and kyle as possible.

he doesn’t let you get far though. there is no warning when he sneaks up on you. with a grip on the back of your neck, kyle steers you to an empty room.

“garrick, what the hell do you think you’re d—”

a pair of soft lips crashing against yours shuts you up immediately.

-

a/n: it took me a minute to get here, but i’m back (i think)

kyle’s masterlist | uni-verse masterlist | main masterlist

[moonlitstoriess]

The Heir and the Outlaw-Eris Vanserra x fem!reader (oneshot)

Summary: In the shadows of the Autumn Court, where betrayal is currency and power is survival, Eris Vanserra has finally had enough. To dethrone his tyrannical father, Beron, he strikes an uneasy deal with Y/N, an outsider with her own vendetta against the High Lord. Their alliance is fraught with tension, mistrust, and a dangerous chemistry that threatens to burn them both. As plots unravel and secrets come to light, Eris and Y/N must decide if their fragile bond is strong enough to survive the inferno—or if they’ll both be consumed by it.

see masterlist

Warnings: just a mix of everything really lmao, also its really long guys😭

The throne room was suffocating.

Heat radiated from the great stone hearths lining the walls, their flames licking upward as if they too bowed to the High Lord’s wrath. Yet it wasn’t the fire that burned Y/N’s skin—it was the weight of a hundred gazes, each one eager to see her fall. The Autumn Court was a den of wolves, and she was the wounded prey dragged into their midst.

She stood in the center of the room, wrists bound with rough iron, the metallic tang of blood on her lips where one of Beron’s soldiers had struck her. The crimson trail was drying now, stiff on her skin, but the defiance in her eyes hadn’t dimmed. Not even as Beron stared down at her from his throne of flame and iron, his cruel smile a weapon sharper than any blade.

Beron tilted his head, studying her like one might examine a particularly irritating insect. “You’ve caused quite a bit of trouble, haven’t you?” His voice was low, smooth—a predator’s purr before the strike.

Y/N didn’t answer. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Her silence drew a ripple of amusement from the courtiers gathered in the shadows. The sycophants, the schemers, all perched like vultures awaiting the kill. Among them stood a tall male with red hair that caught the firelight. She barely glanced at him, her focus fixed on the High Lord, but somewhere in the back of her mind, a thought lingered: Another one of his cruel sons. Eris? Maybe one of the others. Does it even matter? To her, they all looked the same—arrogant, sharp-edged, and entirely untrustworthy.

Beron’s smirk deepened. “Nothing to say? I suppose that’s to be expected from a filthy little outlaw.”

The word hit its mark, but Y/N refused to flinch. Yes, she was an outlaw. A ghost in the shadows, a thorn in Beron’s side. Her work had earned her plenty of enemies in the Autumn Court, in both the human and fae realms really, but she hadn’t been reckless enough to get caught. Not until now.

“You’ve been trespassing in my lands, stealing from my stores, and stirring trouble among my people,” Beron continued, his voice growing colder with each accusation. “And here you are, bold enough to stand before me and think you’ll leave with your head still attached.”

A flash of fear sparked in her chest, quickly buried beneath a rising tide of anger. She had known the risks, but Beron’s accusations weren’t entirely true. Not all of them, at least. Yes, she had stolen, had trespassed, but she hadn’t done it for herself. The people of the villages—Beron’s own subjects—had suffered under his greed, his neglect. Someone had to help them. Someone had to fight back.

But that wasn’t why she was here. Not entirely.

The vendetta that burned in her veins had nothing to do with stolen goods or ruined crops. It had everything to do with the family she’d lost, the lives Beron had taken in his endless quest for power. She had come to this court with a plan, with revenge etched into her bones, and now it was crumbling before her eyes.

Beron rose from his throne, the flames at his back surging higher. “I should kill you here and now. It would be a fitting end for a little thief.”

She braced herself, even as her heart thundered against her ribs.

But instead of a blade, Beron waved his hand dismissively. “Lock her in the dungeons. I’ll decide her fate when I feel like it.”

Rough hands grabbed her arms, and Y/N didn’t struggle as they dragged her from the room. The red-haired male—Eris, she was now certain—watched her go, his expression unreadable. She told herself she didn’t care. He was just another piece of this rotten court, another predator in a den of monsters.

Still, his gaze lingered, and for a moment, Y/N thought she saw something flicker in his amber eyes.

She didn’t have time to wonder what it was. The heavy doors slammed shut behind her, sealing her in darkness.

The dungeon was everything she expected of the Autumn Court—cold, damp, and reeking of decay. Iron bars lined the narrow corridor, their rusted edges gleaming faintly in the dim torchlight. The air was thick with the stench of mildew and despair, and somewhere in the darkness, water dripped in a slow, mocking rhythm.

Y/N was shoved into a cell without ceremony. She stumbled but caught herself before she hit the stone floor. The door slammed shut behind her with a metallic clang, the sound echoing through the empty halls.

The guard sneered through the bars. “Enjoy your stay, thief.”

She didn’t respond, didn’t even look at him. Instead, she backed into the far corner of the cell, the damp stone biting into her palms as she sat down. The guard lingered for a moment longer, as if waiting for her to break, before finally retreating down the corridor.

Silence settled like a heavy blanket, broken only by the occasional drip of water.

Y/N let her head fall back against the wall, her eyes closing as she inhaled deeply, trying to steady her racing thoughts. This wasn’t the plan. She had been careful—every move calculated, every step planned to avoid detection. She hadn’t expected Beron’s soldiers to find her, much less drag her into the heart of his court.

Her hands curled into fists. She had let her guard down, and now she was paying the price.

The hours crawled by, each one stretching into eternity. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but she ignored it. The iron cuffs around her wrists made her skin itch, their magic suppressing the faint hum of power that always thrummed in her veins. She was trapped—physically, magically, and in every other way that mattered.

But she wasn’t done. Not yet.

Her eyes flicked open at the sound of footsteps.

They were light, measured, and deliberate. Not the heavy boots of a guard, nor the hurried steps of a messenger. These footsteps carried purpose.

Y/N sat hunched in her corner of the cell, her knees drawn up, feigning indifference as she stared at the cracked ceiling. She didn’t look up when the footsteps stopped outside her door.

The familiar scent of burning leaves hit her before she heard his voice.

“Still alive, then?”

Y/N’s head turned, slowly, to the source of the voice. The red-haired male from the throne room—Eris, she recalled now. She didn’t bother hiding her disdain as her gaze swept over him. He stood just beyond the bars, his arms crossed over his chest, his stance deceptively relaxed.

“I’d hate to disappoint,” she said dryly, her voice rasping from the damp air.

Eris’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. His sharp amber eyes flicked over her, cataloging every detail—the bruises on her wrists from the iron cuffs, the dirt smudged on her face, the rigid set of her jaw.

“I expected more from someone with your... reputation,” he said, his tone light but laced with something sharper.

Y/N shifted, stretching her legs out in front of her, pretending she didn’t care about the scrutiny. “And I expected more from a prince, but here we are.”

That earned her a genuine smirk, fleeting but real. Eris crouched down, his hands resting on his knees as he leveled her with a look. “You’re bold for someone in your position. It’s almost admirable.”

“Admirable,” she echoed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Coming from a Vanserra, I’m sure that’s a compliment.”

Eris tilted his head, unbothered by the jab. “Perhaps.”

The silence stretched between them, taut and heavy. Y/N’s gaze didn’t waver from his, though every instinct told her to stay on guard. Eris wasn’t here out of boredom—that much was clear.

“What do you want?” she asked finally.

Eris tapped a finger against his knee, his expression thoughtful. “Curiosity, mostly. My father seems quite taken with the idea that you’re a threat. I wanted to see if he was right.”

She scoffed, leaning back against the wall. “And? What’s the verdict?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. “The jury’s still out.”

Before she could reply, he rose to his full height, brushing nonexistent dust from his coat. “Enjoy your stay, outlaw,” he said, his voice dripping with mock courtesy.

Y/N’s jaw tightened as he turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor, his footsteps echoing into the distance.

He’s testing me, she realized, her fingers curling into fists. But for what?

The hours bled into days, or maybe it was the other way around. The oppressive darkness of the dungeon made time feel meaningless. Y/N had nearly convinced herself that the prince’s visit had been a one-time nuisance when the sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor again.

This time, she didn’t bother pretending not to notice. She sat cross-legged in the center of the cell, her sharp gaze locked on the shadowed figure that appeared outside her door.

Eris stopped just shy of the bars, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. “Still breathing, I see,” he said, his tone almost bored.

“Disappointed?” she shot back, her voice steadier than she felt.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his head tilting as he studied her. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Keep saying that, and I might start to believe it’s a compliment,” she said dryly.

Eris ignored her remark, his sharp gaze cutting through the darkness like a blade. “What were you doing in Autumn, Y/N?”

Her spine stiffened. “Shouldn’t your father have figured that out by now?”

“My father has his own theories,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “I prefer to form my own conclusions.”

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing. “And what conclusion have you come to?”

“That you’re stubborn,” he said with a faint smirk. “And reckless. But perhaps not entirely stupid.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Glad to know I’ve met your high standards.”

Eris’s smirk widened, but his amusement didn’t reach his eyes. “Tell me something, Y/N. Do you enjoy playing the part of the martyr, or is it just second nature by now?”

Her heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t let it show. “What are you talking about?”

“You came here for a reason,” he said, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “You didn’t stumble into Autumn by accident. So, what is it? Revenge? Spite? Or something bigger?”

Y/N’s stomach twisted, but she kept her expression neutral. “What makes you think I’ll tell you anything?”

Eris stepped closer, his fingers curling around the bars. For a moment, his mask slipped, and she caught a glimpse of something darker beneath the surface.

“Because,” he said softly, “I have a feeling you and I want the same thing.”

And then, just as quickly as he had come, he was gone.

Y/N hadn’t slept. Not properly, anyway. Every creak of the dungeon, every distant sound of boots on stone, kept her on edge. She couldn’t shake the memory of Eris’s last visit—the way he had looked at her, as if he already knew her secrets. As if he was just waiting for her to confirm them.

She sat against the cold wall, her legs stretched out in front of her, when she heard the footsteps again. Slower this time. Measured.

She didn’t move, didn’t bother looking up as the familiar scent of smoke and autumn leaves drifted through the air.

“You’re persistent,” she muttered as he stopped outside her cell.

Eris chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “And you’re predictable. I’d have thought you’d be halfway to trying to escape by now.”

She finally looked up, her gaze sharp. “And give you the satisfaction of watching me fail?”

He didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small, wrapped bundle. He tossed it through the bars, and it landed with a soft thud at her feet.

Y/N eyed it warily before unwrapping it to reveal a piece of bread and a small bottle of water. Her stomach twisted painfully, but she refused to let him see her gratitude.

“Generous of you,” she said dryly, taking a small bite.

Eris leaned casually against the bars, watching her with a faint smirk. “I need you alive, not starving.”

The words caught her off guard. She froze, the piece of bread halfway to her mouth. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, his tone light but his eyes serious. “Alive. Useful. That’s what you are to me.”

She set the bread down slowly, narrowing her eyes. “Care to elaborate?”

Eris stepped closer, his fingers wrapping around the cold iron bars. “I’ve been watching you. Listening. You’re not just some petty criminal with a grudge against my father. You’re smart. Resourceful. Dangerous, even.”

Y/N snorted, leaning back against the wall. “You’ve got a strange way of giving compliments.”

His smirk didn’t waver. “Call it what you want. The truth is, I need someone like you.”

She tilted her head, feigning disinterest. “For what?”

“To help me take him down.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and dangerous. Y/N stared at him, her mind racing.

“You’re joking,” she said finally, though there was no humor in her voice.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” he shot back, his tone sharp.

Y/N crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at him. “Why should I believe you? You’re his son.”

“And you’re his enemy,” Eris said smoothly. “We have something in common.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “And what? You just expect me to trust you?”

“No,” he admitted, stepping back from the bars. “But I do expect you to think about what I’m offering. You can rot in this cell, or you can help me take down the High Lord of Autumn.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a cold smile. “And what’s in it for you, Prince Eris?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His amber eyes locked on hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something deeper—anger, resentment, maybe even pain.

“Freedom,” he said simply, his voice low. “For both of us.”

And just like that, he was gone again, leaving Y/N with more questions than answers.

The hours bled together, the oppressive silence of the dungeon broken only by the occasional drip of water or the scurry of unseen vermin. Y/N sat hunched in the corner of her cell, her fingers tracing patterns in the grime on the stone floor.

She should’ve been planning her next move, calculating her odds of survival. Instead, her mind replayed Eris’s words: "Freedom. For both of us."

The absurdity of it made her scoff under her breath. A son of Beron—freedom? The words didn’t fit together, not in any version of reality she’d ever known. She knew what the Autumn Court stood for. Knew what Beron and his ilk did to people like her.

And yet...

A faint rustling sound pulled her from her thoughts. Her eyes darted toward the source—a small, scruffy rat creeping under the bars of her cell. She tensed, prepared to scare it off, when she noticed the tiny scrap of paper tied to its leg.

Her heart skipped a beat.

The rat stopped just out of her reach, its black eyes glinting in the dim light. Slowly, deliberately, Y/N extended her hand. The rat flinched but didn’t run. She whispered soothing nonsense until she could untie the scrap of paper and the creature scurried away into the shadows.

She unfolded the note with trembling fingers, her eyes scanning the jagged, hastily scrawled words: "Stay alive. You’re not done yet. Trust no one."

The last line sent a chill down her spine. It wasn’t just a warning; it was a reminder of why she was here in the first place. The people who had sent her knew how much she had to lose—and how much she still had to gain.

But how?

Her thoughts raced as she stared at the note. The organization hadn’t abandoned her, but they didn’t seem to have a plan to get her out, either. And then there was Eris. His offer wasn’t trustable, not by a long shot. But it was a way out.

The sound of boots on stone shattered her thoughts. She crumpled the note in her fist, shoving it into her sleeve just as the familiar scent of smoke and autumn filled the air.

She didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“I see you’re still alive,” Eris drawled, his tone as casual as if they were discussing the weather.

“Disappointed?” she shot back, leaning against the wall.

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “Not yet.” He stepped closer, his amber eyes flicking over her, searching for something. “Have you thought about my offer?”

“Have you thought about giving me a reason to believe you?” she countered.

Eris tilted his head, his smirk vanishing. “I’m giving you a choice, Y/N. Rot in this cell and hope your friends care enough to come for you, or work with me and ensure Beron pays for what he’s done.”

“Work for you, you mean,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“No,” Eris said, his voice soft but cutting. “With me. We want the same thing. You know it.”

She stared at him, her mind a storm of doubts and possibilities. The note in her sleeve seemed to burn against her skin, its warning echoing in her head.

“Why me?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Eris leaned closer, his expression unreadable. “Because I’ve seen what you’re capable of. And because I need someone who hates him as much as I do.”

The words hit her like a blow. He wasn’t lying; she could see it in his eyes. The hatred there wasn’t for show. It was deep, consuming, and real.

She let out a slow breath, her decision forming like a blade being sharpened. “If I agree to this... you’d better keep your end of the bargain.”

His smirk returned, sharp and dangerous. “You have my word.”

“Forgive me if that’s not worth much,” she said dryly.

Eris chuckled, stepping back. “Wise of you. Now eat something. You’ll need your strength.”

With that, he was gone again, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Y/N leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. She had made her choice. Now, all she could do was wait for whatever came next.

The days blurred together in the prison’s suffocating darkness, the stench of damp stone and rotting food mixing with the cold bite of the air. Y/N had been left alone for what felt like an eternity, only the echo of her own thoughts to keep her company. But she had never been one to let solitude break her resolve. It was a harsh ally, but one that had kept her alive this long.

Then, as abruptly as it had come, the silence was shattered.

The faintest flicker of movement in the corridor, barely perceptible even to her trained eyes, was the only warning before the door to her cell creaked open. She tensed instinctively, her senses on high alert. Was it Beron’s guards? Had they come for her, to finish what they’d started?

But no.

The figure standing in the doorway wasn’t a guard.

It was Eris.

His amber eyes gleamed with something unreadable, but his posture was calm, controlled. Too controlled. He was trying to hide something, she realized, but not quite well enough.

“You’ve come,” Y/N said, her voice low but steady.

“Did you think I’d leave you in here forever?” Eris asked, his voice laced with a sharpness she couldn’t ignore. “You’re not the only one with a plan.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What’s your plan then?”

Eris didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached into the shadows beside the door, and a small, intricately carved box appeared in his hand. He set it down on the floor with a soft thud and knelt beside it.

“I’m getting you out,” he said, his tone more serious than she’d heard it before. There was no mockery now, no games. Only the weight of his words. “But you need to trust me.”

Y/N’s instinct was to step back, to keep her distance. Trust was a currency she hadn’t traded in years. She had learned that lesson the hard way. But she knew the reality of her situation. She was running out of options.

Eris opened the box. Inside, there was a set of carefully arranged tools—thin, metallic wires, a set of blackened knives, and what looked like a small vial of liquid.

“An escape plan?” she asked, her skepticism creeping in. “You think you can just waltz in here and pull me out like it’s nothing?”

Eris’s lips curled into a cold, almost cruel smile. “It won’t be easy. But it’ll work. That’s all that matters.” He lifted the vial, swirling the contents in the dim light. “This will mask our scent. It’ll make sure we’re not tracked.”

Y/N watched him closely, still unsure. But as he worked, as he moved with practiced efficiency, she couldn’t help but feel the faintest stir of something—a fragile hope, maybe.

“You know,” she said, her voice quieter, “I didn’t expect you to come through for me.”

“Why’s that?” Eris asked, glancing up at her from his task.

“Because you’re Beron’s son,” she answered sharply. “I don’t exactly have a history of trusting people like you.”

Eris didn’t flinch. Instead, he merely offered a small, cold smile. “And yet here we are.”

Y/N wanted to push him again, wanted to question his motives further, but something in the way he moved—so sure, so confident—made her pause.

As he worked, he spoke again, his tone casual, but there was an edge to it that made her pay attention. “This isn’t just about you, Y/N. I have a score to settle, too. If you’re going to help me, I need you to keep up.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “And why would I help you?”

Eris met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “Because you want Beron to pay. And because you’ll need someone like me to get close enough to make that happen.”

She remained silent, her mind turning over his words. Trusting him felt like throwing herself into a storm, but was there really any other way out? The chains that bound her here were made of more than iron. They were made of fear, of power, of a system that held her down. But maybe—just maybe—Eris could be the key to breaking them.

A rustling sound pulled her from her thoughts. Eris had finished his preparations and was standing, holding out a dark cloak in her direction.

“You’re going to need this,” he said.

Y/N hesitated, but then the inevitability of the situation hit her. She grabbed the cloak, the fabric heavy in her hands.

The cloak weighed heavier than it should’ve, its fabric slipping over her thin shoulders like an anchor. She winced slightly, the bruises across her ribs protesting even the smallest movement. Her body felt foreign—frail, weakened from days of confinement, malnutrition, and exhaustion. But she didn’t let that show. She couldn’t afford to.

Eris, having finished his preparations, glanced over at her with a sharp eye. His gaze lingered for just a second too long on the hollowed cheeks, the sunken skin beneath her eyes, the bruises that covered her arms and legs. He was quick to mask the flicker of concern—if it had ever even been there—but Y/N caught it. His amber eyes sharpened, calculating, before he stepped toward her.

“Take it slow,” he said, his voice low, but with an authority that made her stop, turning to face him. “You’re not going anywhere if you collapse the moment we move.”

She shot him a look, irritation flickering across her face. "I’m fine."

Eris didn’t respond to her protest. Instead, he gave a sharp motion toward the small step down from the cell’s threshold. He was already behind her, close enough to catch her if she faltered. "You need rest before anything else. Trust me, you won’t last long if you push yourself."

Y/N bristled, but the fogginess in her head, the dull ache in her limbs, told her he was right. She straightened, but the dizziness made the world blur for a moment. Her stomach twisted with hunger, but there was no time for that now. She gritted her teeth, steadying herself, and finally nodded.

"Fine." She couldn’t afford to waste more time arguing.

As she took the first shaky steps toward the corridor, she barely made it two feet before her legs buckled beneath her. The floor rushed up to meet her, but before she could hit the cold stone, Eris was there, catching her with surprising gentleness for someone so accustomed to cruelty.

“Careful,” he muttered, his hands firm around her arms. She felt the heat of his touch seep into her chilled skin, and for a fleeting moment, she let herself lean into it. The steadying grip of his hands was a strange comfort in the overwhelming weakness that gnawed at her body.

She didn’t say anything, but the frustration simmered under her breath. How could she have let herself fall apart like this?

Eris didn’t let her dwell on it, though. “You’ll be stronger soon,” he added, his voice oddly soft. “But we need to move. The longer we wait, the more chance they’ll find out.”

She managed to nod, swallowing the growing lump in her throat. Slowly, she rose with his help, feeling the strength of his hold on her—he wasn’t going to let her fall, not yet. Her legs wobbled beneath her, like they hadn’t quite remembered how to carry her.

With a steady, calculating look, Eris motioned again, this time a bit more forcefully. “One step at a time. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

Y/N shook her head, stubbornness flaring. “I don’t need to be carried.” But it was a struggle to stay upright. She forced her legs to move, forcing her muscles to obey even though they were trembling beneath her.

Eris studied her for a moment longer, his eyes narrowed. Then he sighed, apparently conceding. “Alright, but if you fall again, I won’t hesitate to pick you up. Understand?”

She didn’t respond, too focused on making the next step. It was hard to concentrate through the fog of hunger and weakness that clouded her thoughts, but she willed herself forward. The corridor stretched on endlessly, the faint glow of torchlight casting long shadows on the stone walls.

She could feel the weight of Eris’s gaze behind her, watching, assessing, ready to catch her if she faltered again. And it was when she took another step, her knees shaking with effort, that the world tilted and spun violently.

Without warning, Eris was there again, his hand firm at her back, pushing her upright. "Stop. We rest here."

She wanted to protest, wanted to tell him to let her try just a little longer, but the cold truth was undeniable. She needed to rest, and Eris was right—he had been watching her, keeping track of the limits her body had reached, knowing more about her than she cared to admit.

The next few moments were a blur. Eris didn’t rush her, though his impatience was evident. He guided her to a small alcove just off the hallway, where she sank against the stone wall, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

“You should’ve taken better care of yourself,” Eris muttered, his tone a mixture of irritation and something else she couldn’t quite place.

Y/N glared up at him, but the fire in her eyes was dimmed by the sheer exhaustion flooding her system. “Not all of us have the luxury of being well-fed and pampered,” she snapped back, her voice raspy from days without proper hydration.

Eris didn’t respond, but the faintest tension in his shoulders told her he understood. He pulled a flask from his belt, offering it to her. “Drink,” he said simply, his voice softer now. “I’m not in the mood for a fight. Not now.”

Y/N hesitated, but then, her parched throat betrayed her. She took the flask, uncorking it with trembling hands. The cool liquid slid down her throat, the sensation almost painful, but welcome. It was nothing like the usual bitter, foul water they had given her in prison. This was clean, and it left a cool trail down her chest as she finished the last drop.

The flask was taken from her hands, but before Eris could say anything more, she spoke again. “I’m not going to be a burden.”

“You won’t be,” Eris replied, his tone more certain now. “You’re just... getting back on your feet. And we have a long way to go.”

The words hung in the air between them as they both looked at the dark corridor ahead. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder how much farther they would go before the walls closed in on them again. But for now, she took a steadying breath, feeling the smallest fraction of strength return to her limbs. And as she slowly pushed herself up, Eris was there, steadying her once again.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said, as though reading her mind. “Just keep moving.”

Y/N nodded silently, her gaze steady on the path ahead. She had no other choice but to follow him, to trust this strange arrangement—for now.

The journey from the prison cell to wherever Eris was leading her felt like an eternity. Y/N’s legs burned with each step, the effort of walking still too much for her weakened body. Her stomach growled, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She had no idea where they were going—only that she couldn’t afford to stop.

They passed through narrow corridors, the walls cold and silent, as if the stone itself had been drained of warmth. Eris walked beside her, silent but watchful, his hand never far from her arm, ready to steady her if she faltered again.

The journey was slow, but eventually, they reached the end of a hidden passageway, a small wooden door tucked in the corner of a forgotten hall. Eris produced a key from inside his coat, turning it quickly in the lock and swinging the door open.

Inside was a small, dimly lit room—much like the cell, but far more comfortable. There was a bed with thick blankets, a sturdy chair by a low-burning fireplace, and a small table cluttered with remnants of food. The scent of wood and smoke filled the air, faintly mixed with the sharp tang of herbs.

Y/N barely had time to process the warmth of the room before she collapsed onto the bed, her body too drained to stand. Her head spun from the sudden movement, and she could feel the exhaustion pulling at her, the desire to rest fighting with the cold weight of reality pressing on her shoulders.

Eris closed the door quietly behind him, his footsteps light as he moved to the fireplace and stoked the embers with practiced ease. His movements were deliberate, as if he had done this many times before. For a moment, Y/N watched him, her thoughts tangled with confusion and frustration. He had helped her escape—he’d kept his word, but there was a strange tension between them now, something she couldn’t quite place.

“Sit,” he said, his tone sharp but not unkind. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but the words caught in her throat. She had been given nothing but scraps for weeks, and the thought of food, even the simple fare he might offer, made her stomach twist. But she was too weak to argue, too exhausted to do anything but obey. Slowly, she leaned back against the pillows, her limbs heavy, her body craving sleep.

Eris moved with quiet efficiency, taking a small pot from the table and adding some dried herbs and a few vegetables to a broth. The smell of it wafted through the room, and Y/N's stomach twisted again, the hunger gnawing at her.

He handed her a bowl after a few moments, the steam still rising from the liquid. “It’s not much,” he said, as if trying to downplay it. “But you need something in you. Just a sip for now.”

Y/N accepted the bowl, her hands shaking slightly as she brought it to her lips. The warmth of the liquid was a comfort, and she drank slowly, savoring the taste, even though it was nothing special. It was food, and that was enough. She didn't care about anything else in that moment.

Eris watched her carefully, his amber eyes flicking from her face to the bowl. She could feel his gaze, but she refused to look up, pretending not to notice how intense it was.

Once the bowl was empty, she placed it on the side table and finally met his eyes, her voice quiet. “You never did tell me why you’re helping me. Why this? Why now?”

The question hung in the air between them, and for the first time since she had met him, Eris hesitated. He stood by the fire, the crackling sound filling the silence. He was calculating, as if considering how much to reveal.

“You’re right,” he said finally, his voice steady, but with a slight edge. “I didn’t owe you anything. But Beron’s... missteps have cost me. And I don’t take kindly to people trying to control my actions.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “So, this is about you?”

His lips curled into a small, sardonic smile. “Partially. But I can admit when I see a cause worth supporting.”

“You don’t strike me as the type who supports causes,” she muttered, her eyes narrowing. “More like the type who crushes them under his heel.”

He looked at her, a faint chuckle escaping his lips. “I don’t crush things that aren’t worth my time.”

There was an undeniable challenge in his words, but Y/N didn’t flinch. She leaned back against the pillows, closing her eyes for a moment. Her mind was starting to clear a little—at least enough to process her situation.

The tension was palpable between them. There was a quiet understanding that they both had agendas, but neither one was ready to reveal all their cards. The silence stretched on, but Y/N felt herself slipping deeper into the warmth of the bed, the exhaustion lapping at her like waves.

“You’re stronger than you look,” Eris said, his voice quieter now, almost reluctant. “I’ll give you that.”

Y/N opened one eye, catching him off guard as he turned back toward her. “I’m still here, aren’t I?” Her voice was rough, but there was something in the way she said it that conveyed both defiance and exhaustion.

Eris’ gaze softened, just for a moment, before his usual coldness returned. “You’ll make it,” he said simply, though she couldn’t tell if he was speaking about the immediate future, or something much longer.

“You’re sure about that?” Y/N scoffed, though the words felt hollow. “How much longer do I have to trust you?”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Eris stared into the fire, as if weighing her question carefully. Finally, his voice broke the silence, low and serious. “As long as it takes for you to get stronger.”

Y/N swallowed, the weight of his words settling over her. This was more than just an escape—this was a way to get to Beron, a way to make him pay for what he had done. And whether she wanted to admit it or not, Eris was her only chance at seeing that through.

She closed her eyes, the weight of her body sinking deeper into the bed. “Then I’ll get stronger.”

Eris didn’t reply. But when she opened her eyes again, she saw him watching her, his expression unreadable.

And for the first time since this whole mess had started, Y/N allowed herself to believe that maybe—just maybe—she might survive this.

Eris stood by the fire, his posture stiff, his gaze fixed on the flames that danced in the hearth. His mind was focused—too focused—to let his thoughts wander too far. But they kept straying back to her.

Y/N.

She had barely said a word, even as she sipped the broth he had given her. She was weaker than he’d expected, but there was something in the way she held herself, even in that state, that kept pulling at the edge of his mind. It wasn’t pity—he didn’t have time for pity—but there was something undeniably interesting about her. She wasn’t the usual sort of prisoner.

She was a legend, a name whispered in every shadowy corner of the realm. A figure of rebellion and whispered rumors, loved by the lowlifes, hated by the highborn. Y/N, the outlaw, the one who had evaded capture for years. A thorn in the side of every tyrant. And yet, here she was, a broken shell of that legendary figure, lying in front of him, barely able to lift a finger.

Her beauty was not what he was used to, not the polished perfection of the court, not the subtle seduction of his family’s alliances. Hers was a rough sort of beauty, sharp and untamed, like the wilds she no doubt called home. There was an edge to her—one he couldn’t quite place. Her strength, despite her fragile state, had been apparent from the very beginning. He’d seen it in her eyes when she fought to stay conscious, even after being starved and tortured.

And yet, as she drifted into unconsciousness, Eris couldn’t help but notice the vulnerability in her that she kept buried deep. The curiosity of her origins, of the secret organization she served, of her own ambitions and secrets tugged at him in ways he quickly dismissed.

Focus.

This was not the time for distractions. His father had no knowledge of the real reason Eris had decided to bring Y/N into his plans. Beron had simply ordered the capture of the fugitive, and Eris had executed that order, which is ofcourse how that sneaky little mouse who had never been caught fell into Eris' perfectly thought out trap. But that wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was the bigger picture, the one his father would never see.

Eris had his own secret agenda. Y/N wasn’t just some weapon to him—she was the means to an end, the key to the power he sought. She could help him dismantle his father’s grip on the Autumn Court, help him carve out his own path, one where Eris alone stood as the High Lord. His father had always underestimated him, used him as nothing more than a tool in his schemes. But Eris wasn’t going to let that continue.

He had his own plans. And Y/N? She could either become an ally or an obstacle. But for now, she was useful. And that was enough.

As he watched her sleep, breathing slow and shallow, the bitter taste of their arrangement lingered in his mouth. He didn’t care what she thought of him. He didn’t need her loyalty—he needed her skills, her connections, and her rage. And in return, she needed him too. She was running from something, using him as a stepping stone to whatever end she sought, just as he was using her to gain the power he deserved.

It was a simple exchange. Nothing more. No room for distractions. Not yet, at least. But something about her—something dangerous—pulled at him. He quickly erased the thought. He had no time for curiosity. He had too much to do.

But as he stood there, the faintest trace of doubt tried to creep in, and he stamped it down hard. Y/N would play her part. They both had their roles to play. Once they had what they wanted, the game would be over, and they’d move on.

For now, though, it was all about the plan. And the plan would make him one of the most powerful Fae in the realm.

It hadn’t taken long for Beron to notice her disappearance. A matter of hours, perhaps, before the guards started to come to him with news of the empty cell. They had all seen her locked away. But no one had seen her leave.

Eris could already hear the furious shouting echoing from the halls, his father’s rage pouring out like a tidal wave.

“Where is she?” Beron’s voice had thundered through the manor. “She cannot simply vanish. Find her, and bring her back, dead or alive!”

Eris remained silent, his face a mask of impassivity, even as he listened to the chaos unfold. His father was a fool if he thought it would be that simple. No one escaped the dungeons of his stronghold without help.

But then again, Beron had never been known for his intelligence. He was a beast—brute force and violence were his go-to methods. Subtlety was not his strength. It had always been Eris who managed the quiet manipulations, the behind-the-scenes dealings that ensured the Autumn Court stayed in power. And now, with Y/N gone, Eris knew it was his job to keep everything under control before his father tore the entire palace apart looking for her.

Eris made his way to the throne room, the air thick with tension. Guards scrambled, shouting orders, their voices raised in panic as they searched the castle. His father’s voice was the loudest, but Eris could sense the undercurrent of fear, of uncertainty, running through his father’s normally domineering tone. Beron was furious, but there was something else there too—a touch of something deeper. Something he’d never admit.

Eris didn’t need to worry about that. His role was simple.

“Father,” Eris said smoothly as he entered the room, his voice calm and controlled, as if there wasn’t a care in the world. His cold eyes flicked over to the soldiers rushing past, the frantic looks on their faces. “I’ve already sent out a team to handle it.”

Beron whipped his head toward him, his anger radiating off him like a storm. “A team? We need to find her now, before she gets away!”

Eris’ lips curled into a slight, almost imperceptible smile. “You overestimate the threat she poses. Y/N is a problem, yes, but she is also a legend—there is more to her disappearance than a simple escape. Whoever is helping her will make a mistake. They always do. We just need to wait.”

His father was not convinced. His thick brows furrowed, and he opened his mouth to argue, but Eris cut him off.

“We’ll find her, Father. But we’ll do it with precision. Not brute force. You’ll just make things worse.” His tone didn’t rise. It was a quiet, almost detached warning, but it was enough to make Beron hesitate.

Eris’ gaze flicked to the soldiers gathered around, still frantically searching for any trace of her. There was no need to rush. He knew exactly where Y/N was—and he wasn't about to rat her out.

Eris turned to his father, who was still seething. “Calm down. We’ll get her back, but we need to be strategic. I’ll take care of this.”

Beron’s face twisted in frustration, but he relented, nodding sharply. “Fine. Do what you must. But if you fail, it will be you answering for it.”

The threat in his father’s voice was unmistakable, but Eris didn’t flinch. He had long ago stopped fearing Beron. In fact, he used it. Everything had its place. And Y/N? She was a tool—a means to an end.

With a final glance toward the doorway, Eris turned and left the room, his cold mask firmly back in place.

As he walked through the halls, his thoughts turned back to Y/N. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to her—a deeper layer to the rebel who had fought for the lowborn and outrun every other High Fae in the land. But he couldn’t afford to care.

Not yet.

He would use her. And then, when the time was right, he’d destroy her. Just like everyone else who had been foolish enough to stand in his way.

But for now, he would play the game. Keep things calm. Keep the mask intact. And when the time came, when the last piece of this puzzle fell into place, he would have the power he sought.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d learn exactly what kind of legend Y/N really was.

The small room had become her refuge. For the first time in weeks, the dim light of the torch didn’t feel like a threat, but a sign of safety. The bruises on her body were healing, though the pain still lingered, reminding her of the endless days in that wretched prison. Her muscles ached as she slowly stretched her limbs, trying to ignore the tightness of her chest.

Eris had sent food every night—fresh bread, fruit, and meat—though she never once saw him deliver it himself. Perhaps, he felt like he had shown enough of himself the first time he brought her here. Sometimes she wondered if he even cared that she ate or if it was all just part of the plan, a move to keep her alive long enough for whatever game he was playing to unfold. She’d been fed, rested, and given a place to breathe, but she never let herself forget the price she was paying for all of it.

She had no illusions. Eris wasn’t helping her because he cared. He was helping her because he needed her. But in that moment, with a half-empty plate of food resting beside her, she couldn't help but let her guard down just a little. She had been alone for so long—torn between running and staying, trapped in a cage of her own making. Eris, with his cold, calculating eyes and cruel smile, had forced his way into her life in a way no one had before.

But now… now, she was stronger. Not fully healed, but enough to stand on her own. She could feel the strength returning in her bones, the fire that had burned within her when she first started this fight slowly rekindling. She was no longer the broken fugitive hidden away in the shadows. She was Y/N, the outlaw with a name that made people tremble and the power to bring kings to their knees. And it was time to put that power to use.

The door creaked open, and she didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Eris entered without a word, his presence filling the room like a dark cloud. He was silent as always, as cold and controlled as the iron in his veins. She could hear the faint sound of his boots against the stone floor, but she didn’t move. Not yet.

“Feeling better?” His voice was low, calculating. His eyes studied her carefully, no doubt searching for any sign of weakness. But she didn’t let him see it.

“Does it matter?” she replied, the edge of defiance creeping into her voice. The truth was, she didn’t care if he noticed how fragile she still felt. She was done with pretending.

He paused for a moment, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “It matters,” he said quietly, his eyes flicking over her with something almost like… approval. She quickly dismissed the thought. She wasn’t here for his approval.

“Your plan,” she said, breaking the silence. “What’s the next step?” Her tone was cool, but she could feel her heart hammering in her chest. She wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to hear what he had to say, but the sooner she did, the sooner she could make a decision.

Eris stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. She could see the glint of something dark in his eyes, a quiet power that sent a shiver down her spine. “You’ll be a part of it,” he said. “The key to everything I’m planning.”

She met his gaze, her own expression hardening. “I’m listening.”

He didn’t speak immediately. Instead, he simply watched her, his thoughts unreadable. Then, at last, he spoke again. “We both have a common enemy: my precious father, Beron.”

Her jaw clenched at the mention of Beron’s name. The man who had ruined everything. The man who had taken her family from her. The one who had put her in that damn prison in the first place.

She swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat, forcing herself to focus on Eris. “You want to kill him?” The words tasted like acid in her mouth, but she kept her gaze steady.

Eris’ eyes gleamed with something dangerous. “Not just kill him. I want to take everything he has, strip him of his power, his title, and make him see who really deserves the throne.”

A shudder of unease ran down her spine, but she refused to show it. She had no love for Beron, and she would see him pay. But Eris? He was a different kind of monster, one she didn’t fully understand. She had learned to trust no one in her time as an outlaw, but this—this was more than just revenge. This was a game, a dangerous one where neither of them could afford to lose.

“And you think I’ll help you?” she asked, her voice hard, though there was a small edge of uncertainty beneath her calm exterior.

Eris’ smirk widened, dark and knowing. “You’ll help me because you need me, just as much as I need you.”

Y/N remained silent, staring into his eyes. She didn’t like it, the way he was so certain of her. But deep down, she knew he was right. They were both using each other—she just hadn’t admitted it yet.

“So,” he continued, voice smooth and deliberate. “What’s your answer?”

Her fingers tightened into fists, her nails digging into her palm. She could feel the weight of the decision settling over her, but there was no hesitation in her mind. She had nothing left to lose, and Eris—despite all his cruelty—was offering her a way to finally take control of her life again.

She looked up at him, eyes cold. “I’m in.”

The plan Eris laid out was very complex. Add to it some of the ideas Y/N thought of, and you had yourself a large pot of... well, everything. A complex and risky, but also very structured and specific plan.

Eris stood before her, his dark eyes calculating as he laid out the foundation of their scheme. Every move, every word had a purpose, a role to play. But as Y/N listened, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of the whole thing—the risks, the challenges, the unspoken consequences. Nothing about this was easy. And it wouldn’t be until Beron was dead that she could truly breathe.

"Let’s start simple," Eris’ voice was steady, giving nothing away. "We’ll use your connection to the common folk. They trust you—more than anyone realizes."

Y/N didn’t need to hear the rest of the plan to know where this was going. Her reputation had spread like wildfire in every village, town, and city. She was a ghost, a whisper in the shadows, always just out of reach of every venomous tyrants grasp, including Beron. The lowlives, the outcasts, the ones the high courts ignored—they revered her. She had once stood for them, fought for them. And now, in her hidden exile, they still remembered her name.

"And how do we use that?" she asked, leaning back in her chair, her fingers tapping against the stone tabletop. Her thoughts were a whirlwind. "I’m hiding from Beron’s men, Eris. And you think a few whispered words from those filthy peasants are enough to move the needle? No offense, but that’s a shortcut I’m not willing to take."

Eris didn’t flinch at her criticism. His smirk remained, cold and unreadable. "We need allies. People in the right places, ready to fight when the time comes. It’s not just about what you did in the past, Y/N. It’s about what you can get them to do for us now. A rebellion, a force ready to rise, led by those you trust."

A rebellion. A revolt. It was just a word, but it carried the weight of an entire revolution in its syllables. Y/N narrowed her eyes. "And what do you expect from me? A few promises and speeches? I’m not about to throw my life away for another failed cause."

Eris’ eyes locked with hers. "I’m not asking you to. But you’re more than a symbol. You’re the spark that will ignite this fire. A revolt is meaningless without someone who has the courage to lead it. Someone who has already proven they can outsmart Beron’s forces at every turn."

Y/N studied him, the weight of his words sinking in. He wasn’t wrong. The common folk wouldn’t follow just anyone—they’d follow her. But leading them into a rebellion against Beron wasn’t something she could take lightly. She’d seen the kind of devastation his wrath could bring. She would need more than just words; she’d need a plan that couldn’t fail.

"I’m listening," she said, crossing her arms. "What else?"

Eris glanced around, as if making sure no one was listening, then began to lay out the next part of the plan, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"We start by infiltrating Beron’s inner circle. I’ll get close to him—closer than anyone realizes. He trusts me, perhaps too much." A dark glint flashed in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "We’ll gather information, figure out where he’s vulnerable. We expose his weaknesses—his alliances, his secrets—and we use them against him. We have to break him from the inside."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "And how do we do that? You’re talking about walking into the lion’s den, Eris. What makes you think he’ll let you so close?"

Eris gave a small shrug. "He doesn’t have a choice. I’m his son, and I’m the one who will inherit his power. He won’t suspect me—not until it’s too late. I’ve been biding my time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike."

Y/N’s thoughts whirred as she processed the information. The idea of Eris using his place as Beron’s son to get close enough to take him down wasn’t a bad one—if it worked. But there were too many unknowns, too many variables. She wasn’t about to bet everything on a chance.

"You’re underestimating the danger here," Y/N said, her voice low. "You’re playing with fire. Even if you get close to him, that doesn’t guarantee we’ll have a clean shot at him. Beron is dangerous. And you’re not the only one who’s waited a long time for this."

Eris stepped closer, his gaze sharp, unwavering. "I’m not underestimating anything, Y/N. But you’re right. We need to be strategic. I’ll play the role of the dutiful son for now, keeping Beron distracted. Meanwhile, you’ll move in the shadows, gathering support. You know the people, the ones who are sick of Beron’s reign. Find them, recruit them, and keep them ready. The moment Beron falls, the rebellion will rise with him."

Y/N frowned, thinking carefully. "And where do we go from there?"

Eris didn’t hesitate. "Once we have Beron in a vulnerable position, we strike. We take him out, publicly. We make sure it’s loud, impossible to ignore. We destroy his reputation, expose his crimes. And when his power crumbles, we move quickly—cutting down his supporters, his key figures, anyone who can replace him. We leave no room for anyone else to step into his shoes."

She absorbed this quietly, still not convinced. "And you expect me to do all of that while hiding from Beron’s men? You’re asking me to risk my life for your game, Eris. You know how this goes. The moment they realize I’m back, they won’t stop until they have me."

Eris didn’t flinch. "We will make sure they don’t find you. You will be our shadow, Y/N, hidden in plain sight. If they don’t know where to look, they can’t find you."

Her mind raced. There were too many steps, too many risks. But there was no turning back now, was there? She had already walked too far down this path. Beron was her enemy, and if this was the only way to get close enough to destroy him, then she would have to play along.

"I still don’t trust you," she said, her voice biting, though she knew it was mostly for show. "But I’ll play your game. For now. Don’t get comfortable, though, Eris. I don’t answer to anyone."

Eris gave her a cold smile, the faintest glimmer of something dangerous in his eyes. "You will answer to me, Y/N. Eventually. But for now, let’s just get the job done. After Beron’s gone, we can sort out the rest."

Y/N stood at the edge of the makeshift camp, the firelight flickering across her face as the shadows of the rebels gathered around her. The weight of the task ahead pressed down on her chest, the constant hum of fear and uncertainty gnawing at her. She wasn’t sure what she expected when she first set out to rebuild this rebellion, but it wasn’t this. Not this.

"Who are these people?" she muttered under her breath, glancing at the ragtag group of disheveled faces before her. Some looked hopeful, some terrified. Others just seemed like they were here out of necessity, their eyes glinting with a mixture of desperation and defiance. Y/N had never been a leader, had never wanted to be, but here she was, thrust into the role by sheer circumstance.

A young man, no older than twenty, stood at the front of the group, his hands twitching at his sides, looking every bit the part of a soldier who had never seen battle. "You told us we were going to fight Beron," he said, his voice wavering with uncertainty. "But we’re not prepared for this. We don’t have the strength. We don’t have the resources. And—" He cut himself off, eyes darting to the others as if gauging their reactions. "Some of us aren’t sure it’s worth it."

Y/N’s eyes narrowed as she studied him, her mind racing. She hadn’t expected this much resistance, but there it was, in the raw form of human doubt. "You think I don’t know that?" she said sharply, stepping forward to meet his gaze. "You think I’ve been waiting for this moment, for years, with nothing but hopes and dreams?" She shook her head, bitterness creeping into her voice. "We’re not waiting for a miracle. We’re making one."

The young man’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t reply. His hesitance was the same as the others’—an undercurrent of fear that Y/N knew all too well. It was the same fear that had kept her hidden for so long. The same fear that had kept them all under Beron’s thumb.

But there was no time for that now. Not when every second counted.

She turned away from the group and walked over to one of the quieter rebels, a woman with a scar running across her cheek, a battle-worn look to her eyes. "I need to know who else we can trust. Who’s ready to move."

The woman hesitated, her eyes flicking to the others, her voice low. "They’re not all ready to act. Some are too scared, others… some have family in Beron’s courts. They won’t risk everything just to see him fall."

Y/N clenched her fists, frustration boiling beneath her skin. "Damn it. This is our only chance. If they’re not with us, then they’re against us."

The woman’s eyes softened with sympathy, but she didn’t argue. "I’ll talk to them. See who’s willing to join your cause."

Y/N nodded, though doubt lingered in the back of her mind. She needed more than just the willing; she needed those who wouldn’t hesitate, those who would see this through to the end.

And that’s where Eris came in. Back at the palace, Eris was playing his own dangerous game. He’d become adept at walking the fine line between being the son his father wanted and the traitor he had every intention of becoming. For weeks, he had been spending more time with Beron, attending meetings, walking through the halls of his father’s estate with the air of the loyal heir, while secretly sowing the seeds of rebellion.

But as the days passed, Eris could feel the pressure mounting. He could feel Beron’s eyes on him more often, could sense the unease growing in the air around them. Beron was a cautious man, and for all his arrogance, he wasn’t blind. He could see the cracks in the façade, and Eris knew it wouldn’t be long before his father began questioning his loyalty.

"I know what you’re doing, Eris." The voice, low and venomous, broke through his thoughts as he sat in the grand dining hall, pretending to savor his meal. His father’s voice was always like that—sharp, full of hidden threats.

Eris didn’t flinch. He didn’t let his gaze waver from his plate. "I have no idea what you’re talking about, Father."

Beron’s eyes narrowed, his voice lowering. "You think I can’t see it? You are my son, Eris Vanserra. You’ve been distant, more so than usual. You’ve been... careful. Too careful. What are you hiding from me?"

Eris forced a smile, keeping his posture relaxed, but every muscle in his body was tense, ready for the slightest sign of danger. "You’re imagining things, Father. I’m as loyal as I’ve always been."

The silence between them stretched for a heartbeat too long. Eris could feel the weight of Beron’s gaze upon him, and for a moment, he feared the mask would slip, revealing the truth behind his carefully constructed lies.

But then Beron simply grunted, dismissing the conversation as though it were nothing more than a passing annoyance. "Don’t disappoint me, Eris. You have the world at your feet. Don’t squander it."

They met at some random tavern in the lowest part of Autumn. Y/N’s patience was wearing thin. The male she was supposed to meet was late, a complication she didn’t need. Every passing minute felt like a risk. She had to keep moving, keep finding people she could trust—if they existed at all.

Then, finally, the door creaked open, and a tall figure stepped inside. The hood of his cloak was pulled low over his face, but the way his eyes scanned the room told her everything she needed to know. It was Eris.

“Do you always like to make an entrance?” Y/N asked, her voice laced with sarcasm as she moved toward him. She was irritated, her patience already stretched thin with the weight of her mission.

Eris gave a small shrug, his lips curling into a half-smirk. “I like to keep people on their toes.”

She didn’t return his smile. "You’re late.”

“Not by much,” he said, dropping into the seat across from her. “And I’ve brought something that might make up for it.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak. She was tired of his games, but the truth was, she needed him. As much as she disliked it, they were tied together by necessity.

“What’s the news?” she asked, leaning forward, her fingers tapping on the table impatiently.

Eris glanced around, his voice lowering to a murmur. “Beron’s becoming suspicious. He’s watching me more closely. The façade is wearing thin. But I have a plan. We need to move quickly.”

Y/N’s interest piqued. “Move quickly? Why? What’s your plan?”

Eris leaned in, his gaze sharp. “We need more leverage. I’ve been playing my part, keeping Beron distracted. And through getting closer with his inner circle, I managed to manipulate them into saying some things that I never even knew about. There’s one thing he holds close—something he’s kept hidden for years. I need to get to it. We’ll use it to put him in a position where he has no choice but to fall. But to do that, we need to leave the city. We need to get close to the human lands.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed in confusion. “The human lands? What does that have to do with your plan?”

Eris hesitated for a moment, his eyes calculating. “Beron has kept a secret. Something he’s been hiding even from me. It’s in a remote location, not far from the border. I can’t afford to let anyone else get to it first. Once I have it, I’ll have the leverage I need to make my move. But getting there will be dangerous. We’ll need to stay off Beron’s radar. That’s where you come in.”

Y/N considered his words carefully. “You want me to help you get this… whatever it is? Why should I trust you?”

Eris met her gaze, unwavering. “Because this is bigger than both of us. If we don’t do this now, we lose our chance. You’ll get the rebellion you want, and I’ll get what I need to bring Beron down.”

There was a heavy silence between them. Y/N’s mind raced, weighing the risks. She didn’t trust Eris, not entirely, but she had no other choice. The rebellion needed action, and this could be their opportunity.

“Fine,” she said finally, standing up. “But we do this my way. We stick to the plan, no deviations. I won’t risk my people for your secrets.”

Eris stood as well, his lips curling into a faint, almost amused smile. “Agreed. But don’t forget—this is as much about you as it is about me. We leave right this second."

Y/N didn’t respond, her mind already shifting into action. They had a long road ahead of them, and the stakes were higher than either of them could imagine.

As they stepped out into the night, the tension between them was palpable. They weren’t allies—they were tools, using each other to reach their separate goals. But for now, it was enough. And with that uneasy understanding hanging in the air, they moved toward the wilds, where the next phase of their plans would unfold.

The Wilds loomed like a beast on the horizon—dense, untamed, and brimming with the unknown. The sun barely pierced through the thick canopy, casting everything in shades of green and gray. Y/N adjusted her cloak, her sharp gaze scanning the path ahead. Every step they took felt heavier, as though the forest itself wanted to swallow them whole.

“This better be worth it,” she muttered, breaking the silence.

Eris, a few paces behind, gave a low chuckle. “Do you think I enjoy trudging through this forsaken wilderness? I assure you, I’d much rather be sipping wine in my father’s halls, pretending to care about his ridiculous court.”

Y/N shot him a sharp look over her shoulder. “You mean pretending to care while you’re plotting his demise.”

He grinned, unbothered by her barb. “Exactly.”

The tension between them hung thick in the air, unspoken but always present. This was no partnership of trust—it was an alliance of necessity. And yet, despite her better judgment, Y/N found herself begrudgingly impressed by Eris’s unshakable composure. Even out here, in the heart of nowhere, he carried himself as if the world still revolved around him.

“Quiet,” Y/N whispered suddenly, her hand shooting up to halt him.

Eris frowned but obeyed, his sharp ears straining. At first, there was nothing but the rustle of leaves and the distant call of some unseen creature. Then it came—a faint, rhythmic sound, too deliberate to be the wind.

Footsteps.

Y/N crouched, motioning for Eris to do the same. They pressed themselves against a moss-covered boulder, their breaths shallow. The footsteps grew louder, accompanied by low voices.

“They’re close,” one of the voices said, gruff and laced with urgency. “Keep searching. They couldn’t have gone far.”

Beron’s men.

Y/N’s grip tightened on the hilt of her dagger. She glanced at Eris, whose expression was unreadable, save for the faint tightening of his jaw. He leaned closer, his voice a whisper. “We can’t let them find us.”

“No kidding,” Y/N shot back under her breath. “Got a brilliant plan, or are we winging it?”

He gave her a thin smile. “Follow my lead.”

Before she could argue, Eris stood, his movements impossibly silent for someone so tall. He raised a hand, and the air around him shimmered. The faintest flicker of flame sparked in his palm before extinguishing. A diversion.

The forest came alive in an instant. Flames burst to life in the distance, licking at the trees, crackling and snapping. The guards’ shouts turned panicked as they rushed toward the sudden inferno.

“What the hell are you doing?” Y/N hissed, tugging at his sleeve.

“Giving them something to worry about,” Eris replied smoothly, his voice calm even as chaos erupted around them. “Now, move.”

They slipped through the underbrush, their steps quick and precise. The smoke was thick, curling through the air and masking their escape. Y/N could hear the men yelling, their voices growing fainter as the fire drove them farther away.

They didn’t stop until the sounds had faded completely. When they finally paused, Y/N rounded on him, her face flushed with frustration.

“Are you insane?” she demanded. “You could’ve burned the whole forest down!”

Eris shrugged, utterly nonchalant. “I controlled it. You’re welcome, by the way.”

She glared at him, her chest heaving. “You’re reckless.”

“And you’re dramatic,” he countered, brushing ash off his sleeve. “We’re alive, aren’t we?”

Before she could retort, a deep, guttural growl cut through the air. Both of them froze, their eyes snapping to the shadows ahead. Slowly, the figure emerged—a massive, wolf-like creature with glowing yellow eyes and razor-sharp teeth. It snarled, its hackles raised, and Y/N felt her blood run cold.

“Tell me that was part of your plan,” she murmured.

“For once,” Eris said, his voice tight, “I’m as surprised as you are.”

The beast lunged.

Y/N rolled to the side, her dagger flashing as she slashed at the creature’s flank. Eris summoned fire, his hands blazing as he threw a wall of flame between them and the beast. But the creature was fast, far faster than either of them anticipated. It circled them, its movements fluid, predatory.

“Great,” Y/N said, dodging another attack. “First your father’s goons, now this. You really know how to pick a route.”

Eris didn’t reply, his focus on the beast. He lashed out with another burst of fire, forcing it back. “Stay close,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, but she obeyed, falling into step beside him. They moved as one, circling the creature, their movements coordinated despite their earlier bickering.

Finally, with a combined effort—a well-placed dagger strike and a surge of fire—the beast fell, its massive form collapsing with a final, guttural snarl. Y/N leaned against a tree, catching her breath, while Eris extinguished the remaining flames around them.

“Next time,” Y/N said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “remind me to let you take the lead.”

Eris smirked, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You’d be lost without me.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. The truth was, as much as she hated to admit it, they worked well together. Begrudgingly well.

As they continued deeper into the Wilds, the tension between them remained, simmering beneath the surface. They had a destination—a secret to uncover and a kingdom to upend—but the road ahead was treacherous, and neither could predict what awaited them in the shadows.

Eris pressed forward, his boots crunching against the leaf-strewn path. The Wilds were relentless—uneven terrain, thorny underbrush, and no sign of civilization for miles. He glanced back briefly to make sure Y/N was still following. She was, though her steps had grown slower, her movements heavier.

She muttered something under her breath—likely another colorful insult aimed at him.

Good. If she still had the energy to be annoyed, then she wasn’t entirely falling apart.

He kept his focus ahead, ignoring the uncomfortable twist in his gut. Guilt was a foreign feeling, one he wasn’t inclined to entertain. This alliance wasn’t built on kindness, and Y/N knew that. She was a tool, just as he was a tool to her.

Or so he told himself.

Behind him, her footsteps faltered.

“Eris,” she said, her voice sharp, though tinged with exhaustion.

He didn’t stop.

“Eris.”

This time, there was a distinct edge to her tone, one that brooked no argument. He sighed, coming to an abrupt halt.

“What now?” he asked, turning to face her.

Y/N stood a few feet away, her hands braced on her knees as she glared up at him. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“That’s dramatic, even for you.”

“I’m serious,” she shot back, straightening. “We’ve been walking for hours without a break. My legs are staging a rebellion. Either we stop, or I collapse, and you can carry me the rest of the way.”

Eris raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

She scowled, but the corners of her mouth twitched, betraying her amusement. “Your choice, red.”

Red. The nickname grated on him, but there was something oddly endearing about the way she said it—like she wanted to annoy him but didn’t quite hate him enough to mean it.

“Fine,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “Five minutes.”

“Ten.”

“Seven, and not a second longer.”

She smirked, clearly pleased with herself, and plopped down on a nearby rock. Eris leaned against a tree, watching her as she pulled a flask from her cloak and took a long sip.

“You’re not as invincible as you like to pretend,” she remarked, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.

Eris folded his arms, his gaze narrowing. “And you’re not as delicate as you pretend to be.”

“I’m not pretending.” She grinned, stretching her legs out in front of her. “I’m openly complaining.”

He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself. She had a way of disarming him, of slipping past the walls he kept so carefully constructed. It was infuriating.

“You’re impossible,” he said.

“And yet, here we are,” she replied, her tone light but her gaze lingering on him.

Eris looked away, focusing on the distant trees. The silence between them stretched, not uncomfortable but charged with something unspoken.

He didn’t want to acknowledge the way her presence affected him, the way her laughter seemed to carve cracks into his carefully built facade. She was a means to an end. That was all.

But then there were moments like this—quiet, unguarded moments that made him question everything.

“Why do you keep going?” Y/N asked suddenly, her voice soft.

Eris turned back to her, startled by the question.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said, tilting her head to the side, “you could’ve found someone else to help with your little rebellion. Someone easier to work with, less… annoying.”

Eris smirked. “True, but where’s the fun in that?”

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the faint flush of color on her cheeks.

The truth was, he didn’t have an answer for her. Or rather, he had an answer, but he wasn’t ready to admit it—not to her, and certainly not to himself.

Instead, he pushed off the tree and extended a hand to her. “Break’s over. Let’s move.”

She eyed his hand suspiciously. “You’re being awfully nice. What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, though he knew it wasn’t entirely true. There was always a catch.

Reluctantly, she took his hand, her touch warm despite the chill in the air. He pulled her to her feet, her balance unsteady for a moment before she found her footing.

“Careful,” he said, his voice quieter than he intended.

She looked up at him, something flickering in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place. For a brief, maddening moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them.

Then she smirked and let go of his hand. “Try to keep up, red.”

Eris watched as she strode ahead, her steps light despite her earlier complaints. He shook his head, a wry smile playing at his lips.

She was going to be the death of him.

And for reasons he couldn’t yet understand, he didn’t entirely mind.

Y/N trudged along behind Eris, her patience worn thinner than the soles of her boots. It had already been a day! “How much longer, red? Or are you leading us in circles to enjoy my delightful company?”

Eris didn’t glance back. His stride remained purposeful, his shoulders set like iron. “Keep up, Y/N. Complaining won’t make the journey shorter.”

She threw her hands up in frustration. “You said we were heading to the human lands, Eris! But this doesn’t feel like the direction of any border I’ve ever heard of. In fact, it feels like we’re headed straight into a trap. Are you sure you’re not trying to kill me yourself?”

His sharp laugh echoed through the trees, though it held no warmth. “If I wanted you dead, darling, you’d already be feeding the crows.”

“Charming,” she muttered, her legs burning from the unrelenting pace. “Seriously, where are we even going? Or do you just enjoy keeping me in the dark?”

“Enough, Y/N,” Eris snapped, his voice low but laced with a rare bite. He suddenly halted, turning to fix her with a glare that could’ve seared through stone. “We’re here.”

Y/N froze, blinking at him. “What do you mean we’re—” Her words trailed off as she took in their surroundings.

The dense forest had parted to reveal a lake that seemed to shimmer with an unnatural stillness. Mist curled above its black surface like fingers reaching toward the sky. The air felt colder here, heavy with an ancient weight that pressed down on her chest.

And then it hit her. The stories. The whispers of a place where no mortal—or immortal—dared to tread.

“This… this is Koschei’s lake,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze snapped to Eris. “What the hell are we doing here? I thought we were going to the human lands!”

Eris smirked, though his golden eyes glinted with something darker. “Plans change.”

“You arrogant ass,” Y/N hissed, stepping closer to jab a finger at his chest. “You dragged me all the way out here without so much as a warning, and now you expect me to just—what? Stand here while you make a deal with a god?”

“Precisely.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“Perhaps,” Eris said coolly, brushing past her to approach the edge of the lake. “But unlike you, I have a plan. So, if you’re done whining, stay quiet and let me handle this.”

Y/N opened her mouth to retort, but the air shifted—an icy ripple that sent shivers racing down her spine.

From the depths of the lake, a figure began to form. Black water dripped from his skeletal frame, his hollow eyes glowing faintly as he emerged. Koschei’s presence was suffocating, his voice a silken whisper that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

“Well, well,” the Death God said, his lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “The fox prince graces my domain. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Eris’s mask of calm didn’t falter, though Y/N could see the slight tension in his jaw. “I have come to ask for your assistance.”

Koschei chuckled, a sound that sent ripples through the lake. “Assistance always comes with a price, princeling. Are you prepared to pay it?”

Y/N tensed, her hand drifting to her dagger as she cast a wary glance at Eris. Whatever he’d brought her here for, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

And as Koschei’s gaze slid to her, cold and calculating, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were walking a very thin line—one wrong move away from ruin.

The cold bite of Koschei’s presence wrapped around Eris like a noose tightening by the second. The Death God stood motionless, his hollow eyes fixed on Eris, assessing, calculating.

Eris forced himself to maintain a calm demeanor. The mask was second nature by now, even as his instincts screamed at him to turn and run. But there was too much at stake—his plans, his court, his people’s future.

And then there was Y/N.

“I seek information,” Eris said, his voice steady but firm. “A secret held by Beron Vanserra. I believe you have it.”

Koschei tilted his head, his lips curving into a cruel smile. “Many secrets pass through my waters, fox prince. Why should I part with one so precious?”

Y/N, standing just behind Eris, shifted uneasily. He could sense her discomfort even without looking.

“Because,” Eris continued, his tone sharper now, “you’d benefit from Beron’s downfall. A weakened Autumn Court is a weakened Prythian.”

Koschei chuckled darkly. “You think I care for your petty court politics?”

Eris clenched his jaw. “I’m offering you an opportunity to tilt the balance in your favor.”

Koschei stepped closer, his presence oppressive. “And what do you offer in return? Surely you didn’t come to my lake empty-handed.”

The god’s gaze flicked to Y/N, who froze under his scrutiny.

Eris’s heartbeat quickened, though his face betrayed nothing. “What I offer is my business. Name your terms.”

Koschei’s smile widened. “Oh, I’ve already decided. Give me her.” He gestured to Y/N.

The world seemed to tilt. For a moment, Eris’s mind blanked.

“What?” Y/N breathed, her voice barely audible.

Koschei ignored her, his attention on Eris. “Wasn’t that why you brought her here in the first place, princeling? To trade her for the secret you so desperately desire?”

Eris felt his stomach drop. The god’s words pierced him like a blade, and for once, his mask slipped.

Y/N’s gasp cut through the silence. “You—what?”

Eris swallowed hard, his thoughts racing. “That wasn’t the arrangement.”

Koschei’s laughter echoed across the lake. “You’re lying to yourself, Eris Vanserra. The girl was always a tool, wasn’t she? But now…” The god’s smile turned mocking. “Now you hesitate. How quaint.”

“I need time,” Eris said quickly, his voice sharper than he intended.

Koschei raised a brow. “Time? You want me to wait?”

“Yes,” Eris said, his tone firm despite the chaos in his mind. “Twenty-four hours. I’ll return with an answer.”

The Death God considered him for a long, agonizing moment before finally nodding. “Very well. But if you fail to return, know this: I will find you both.”

With that, Koschei disappeared into the mist, leaving the air cold and suffocating in his wake.

Eris turned to Y/N, but before he could speak, she glared at him with such fury that he almost flinched.

“What the hell, Eris?”

“Not here,” he snapped, grabbing her arm. “We need to move. Now.”

The crackling fire cast flickering shadows across the small clearing, but it did nothing to thaw the icy tension hanging between them. Y/N paced back and forth, her movements sharp and frantic. Her hands trembled, the fury in her blood barely contained. Whether her trembling was from rage, fear, or a mix of both, she couldn’t say.

“You lied to me!” she spat, her voice cutting through the still night like a blade. She didn’t stop pacing, her steps growing faster with every word. “You—you brought me here as some…some bargaining chip?” Her laugh was sharp, humorless, a sound borne of disbelief and betrayal. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you. I knew it. I should’ve known better than to trust a Vanserra.”

Eris sat on a fallen log, his usual regal posture diminished as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. His fiery hair glinted in the firelight, a crown of embers atop a face twisted with frustration and something dangerously close to guilt. When he finally lifted his head, his golden eyes met hers with a storm of conflicting emotions—anger, shame, and something else she couldn’t quite place.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said, his voice low, almost too quiet to hear over the crackle of the flames.

“Oh, so you admit it then?” she shot back, stopping in her tracks to glare at him. “You admit you were planning to trade me to that monster?”

“I thought I could do it,” Eris snapped, the intensity in his tone enough to make her flinch, though she refused to show it. He shot to his feet, his height and presence suddenly looming as he closed the distance between them. “At first, I thought it would be simple. But now…” He faltered, raking a hand through his hair. His voice dropped again, rough and frayed at the edges. “It shouldn’t have been this hard.”

Her throat tightened, and for a moment, her rage was overtaken by the sting of betrayal. “I hate you,” she said, her voice breaking despite her best efforts to keep it steady.

Eris recoiled as if she’d struck him, but his recovery was swift. His jaw tightened, and his expression twisted into something cold, almost cruel. “You’re blaming me?” he hissed, his golden eyes burning with a new kind of fire. “You’re blaming me when we both know this isn’t one-sided? We were both using each other, Y/N.”

“Excuse me?” Her voice rose, the incredulity and anger in her chest threatening to burst.

“What about your little organization?” he continued, each word sharper than the last. He took a step closer, his gaze locking onto hers. “Were you planning to rat me out to them the second this was over? Or were you just going to kill me under their orders?”

Her breath hitched, and for a brief moment, she froze. That hesitation was all he needed to press on.

“That’s not—” she started, but he cut her off.

“You’re no better than me,” he said, his voice colder now, though she caught the slight waver in it. “So don’t stand there and act like you’re some righteous martyr when you’re just as manipulative and ruthless as I am.”

Something inside her snapped. “You don’t know anything about me!” she shouted, her voice cracking with the force of her anger. “You don’t know what I’ve been through or what I’ve sacrificed to even be here.”

“Then tell me,” Eris demanded, his tone softer but no less intense. He took another step closer, towering over her now. “Because all I see is someone who’s as willing to play dirty as I am.”

The fire between them seemed to dim, the tension thick enough to choke. Y/N clenched her fists at her sides, her body trembling with a mix of emotions she couldn’t even begin to untangle.

“You are impossible,” she muttered, shaking her head as she turned away from him.

“Impossible?” he repeated, his voice rising with disbelief. He threw his arms out, his control slipping as his emotions finally broke through the carefully constructed mask he wore. “Do you think this has been easy for me? Do you think I haven’t cursed myself for every step I’ve taken toward this gods-damned mess?”

“Why should I care how hard it’s been for you?” she shot back, spinning to face him again. “You lied to me. You brought me here to trade me like some pawn on a chessboard!”

“I thought I could do it!” he roared, his voice echoing through the clearing. His chest heaved as he struggled to rein in the storm of emotions swirling inside him. “I thought it would be easy. But now…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the ground as his voice softened. “Now it’s not.”

Y/N stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, she thought she saw something break in him, something raw and unguarded. But the moment passed, and his walls went back up.

“I will never forgive you for this,” she said finally, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat.

Eris’s expression hardened, but his eyes betrayed him. There was something vulnerable, something desperate lingering in their depths. “Good,” he said, his tone sharper than a blade. “Because I’m not giving you to anyone.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“You heard me.” He straightened, squaring his shoulders as if steeling himself for what was to come. “I’ll find the secret myself. I don’t know why or for what reason, but I can’t trade you. I won’t.”

She let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Yeah, sure. You’re smart, but not smart enough to outwit a god.”

Eris didn’t flinch. Instead, his lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “If Rhysand and Feyre can do it, so can I.”

Y/N gaped at him, her mind racing with a thousand questions, but before she could voice any of them, Eris was already moving.

“We’re leaving,” he said, his voice firm and unyielding. “Now.”

For a moment, she stood frozen, her emotions warring within her. Then, with a muttered curse, she grabbed her things and followed him into the dark forest, the fire behind them burning lower and lower until it was nothing but embers.

The camp materialized in the forest’s depths like a secret whispered too loudly. A smattering of tents and crude wooden structures sat nestled among the trees, almost imperceptible until you were standing in the middle of it. Eris stepped through the wards without hesitation, his sharp gaze sweeping over the area.

Y/N trailed behind him, her silence more ominous than any insult she might have hurled his way. Her hood was drawn low over her face, her footsteps deliberately quiet.

“You’ve been here before,” Eris noted, glancing back at her.

Y/N didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes were fixed on the nearest tent, where two figures huddled close, their conversation halting as they spotted her.

“Y/N,” one of them said, stepping forward. A tall, wiry man with piercing gray eyes and a knife strapped to his thigh. His voice was clipped, suspicious. “You weren’t supposed to come back here.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened, but her tone was light, almost mocking. “Missed me already, Lioran?”

The man—Lioran—didn’t return the smile. His gaze slid to Eris, narrowing. “Who’s this?”

“Eris Vanserra,” Eris said smoothly, his tone polite but edged. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

Lioran’s hand drifted to the hilt of his knife. “We don’t take kindly to his kind here.”

Eris arched a brow. “My kind?”

“The scheming, backstabbing kind,” Lioran shot back, his voice sharp as steel.

“Then you’re in luck,” Eris said, his smile a razor-thin line. “I only scheme when it’s worth my time.”

“Eris,” Y/N hissed, stepping between them. She turned to Lioran, her voice low. “We’re not here to fight.”

“Then why are you here?” Lioran demanded, his gaze darting between her and Eris.

Y/N hesitated, her shoulders tense. “We need a place to rest. Just for a few hours.”

“Not here.”

“We don’t have a choice,” she snapped, her tone harsher than intended.

Lioran’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have a choice, or he doesn’t?”

Eris stepped closer, his presence somehow both casual and imposing. “I appreciate your hospitality,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “Truly. But we’re staying.”

“Over my dead body,” Lioran growled, his knife halfway out of its sheath.

“That can be arranged,” Eris replied, his hand hovering near the sword at his hip.

“Enough!” Y/N’s voice cut through the rising tension like a blade. Both men froze, their gazes snapping to her.

“This isn’t your fight, Lioran,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging in her eyes. “Let us stay, and we’ll be gone by dawn.”

Lioran hesitated, his grip on the knife tightening. Then, with a muttered curse, he stepped back.

“You have until sunrise,” he said, his tone icy. “After that, you’re on your own.”

The tent was small and sparsely furnished, with little more than a pile of blankets and a flickering lantern. Y/N sat on the ground, her arms crossed over her chest, while Eris leaned against the canvas wall, watching her with an inscrutable expression.

“You’ve been here before,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

Y/N didn’t look at him. “What gave it away?”

“The way they looked at you,” he said, his tone annoyingly perceptive. “Like you were one of them. Or maybe like you weren’t anymore.”

She flinched, but her voice was sharp when she replied. “What’s your point?”

Eris tilted his head, studying her. “My point is, you’re full of surprises.”

“Coming from you, that’s almost a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

Silence stretched between them again, heavy and uncomfortable.

“Why did you bring me here?” Y/N asked finally, her voice low.

Eris hesitated, his golden eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite place. “Because I needed to buy time.”

“For what?”

“To figure out what the hell I’m doing.”

His honesty caught her off guard, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond.

“I thought you always knew what you were doing,” she said, her tone softer than before.

“So did I,” he admitted, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the tension between them shifting into something quieter, more uncertain.

Then Eris straightened, his usual smirk returning. “Get some rest,” he said, his tone turning brisk. “We leave before sunrise.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, settling onto the pile of blankets with a huff.

As Eris extinguished the lantern, the darkness seemed to press in around them, heavy and unrelenting.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N wasn’t sure which of them she trusted less—the tyrant High Lord's arrogant prick of a son, or herself.

The dim light of the lantern flickered one last time before going out, plunging the tent into darkness. Y/N lay motionless for what felt like hours, her breathing slow and even, feigning sleep. She could hear the soft rustle of fabric as Eris adjusted his position, the steady cadence of his breaths eventually signaling that he had drifted off.

Quietly, she pushed herself up, careful not to make a sound. Her boots barely scuffed the ground as she slipped out of the tent, the night air cool against her flushed skin. The camp was silent, save for the occasional crackle of a dying fire or the distant hoot of an owl.

She found Lioran near the edge of the camp, seated on a stump with two others—Elira, a sharp-eyed woman with a scar slicing through her lip, and Darin, a broad-shouldered man with a perpetual frown etched into his face. Their hushed conversation ceased the moment they saw her, their expressions shifting to guarded wariness.

“Y/N.” Lioran’s voice was sharp, cutting through the stillness. His gray eyes burned with a mixture of anger and something that almost looked like betrayal. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Y/N crossed her arms, her jaw tightening. “I needed help. I thought this place could offer it.”

“You thought this place could—” He stood abruptly, his fists clenching at his sides. “We thought you were dead, Y/N! For months, we worried, planned, searched. And then you show up out of nowhere, with him? What were we supposed to think?”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” she snapped back.

“No choice?” Elira interjected, her tone biting as she stepped closer, her dark eyes narrowing. “You’re standing here now, aren’t you? Looks like a choice to me.”

Y/N’s hands curled into fists. “Do you think I wanted this? To be dragged into his mess? To be used as leverage and then left to figure out how to survive?”

“Used as leverage?” Darin’s deep voice rumbled as he leaned forward, his arms still crossed. “What does that mean, Y/N?”

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to Lioran, then Elira, and finally Darin. “He sold me to Koschei,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap.

Elira’s expression hardened into something cold and unreadable, but Darin’s eyes widened in shock. Lioran’s jaw dropped slightly before he recovered, his voice rising in disbelief. “He what?”

“Keep your voices down,” Y/N hissed, glancing nervously toward the tent where Eris slept. “He’ll wake up.”

“You’re telling me,” Lioran said, his voice low but no less cutting, “that Eris Vanserra sold you to Koschei, and now you’re just... traveling with him? Are you out of your mind?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” she repeated, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself. “I escaped, and he needed my help. We’ve been stuck together ever since.”

“And you didn’t think to tell us this sooner?” Elira demanded, her tone sharp as a blade. “You disappear for months, let us think you’re dead, and now you show up dragging him into our territory?”

“I didn’t even know you were still here!” Y/N shot back. “For all I knew, you’d packed up and disappeared.”

“We wouldn’t have had to move if someone hadn’t led him straight to us,” Elira retorted, her scarred lip curling into a sneer.

“I didn’t lead him here!” Y/N shouted, her frustration boiling over. “Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I’d risk you all like that?”

Elira took a threatening step forward, but Lioran held up a hand to stop her. “Then why are you here, Y/N? Why now?”

Y/N straightened, her voice steady and fierce. “Because Beron needs to be stopped. Because Koschei is a threat to all of us. And because I can’t do this alone.”

“And you think we’re just going to trust you?” Lioran’s words were laced with bitterness. “After everything?”

“I don’t care if you trust me,” she said, her voice firm. “I’m not here to beg for your forgiveness. I’m here because I know what’s at stake. Beron won’t stop until he’s crushed everyone who stands in his way, and Koschei is more dangerous than any of you realize.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with truth.

Darin glanced at Elira, then Lioran. “She’s not wrong,” he muttered reluctantly.

“Shut up, Darin,” Elira snapped, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

Y/N pressed on, her voice growing stronger. “I need allies, not enemies. If we don’t stand together, we’ll all fall separately.”

Elira scoffed. “And we’re supposed to believe you haven’t told him anything about us? How the hell did he find this place?”

“I don’t know!” Y/N’s voice cracked with exasperation. “Do you think I’d risk all of you like that? Do you think I’d risk us?”

Lioran stepped closer, his gray eyes boring into hers. “Did you?”

“No!” she said fiercely. “Are you mad? He’s the last person I’d trust with that kind of information.”

The tension crackled between them like a live wire, neither willing to back down.

Finally, Lioran sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This is going to cause problems,” he muttered. “She isn’t going to be happy about this.”

Y/N frowned. “She?”

Lioran hesitated before answering. “You know who I mean. Do you think she’ll just let this slide?”

“She’ll understand,” Y/N said, though her voice wavered slightly. “She has to.”

Lioran’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll see what I can do. But you’d better hope you’re right.”

With that, he turned and walked away, Elira following after him. Darin lingered for a moment, his gaze softening. “Be careful, Y/N. This isn’t just about you anymore.”

“I know,” she murmured, watching him go.

When she returned to the tent, Eris was still asleep, his breathing deep and even. She lay down carefully, staring up at the canvas above her, her mind racing with the implications of what had just transpired.

The battle wasn’t just with Beron or Koschei anymore. It was with the people she had once called allies—and the thin thread of trust that might be their only hope of survival.

Y/N woke to the low hum of voices, the kind that filled the camp with life but carried a weight of unspoken words. The sun barely peeked over the treetops, casting soft golden light on the forest floor. She blinked, groggy but alert enough to notice Eris wasn’t lying in the other makeshift bed anymore.

He stood a few feet away, crouched low as he packed their meager supplies. His shoulders were taut, the golden hair at the nape of his neck catching the early morning light. Y/N observed him for a moment, trying to gauge if he suspected anything. The tension in his frame was a constant, but there was no immediate sign that he’d pieced together her late-night conversation with Lioran.

Good. For now, at least.

Lioran’s laugh carried from near the campfire, followed by the murmur of other voices. Y/N shifted her attention there, noticing how the others in the camp were moving more leisurely this morning. They didn’t look at her with the same outright hostility as before. Suspicion lingered in their glances, but there was something softer in the way they interacted.

Pushing herself to her feet, Y/N walked over to the fire. Lioran stood on the opposite side, ladling out a hearty stew into small bowls and passing them to the others. He froze for a second when he spotted Y/N approaching, but her expression smoothed almost instantly.

“Breakfast?” Lioran offered, his tone clipped but civil.

Y/N took the bowl, her fingers brushing against Lioran’s briefly. The touch was enough to convey her silent plea: Don’t tell him.

Lioran's gaze flicked toward Eris, who was now leaning against a tree, his eyes darting between Y/N and the rest of the camp. His brow furrowed, but he said nothing.

“Thank you,” Y/N said softly, breaking the silence.

The others in the camp shifted awkwardly but seemed to relax when Lioran handed Eris his bowl without a word. For a while, the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the quiet clinking of spoons against metal.

After they’d eaten, one of the camp members approached with a small satchel. “For your journey,” he said, handing it to Eris.

The male looked surprised but accepted it, his lips twitching into a brief, almost reluctant smile. “Gratitude,” he said simply, though the tension in his voice hinted at deeper emotions.

Y/N caught Lioran'ss eye one last time as they prepared to leave. There was a flicker of something there—an unspoken truce, or maybe just mutual exhaustion. Either way, Lioran's curt nod told her he’d keep her word. For now.

The forest stretched endlessly around them, dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. Eris walked ahead, his posture rigid as ever. Y/N trailed behind him, her mind racing with questions she couldn’t ask aloud.

“You’re unusually quiet today,” Eris remarked, not turning to look at her.

“Maybe I’m tired of hearing your voice,” she shot back, quick and sharp.

He stopped abruptly, forcing her to stumble to a halt. He turned, his golden eyes narrowing as they locked onto hers. “We’re barely an hour into the day, and you’re already insufferable.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “I could say the same about you.”

Eris took a step closer, his height casting a shadow over her. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be running for their life, you have a remarkable talent for wasting time.”

“And for someone who’s supposedly saving my life, you have a remarkable talent for being unbearable,” she countered.

Their argument carried on for several more minutes, each barb sharper than the last. But eventually, the tension fizzled, replaced by the quiet rhythm of their footsteps.

Hours passed, the forest growing denser, the air heavier. Y/N watched Eris from behind, his movements graceful but purposeful. His shoulders were broad, his steps measured, and for a brief moment, she wondered how someone so infuriating could also be so... captivating.

Her thoughts were interrupted by his sudden halt. “We’ll stop here for a while,” he announced.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who said we don’t have time to waste.”

“Do you ever stop complaining?”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

He ignored her, kneeling to inspect a patch of moss on the ground. His indifference only fueled her frustration. Before she could think better of it, she darted forward and jumped onto his back, her arms locking around his neck.

Eris staggered, his hands instinctively grabbing her legs to steady her. “What the hell are you doing?” he growled.

“Making a point,” she replied smugly, tightening her grip.

“You’re insane,” he muttered, twisting to try and shake her off.

They tumbled to the ground in a chaotic heap, Y/N landing on top of him. She straddled his waist, pinning his arms down with a triumphant grin.

“Admit it,” she teased. “You’re impressed.”

Eris glared up at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Get off me.”

“Make me,” she challenged, leaning in slightly.

His golden eyes flicked to her lips for a fraction of a second, and the world seemed to slow. Y/N felt her heart stutter, her breath catching in her throat. For the first time, there was no sarcasm, no hostility—just raw, unfiltered tension.

But then, as quickly as it came, the moment shattered. Eris shoved her off him, his movements abrupt and almost panicked.

“Childish,” he muttered, brushing himself off as he stood.

Y/N stared at him, her cheeks flushed. “You’re the one who started it,” she retorted weakly, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

The atmosphere shifted as the sun dipped lower in the sky. The once-warm light grew colder, the shadows longer.

Eris’s pace quickened, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Y/N struggled to keep up, the unease in her chest growing with every step.

Then, without warning, she doubled over, clutching her chest as a sharp, searing pain shot through her.

“Y/N?” Eris was at her side instantly, his hands steadying her.

“I’m fine,” she gasped, though her trembling fingers betrayed her words.

The air around them seemed to thrum, an eerie energy crackling in the silence. And then, a voice—silken, cold, and dripping with malice.

“Running from me, little fox? Did you really think you could escape so easily?”

Koschei’s voice reverberated through the forest, wrapping around them like a vice.

Eris’s jaw clenched and he muttered a curse before saying, “Show yourself,” he demanded.

The laughter that followed was hollow and bone-chilling. “Not yet. But know this: your defiance will not go unpunished.”

Y/N felt the pain intensify, her vision swimming as Koschei’s words burned into her mind. Eris' grip on her tightened as he suddenly pulled her to his chest.

“Her life is tied to your choices now, princeling. Fail me, and she will pay the price.”

The voice faded, leaving a suffocating silence in its wake.

Eris tightened his grip on Y/N, his face pale but resolute. “I won’t let him win,” he whispered, more to himself than to her.

By the time they resumed their journey, night had fallen, draping the forest in shadows that seemed to reach for them as they passed. The moon hung low in the sky, its silvery glow filtering through the canopy to illuminate the narrow, winding path ahead. Eris walked a few paces ahead, his movements sharp and purposeful, the tension in his shoulders impossible to miss.

Y/N trailed behind, her mind a tangle of questions and doubts. Every step felt heavier, the weight of Koschei’s words still pressing against her chest. She watched Eris’s profile as he moved—his jaw set in determination, his golden hair catching the moonlight like a crown of fire. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left the clearing, and the silence between them was thick enough to choke on.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you going to tell me what this brilliant plan of yours is?” she asked, her voice hoarse but steady enough to cut through the night.

Eris didn’t so much as glance back. “No.”

Her footsteps faltered. “No?”

He stopped too, turning to face her. The moonlight carved sharp lines across his features, making his expression impossible to read. “I told you to trust me,” he said, his tone low but firm.

“Trust you?” Y/N repeated, the words dripping with disbelief. She scoffed, crossing her arms as her voice rose. “After everything that’s happened? After everything you’ve done?”

“Yes,” he said simply, his golden eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that stole her breath.

The calm certainty in his voice only fueled her frustration. She took a step closer, her fists clenched at her sides. “You can’t just demand trust, Eris. That’s not how it works. Not after—” Her voice cracked, and she quickly turned away, hiding the tremble in her hands. “Not after everything.”

Eris stayed silent, watching her as she fought to regain control. The only sound between them was the rustle of leaves and the distant cry of some nocturnal creature.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost gentle. “I know I’ve given you every reason to doubt me.”

Y/N’s head snapped back toward him, surprise flashing across her face. She hadn’t expected him to admit it.

“But if you don’t trust me now,” he continued, his gaze unwavering, “you’ll only make this harder on both of us. I have a plan. I’ll see it through. And I’ll keep you safe.”

“Safe?” she repeated bitterly. “You think this is about safety?”

“What else could it be about?” he asked, a flicker of irritation breaking through his calm facade.

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. Because it wasn’t just about safety. It was about the lies, the manipulation, the way he always seemed to keep her one step behind, forcing her to rely on him when she wanted nothing more than to stand on her own.

“It’s about control,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s about you never letting me have a say in my own damn life.”

Eris’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. For a moment, she thought he might argue. Instead, he took a slow step closer, closing the distance between them.

“I’m not doing this to control you,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I’m doing this because I know what’s at stake. And whether you like it or not, I’m your best chance at surviving this.”

Y/N stared at him, torn between fury and something she couldn’t quite name. The truth of his words only made her angrier, but there was something in his eyes—something raw and unguarded—that made it impossible to look away.

Finally, she let out a long, shaky sigh and turned back toward the path. “Fine,” she said, her tone sharp but resigned. “But if this goes sideways, I’m blaming you.”

Eris let out a soft huff of laughter, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in what could almost be called a smile. “Wouldn’t expect anything less,” he said, falling into step beside her.

The silence that followed was different this time—not quite comfortable, but no longer suffocating. As they walked, Y/N stole a glance at him from the corner of her eye. For all his arrogance and infuriating confidence, there was something steady about Eris, something that made her wonder if maybe—just maybe—he really did know what he was doing.

She quickly shoved the thought aside. Trust was a luxury she couldn’t afford, not when so much was on the line. But for now, she’d follow him. For now, she’d pretend that his plan was enough.

The night stretched on, the moonlight guiding their way as the forest seemed to close in around them. And though neither of them spoke again, the tension between them lingered, simmering beneath the surface like a fire waiting to ignite.

By the time the first rays of sunlight broke through the thick canopy above, Y/N’s legs ached, and her patience was nearing its limit. They had walked for hours, the night stretching endlessly, with only the sound of rustling leaves and Eris’s steady footsteps to break the silence.

He hadn’t told her where they were going, and the vague promise of a plan did little to soothe her growing frustration. She bit back the questions that kept rising in her throat, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his secrecy irked her.

Instead, she focused on her surroundings, noting the shift in the forest’s atmosphere. The air had grown cooler, the trees older and more gnarled, their roots twisting across the ground like veins. There was a sense of ancient power here, something that made her skin prickle and her steps falter.

“Keep moving,” Eris called over his shoulder, his tone clipped.

Y/N scowled, quickening her pace to match his. “You could at least tell me if we’re getting close.”

“We’re close,” he said simply, offering no further explanation.

She glared at his back, tempted to hurl a rock at his head. But before she could voice her irritation, the forest opened up, revealing a clearing bathed in golden light. At its center stood a stone archway, weathered by time but still imposing. Strange runes were etched into its surface, glowing faintly as if alive.

“What is this?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Eris didn’t answer. Instead, he strode toward the archway, his movements more deliberate now, as though he were stepping onto sacred ground.

Y/N hesitated before following, her gaze darting around the clearing. The air felt heavy here, charged with a magic that made her heart race. She didn’t trust it—and she certainly didn’t trust Eris.

But curiosity won out, and she approached the archway, her eyes narrowing as she watched him trace his fingers over the glowing runes.

The runes were exactly as he remembered them from the stories his father used to tell. Tales of a hidden passage, a place where the secrets of their bloodline were guarded, waiting to be uncovered by those bold enough—or foolish enough—to seek them.

Eris’s fingers trembled slightly as they brushed against the cold stone, though he quickly steadied himself. He couldn’t afford hesitation now, not when they were so close.

“Eris,” Y/N’s voice broke through his focus, sharp and demanding. “What is this place?”

He glanced at her, taking in the way her arms were crossed defensively, her eyes narrowing as if she were trying to read his mind. A part of him wanted to explain, to ease the suspicion etched across her features. But the other part—the part that had been shaped by years of manipulation and betrayal—held back.

“It’s the key to our survival,” he said finally, his voice low but resolute.

Her scowl deepened. “Could you be any more cryptic?”

He ignored the jab, turning back to the archway. With a deep breath, he pressed his palm against the center rune, feeling the surge of magic as it reacted to his touch. The runes flared brighter, casting the clearing in an otherworldly glow.

A low rumble echoed through the ground, and the air around them seemed to ripple. The space within the archway shimmered, transforming into a swirling portal of gold and crimson.

Eris stepped back, his chest tightening. He’d spent years wondering if this place truly existed, if the stories were more than just myth. And now, standing on the precipice, he felt the weight of what lay ahead.

Y/N stared at the portal, her heart pounding in her chest. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, rubbing her temples. “You brought me all the way out here for a portal? What even is this?”

Eris turned to her, his expression unreadable. “It’s a passage to the truth,” he said, his voice steady but filled with a tension she couldn’t quite place.

“Truth about what?” she demanded. “Your father? Your grand scheme? You can’t just keep dragging me along without answers, Eris.”

He hesitated, and for a moment, she thought he might actually open up. But then he shook his head, his jaw tightening. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Before she could argue, he stepped through the portal and disappeared.

Y/N’s stomach dropped. She glanced at the swirling magic, dread pooling in her gut. She had every reason to turn around and leave, to abandon him to whatever madness lay beyond. But she also knew that whatever this was, it was bigger than both of them.

With a muttered curse, she stepped into the portal.

The air on the other side was colder, sharper, and filled with the hum of ancient magic. Eris landed gracefully, his boots crunching against stone as he surveyed the chamber before him. The room was vast, its walls lined with glowing symbols that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.

At the center of the chamber stood a pedestal, atop which rested a small, intricately carved box. It was unassuming at first glance, but Eris could feel the power emanating from it, a power that called to him like a siren’s song.

He stepped toward it, his breaths coming quicker. This was it—the key to his father’s secrets, to the truths that had been kept from him for so long.

Behind him, Y/N appeared, stumbling slightly as she adjusted to the new surroundings. “What the hell is this place?” she asked, her voice echoing off the stone walls.

Eris didn’t answer. His focus was solely on the box as he reached out and lifted it from the pedestal. The moment his fingers closed around it, a wave of energy surged through the room, causing the symbols on the walls to flare brighter.

“What did you do?” Y/N demanded, panic creeping into her voice.

Before he could respond, a figure materialized from the shadows—a tall, cloaked man with eyes that glowed like molten gold.

“Eris,” the figure said, his voice deep and resonant. “You should not have come here.”

Eris froze, his grip tightening on the box. “Who are you?”

The man stepped closer, his presence radiating authority. “I am the keeper of the Vanserra bloodline's sins. And you have just unleashed them.”

The sudden appearance of the cloaked man caught Y/N off guard, her hand instinctively going to the dagger at her waist. She knew better than to trust anyone who emerged from the shadows, especially someone who seemed to know far more than they should.

Eris tensed beside her, his posture straightening. “I don’t remember inviting you.” His voice was cold, calculating, but there was a flicker of something—fear, maybe—beneath the surface.

The figure’s golden eyes, glowing with an ethereal light, fixed on Eris. “You don’t need to invite me, son. I’ve always been here, watching.” He stepped closer, his movement slow and deliberate, his feet never touching the stone floor. “You think you can just walk in here and uncover secrets that were meant to remain buried?”

Y/N exchanged a glance with Eris, her gut twisting with unease. The air around them had thickened, suffocating, as though the very room was alive with tension. The glowing symbols on the walls pulsed in a rhythm that matched the frantic beating of her heart.

“What do you want?” Eris demanded, his voice a bit sharper now, but his hands still gripping the box like his life depended on it.

The figure’s lips curled into a twisted smile. “What I want? I’m not the one who has come looking for answers, Eris. You’re the one who wants to peel back the veil of the past, but be careful. Some truths, once uncovered, cannot be undone.”

The words were heavy, ominous. Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine.

Eris’s grip tightened on the box, but his expression remained unreadable, almost like he was steeling himself for something worse. “I’m done being kept in the dark. Whatever you are, whatever my father has hidden from me… it’s time for the truth.”

Y/N watched the interaction between them closely, unsure of how much she should trust Eris’s confidence. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this man—this figure who seemed to appear from nowhere—was more than he let on.

The cloaked figure laughed, a low, mocking sound that reverberated around the chamber. “You think you’re ready for the truth? You’ve been living in your father’s shadow for so long, you have no idea what you’re about to uncover.” He reached out, but his fingers stopped just short of touching the box Eris held. “That box contains not just your father’s secrets but his sins. If you open it, you open the door to everything he’s done. Everything he’s become.”

Eris’s jaw clenched, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes now.

“Isn’t it better to leave things in the past?” Y/N asked, her voice low and tense. She could sense Eris’s hesitation, and it unnerved her. Was he truly ready to face what lay beyond this point? She wasn’t sure.

The cloaked man tilted his head slightly, considering her words. “Wise, but futile. The past has a way of coming for you. Especially when you’ve buried it so deeply.”

Eris didn’t back down. “I don’t care. I need to know.” He opened the box.

The air seemed to hold its breath.

Inside the box, there was a small crystal, no larger than a stone, but its light was blinding. A bright, pulsating red.

Y/N squinted, shielding her eyes from the intensity of the light. Her instincts screamed at her to run, but she stood frozen, unable to look away. The power radiating from the crystal felt familiar but twisted. Like something that had once been pure had been corrupted by darkness.

The moment he opened the box, a wave of energy slammed into him. It was as if the world around him buckled and shifted, pulling at his very soul. His vision blurred, his knees buckled, and for a split second, it felt like he was falling into an endless abyss.

The cloaked figure smiled knowingly, watching Eris struggle to maintain his composure. “I warned you.”

Eris clenched his teeth, forcing himself to stay upright. He had expected something—maybe not this intensity—but he hadn’t prepared for the physical weight of it. The crystal in his hand pulsed with malevolent power, and the symbols on the walls flared to life.

For a moment, he thought he saw shadows move within the symbols—whispers that seemed to beckon him. He felt a pull, a magnetic force drawing him deeper into the room, deeper into whatever this place was.

Y/N reached out instinctively, her hand brushing against his shoulder. “Eris… what’s happening?”

He turned to her, eyes wild, the golden hue of his gaze dimming as he fought to regain control. “It’s my father… he’s hidden this here for a reason. This crystal is—”

Before he could finish, the ground beneath them shook violently. The air thickened with the smell of burning metal and decay. The runes on the walls were no longer just glowing—they were alive, twisting, writhing like snakes.

The cloaked figure raised his hands, his eyes glowing brighter. “It’s already too late. You’ve unleashed something far worse than you can imagine. That crystal binds you to your father’s will. It always has.”

Y/N moved closer to Eris, her hand brushing the back of his as she tried to help steady him. “We need to leave. Now.”

Eris shook his head, determination flooding his veins despite the rising panic. “I can’t… I need to understand. I can’t just turn back now.”

The cloaked figure chuckled darkly. “You will never understand. You are just a pawn in his game. You always have been.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered between Eris and the figure, her thoughts racing. There was more to this than either of them knew. She could see it in the way Eris struggled, in the way the cloaked figure seemed to savor every moment of the pain they were experiencing.

Eris’s grip tightened on the crystal as the room seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. Then, without warning, a voice echoed through the chamber, cold and detached.

“You should have never come here, Eris.”

Y/N’s heart froze. The voice was unmistakable.

It was his father.

The voice that echoed through the chamber sent a chill crawling down Eris’s spine. He had heard that voice in his dreams, in his nightmares, in his everyday life—the cold, emotionless tone of a man who had never cared for anything other than power.

The crystal in his hand vibrated violently, and the world seemed to warp around him. The air thickened with the weight of his father’s presence, though he could not see him.

“Father,” Eris breathed, his voice hoarse.

“You’re foolish, Eris. You always have been. Thinking you could change the past, thinking you could erase the sins you’ve inherited. You can’t escape me. Not now. Not ever. And now, I know exactly where you and that little birdie of yours are.” The voice sounded nearer now, echoing in every corner of the chamber.

Y/N stepped forward, her eyes flicking between Eris and the source of the voice, her hand still on his arm. “Eris, this isn’t you. Don’t let him—”

But before she could finish, the cloaked figure raised a hand. “Do you think this is over? You’ve only awakened a fraction of what lies ahead. Your father’s reach is far greater than you know, Eris. You’ve only scratched the surface.”

Eris shook his head, the weight of his father’s voice still pressing down on him. He could feel the truth of it gnawing at his insides. His father’s reach—his control—had never really ended. It was still pulling at him, tethering him to a past he couldn’t escape.

And then the realization hit him like a blow to the chest: He was more like his father than he’d ever wanted to admit.

His eyes met Y/N’s, and in that moment, something shifted. The hatred he had felt for his father, the anger, the rage—it seemed almost insignificant in the face of the storm that was coming. He couldn’t change the past. But maybe, just maybe, he could do something different now.

Y/N saw the moment Eris broke. It wasn’t physical—there was no visible crack in him, no sign that something had shifted—but she could feel it. She could see it in the way his shoulders slumped, the faint tremble in his hand as he held the crystal.

He was facing something deep within himself. And Y/N knew that whatever it was, it was more dangerous than any enemy they’d ever fought.

The cloaked figure laughed, a low, bitter sound that echoed through the chamber. “You’re too late, Eris. You’re already bound. Your fate has already been decided.”

But Y/N wasn’t done. She stepped forward, pulling Eris’s arm to stop him from retreating into himself. “We’re not done,” she said firmly. “Whatever this is, we face it together.”

For a moment, there was no response. Then, slowly, Eris met her eyes, his gaze shifting from uncertainty to something more determined.

“Together,” he muttered, as if testing the weight of the word.

And for the first time since they’d met, Y/N believed it.

The ride back to the capital was a blur of motion and urgency. Y/N didn't even know from where Eris got the horses. The forest around them seemed alive with the weight of Beron’s presence, the shadows stretching unnaturally long as if the High Lord himself were watching their every move.

Eris had barely spoken since the chamber, his jaw clenched and his eyes fixed straight ahead. Y/N had tried to pull him out of his silence, to remind him they needed a plan, but his focus was razor-sharp, and she knew better than to press too hard.

Still, the tension between them was unbearable. Every rustle in the trees, every snap of a twig, set her on edge. They were being hunted—she could feel it in her bones.

“We’re not going to make it to the capital unnoticed,” she finally said, her voice cutting through the oppressive quiet.

Eris didn’t turn, didn’t even glance her way. “We don’t have a choice.”

“And what happens when we get there?” she pressed. “Your father isn’t just going to let you stroll into his court and accuse him of treason.”

His lips curled into a humorless smile. “He won’t have to. The court’s already in chaos. This will just tip it over the edge.”

Y/N swallowed hard. She didn’t doubt Eris’s ability to lead, to inspire loyalty in those who followed him. But Beron had ruled for centuries with an iron fist, and loyalty to him ran deep, even among those who despised him.

He could feel the weight of Y/N’s doubts pressing against him, though she hadn’t voiced them outright. She was right to be cautious. This wasn’t just a gamble—it was a death wish.

But there was no time for hesitation.

The information he’d uncovered in the chamber was enough to destroy Beron’s reign, enough to rally the court against him—if Eris played it right. The crystal now hidden in his saddlebag pulsed with a faint warmth, a constant reminder of what was at stake.

“Keep your guard up,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “If Beron sent someone after us, they won’t be far behind.”

Y/N snorted softly, though there was no humor in it. “Good to know you’re finally acknowledging that we’re being hunted.”

Eris didn’t reply. His attention was fixed on the horizon, where the first faint outlines of the capital’s spires were visible against the darkening sky.

The attack came just before dawn, swift and brutal.

One moment they were riding through the dense undergrowth, the next, the air was alive with the sound of arrows slicing through the air.

“Down!” Eris barked, throwing himself from his horse and dragging Y/N with him just as a volley of arrows thudded into the trees where they had been riding moments before.

The horses screamed and bolted, disappearing into the forest as a group of masked figures emerged from the shadows, their movements silent and precise.

Eris drew his sword in one fluid motion, the blade catching the faint light of dawn as he placed himself between Y/N and the attackers. “Stay close,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Y/N didn’t hesitate, pulling her own dagger free as the first of the attackers lunged toward them.

The fight was chaotic, a blur of clashing steel and snarled commands. Eris moved with deadly precision, his strikes quick and calculated as he dispatched one attacker after another. Y/N fought with the same ferocity, her smaller blade flashing in the dim light as she defended herself against the onslaught.

But the attackers kept coming, their movements coordinated as if they were being guided by an unseen hand.

“Eris!” Y/N shouted, her voice sharp with warning.

He turned just in time to see a massive figure charging toward him, a wickedly curved blade glinting in his hand. Eris barely managed to deflect the blow, the force of it sending him staggering back.

Y/N lunged, her dagger slicing across the attacker’s thigh as she moved to cover Eris’s side.

“Nice timing,” he muttered, his breathing ragged.

“Don’t mention it,” she shot back, her own chest heaving as she scanned the trees for the next threat.

Just as it seemed they were being overwhelmed, a sudden burst of fire lit up the forest.

Eris’s flames roared to life, consuming the nearest attackers in a blaze of heat and light. The remaining assailants faltered, their carefully coordinated attack breaking apart as panic set in.

“Run or burn,” Eris growled, his voice carrying over the crackling of the flames.

The surviving attackers didn’t need to be told twice. They vanished into the trees, leaving their fallen comrades behind.

Eris let the fire die, the light fading as quickly as it had come.

Y/N slumped against a tree, her dagger still clenched tightly in her hand. “Well,” she panted, “that was fun.”

Eris shot her a look, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes now, despite the tension still coiled in his frame. “We need to keep moving.”

She nodded, forcing herself to her feet. “Next time, maybe warn me before you set the forest on fire.”

The camp they set up was crude but sufficient. A circle of stones held a small fire, its flames snapping against the cold night air. Eris moved efficiently, his every motion sharp with frustration. Y/N leaned against a tree, her arms crossed, watching him with a frown.

The tension between them had been simmering since the attack in the woods, the unspoken words and mounting pressure finally reaching a breaking point.

“We shouldn’t stop,” she said, her voice cutting through the crackle of the fire.

“We have no choice,” Eris replied without looking at her. “The horses are gone. We’re lucky we made it this far on foot.”

Y/N pushed off the tree, her arms falling to her sides. “We’re wasting time.”

Eris rounded on her, his golden eyes blazing. “And what would you have me do, Y/N? March us straight into the capital half-dead and unprepared?”

“Yes, if it means we’re one step ahead of Beron,” she shot back, her tone sharp. “He knows we’re coming. Every second we spend out here is a second closer to him tightening his grip.”

Eris let out a harsh laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel the weight of it every damn moment?”

“Then stop acting like you’re the only one with something to lose!”

The words hung in the air, sharp and raw. Eris froze, his chest heaving as he stared at her.

Y/N didn’t back down, her voice trembling with the force of her anger. “You’ve been holding onto this plan of yours like it’s the only thing that matters. But guess what, Eris? I matter. My people matter. The things I’ve fought for—bled for—they matter. And I won’t let your pride or your fear jeopardize everything.”

Eris’s gaze darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine. You want to talk about what matters? Let’s start with you. Who are you, Y/N? Really? Because every time I think I have you figured out, you throw another secret at me.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she squared her shoulders. “You want the truth? Fine. I’m from the Eastern Wastes. My family was slaughtered when Beron’s soldiers raided my village, claiming we were harboring rebels. I survived by sheer luck—or maybe because I was too young to fight back.”

Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. “I was taken in by the Blackspire Alliance—a group that fights against tyrants like your father. They trained me, turned me into a weapon. I’ve spent my entire life dismantling regimes like Beron’s, piece by bloody piece.”

Eris blinked, the firelight catching in his eyes. “The Blackspire Alliance... They’re a myth.”

“They’re real,” Y/N said bitterly. “And they’re the reason I’m still alive. But they’re also the reason I’ll never have a normal life. I’ve done things—terrible things—in their name. And I’ll do more if it means taking Beron down.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

When Eris finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper. “Do you think you’re the only one with scars?”

Y/N’s head snapped up, her gaze locking with his.

“I’ve hated my father for as long as I can remember,” Eris said, his tone filled with quiet venom. “He’s cruel, manipulative, and he’s ruled our court through fear and bloodshed. I’ve spent my entire life trying to find a way to stop him. But every time I got close, he reminded me of just how powerless I was. How easily he could destroy everything I cared about.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “And then there’s my brothers. Do you know what it’s like to stand by while they suffer under him, knowing you can’t save them without damning yourself?”

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off, his voice rising. “I didn’t think it would be this hard. I thought I could handle it. But then you came along, and suddenly everything became so much more complicated.”

He took a step closer, his golden eyes burning into hers. “Because now, when I think of you in the slightest danger, it feels like my chest is being ripped open. And I hate it. I hate that you make me feel this way when I can’t afford to be distracted.”

Y/N stared at him, her heart pounding. “You think I don’t feel the same?” she whispered.

Eris let out a frustrated growl, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. “Then why do you keep pushing me away? Why do you act like this is just some mission to you?”

“Because it has to be!” Y/N shouted, her voice cracking. “If I let myself feel anything more, I’ll lose focus. And if I lose focus, we both die.”

Her words seemed to pierce through him, and he stopped pacing, his gaze locking with hers.

“You’re a coward,” he said softly, the accusation like a slap to the face.

Y/N’s eyes blazed with fury. “How dare you—”

“You’re afraid to let yourself want something for once in your life,” Eris continued, his voice rising. “Because if you do, it’ll mean admitting that you’re not just a weapon. That you’re a fae. And that terrifies you.”

Y/N took a step forward, her hands clenched into fists. “You don’t know me.”

“I know enough,” he said, his voice steady now. “I know you’re strong. Fierce. Loyal. But you’re also so damn scared of being vulnerable that you’d rather push everyone away than let them in.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she couldn’t find the words to respond.

Eris closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, his hands cupping her face as he kissed her with a fierceness that stole the air from her lungs.

Y/N froze, the shock of it crashing over her like a wave. But then the heat of his lips, the raw desperation in his touch, pulled her under. She kissed him back, her hands gripping his tunic as if he were the only thing anchoring her to the world.

The kiss was a battle in itself—fierce, messy, and filled with every unspoken word they couldn’t bring themselves to say.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard, their foreheads pressed together.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling.

“No,” Eris agreed, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “But it means something.”

Y/N closed her eyes, her chest aching with a mixture of fear and longing. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for now, in this moment, she let herself feel.

The kiss lingered like a phantom between them, neither willing to address it, both too stubborn to break the uneasy silence. The tension was palpable as they packed up the camp, their movements sharp and deliberate.

Eris’s usual sharp remarks were replaced with clipped instructions. Y/N, for her part, kept her replies short, her mind a tangle of confusion and frustration. The awkwardness gnawed at her, but she refused to be the one to crack first.

The forest thinned as they neared the outskirts of the capital. Smoke curled on the horizon, faint but unmistakable—a sign of the chaos that awaited them.

Y/N broke the silence, her voice quiet but firm. “You’re sure about this?”

Eris didn’t look at her, his golden eyes fixed ahead. “I have to be.”

Her stomach twisted. She hated how much she cared about his answer, how much the thought of losing him made her chest ache.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the capital, the sun was rising, casting an eerie orange glow over the smoke-filled sky. Y/N’s steps faltered as she saw the figures waiting for them.

At first, she thought it was an illusion. But as they drew closer, she recognized the faces—fighters from the Blackspire Alliance, rebels she hadn’t seen in years, and even a few she’d thought long dead. Among them were the familiar silhouettes of their leaders, the very people she thought would never forgive her departure—yet they had answered her call.

Her gaze landed on Lioran, standing at the front, his expression grim but resolute.

“You...” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

“We answered,” Lioran said simply.

Her throat tightened, her hands curling into fists at her sides as memories of their last meeting rushed back. The argument. The betrayal. The way she had left, believing she would never see any of them again.

“I didn’t think—” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

Lioran’s tone sharpened, though there was no malice in it. “You didn’t think we’d come?” He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “You’ve been leading us for years, Y/N. Did you really think we’d let you face this alone? That we wouldn’t fight for the cause we all believed in?”

Behind him, others began to move closer, their faces illuminated by the growing light of dawn. Karys, the fiery-tempered weapons master, adjusted the massive axe strapped to her back. Her expression was as stern as ever, but there was a flicker of warmth in her stormy eyes as she nodded at Y/N.

Beside her stood Elira, the Alliance’s healer, her long silver hair tied into a braid that fell over her shoulder. Though her soft features bore the lines of worry and exhaustion, her lips curved into a small, reassuring smile.

And then there was Garran, the tactician whose sharp mind had kept them alive through some of their darkest days. His dark eyes gleamed with intelligence as he stepped forward, giving Eris a curt nod of acknowledgment before turning his attention to Y/N.

“You didn’t just call us,” Garran said, his voice low but carrying weight. “You called everyone. Word spread faster than wildfire. And this—” He gestured to the crowd behind him. “This is only the beginning. More are coming. More than you ever imagined.”

Y/N’s eyes swept over the gathered rebels, taking in the sea of faces—new and old, scarred and hopeful. Among the common folk were blacksmiths still wearing soot-streaked aprons, hunters clutching bows and quivers, and even children barely old enough to hold blades but standing tall with determination.

“I never expected...” She trailed off, unable to find the words.

Elira stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “You gave us hope when we had none. You think we’d forget that?”

A lump rose in her throat, and she blinked rapidly to push back the sting of tears. “I thought I lost all of you,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

Karys snorted, her tone dry but not unkind. “We’re tougher than that, girl. You should know better.”

Eris had been standing a few paces behind Y/N, his amber eyes keenly observing the exchange. His expression remained unreadable, though his posture was unusually stiff. When Garran’s gaze flicked to him again, something unspoken passed between the two men—acknowledgment, perhaps, or the silent beginnings of trust.

“We’re ready,” Lioran said, his voice steady as he stepped closer, his presence commanding. “But you should know: Beron’s forces are already tearing the city apart. The fighting’s started, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better. If we’re going to strike, we need to do it soon.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened, her resolve hardening like steel. She looked at the rebels—at her people—before turning to face the city, where smoke and ash painted the horizon.

“Then we’d better get to work,” she said, her voice resolute, though her heart thundered in her chest.

Behind her, the Blackspire Alliance roared their agreement, the sound rising like thunder over the chaos of the burning capital.

The capital was unrecognizable. Smoke choked the air, curling into the dawn sky like dark serpents. The acrid stench of burning wood, charred flesh, and spilled blood was suffocating. The streets, once bustling with life, were now a graveyard of shattered debris, overturned carts, and the lifeless bodies of those caught in the crossfire.

Fires raged unchecked, devouring homes and businesses alike, their flames crackling and hissing as they leapt from building to building. The inferno painted the sky an angry orange, casting jagged shadows that seemed to dance across the carnage below. Shouts and screams echoed through the streets, mingling with the clash of steel and the guttural cries of the wounded.

Y/N moved through the chaos like a storm, her iron sword flashing in the firelight. Her movements were precise, almost graceful, as she cut down anyone who dared to stand in her way. Behind her, the rebels of the Blackspire Alliance fought with a ferocity born of desperation, their weapons gleaming as they clashed against Beron’s forces.

Every step was a battle. The royal guards were relentless, their polished armor splattered with blood and soot as they surged forward in tightly-knit formations. They fought with the discipline of trained killers, but Y/N and her rebels matched them blow for blow.

At one point, as she turned a corner, her sharp gaze caught sight of a group of civilians huddled against the wall of a crumbling building. A mother clutched her sobbing child to her chest, her face pale with terror. An elderly man leaned heavily on a wooden staff, his knuckles white as he tried to shield a young boy with his body.

They were surrounded. A squad of royal guards closed in on them, their swords gleaming with deadly intent.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. Fury surged through her veins, white-hot and unyielding, as she launched herself into the fray. She moved like a blur, her weapons slicing through the air.

The first guard didn’t even have time to react. Y/N’s sword tore through his chestplate, rending steel and flesh as he crumpled to the ground. The second swung his blade at her, but she ducked under the arc and drove her axe into his unprotected side. He fell with a strangled cry, his sword clattering uselessly to the ground.

The remaining guards turned to face her, their faces a mix of shock and rage. One of them shouted an order, and they charged as a unit, their swords aimed at her heart.

Y/N snarled, her fangs bared, and met them head-on. Her swordcaught the blade of the first guard, sparks flying as steel met iron. With a powerful twist, she disarmed him, her hand slashing across his throat in a single, lethal motion.

The next guard lunged at her with a spear, but she sidestepped the thrust with inhuman speed. Grabbing the shaft of the spear, she yanked it free from his grasp and swung it like a staff, knocking him off his feet. She didn’t stop—couldn’t stop—as she drove her bare hands into his chest, ensuring he wouldn’t rise again.

The last guard hesitated, his grip on his sword faltering as he stared at her. Y/N advanced on him, her steps deliberate, her hands dripping with blood.

“Run,” she growled, her voice low and menacing.

The guard’s nerve broke. He turned and fled, his armor clanking as he disappeared into the smoke-filled streets.

Breathing hard, Y/N turned to the civilians. “Get to safety!” she shouted, her voice sharp with urgency as she wiped blood from her brow.

The mother stared at her, wide-eyed and trembling, before nodding quickly. She grabbed her child’s hand and bolted toward a nearby alley, the elderly man and boy following close behind.

Y/N watched them go, her chest heaving with exertion. Relief flickered through her, but it was short-lived.

“Commander!” one of the rebels shouted, running toward her. “More guards are coming from the west! We’re outnumbered!”

Y/N clenched her jaw, her hands flexing as she scanned the street. The fires had grown, consuming entire buildings and forcing the rebels to funnel through narrow, smoke-filled passageways. They couldn’t hold this position much longer.

“Fall back to the eastern square!” she barked, her voice carrying over the chaos. “Regroup there and hold the line until we can push through!”

The rebel nodded and sprinted off to relay the order. Y/N took a moment to steady herself, her gaze lingering on the bodies of the guards she had killed.

She turned back toward the fight, her resolve hardening. There was no room for hesitation, no time for fear. They had a city to reclaim, and she would see it through—no matter the cost.

The throne room was a gilded mausoleum, its ornate gold-and-red design bathed in the flickering glow of Eris’s flames. The suffocating weight of power, corruption, and decades of unspoken resentment seemed to pulse from the walls. Eris stalked forward like a predator unleashed, the fire in his palms mirroring the inferno blazing in his chest.

Beron sat on his throne, his expression a twisted mix of disdain and amusement, as though he couldn’t believe Eris would dare challenge him. Flanking him were Eris’s remaining brothers, their faces betraying a mix of fear and loyalty, their swords already drawn.

"Back to grovel, boy?" Beron sneered, his voice oozing contempt, but there was an edge of uncertainty in his tone.

Eris didn’t bother replying. Words had long since lost their meaning in these halls. Instead, he let his flames roar to life, casting monstrous shadows across the room as he hurled a blazing inferno toward his father.

Beron barely moved in time, the blast of fire scorching the side of the throne and sending shards of molten gold flying. The room erupted into chaos as Beron’s sons lunged forward, their weapons catching the firelight in deadly arcs. Seems like Eris would have to fight his brothers, oh well, he would get them healers after all this mess is over.

The fight was brutal, every strike carrying the weight of buried history and bitterness.

One of Eris’s brothers, swung his sword in a vicious arc aimed at Eris’s neck. Eris ducked, his movements fluid and precise, and countered with a sweep of flames that engulfed Caleb’s arm. The brother screamed, dropping his weapon and stumbling back, but Eris didn’t stop. He spun, using the momentum to drive his fist—wreathed in fire—into the face of another brother, the impact echoing through the chamber.

“Enough of this!” Beron’s voice boomed, and the High Lord raised his hands. A surge of raw, fiery power rippled through the air, colliding with Eris’s flames and extinguishing them in an instant. The oppressive weight of Beron’s power bore down on the room, choking and hot.

“You think you can kill me?” Beron snarled, his eyes narrowing as he stepped forward. “You think you’ve earned that right?”

“I don’t think,” Eris said, his voice like steel. “I know.”

With a roar, Eris reignited his flames, the inferno hotter and brighter than before, defying the cold weight of Beron’s power. He surged forward, his blade flashing in the fiery light as he clashed with his father. Sparks flew as their weapons met, the force of each strike reverberating through the walls.

Beron’s attacks were relentless, fueled by years of cruelty and dominance. He lashed out with blasts of fiery magic that twisted and coiled like living things, seeking to ensnare and crush Eris. But Eris was faster, his flames burning away the dark tendrils with each strike.

“You’ve always been a disappointment,” Beron hissed, his face contorted with rage. “Weak. Sniveling. Unworthy of my throne.”

Eris laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that cut through the clash of steel. “And yet here I am, standing where you thought I never would.”

He pressed the attack, his blade moving like liquid fire. He drove Beron back toward the throne, each strike fueled by the years of pain and humiliation he had endured. But Beron was no weakling; he had ruled for centuries with cunning and strength. He parried Eris’s blows with precision, his magic coiling around him like armor.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eris saw his last uninjured brother attempting to flank him. With a quick flick of his wrist, he sent a jet of fire spiraling toward the man, forcing him to dive for cover.

Beron seized the distraction, sending a blast of fireballs toward Eris’s chest. The force of it knocked Eris off his feet, slamming him into a gilded pillar. Pain lanced through his back, but he gritted his teeth and rose, flames already igniting in his hands again.

Beron smirked. “You can’t win, boy. You’ll never be more than a shadow in my legacy.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Eris growled. His flames erupted in a brilliant cascade, setting the drapes and banners ablaze, turning the throne room into a fiery hellscape.

Beron lunged, but Eris was ready. He sidestepped the attack and drove his blade deep into Beron’s side. The High Lord gasped, his power faltering for a brief moment.

“Still think I’m weak?” Eris spat, twisting the blade and pulling it free.

Beron staggered, but his eyes burned with defiance. “You’ll regret this. You don’t have what it takes to—”

Eris didn’t let him finish. With a roar, he drove his blade straight into Beron’s chest, the force of the blow driving them both to the ground. Flames erupted around them as Beron’s power surged one last time before fading entirely.

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the crackling of fire. Eris stared down at his father’s lifeless body, his chest heaving with exertion. The High Lord of Autumn was no more.

But the victory felt hollow, the weight of what came next settling heavily on Eris’s shoulders.

As Beron crumpled to the ground, his lifeless body hitting the marble with a finality that echoed through the throne room, Y/N screamed.

The sound tore through the chaos outside the palace, raw and guttural, cutting through the clamor of battle like a blade. She stumbled, clutching at her chest as a searing, inexplicable pain radiated through her body. It felt like fire licking at her veins, consuming her from the inside out. Her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the blood-streaked ground.

Lioran was at her side in an instant, his face pale with panic as he caught her before she hit the stone. “Y/N! What’s happening?” he demanded, his voice tight with fear.

She couldn’t answer. Her breath came in short, desperate gasps as the pain worsened, an invisible hand tightening around her ribs. Her vision blurred, the sounds of the battle around her fading into a muted roar.

“I don’t know—” she choked out, her hands trembling as they gripped Lioran’s arms. “I—can’t—breathe.”

Around them, the fight seemed to stall as their people noticed their leader faltering. The fighters of the Blackspire Alliance closed ranks, forming a protective circle around Y/N and Lioran.

“Get back! Give her space!” one of the rebel leaders barked, their voice shaking despite their attempt at authority.

Lioran gently eased Y/N onto the ground, his hand pressing against her clammy forehead. “Stay with me, Y/N,” he urged, his voice softer now, betraying the raw edge of fear he couldn’t hide. “You’ve faced worse. Whatever this is, you’ll fight through it.”

But she wasn’t so sure. The pain wasn’t like any injury she’d ever felt. It was deeper, rooted in something intangible. It wasn’t her body breaking; it felt like her very soul was unraveling.

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to focus on Lioran’s face, his familiar features anchoring her in the storm. “It feels like—like something’s tearing me apart,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lioran swore under his breath, his gaze darting to the others surrounding them. “We need a healer. Now.”

“There aren’t any left,” one of the rebels said grimly. “The palace guard took them out first.”

Y/N shook her head weakly, her lips twitching into a faint, humorless smile. “It won’t help,” she murmured. “This... this isn’t something a healer can fix.”

Lioran’s brow furrowed, his frustration boiling over. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re bleeding internally or—”

“No,” she cut him off, wincing as another wave of pain coursed through her. “It’s not physical.” Her voice broke, her hands trembling as they clutched at her chest. “It’s something else.”

Before Lioran could respond, her body convulsed, her back arching as a sharp cry tore from her lips. The pain reached a crescendo, so overwhelming she thought she might lose consciousness. Darkness crept at the edges of her vision, and for a terrifying moment, she thought this might be it.

Through the haze, she heard Lioran shouting orders, his voice a desperate thread pulling her back. “Get her out of here! Cover the retreat!”

“No,” Y/N gasped, her hand weakly gripping his wrist. “Don’t... leave the fight. This war—”

“This war doesn’t mean a damn thing if you’re dead!” Lioran snarled, his composure cracking. “We’ll win, Y/N, but not without you.”

Her grip on him faltered as another wave of agony wracked her body. The world seemed to tilt, the colors and sounds blurring together into an incomprehensible mess. Somewhere in the distance, the roar of fire surged—Eris. He was still in the palace, still fighting.

“Eris,” she whispered, the name slipping past her lips before she could stop it. “He... I...”

“What about him?” Lioran demanded, shaking her lightly to keep her awake. “Y/N, what’s happening to you?”

But she couldn’t answer. Her thoughts were a tangled web of pain and confusion, her heart a drumbeat of desperation. The last thing she saw before the darkness took her was Lioran’s terrified face, his voice fading into the abyss.

The battlefield was a hellscape of fire and ash, screams and chaos, but all of it faded for Eris when he saw her.

Y/N lay motionless amidst the wreckage, her face pale, her body unnaturally still. His breath caught in his throat, his heart freezing in his chest as if time itself had stopped. The world dimmed; all he could hear was the sound of his own footsteps pounding against the scorched ground as he ran to her.

“No,” he whispered, the word torn from his lips as he dropped to his knees beside her. His hands trembled as he cradled her lifeless form, pulling her into his arms. “No, no, no.”

Her head lolled against his chest, her body limp and unresponsive. Blood streaked her skin, mingling with the soot that coated her. Eris’s flames, usually so controlled, flickered erratically around them, casting harsh shadows on her face.

“Y/N,” he choked, his voice raw and broken. He pressed his forehead to hers, his hands cupping her cheeks as if he could will her back to life through sheer force of will. “Please. Don’t do this. You don’t get to leave me now. Not now.”

Around them, the fighting raged on, but none of it mattered. Lioran and the others had stopped, their gazes fixed on their fallen leader and the man holding her as if the world had ended. The rebels looked on, their faces etched with sorrow, their grief palpable in the air.

“Y/N,” Eris begged, his voice cracking. “Wake up. Please, wake up.”

Nothing.

His flames surged higher, the heat searing the ground beneath him. Despair clawed at his chest, threatening to consume him whole. He pressed his lips to her forehead, his tears dripping onto her skin. “You can’t leave me,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You can’t. I... I need you.”

For a moment, he thought he heard something—a faint beat, a whisper of breath—but it vanished as quickly as it came. The weight of her absence crushed him, the realization settling like a blade through his heart. He let out a strangled cry, his fire roaring around them in a wild inferno of anguish.

“Damn it!” he roared, his voice echoing through the broken streets. “If anyone’s listening, bring her back! Take me instead, just... bring her back!”

His magic surged wildly, uncontrolled, as if answering his desperation. Golden flames erupted around them, illuminating the battlefield. He pressed his forehead against hers again, his voice a whisper now, filled with a quiet, breaking despair.

“Take it,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “Take everything I have. My fire, my life, my soul—take it all if it means you’ll stay.”

The flames surrounding them began to shift, flickering and curling as though alive. A strange, ethereal energy rippled through the air, weaving between Eris and Y/N. His magic, golden and blazing, intertwined with something darker—something shadowed and ancient that seemed to rise from her very essence.

The ground beneath them trembled as the energy grew brighter, stronger, their combined power forming a connection that pulsed with life. Eris gasped as the magic surged through him, binding them together in a way he couldn’t explain. It was more than power—it was lifeblood, fate, and eternity, all merging into one.

Y/N’s chest rose suddenly, her lips parting as she drew in a ragged breath. Her eyes snapped open, wide and panicked, before locking onto his.

“Eris?” she rasped, her voice weak and trembling. “What... what’s happening?”

Relief crashed over him like a tidal wave, so overwhelming he thought he might collapse. He cupped her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks as his tears continued to fall. “You’re alive,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You’re here.”

She blinked at him, confusion mingling with the lingering pain in her eyes. “What did you do?” she asked, her voice shaking. “I... I felt like I was gone.”

Eris managed a weak, lopsided smile, his fingers trembling as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I gave you everything,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “I couldn’t lose you.”

Around them, the rebels watched in stunned silence, their disbelief evident on their faces. Lioran’s eyes darted between the two, his mouth opening and closing as if he couldn’t find the words.

Y/N’s gaze softened, though tears welled in her eyes. “Eris,” she whispered, her fingers brushing against his cheek. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” he interrupted, his voice firm despite the tremor in it. “You think I’d stand by and let you go? After everything we’ve been through?” His jaw tightened, his flames flickering weakly now as exhaustion began to weigh on him. “We’re connected now, Y/N. You’re not allowed to leave me—not ever.”

She stared at him, her lips parting in shock as the weight of his words settled over her. Around them, the chaos of the battle seemed to fade, the flames of destruction giving way to an eerie, fragile stillness.

Then, Lioran’s voice broke the silence, hoarse but filled with awe. “They’re bound,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Did you... did you just save her by tying your lives together?”

Eris glanced at him, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “It doesn’t matter how,” he said, his voice low but steady. “What matters is she’s here. She’s alive.”

The rebels began to stir, murmurs spreading through the crowd as they took in the scene—the High Lord’s son, the fiery commander, cradling their leader as if she were his entire world. It was a sight none of them could have imagined, yet it filled them with a strange, unexpected hope.

Y/N’s hand tightened on his, her eyes glistening as she searched his face. “Eris... thank you,” she said softly, her voice breaking with emotion.

He leaned closer, his forehead pressing against hers, his voice a whisper only she could hear. “Don’t thank me,” he murmured. “Just promise me you’ll stay.”

As the fires of battle began to fade, the two of them remained at the center of it all, bound by magic, by fate, by a love neither of them had fully understood until now.

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

[thewertsearch]

Ask Comp 28/12

Anonymous asked: In the same vein as the Seer of Light/Witch of Space fakeout in the human session: do you think any of the trolls seem to not fit their assigned classpects, to reject it and imitate another, or to trade classes or aspects with another troll?

It's hard to tell if a given character fits their Title, when I don't know what each Title is supposed to symbolize.

Eridan, for example, didn't originally seem to evoke Hope. When I realized his 'hope' was essentially romantic delusion, it started to make a little more sense - but I have no idea if that's actually compatible with the Aspect's true meaning. We've only seen one Hope Player, so we don't know which aspects (lol) of his story are Hope-themed, and which are just Eridan being Eridan.

@relaxxattack asked: COMPLETELY unexpected coming from me (lol); but i doubt scratch, omniscient as he is, completely misunderstands slick’s motivations. i read it that perhaps slick’s emotional investment really is preventing him from killing snowman, despite all his lip service otherwise. i mean why else would scratch resort to auspisticism, the role made for breaking apart inconvenient pitch couples? plus all the brawler-like violence and threats of death— it really seems like he does need to force slick to cooperate and kill her

I kind of like that, actually. It would be pretty fun if Slick, of all people, managed to ruin Scratch's plans - and by having a heart, to boot!

@manorinthewoods asked: Proposal for the future: Whenever a flashback occurs, you take a guess as to whether or not it is a Dream Bubble. ~LOSS (14/12/24)

Yeah, I might actually give this a shot. I feel like I could do a pretty decent job of discerning whether a flashback is a Bubble, just based on whether the characters involved are currently unconscious or dead - although I can clearly still be fooled.

Anonymous asked: If Terezi hadn't been convinced beforehand (by Gamzee somehow?!) that Vriska was killing at random and absolutely had to go, I couldn't help but imagine at the time that Terezi COULD have saved Vriska if she tried, proving luck doesn't matter… by pulling a Harvey Dent and swapping her coin for a clean double-sided scratchless one just before flipping it, which her luck-stealing couldn't possibly make land scratched. It even would have proved to Vriska that she can't account for everything.

That would be pretty crafty, and I really like her hypothetical style - but honestly, I think Vriska was too far gone to be talked down. The fact that she stole that coin's luck in every timeline makes me think it was probably impossible to make her stay.

@caliquill asked: early in the liveblog you identified a Strider Ramble as a stress ramble. so it delights me that you have finally seen a TRUE Strider Stress Ramble. everything comes full circle.

Oh, true! Man, that's a deep cut.

I should have known, really. It's a pretty consistent character trait for Dave to get less ironic as he gets stressed - we already saw that at play in Davesprite's timeline.

@martinkhall asked: A lot of people seem to miss that he found his quest bed. Reading through his posts again this time I find myself wondering between his "dear departed family" and his imps being described as "sportitive rascals" if he prototyped a dead son. That sounds like a phrase that could descibe a young boy.

Aw man, that's heartbreakingly plausible. If we don't see Fedorafreak's story concluded in-universe, I will absolutely be looking for good Fedorafics when I'm done with the comic.

@bellcarved asked: you know, with the mention of a server player, i'm now imagining somebody else watching through the build menu and sending fedorafreak messages during this whole thing. "ff, i have the code for a bottle of water, and it only costs one unit of build grist. stop drinking your urine and generally treating this like a wilderness survival show, you are going to die. ff please respond."

Our man chose 'freak' as his handle for a reason. <3

@morganwick asked: Note that when Fedorafreak combines his pants with his shirt, it produces a "useless, excessively tall pant". This was after Pantskat had already become a meme.

It's so funny that this one wonky panel became so much of a meme. You just know that if Homestuck was ten years younger, it would have turned into an Among Us joke.

Anonymous asked: I think at one point Hussie said that fedorafreak's title would be the "gent of piss" but it's rather likely that they were just being silly. I also think that the title of a hope player would befit fedorafreak :) @marinerofthestars asked: for some incomprehensible reason hussie did in fact give us canon/‘canon’ fedorafreak lore on his formspring. he has the Title Gent of Piss and his server player (who survived at least long enough to get him into the medium) is 2busy4this (iirc they don’t actually appear elsewhere in the comic. guess hussie was. too busy for them) @morganwick asked: I believe Hussie has said that Fedorafreak's title is Gent of Piss. @skelekingfeddy asked: according to hussie fedorafreaks classpect is the Gent of Piss

Disrespecting our king! I have to assume that was a joke, because FedoraFreak deserves so much better than the Piss Aspect. I like Gent, though.

I was going to say I hoped that 2busy4this was able to enter the session - but really, that just means they'll die by Tumor, rather than meteor.

@morganwick asked: It was actually Fedorafreak's appearance on page 2918 that arguably made him a meme with the fandom.

It's been fun checking in with our king as we progress through the comic. I assume his memetic status is due to drinking his own urine - hence, the 'Gent of Piss' title that Hussie apparently saddled him with.

@clueless-rarito asked: Damn when I first read it didn't really sink in how fucked up the whole derse suicide mission situation was and how heartbreaking their whole conversation about it was. It's really the kind of thing you get a lot more from seeing someone else react to it

It's so twisted, isn't it? These poor children just want to protect each other, but each of them is convinced that the only way to do so is to die. Homestuck is so fucked sometimes.

@morganwick asked: Not to be too alarmist or presumptuous, but: did you not have anything to say about pages 3918-3920, or did your post(s) on those pages get eaten or otherwise lost?

Honestly, I just didn't have any commentary about them. They really just continued to depict the gradual return of John's memories, which I'd already talked about.

Sometimes I simply don't have that much to say about a given panel, even when the current arc is as exposition-heavy as this one. They can't all be mini-essays, y'know?

@wickedsick asked: Do you think Ghost John x Davesprite would count as…. Doomed yaoi?

Ayyyyyy!

@suroboro asked: So what you're saying is… that Terezi has gone Blind with Rage? (0;

Ayyyyyyyyyy!

Anonymous asked: after you finish homestuck you should 100% check out tumblr user meraki-sunset's crow strider au - it's wildly spoilery but i think as a davesprite lover you will enjoy it

Ah, yes, I'm pretty sure I know about this one! I've also been sent some of the artist's (non-spoilery) art, which looks absolutely gorgeous. It's definitely on the list!

Anonymous asked: This whole section is one of my favorite parts of Homestuck. All the conversations are so genuine and emotional, quiet and intimate, building anticipation but also savoring the moments they have before the end… ough. I gotta say, though it's probably the aspect I've understood the least since my classpecting phase, you really do strike me as Life oriented with a lot of the things you say :P

I still really llke the idea of being a Life Player - partially because I tend to gravitate towards healing, regeneration and resurrection abilities in games. I love getting tanky as fuck in Terraria, for example.

@manorinthewoods submitted: You know who, specifically, could have prevented Perfect Jack if she'd listened to her Denizen? Vriska. Vriska made the Choice that caused Bec Noir, unwittingly. If she hadn't, and if Denizen Choices truly do allow you to alter your own fate, then Jack never would have entered the troll session. Of course, whatever choice Vriska made to ensure Bec Noir's creation must have been earlier than the Veil. Potentially even in the presession! But if she just hadn't been Vriska, then… ~LOSS (19/12/24)

Wait, does it have to be earlier than the Veil? I don't think Vriska should even know about the kids' session until the game has already ended. Did I misapprehend some aspect of that plotline?

@krixwell asked: Worth considering in light of these revelations about Denizens and Typheus in particular: the parcel pyxis system, which fairly consistently takes things where they need to be. If Typheus controls the Breeze on LoWaS, he's basically the local mailman.

Heh, I like that. Perhaps that's why the Breeze will 'carry you to where need to go' - because it's being controlled by a postman, and a postman knows the destination of every package they handle.

@ramdomartkid asked: What do you think about the theory of the kids being homeschooled? As mensioned before, John never talks ab other ppl that aren't hs characters, (and aren't his neighbors) but he also never mentions why he's not at school at the beginning (or a b-day party with classmates) Same goes 4 Dave but Bro doesn't rl have that much motivation to put Dave in school in the first place. Less time for training. Rose…idk same as John And then Jade bc it's canon But that's just a theory…a webcomic theory (sorry if there are errors in grammar, english isnt my native language)

16:13 is fairly late in the afternoon, so John might have just returned from a day at school. I do think the homeschooling theory has merit, though - particularly with Dave, for the reasons you've already stated.

And yeah, Jade sort of had to be homeschooled if she was going to have any formal education at all. It would have ended pretty early, though. :(

@corporalotherbear asked:

LMAO

I feel like an identical exchange has occurred between Rose and Mom Lalonde.

@necrowyrm asked: In the past I thought of you as "thew" due to those being the letters I typed into Tumblr to search you. Recently, Tumblr has demanded an additional letter, so you are now "Thewe" (pronounced completely differently)

From thoo to thooie. It feels like I'm going through a Pokemon evolution!

Anonymous asked: You know that dream Dave talked about? Someone decided to illustrate it and GOODDAMN did they cook!

God damn, you were not kidding. This is such a macabre interpretation of the description he gave, and I love it.

@skelekingfeddy asked: ok im finally continuing with this quadrant ask series lol. i do think theres a side of propaganda to the quadrant system, despite what ive said about it. because even though its based around biological/evolutionary impulses…so is humanity’s concept of heteronormativity. the quadrants are a rather rigid, inflexible system, which is enforced by threat of DEATH. im willing to bet that, for example, certain trolls may feel only red attraction, or only black attraction, or only concupiscent attraction, or only conciliatory attraction, or zero quadrant-based attraction at all, or feel attraction completely outside of the quadrant system. the taboo against polyamory in one quadrant, like you’ve said several times already, is another flaw with the system. the quadrants system is predicated upon biology, sure, but so is cis/heteronormativity. i dunno, this is just my analysis of the quadrants xp idk if hussie was actually thinking about any of this when he was writing hs haha……

I pretty much agree with your take on quadrant propaganda.

In my opinion, any rigid framework of relationships - be it ours, Alternia's, or another - will inevitably fail to describe the full spectrum of possible relationship dynamics. Not every human is straight, gay or bi, and not every troll wants hearts, spades, clubs and diamonds.

Anonymous asked: wanna uh, put in my input on that kismessitude thread someone else sent to you. i disagree for a lot of spoilery reasons but mostly i just want to point out some things regarding a few specific assertions "jack and the queen's romance is tragic and meant to be compared to mom and dad, and the tragedy is unrelated to their romance" yes, mom and dad getting killed by jack noir is like, completely unrelated to their romance. they were literally just vibing and they got murked, would have been the same if it was a platonic hang out and they werent flirting at all. i buy that. we can't really compare that to jack noir and the queen, though, since jack kills the queen over the harlequin costuming. jacks and black queens are constantly attacking each other (over their several incarnations at this point i think they've lost like, 3 limbs between them and an eye. and of course jack killed her too in their like, third scene together). i just don't know how we're supposed to take that as 1. tragic given that a lot of the time it's played for slapstick comedy or "lol look at how much they hate each other" or 2. unrelated from their pitch romance. the dynamic of their pitch romance is them tormenting each other and in one case it ends with jack murdering the black queen. that's not equivalent to dad & mom. also, a few other points: i don't know how we're supposed to take the tavros & vriska stuff, because while they are definitely toxic, they seem to be pursuing each other in the RED quadrant, not in pitch… and it feels like the standards for toxicity are different there. also, something really important: eridan doesn't say anything about 'kismessitudes ending in death' in that conversation on page 2343. he says "CA: you could either play along as our auspistice and do a little mediating like you wwere fuckin hatched to CA: or wwatch she and me devvolvve into fuckin full fledged kismesisses the kind like you dont get once in ten thousand swweeps". the only mention of death here is in terms of COLLATERAL damage, not of them killing each other. eridan talks about killing all landdwellers (but not his friends, because theyre not like other girls i mean lowbloods! man the writing was on the wall with him). not about killing vriska. and this tracks way more with what alternia is like, for me personally- they don't care what two individuals do to each other, but when it begins to interfere with empire on a larger scale, then they would like a mechanism to break it up. ultimately, quadrants are something that WILL come up again in homestuck (spoilers, but i feel like that's obvious, lol. you have another what, 5000 pages?), so you'll get to form your own opinion on it. i just felt really baffled about the arguments because they… felt like they were missing contexts or taking leaps, so i thought i would weigh in. no hate to the other commentator! homestuck quadrant discussion is fun to me.

Interesting thoughts here, in response to a submission about quadrants from earlier in the year.

I don't think I'd ever personally call Jack/Black Queen 'tragic' - but I wouldn't use them as a model for troll kismessitude either way. They're a different species, so they're going to have different standards.

As for Vriska/Tavros…. to be honest, I don't think you could really quadrant them in a way that makes sense. Vriska hated Tavros too much for hearts, but didn't respect him enough for spades. As for Tavros, I don't think he's ever wanted anything to do with Vriska.

Anonymous asked: You might have noticed the unique Strife artstyle in this section of the story. These sprites were created by the art team for a Strife flash that never came to fruition. Now that you've seen the content that was made in place of that flash, I believe it's not a spoiler to send Hussie's commentary on his original plans. What are your thoughts on this alternate path and do you prefer the way the story was ultimately presented? What do you feel about his discussion of pros and cons? (1/2)

Sadly, I don't think we received the second half of this submission. I have been enjoying the artstyle of the recent arc - and if you resubmit Hussie's commentary on it, I'd love to take a look!

Anonymous asked: What mystical powers would the Dave of Guy title give a player? What insane abilities would the class of 'Dave' and the aspect of 'Guy' have?. ~DJ

David means beloved, and Guy is the name of a famous revolutionary.

Therefore, I believe the Dave of Guy would be 'beloved' by the very concept of disagreement, revolution and rebellion. In other words, the Aspect would always favor them, causing situations involving it to resolve in their favor.

If they argued against you, they'd win. If they fought against an institution, that institution would crumble. As long as they were fighting against some status quo, fate would smile on them.

Anonymous asked: If stuff about voice actors blows your mind, Casey Mongillo and Kira Buckland both got their start voicing Karkat and Vriska respectively in Youtube animations. Also "The idea of a work of fiction that subverts or wholly rejects the notion of ‘canon’ is pretty interesting, and on an academic level, it would be kind of cool to analyze it." Have you heard of this little show called Doctor Who? Because "there is no canon" is the position of the brand. I can elaborate on why if you're interested.

Oh, interesting! I was actually thinking about Doctor Who while answering that ask, because the idea of a story that stopped caring about its own lore was an unwelcome reminder of Moffat's era on the show.

I'd be really interested in hearing your thoughts on Doctor Who re: canon discourse, if you're willing to send!

Anonymous asked: i think you should talk about moffat

I was very tempted to compile a full essay summarizing my thoughts on Moffat, but I don't really have the time right now. Rest assured, some day I will absolutely go off on the Moffat era of Doctor Who - and let's not even talk about Sherlock.

@manorinthewoods asked: You may not be able to imagine Nepeta and Eridan being pals, but all the Erinep shippers certainly could. ~LOSS (15/12/24)

Please tell me their ship name is catfish.

@bladekindeyewear submitted: Now that the clock has “landed” on Just for Vriska, I wanted to talk a bit about how a WHILE back you pointed out Terezi’s coin flip as a crucial moment of morality… to me at the time, I believed that if any moment doomed her to a Just death, it was Vriska’s actions around that coin flip, that it was more important than just a narrative performance: Terezi was begging Vriska to leave even a SHRED OF CHANCE in the hands of the trolls to have her stay instead of leave, to give the other trolls even the last of a gambler’s luck of a collective say in whether or not she pursued this course of action that endangered them, and she stole it. Made it a constant across all timelines. I think that’s what crossed the last line of moral ambiguity, that she would not allow her friends a shred of agency over how reality unfolded… except to kill her. I felt THAT is what forced it to be Just, and that injustice is indeed perhaps a matter of trampling over the rights of others.

Perhaps, perhaps.

Mind you, I don't know if it's necessarily always a good or heroic thing to allow a Sburb Player full agency over their actions, nor is it necessarily a bad thing to restrict them, in certain cases.

If Eridan, for example, had been allowed to live his truth on the Veil, no lowblood would have made it out of there alive - and I wouldn't necessarily bet on the highbloods' survival, either. Kanaya was absolutely in the right when she cleaved his agency into two roughly equal pieces.

Vriska was definitely in the wrong when she rigged the coin, but I don't think it was because she didn't allow her friends agency - it was because she was going to get everyone killed. If Vriska had rigged a game against, say, Gamzee, and stopped his rampage as a result, she'd absolutely be doing something heroic, no matter now much she was trampling on his agency to do so.

@manorinthewoods asked: I am rereading my favorite HS fanfic, Like One Sundered Star, to research for Slurb (Sally Sburb), and I have determined that it may be viable liveblogging material, at least towards the second half. Unfortunately, it's image-poor, incredibly long, has a slow and almost a bit weak beginning, is less blog-dense, and also requires a different fanfic to be read first if you want to understand what happened at the start. ~LOSS (14/12/24)

That's the one that's as long as Worm, right? I'm definitely not saying no, but I also think I'd need a lot more free time to do it.

Plus, the lack of images, I think, would throw me off. That said, I did consider liveblogging Worm itself, back when I was reading it. I do think I could liveblog an entirely text-based story, but I'd probably have to rethink my approach.

@securitycapecreature asked: John kissed rose to save her live, same with jade kissing dave, karkats shipping chart is coming true before our very eyes

For a bisexual alien, his shipping is awfully straight, isn't it? I still think Rose/Jade makes much more sense than Rose/John.

@elkian asked: Game rec for Sally: I think you'd enjoy In Stars And Time, a tragicomic timeloop game. There's a handful of Homestuck references (including in the SASASAP artbook) and the humor+gameplay concepts are reminiscent of Undertale but it stands on its own. I'd actually strongly rec playing Start Again: A Prologue first, it's about 2-ish hours and sets the stage for ISAT. Both are really funny which I didn't expect from glancing at the promos so putting that there

I saw that one trending on Tumblr recently, and I'm a sucker for time travel stories. It's on the list!

Anonymous asked: Theres been fun discussion of the way homestuck uses the word play in meta gaming sense but noone's mentioned the word act yet have they? That's not a game word, that's an THEATER word. entire narrative of Homestuck is structured like a play script: it's separated into acts, narration is stage direction, all the dialogue is PLAYER DIALOGUE bc all the characters are actors playing their roles. and if you fuck up your role you get kicked out and REPLACED. exiles arent just npcs theyre STAGEHANDS

Ooh, I like these musings. It reminds me of how the Locked Tomb short story The Unwanted Guest plays with the idea of theatre as a metaphor. Taz Muir's Homestuck phase strikes again!

@bladekindeyewear asked: As we edge ever closer toward this Act’s inevitable conclusion, you asked if for a theory recap we could compile some of the DISPROVEN theories for you— and I’m sure we’ll find a good few to run by you for fun. Though the original Homestuck forums and threads are irrecoverable so much has been lost. But one of the things troubling me is this: Homestuck’s mysteries can be DEEP, leaving much implied. What about theories we formed at the time that were NEVER fully confirmed, might still be important, and which we shouldn’t even be implying to you whether there was any more evidence later because THAT would be a spoiler in and of itself? I think that’s what’s been getting me to hound you the most about opportunities to suggest more theories about stuff from past pages and thoughts we had SOLELY based on evidence we had AT THE TIME or earlier, because sometimes there may be shit amasses circumstantial evidence so many layers deep without EVER being confirmed, because as Andrew liked to put it, “Homestuck is a story that is also a puzzle”. And this onion has some deep effin’ layers we wouldn’t have even THOUGHT we might have reached without working together for years rereading this beast. If you’re still going about it solo, I thought at the end of this act you could use some of the keys we THOUGHT we found DURING this past act that we believed were finally unlocking deeper layers to squeeze twice as much juice or more out of every page.

See, the main problem here is that if a theory was never confirmed, then knowing about it sort of implicitly spoils parts of the comic. The more I know about what won't happen, the closer I get to knowing what will happen.

Therefore, I'm going to say 'not until much later on'. The kind of meta you're talking about would be absolutely fascinating to me, but I think it'd change my perception of the comic too much while I'm still liveblogging.

Anonymous asked: Jade on the page 3946 looks like those weird worms (worm on a string) :D

It's time to come off the string, Jadesprite. Release your true power!

Anonymous asked: You probably have a hundred of these by now, but at some point, those mini-side-story banners get hover-over Alt Text, so keep an eye out for that. Anonymous asked: don't forget to look at the top panels in this section :) rockernator2 asked: Don't know if anyone else has told you this, but there is (or is going to be) alt text on the upper pictures. Anonymous asked: make sure you keep an eye on what's happening at the top of the page! Anonymous asked: You've probably gotten at least one mention of this already, but if you haven't noticed it, it's worthwhile to look at the "banner" at the top of the page starting on page 3797. @bananonbinary asked: psst in true doc scratch fashion, the top panels actually have some alt-text if you hover the mouse over them. he's gotta make you work for it. @bananonbinary asked: oh dang oh shoot oh no thats not for a little bit yet i misremembered rip sorry Cat

[probably good to know early so you can watch out for it - C]

Noted! I just took a look back through the entire Scratch Sequence, and there's been no alt-text thus far. I have been worried about missing stuff in this sequence, given that there's so much going on.

@elkian asked: The Mendicant's Mauler Monologue took me the fuck OUT xD @metroid-fusion asked: hey sally the mailbox description joke was really really funny. youre good at homestuck

Something that is both normal to want, and possible to achieve!

I think PM herself would approve, too. She loves choosing violence.

Anonymous asked: "At some point, I'll have to check if any other lands feature musical symbolism." You mean like that giant record turntable thing in LoHaC? :P @sanctferum asked: "At some point, I’ll have to check if any other Lands feature musical symbolism." I don't remember if there's anything like that on LOFAF other than like, frog croaking (and what a musical genre that is! their albums are already sold out on whatever remains of Prospit, I'm sure), but boy does LOHAC not only have a giant CD, but one that's also the session's scratch construct. Dave's destiny must be to drop the sickest mixtape of all time, while trapping the pimp within his crib like it is hot. @wickedsick asked: "At some point, I'll have to check if any other Lands feature musical symbolism."

Yeah, it's definitely a possibility. (in all seriousness, Dave manipulates the stock market through time travel the way a DJ manipulates and mixes songs (represented through vinyls)?)

fucking LOL. This is what I get for liveblogging at 2am, I guess!

@garnetduodecim asked: Technically what doomed the time line wasn’t John dying, it was Dave prototyping Lil’Cal @bladekindeyewear asked: Doomed John said if he hadn't gone to see his Denizen, Dave(sprite) wouldn't go back and fix things so they could exist… but Dave THOUGHT John's death was why he needed to rewind. So what "doomed" the timeline before John even reached his denizen? One frightening possible answer: CALSPRITE. A prototyped Lil Cal wouldn't have been sent to Alternia in the wallet to be the base for Doc Scratch and guide their universe's creation. LIL CAL'S temporal necessity may have killed the timeline!

The order of events isn't entirely clear here, but you're right - Cal might very well have been prototyped before John flew through that Gate.

Future Dave immediately prevented both events when he travelled back, so it's impossible to say for sure - but I like this theory. That damn puppet is just... inescapable.

@pineapple-temporarily-moving asked: jsyk, you seem to have misinterpreted the line about trolls' eyes changing color when they grow up! only their irises change from gray to their blood color, their sclera do stay orange. mindfang is, indeed, old Anonymous asked: Trolls' /irises/ fill in with their blood pigment as they get older, not the orange part. Mindfang probably had blue eyes, we just don't generally get to see characters' irises. @abysswarlock asked: The eye color thing Vriska was saying was that the grey irises fill in with the troll’s blood pigment color, similar to how the kids iris colors match the color they type in @elkian asked: I always read Vriska's "fill in as we age" thing refer to the irises mentioned previously, but it's kind of just interpreted however. And Homestuck has so much symbolism and stylistic choices that it's not really clear lmao. @skelekingfeddy asked: im pretty sure the ‘eyes filling in with their blood color’ refers to their irises not their whole eyes

So no red-eyed Karkat?

0/10. Literally unreadable.

@krixwell asked: You mentioned in the ask compilation you just posted that the Aspects might operate on a meta level as well as a physical. You've already covered Void, but what do you make of the other Aspects through this lens? @heliotropopause asked: "Maybe Aspects can work on a meta level, as well as a literal one. Like, perhaps Void is the aspect of author uncertainty, […]" the meta level is honestly the most interesting aspect to aspects to me, and i'd love to see you have a go at it; there's definitely some analysis to be done there. @ariamaki asked: "Maybe Aspects can work on a meta level" AN IMPORTANT LESSON WAS LEARNED THIS DAY. I would love to hear your (current) thoughts as to what this would mean when expanded out to the other Aspects, because this is something I think about a lot.

So, this is a type of meta interpretation that I do like analyzing - but to be honest, I don't have many other meta interpretations for specific Aspects. Not yet, anyway.

That said, Sburb is essentially a story that forces itself on its Players, so it would be kind of cool if the Titles were part of that forced story, in some abstract way. I have started to wonder if Time and Space might represent plot and setting, respectively - but so far, that's only a half-baked idea. I'll definitely be returning to this idea in the future, when we've seen a little more of the other Aspects.

@galaxa-13 asked: "GT: my feathers are all ruffled, and i can no longer tell my ass apart from a big orange earth vegetable!" The joke here is "I can't tell my ass from [blank]" which is a pretty common saying when you're frustrated and confused. So John is basically saying "Oh yeah, you sure trolled me good! Because that's clearly what you're doing, trolling me. I am so ruffled!" Anonymous asked: For your information, an orange is not a "big orange earth VEGETABLE". Now, try and use your deductive skills to figure out what orange vegetable is being talked about. ~DJ

I know it was referencing a pumpkin, but I've honestly never heard that saying before. Perhaps it's a lot more popular in the US - or perhaps I'm just one of today's lucky 10'000.

Anonymous asked: Based on what you like about the comic (the same stuff I like) I doubt you would like any of the homestuck sequel/continuation stuff other than [one thing]. There's not much technical stuff, and I personally was really put off by the content of the sequels. I know some people like them but homestuck and it's sequels are very different types of stories. Anonymous asked: Regarding the epilogues (and Beyond Canon) to me, they feel like an interesting story - not necessarily things I would think the characters “would ‘actually’do”, but the themes about growing up, young adulthood, and friendships really resonated with me. A lot of the talk about “canonness” went over my head until it was pointed out to me, and I think that enhanced my enjoyment of it - I related to the story being told, and sort of regarded it as less what I thought would “really” happen and more an interesting idea telling me deep truths about myself. @manorinthewoods asked: To chime in on my view of the Epilogues - honestly, I think they are not particularly good, and until James Roach takes over 2 it's not particularly good either. I don't know whether I'd be sure in saying that reading them detracts from Homestuck, but I think I'd be comfortable saying that they are a continuation of what I feel to be a slow downward swing in quality after Act 5 - and an understandable one, given how Hussie must have been going through the mother of all burnout. ~LOSS (10/12/24)

Sounds about right. We had a bit of a chat about this on the Discord, and came to the conclusion that the tie-ins are probably going to be less appealing to me than the comic proper.

I'm going to default to a 'liveblog-lite' format for them, but reserve the right to do a deeper dive if I'm enjoying myself enough to warrant it!

Anonymous asked: In order to make 'Hostess' fit 8 letters, you'd have to use a typing quirk like Mindfang did with the Expatri8. As an example, the Condesce could have named her )(ostess, assuming that all ancestors share their typing quirks with their descendants. ~DJ Anonymous asked: If the main source for the Hostess' life is Mindfang, then yeah she'd probably have an 8 letter title. Otherwise, her title can be whatever number of letters you want. People do like sticking to the 8 letter rule for OCs, but compare - do real humans not often have given names with a different number of letters than 4, and surnames with a different number of letters than 6 or 7? Almost makes you question if all trolls really have 6/6 names.

Plus, the idea that Homestuck humans all have 6/7 letter surnames is a little weak anyway.

Four-letter first names might be a rule, but is a '6/7 letter surname' hypothesis really that much more likely than the hypothesis that there is no rule, and our four surnames are just between six and seven letters long by random chance?

@armchair-factotum asked: "Like, how does Rose’s chalk relate to bringing life back to her oceans? Did Hussie have different Quest in mind for her, back then?" Well, high concentrations of chalk in soil and water raises the pH, which might make it dificult for some plants and animals to live in? The "sand" on her island was all white and potentially made of chalk after all Anonymous asked: To elaborate on how the grist types/WV's items relate to the land quests: Oil is clogging the pipes that are integral to the salamanders' culture, preventing the Breeze from freely blowing through and delivering things, and the clouds trapping the fireflies are either smog from the oil or would normally be kept dispersed by the Breeze. Most of Rose's basic grist types (chalk, lime, marble) are forms of calcium carbonate, which is mostly formed through biological processes in the ocean, particularly through the accumulation of the shells of dead sea creatures like mollusks, corals, and foraminifera; chalk is formed from the skeletons of millions of dead plankton, and other forms of limestone also often contains fossils. Her beaches are the bleached bones of what once swam in the seas. Amber and rust are gumming up the gears of Dave's land, and the winter of Jade's land is implicitly a nuclear one. Last one is kind of ironically resolved by igniting a volcano, given sufficiently powerful eruptions can in theory create a similar winter effect. Not directly relevant, but I invite everyone to look up Verneshots, fun concept related to volcanoes and meteors. I feel like in the alternate Homestuck where the land quests are more explored, Hussie might have worked those in. Even less directly relevant, the term Siberian Trap(s) refers to both a volcanic event and a chess opening, which again I think could have been a fun Battlefield element in a story more focused on Sburb mechanics. @galaxa-13 asked: Rose's chalk related to her quest of bringing life to the ocean in that it was chalk that poisoned the water to begin with. By killing enemies and collecting the chalk grist as loot she was removing the poison.

I really like the implication that the chalk the Imps were dropping actually came from LOLAR's soil - almost like the Underlings themselves were born out of the ground.

And fuck, LOFAF's a nuclear winter! That's so good!

Anonymous asked: just want to take the time to HIGHLY recommend Homestuck Made This World ("a podcast about the critical analysis and contextualization of homestuck") its done by 2 media studies guys and its really great! they end up talking about doc scratch as one of an ongoing series of author figures, starting with the narrator of the comic (obvious), then dave (literally has a conversation that is an edited version of one of hussies chatlogs), bro (shares hussies interests + some anecdotal stuff related to smuppets (listen to the pod)), then hussie the self insert (an escalation of the narrator), and now doc scratch… (spoiler it keeps hapening) Anonymous asked: If you're into podcasts and people discussing Homestuck, you should at some point check out Homestuck Made this World. A podcast by two literature PHDs, one a long time Homestuck fan and one who's never read it before, discussing the comic a couple hundred pages at a time! They have a lot of great discussions, and the longtime fan also provides a lot of context for what was going on in the fandom at the time the pages originally posted.

Noted! I might listen along to it when I finally get around to rereading Homestuck. That's what I did with We've Got Worm.

Anonymous asked: i dont think anyones mentioned yet that the "hiding in an attic from bullies with a scary-ass wolf head" is also a never-ending story reference. Specifically in that thats literally the entire meta narrative the book was built around that the movie left out. the "puking on bullies" thing is also only in the movie and not in the book. Hussie Knows his references. @pages-in-movies asked: Congrats on hitting the milestone of being introduced to the main pillars of Homestuck: Jungian shadow, Gnosticism, The Never-ending Story, and the quote "nothing new under the sun"

At some point, I'm going to need to host a NeverEnding Story movie night. That, or Con Air.

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Dec 27th

~*~

1. Fic finder request!

Misnmian has a ghost in her apartment and ends up calling LWJ to go with her to meet WWX to get rid of the ghost. I don’t remember much other than she had to make the ghost soup or something? And then Wangxian hooked up at the end. I think it was short but had lots of cool details. Plz help!! 🥲

FOUND! wuchang by auberjing, hotpotluck_chaoscollective (M, 4k, MM & WWX, MM & LWJ, WangXian, Modern, Supernatural Elements, LWJ & MM Friendship, Past MM/WWX, MM & WWX Friendship, Businesswoman MM, Medium WWX, Professor LWJ, Cooking, MM's journey of self-discovery, Friendship, Self-Discovery, Family Feels, Bisexual WWX, Bisexual MM, Aromantic MM, Implied Sexual Content, Hopeful Ending, Family History, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, folk religion)

~*~

2. hi, i can’t remember if i saw this fic on here or twitter but i can’t find it now and i’d really like to. all i remember about it is that the summary said that lwj and wwx hadn’t seen each other in a long time (might be exes) and wwx was now a famous singer. does anyone have an idea which fic it might be?

FOUND? Talisman by Witch_Nova221 (M, 192k, WangXian, Modern AU, Eventual Romance, Theatre, Rock Band, Childhood Friends, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Spousal Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Stalking, Minor Character Death, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining)

~*~

3. hello!! i was wondering if you guys could help me find a fic- i was literally just rereading it not that long ago but for some reason i can’t find it. It’s a modern au of wangxian in which they are already married. Wwx was planning to go visit the jiangs for an event but lwj doesn’t want him to bc of of how they treat wwx poorly. They have an argument abt it and wwx eventually still goes, leaving lwj to sulk but over the next few days they still call each other constantly to check in even when they’re upset at each other and yeah it’s just fic of wangxian bickering like an old married couple @makkachiin

FOUND! tipping point by cherrywhiskey (M, 13k, WangXian, Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Married Couple, Married Life, Bickering, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Fights, Arguing, Making Up, Kissing, Angry Kissing, Making Out, Modern, POV Alternating, Fighting, love and loyalty through petty fights, it gets intense before it gets better, but only coz they're SO IN LOVE, WangXian fighting, no seriously, this is just a fic where husbands wangxian have a fight, like typical married couples, then they make up and make out, lots of banter)

~*~

4. Hi! I'm looking for a fic where wei wuxian cross-dresses in burial mounds settlement days for hiding identity reasons, ends up enjoying being fem-presenting as much as masc, and saves the Wens by marrying LWJ as his fem identity. This fic is not My Leaves Reach Ever for the Sun for at least 2 reasons: 1st, Wwx's fem name had "lian" (I thought it was something really simple like lianhua but now I'm second guessing) in it for lotus. In LRES it was a ning yinying instead. 2nd, he was genderfluid/genderqueer, whereas in LRES it seems to be just cross-dressing. I remember one specific scene where WWX as his fem self is "meeting" lqr for the first time, and LQR approves of her a lot more than wwx lol

thanks for your help :) @classygreydove

FOUND? Wei Wuxian, Who’s That? by bumbledees (T, 48k, WangXian, Mild to Moderate Pining, lotus pier siblings quietly also have a penchant for chaos, WWX will make LQR like him whether the old man likes it or not, WWX just wants to have fun and not be killed, and also to go to his sister's wedding, WWX is more stubborn than a boulder and twice as dense, Nobody Dies, nobody who matters anyways, except for WN, you're an angel and we're delighted you're here, "WWX fools the entire cultivation world", "and kicks up drama in front of their salad", warnings for sexual harassment due to JGS, and for the canonical behavior of the jin clan, ie war crimes forced labor human trafficking etc., hello naughty jin cultivators it's revenge time :) ) Wei Ying being the best daughter in law to Lan Qiren one lol

FOUND? Propagate Understanding by draechaeli (E, 175k, WangXian, Not Everyone Dies, Pregnancy Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Light Bondage, Adoption, Adoption but WWX birthed them all, MXY Lives, MXY has an arc, Original Children Characters, Babies for Everyone, Crossdressing, Temporary Character Death, easy to skip nsfw chapters, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Canon Divergence)

~*~

5. Hi! I am new here but I wanted ask about ff in ao3 where Lan sizhui and Lan Wangji searches for "Xian-gege" via television show its modern au @yuukikonnos-world

FOUND? Yesterday Once More by Sweetlittlevampire (T, 22k, WangXian, Modern, Reality Show, Long Lost Family AU, Adoption, Family Reunions, Reunions, Lost Love, Getting Back Together, Family Feels, Found Family, Angst with a Happy Ending, [Podfic] Yesterday Once More by shash_reads (sunkitten_shash))

~*~

6. Hi! I'm looking for a fic that has a passage from LWJ's POV that goes something like "Do you love him? Yes. Did you have a choice? No. Would you have liked to? Yes. Would you have chosen differently? No." Unfortunately I can't remember anything at all about the story but that passage stuck with me and I'd like to read it again. Thanks for your help! @somehowbirds

~*~

7. Hello to you all, and happy Holidays! I am looking for the fanfic (I think it was time travel) where Lan Zhan gets Madam Yu to give away Wei Ying for a single copper coin (I think). Then she finds out shes been played and gets angry. She attacks LZ, they fight but LZ wins. In this fic I believe thats how he gets his title (Hanguang-Jun). Then he leaves with WY. It's a well-known fic but for the life of me I can no longer find it! Please help! @dreammaiden21

FOUND! If Wishes Were Donkeys by NightOwl1 (M, 117k, WIP, WangXian, SVSSS, Time Travel Fix-It, Case Fic, Mpreg, Fluff and Humor, Dysfunctional Jiāng Family, Bad Parent YZY, WangXian Get a Happy Ending,   Period-Typical Homophobia, Crossdressing, LWJ and WWX Have a Breeding Kink, It’s All The System’s Fault, Post-Canon, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Warning: JGS, Good Uncle LQR, LWJ and WWX Are LSZ’s Parents, Inappropriate Humor, Family Feels)

~*~

8. Hi! This is fir fic finder. I dont remember much but it was in sunshot campign. WQ and MY work together i think. WQ search for the member of wen sect who wants to rebel to make an alliance. I think MY helped her but im not sure about this. WQ is in charge for healing a prisoner i think and using her skill in accupunture to make the prisoner appears dead and smuggle them out of nighless city. Im not sure if it was a different fic, but NMJ is outnumbered/ambushed by the wen and MY help him and hide in a cottage. MY dont know which side he wants to take but in the end he burn the cottage as NMJ flee. Thats all i can remember. Thanks! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

~*~

9. Hello I'm looking for a tumblr fic that was reposted on ao3. It's a modern au wangxian where the Jiang do not treat wwx well and the Lans are rich. Wwx accompanies jc to balls the lan organised just to make sure jc doesn't act out of line. They all eat together with lwj and the jiang start to shit on wwx only for lwj to say he's married? To wwx. Thank you very much in advance 💙

FOUND? The family I chose by Mialovesbl (Not rated, 12k, WangXian, LXC & WWX, WWX & WN & WQ, LQR & WWX, WWX &OFC, Modern, Jiang Family Bashing, JC Bashing, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, BAMF WWX, Everyone Loves WWX, Homophobic Language, BAMF WN, Married WangXian, CEO WWX, Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Good Uncle LQR)

FOUND? Confetti (on your lies) by imakirae (Not rated, 15k, WangXian, Mpreg, Pregnant WWX, Protective LWJ, Relationship Reveal, Modern, Toxic Jiangs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse YZY Bashing, JC Bashing, Soft LQR, Confident WWX) They are not perfect matches but sound similar enough to the prompt that if they are not then I hope the asker will still enjoy them

~*~

10. Hi, I'm looking for a fic where wwx started dating lwj on a bet from jc. The bet got revealed and lwj's feelings were severely hurt so wwx got kicked out by yzy. He ends up on the streets for awhile and ends up with the Wens at Yiling Cafe. Eventually lwj, who is now a musician, ends up coming across yiling cafe and Wwx on tour. They fall in love again and wwx was able to reconnect with jyl and jc through lwj. @foyoum

FOUND? 💖 love wakes me by dea_liberty (E, 46k, WangXian, Happy Ending, Angst, Childhood Sweethearts, Misunderstandings, Famous LWJ, Coffee Shop Owner WWX, Finding each other again, Found Families, lots and lots of feelings, so many feelings, Stupid Grand Romantic Gestures)

FOUND? 🔒 i swim in hollow lakes carved from memories (in neocities) by spookykingdomstarlight (T, 154k, WangXian, XiYao, Modern AU, Coffee Shops & Cafés, Music, Baking, Social Media, Misunderstandings, Consequences of Fake Dating Schemes, Flashbacks, Vlogger WWX, Professional Musician LWJ, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mistakes, Pining, Matchmaking, Romance, Illnesses, Slow Burn, Background SangNing, POV Multiple, Second Chances)

~*~

11. Hello, I’m looking for a fic where the Jiang get involved in war with Jin against Wei Ying’s advice. He’s not close with the Jiang. He even puts a stop to a battle with Lan Zhan to save a village from a landslide. Eventually, he surrenders to Lan Zhan and is taken prisoner but is treated well because he was kind during the battles. @ruchiruchi123

FOUND? 🔒 Crossing Paths by Ilona22 (M, 21k, wangxian, shapeshifter au, graphic depictions of violence, war between sects, war crimes, not JC friendly, happy ending)

~*~

12. Hello! I remembered a fic I read a couple years ago that takes place as a canin divergence during the Yi City arc, where Xue Yang succeeds in kidnapping Wei Wuxian and forces him to try and bring back Xiao Xingchen like he threatened. I can't remember much else about the fic, but I would love to reread it. Thank you so much! @peanutbutter-nutella

~*~

13. Hi again and thank you so much for the last fic! I have another one. Its post burial grounds and wwx participates in the war but is changed and I remember there was this scene when he broke into a pile of skeletons after a disagreement(?) between himself, jc, jy and lw. They were horrified and wangji broke down crying gathering the skeletons in his arms. At the end they went to the burial grounds to free wwx @raven-hale

FOUND? Grief Kindly Stopped by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 5k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Identity Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV LWJ, AU after WWX gets dropped in the Burial Mounds, Light Horror, Fix-It) it's not an exact match but fairly similar to the description.

~*~

14. Hiiii I’m so sorry I’ve asked this but unsure if I got a response and for some reason I’ve missed my email and I can’t find the thread. This fanfic was one where wwx is a like a demon or higher up and is very familiar with LZ. LZ needs find a match. He’s an omega I think. There’s a scene where he just suddenly appears and LZ caters to him like gives him tea and then there’s a scene where WWZ gets all handsy with him and says if you wanna marry marry me or something. This is all I remember @ruyilantern

FOUND? Sanctuary by lunarvelle (E, 153k, WangXian, WIP, A/B/O, Bottom LWJ, Alpha WWX, Omega LWJ, YLLZ WWX, Demon WWX, Intersex LWJ, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dubious Consent, Feminization, Pack Dynamics, Genderfluid Character, Genderqueer Character, Breastfeeding, Male Lactation, Lactation Kink)

~*~

15. Hello here is a fic that has rolled in my head … I read it but typical I cannot find it and my history got deleted 🥲 the story goes like this;

wei ying has baby a-yuan sleeping inside a file cabinet when lan zhan comes in and finds the baby asleep questions WY then takes the baby and gets pampered by LQ and LXC and buy him expensive baby clothes brand name loui b or Chanel or another high end brand by the time WY caught up to them LQ or LXC went to the store to get baby furniture … or so

Thank you @bkpmystinen

~*~

16. If possible, there are two fics I would like to find.

A) Modern au Jiang Cheng meets canonverse Wei Ying and I think the ploy is Jiang Cheng trying to get him home?

B) Wei Ying dies during the core transfer and Jiang Cheng has to take him all the way to Qinghe so they cab give him a proper burial. @couldntgiveastraightanswer

16B)

FOUND? Impossible Remains by Jengabears (M, 128k, WangXIan, WIP, Major Character Death, Heavy Angst, Tragedy, Golden Core Transfer, Canon Divergence, Misunderstandings, Tragic Romance, Revenge, Betrayal, Guilt, Survivor Guilt, Childhood Memories, Grief/Mourning, Oaths & Vows, Gore, Insecurity, References to Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Feelings, Self-Sacrifice, Ultimate Sacrifice, Guilty Conscience, Loss, Regret, Assumptions, Wrong Target, Sunshot Campaign, Major Original Character(s), No Demonic Cultivation, Sad, Action, sect politics, WWX has a good reputation, Yi City Arc Fix-It, Not Everyone Dies, Some Humor, BAMF NHS, War, Strategy & Tactics, Butterfly Effect, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, New sects, new powers, BAMF WN, Posthumous YZY bashing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Battle, Canon-Typical Violence, Fire)

~*~

17. Hi! This is for fic finder. I only remember a few last chapter but it was an unfinished fic. In this fic i think WWX and LWJ is married. Lanling Jin attacks Gusu Lan under JGY. At first, he make a plan to draw WWX attention. At first, JGY think his plan success. But he found out in cloud recessess there are Nies cultivator waiting there. He found out someone outsmart him (it was NHS). I think he run away using a tunnel? I dont remember but they are in tunnel. LXC confront him there with some character that i dont remember. And then with JGY command there are explosion. He managed to run away a bit i think. WWX is in the tunnel but not with LXC. I think many cultivator either ally or foe is terrified of him. Thats all i can remember. Thanks! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

~*~

18. Help me find this fanfic where Lan Zhan and Wei Ying (cn Bucky and Mulan) entered military acad. There was time where Lan Zhan stepped on a land mine and Wei Ying ignored Lan Zhan when the latter said to abandon him already. Before or after that, Lan Zhan was shot by Su She or was it Jin Zixun. Something unfortunate happened after that and Lan Zhan couldn't do anything to help Wei Ying. Lan Zhan become a president I guess but it was a long time before he met Wei Ying again. As far as remember, the title was "your name on my chest" by anonymous for Lan Zhan marked his chest with Wei Ying's nameplate (the one they got on military) Thank you in advance. @lu-wanji

~*~

19. Another ficfinder request if you please

I don’t have a lot of details about this fic so I don’t really know how to search for it, but it was a wx mpreg story and what I remember most of all was wwx repeatedly asking for a chubby baby, and I think after it’s born lwj is like you got a chubby baby just like you wanted

FOUND! Post-war baby! by like_a_bird_that_flew (E, 24k, WangXian, JC & WWX & JYL, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, WangXian get together in the Zuanwu cave, this affects the plot, Mpreg, Secret Relationship, Relationship Reveal, Domestic Fluff, Good Uncle LQR, A-Yuan is Wangxian's son, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, brief mention of the Lan parent's dubious marriage, Weddings, Wedding Night, Eventual Smut, Established Relationship, petnames, Non-Graphic Depiction of Childbirth, Happy Ending, Pregnant WWX, Unplanned Pregnancy)

NOT FOUND! I think chapter 5 of Baby, You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet by TriviasFolly (E, 177k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Omega LSZ, Mafia, Crime, Sects are Clans, Feral WWX, Feral Omegas, Nurse WWX, Dark LWJ, Dark WWX, Possessive LWJ, feminine WWX, wwx’s cannon desire to be a sugar baby/trophy wife, Breeding Kink, Mpreg)

~*~

20. Hii! I'm looking for a wangxian fic I think its A/B/O I don't remember much other than it had a part where husiang got with one of the wen sons to upset his father but then they actually liked eachother? Thank you :D

FOUND? Train Rides Change Everything by Seriana (E, 508k, WangXian, SangXu, ChengJue, ChenLi, Modern AU, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Mpreg, Abusive Jiang Family, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Slut Shaming, Fluff and Angst, Unplanned Pregnancy, Abusive YZY, Bad Parents JFM and YZY, Beta JC, Omega JYL, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Beta NHS, WC Being an Asshole, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Misunderstandings, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Scenting, Scent Marking, Slow Burn, Forced Marriage, First Time, Forced Bitching - Omegaverse, Alpha WX, Minor Character Death, Murder, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, drug overdose, Sexual Tension, Omega JC)

~*~

[1001galaxygal]

spoilers for link click bridon arc ep 1

ive seen some people criticizing the new link click episode for being confusing or sidetracking the main plot, and i think they are missing a lot of what The Point of this episode is.

so first i wanna talk about WHY i think this episode is structured the way it is and then i wanna talk about the new information we've received in terms of the lore and timeline shenanigans and generally ramble about how great of a set up episode this!

SO first: the structure of the episode. ive seen quite a few people confused or unhappy with the plot lines this episode, and i think first its important to understand that that was two episodes mushed into one.

1st episode - anime con

2nd- scammer girl

soooo lets talk about what these two episodes do for the overall narrative AND our understanding of the characters.

in episode 1, we see cxs die - and there is a LOT of mystery still surrounding this event but i think what we're supposed to gather is that there are two main timelines. timeline a (the original where we see cxs die) and timeline b (the timeline were following for the rest of the season and in s1 and s2). we've been shown no reason to believe lu guang has traveled back more than once. this is the first time that we see lu guang travel - evident by his emotional reaction to seeing cxs die. its not resignation, its shock. he didnt expect him to die at all. and his reaction to seeing cxs again in their first meeting in timeline b.

so what is the anime con sideplot doing there? firstly i think its evident by the way lu guang turns away near the end that he is planning to stay away from cxs. but he chooses not to BECAUSE of the way we get that classic feel good adventure with a problem and resolution- cxs LIKES being helpful and kind, it makes him happy. and seeing cxs happy makes lu guang happy and so he decides to abandon the idea of leaving. in a meta sense the episode returns us to a sense of normalcy not just to the audience but to lu guang too. secondly, this episode shows us how lu guang introduces his powers to cxs and qiao ling. he tells them its divination, and while he eventually tells cxs that thats not true, it does show us how qiao ling would know to get them jobs in s1 while not knowing about their powers.. she thinks lu guang is psychic lol! also in this timeline (timeline b) this is the shiguang meetcute!! this is how they became friends! this is re-contextualizing all of season 1! super cool and exciting!

so for episode 2- what the purpose here? mainly its too show us a rudimentary form of what shiguang's missions are like! think about it! this episode is the first ever time cxs goes on a mission with lu guang in his ear telling him what to do! this is SO IMPORTANT for contextualizing their relationship with each other! also cxs being accidentally put in danger and lu guang being able to save him this time? this is cathartic for lu guang as well, to trust he can keep cxs safe, this is why he asks to live w cxs at the end of the episode!

tldr: this episode's structure might feel kinda all over the place but thats kind of the point! lu guang as well as the audience are having to resettle in a new timeline, and the stories her serve as the avanues to understanding the characters and timeline better!

so what did we learn about the LOREEE?

1st: timeline a shiguang were messing with the past which is why vein comes to kill them - what they were messing with and why is still yet to be revealed, but it wasnt due to lu guang traveling to save cxs cuz cxs hadnt died yet

2nd: the 12 hour limit is there because if you stay for longer than 12 hours in the photograph you stay there forever - you become part of the photograph, which is why lu guang's eyes return to normal from the yellow. we do not yet know if this means that lu guang no longer has cxs's power or if he still has it.

3: there is likely only two timelines - timeline a where cxs dies and timeline b- the current one were in and the one that takes place in s1 and 2.

4: cxs probably gets his powers from someone in london dying in his arms

5: Powers are passed down through death, which means in s3 qiao ling will have li tianxi's powers!!!!

6: lu guang is absolutely weak to cxs puppy eyes! that man folded immediately

thats all ive gotten from just this episode! in conclusion, this episode does a great job of confirming SO MANY theories, giving us an insight into the characters (especially lu guang) and setting up the adventure going forward that leads them to london! really excited to see how the next episodes play out!!!

[galactichoneybee92]

Helluva Boss Season 3 Predictions

So now that I've spent the past week or so recovering from Sinsmas, I'd like to take some time to think about what's coming in the next season. Strap in: This post got WAY longer than anticipated. Spoiler warning for absolutely everything.

We are going to have ample time to concoct theories since Vivzie already confirmed that there will be a considerable wait for the new season. However, she did also confirm that we will be getting more shorts to hold us over and also that the extended wait time is in order to facilitate a more regular update schedule once season 3 premiers. We haven't gotten any further information on what that schedule might look like but I'm hoping for weekly releases instead of monthly so, you know, fingers crossed.

While season 2 was incredibly heavy on the Stolitz arc, Vivzie has stated that season 3 will be more focused on exploring some of the other characters. I'm sure Stolitz isn't going to disappear and that some of the episodes will still be focused on the progression of their relationship (I've seen some people saying that the Stolitz arc is over and like...respectfully...no? They're not even officially together? They have so much ground left to cover) but it would be nice to flesh out the rest of the characters in this universe.

One of the big plot points will of course be Millie's pregnancy. Now let me just say now, I'm already so incredibly sick of the "Millie cheated" theory. As if that's the only reason that a woman could be nervous about an unplanned pregnancy. Be so fucking for real. As for how I think they'll handle it, I think there could be some interesting juxtaposition happening between Stolas losing his child and the M&Ms gaining theirs. Millie is clearly very anxious about the pregnancy and I would personally love if there was an episode devoted to her trying to find ways to talk to Moxxie or Blitz about it but never quite finding the words, and in the end it winds up being Stolas who is able to help her. Out of all of IMP, he's the only one who has not only raised a baby, but did so while he was very young and probably very apprehensive about it. For all that he loves his daughter, Octavia was very much conceived out of obligation rather than either he or Stella feeling ready to bring a child into the world and I just think that it could be a good bonding moment for the two of them.

Right now IMP very much feels like the gang + Stolas, and I desperately need there to be more time devoted to Stolas getting to know the rest of IMP better. I think bonding with Millie could be an excellent first step (Step 2: Him and Moxxie bond over musical theater. Millie and Blitz are always trying to pawn Moxxie off on each other when it comes to watching musicals with him and I think it would be really great if he could have a musical theater bestie who actually enjoys them. And lets be real- There's no way you can watch Stolas's entire little musical production in Mastermind and come out thinking that that dramatic little fuck wouldn't love a good musical)

Speaking of Octavia, I would love to explore her character more. I have a lot of thoughts and opinions on her that I will probably explore in another post but while she does frustrate me, I do love her. Additionally, I'm very interested in what Stella and Andrealphus have planned now. They succeeded in getting Stolas out of the picture, his titles have passed to Andrealphus until Octavia is of age, but that has to be soon, right? Octavia was 17 in season 1 and while I'm not sure how much time has passed she has to be coming up on 18. 18 was the age that Loona was going to age out of the foster system so it's apparently the age of majority in Hell, the same as on Earth, so that would be the age that she would inherit her father's titles and estate. What are their plans for her then?

I think it's very possible that they will continue with their plan to have Stolas killed now that they no longer need him. Would they go as far as to try and kill Octavia too? What would happen if they did? What is the line of succession? Octavia clearly doesn't have any children so would Andrealphus get to keep everything?

Stolas and Stella were engaged as children, but so far we haven't seen anything about an arranged marriage for Octavia. If Stolas had to marry in order to secure a "precautionary heir", wouldn't Octavia need to do the same now that she has inherited everything? I wonder if we will get either a birthday episode (Octavia dealing with having her 18th birthday without her father- Stolas dealing with missing his daughter's 18th birthday) or an arranged marriage plotline (Maybe Stella announces her daughter's engagement on her 18th birthday?)

This next theory is really out there but bear with me here and remember that they're strongly based on European royalty: What if Andrealphus tries to marry Octavia to secure the title for him and his sister.

Overall, I think an arranged marriage arc could really do a lot for Octavia's character in regard to her perspective on Stolas. Right now she only really views Stolas as her father, not as person in his own right, independent of his relationship to her. She only sees the ways in which he's failed her and not any of his own personal struggles. Furthermore, she had the quote from Sinsmas, 'You don't love mother and you don't love me- You love him." Which seems to imply that she thought her parents loved each other??? Stolas has mentioned on several occasions that he did his best to give her a normal life and I wonder if that included hiding the fact that he and Stella hated each other. It leads me to believe that maybe she thinks that they were happily in love until he met Blitz and then that was the catalyst for their marriage falling apart instead of their marriage having always been rotten at the core.

But what does that have to do with Octavia having an arranged marriage? Well I could see Octavia being very against it and Stella saying something like "Oh please, I had an arranged marriage when I was your age" and Octavia discovering the truth of the matter. She expressed surprise that her parents didn't marry for love and then Stella is like "Me? Love Stolas? Don't be ridiculous."

I mean naturally the wedding never happens- Stolas and IMP are able to interfere and save her from going through with it and maybe in the process repair her relationship with Stolas. Maybe they could steal her away and if she's staying with them she might be able to see all of the ways in which Blitz isn't some evil father-stealer like she's imagined him being. It sets it up for her to see them being soft with each other and maybe compare it to her memories of her parents and how they were never affectionate like that. Maybe Stolas will do something dorky that Stella would usually mock him for but instead Blitz will just roll his eyes and think it's cute and they might laugh about it together. And then Blitz would definitely make her smiley face pancakes in the morning (because he's nothing if not a girl-dad) and I could definitely see him remembering that one time in Sinsmas that Stolas mentioned that rats were Octavia's favorite snack and being sure to hunt some down for her.

Other unrelated small things I would like to see:

Blitz gets Stolas a little plant for the apartment.

Blitz gets some glow in the dark stars for the ceiling.

I'd love to explore Loona's character some more. How old was she when she went into foster care? Why was she there? Was she surrendered as a baby? Was she taken by whatever passes as CPS in Hell? Did she have any other foster families before Blitz? Why didn't they work out? Was she returned for behavioral issues or something? What's the story there? We got a little bit in Seeing Stars but not nearly enough and I would love to flesh out her backstory.

What about Loona's love life? She clearly had a crush on Vortex in season 1 and was disappointed to find out that not only did he already have a girlfriend but that that girlfriend was Bee- one of the seven deadly sins. Not someone she could compete with. Now me personally? I think that Bee has 2 hands and is the god of gluttony- she could definitely handle a 3-way polyamorous relationship. But that's just me. I don't actually have any sort of canon evidence to back that theory up, it's just more like a fun head canon: Let Loona Have a Boyfriend AND a Girlfriend 2025. (But if they introduce a new love interest for her? That's fine too. I just want my girl to be happy)

Finally, there has to be more about Barbie in season 3. Now I'm not super in love with her character like some of y'all are (This fandom has the unique ability to see a character with 30 seconds of screen time and LATCH ON like no one's business. See: Vasago) but she's an important part of Blitz's past. I think that a Barbie episode could be a good opportunity for Stolas (And Millie? And Moxxie? And Loona even? How much does IMP even know about Blitz's past???) to learn more about Blitz's past and trauma while also fleshing Barbie out as a character.

I feel that there are 3 major relationships that Blitz has to resolve in one way or another before he can properly heal from the events of the fire: Fizz, Barbie, and Cash. Him and Fizz have worked through their issues and are back on good terms and I feel like Barbie is next since we have actually met her in present day. Alternatively, we have no clue what Cash has been up to since the fire or even where he is now which leads me to believe that Blitz will probably be confronting him last, if at all.

That's all I've got so far but please, if you've read this far, drop a comment or a reblog with you own thoughts and opinions. Tell me what you think of my theories and share your own in return! We've got a long wait until the next season so we might as well scream about it together :)

[damthosefandoms]

There's death at my door and I swear that it's following me

(ao3 link)

Summary:

“I’m going to finish it,” he says out loud to anyone who might be listening in his empty house. “I swear. I have to for school, anyway. I’m not handing in an unfinished paper.”

There is no response but the sound of Ponyboy’s own breathing.

“It’s not easy to write, Johnny!” he yells. “This is the part where I get you killed, you know!”

Nothing.

Figures he’d be quiet dead, too.

---

Neither of the greasers who died that cold, September night in 1967 had a funeral—Dally had nobody to set one up, except his friends who couldn’t afford it, and they never found out where the cops took him after they killed him anyway. But a month or so after everything ends, they find out Johnny’s mother had him cremated and that she and his father kept his ashes.

Ponyboy is particularly pissed off. Something about Johnny being trapped in that house his whole life, and even now, after death, being kept in a place he hated more than anything else…

“It ain’t right. I…we loved him more than they could ever dream of.”

As the remnants of the gang sit around the Curtises’ kitchen table, defeated, Two-Bit half-heartedly jokes they should steal his ashes. Darry rolls his eyes. Sodapop says that’s horrible. A heartbroken Ponyboy says, “Dally would’ve done it in a heartbeat.”

A week later Darry and Soda wake up to Pony making eggs for breakfast, with a new centerpiece on the table.

“Tell me that is not what I think it is,” Darry mutters, gesturing to the cheap urn.

Pony’s face goes red. “So, uh… this kid Mark at school taught me how to pick locks, and…”

“Ponyboy Michael Curtis!”

“C’mon, Darry, I had to! It was eating me alive. They don’t deserve him! I’ll bet they won’t even notice he’s gone!”

His brothers look at him like he’s finally lost it. Maybe he has, because Mark’s advice had gotten him nowhere, and Pony swears the Cades’ door unlocked on its own last night.

“All Johnny wanted was to get out of Tulsa. The happiest he ever was, was watchin’ the sunset back there on Jay Mountain. I needed to go get him so we could take him there.”

“Ponyboy…”

“I had to. I just had to. If not for Johnny, then for Dally, okay? ‘Cause god knows we couldn’t do anythin’ else for him.”

He’s got a lot of reasons to believe this is what Johnny wanted.

That weekend, the whole gang drives up to the remains of the church, so they all can say goodbye. Ponyboy pours Johnny’s ashes out over the cliffside where they watched the sunset, and if a little bit of dust gets on his hands, well. He stares for a minute before he goes to wash it off at the old water pump.

“You gotta go, Johnny,” he mumbles. “Don’t stick around me. Don’t do that to yourself. Move on.”

He’s always had a weird relationship with death. 

---

Ever since Ponyboy was little, he’d been told he had a strong imagination. His brothers call him a dreamer. His dad used to laugh and say he had his head in the clouds; his Mom said he was just the creative type. He learned pretty fast that no one else saw the things he could see, and he learned even faster not to talk about it. He thinks his brothers never believed him, but they also never forgot.

It’s one of those things where Ponyboy doesn’t see things unless he needs to. He got real good at tuning out the supernatural at a very young age, and it’s not something that comes up in his life very often anyway; death may follow him wherever he goes, it may show up at his door but he does not let it in. He doesn’t know why he’s like this. It’s like there is just something special about him, something he figures he won’t understand until he is much, much older. Or maybe he never will, and he’s just crazy.

The first time death comes to visit, Ponyboy is not feeling well. It’s been a month, it’s almost Halloween, and it is the first time since Johnny and Dally died that he’s sick again. Pony’s got just a low-grade fever, but Darry lets him stay home because that’s for the best. He promises to work on his English assignment.

Darry and Soda head out to work with promises to check up on him during their lunch breaks. He picks up his notebook and flips through it, but he is at the part where he runs into the church to save those kids and he can’t bring himself to pick up the pencil and admit that it was his cigarette. His fault.

His pencil rolls over the edge of the desk. It clatters to the floor and Ponyboy reaches down to get it. When he sits up, Johnny’s ghost is staring at him, pointing at the blank page. 

He blinks and he is alone again, but he can still feel the presence and knows deep down he isn’t. He sits back and groans. He can’t be normal for ten minutes?

“I’m going to finish it,” he says out loud to anyone who might be listening in his empty house. “I swear. I have to for school, anyway. I’m not handing in an unfinished paper.”

There is no response but the sound of Ponyboy’s own breathing. 

“It’s not easy to write, Johnny!” he yells. “This is the part where I get you killed, you know!”

Nothing. 

Figures he’d be quiet dead, too.

But writer’s block grabs him by the throat and doesn’t let go, so Ponyboy picks up his pencil again and begins to doodle on that blank page a picture of his current situation.

He falls asleep at his desk, and when his brothers come home, they find him there, snoring over a picture of himself at his desk, writing in his notebook while Johnny Cade stands watching over his shoulder like some kind of guardian angel.

---

Time passes and school starts up again, and around a year or so after the Windrixville nightmare, Ponyboy announces to his brothers that he’s going to some school dance with a couple of friends. He’s really non-committal about the whole thing, but Soda thinks it’s a good idea, and maybe Pony doesn’t really like the group of guys he’s going with but he knows he has to get out of his comfort zone and this is one way to do that. He promises to be back before curfew, so it’s not like he’ll have time to get into any trouble.

Apparently, his first mistake was one he’d made literal months ago, back in the spring—saying no to going out with Angela Shepard.

He knows it was shitty of him, the way he'd barely even acknowledged her presence after she waltzed up to him that day, but he also he knows it was never about him. It was her, expecting Pony to have her back whether or not he actually was interested in her, because that's just what Curtises and Shepards do.

But the day she approached him was—would've been—Johnny's seventeenth birthday. So, you know. There are a lot of reasons he'd turned her down. 

And now here they are, in October of 1968, at this stupid school dance. Mark’s brother Bryon brought a date and Bryon never liked Ponyboy anyway, so he and Mark walked off together to let those two hang out, and then Mark wanted to go out to Terry’s car because he brought alcohol or something—Pony was not interested in drinking the slightest, but he followed anyway—and then his second mistake must’ve been simply being at the dance or something, he doesn’t actually know. He doesn’t think he spoke to Angela the whole time.

(Later Ponyboy finds out she was trying to piss off Bryon, who he later finds out is her ex. She was mad he'd brought a date, or something like that. He still doesn't really get the whole thing, and probably never will. If you ask him, Angela should've known better than to have taken it all personally when she'd known exactly what she was doing.)

They’re sitting on the hood of Mark’s friend Terry’s car and some guy walks up that Ponyboy has never seen before. 

And the guy just swings at him! Of course he swung back!

Pony knows that he does not have a tough reputation, but he is one hell of a fighter—he may have gotten his ass kicked in the rumble but he also helped kick ass, and he’s been working out a bit with Darry so he can keep up with the track team, and he was briefly considered an accessory to murder, so clearly he can handle himself. Just ignore the fact he'd been drowning in the fountain for that whole thing. He figures Mark didn’t get the memo, because when the guy smashes a beer bottle to swing at Ponyboy’s head, his idiot friend decides to pick that moment to tell the other guy to relax.

Next thing Pony knows Mark’s on the ground bleeding and the school-sanctioned cop appointed to keep kids from killing each other at the dance grabs him to haul him away. Some job he’s doing.

He goes to get Mark’s brother, and he explains that the guy meant to hit him and not Mark, and Bryon says something about Angela Shepard but he doesn’t really explain. Pony decides he doesn't care. Mark groans and his eyes open, but it’s like he can’t see anything and Pony winces, because he knows all too well what is happening.

“What’s wrong with him?��

“Shock,” Ponyboy says, and he takes Dally’s old leather jacket off and throws it over the guy until the ambulance arrives and the EMTs take over. He’s careful not to let any blood get on it, though. It’s already been through enough.

Ponyboy thinks maybe he has, too.

The brothers get into the ambulance and Cathy Carlson, the girl that Bryon took to the dance, walks up to him and asks what happened, so he tells her. She mentions that Bryon borrowed a friend’s car to drive them there—Two-Bit drove Ponyboy to the dance and then ditched him for the first girl he saw at the party, and must be long gone by now—and she points it out to him in the parking lot. She heads off to see if she can get a ride to the hospital from someone. 

Ponyboy wants to thank Mark for stopping the fight, if he can. He’s not as bad as everyone thinks he is; Pony’s got no clue why Dally used to be so insistent he stay away from the kid. He also kind of figured Bryon would need a way home too, so…

He hotwires the car. He hopes he didn’t break anything in the process, and he makes sure to have Cathy drive, because she has a license and Darry won’t let anyone but himself teach Pony—and he won’t do it until Pony’s sixteen. Probably for the best considering Soda and Steve have a million speeding tickets each and Two-Bit is chronically under the influence.

When they leave, Ponyboy and Bryon have to help Mark walk out because he can’t on his own just yet. Pony’s in the middle of saying he gets it, “I had this killer concussion last year after some soc kicked me in the head during the big rumble, and I remember bein’ out of my mind loopy after, laughin’ at how I couldn’t run… straight…”

He trails off.

He realizes he recognizes this hallway. The door across from him is slightly open and it is the room Johnny died in.

Mark half-falls ‘cause Bryon kept walking and Pony didn’t, and it takes Cathy asking if he is okay to snap him out of it. He says yes but his chest is starting to feel tight and his eyes burn.

He blinks a few times and shakes his head and mumbles a “sorry,” which just gets him an odd look, but no one really asks after that. They get Mark in the car and the only thing he says for the entire ride home are the directions to his house.

Except they don’t get all the way to his house, because they are driving down the street Dallas Winston died on and the pain in Pony’s chest gets worse and he looks out the window toward the street lamp and yells “STOP!” because he sees someone standing there and is convinced they are about to hit them.

Everyone stares at Ponyboy like he is insane but he does not care because Dally is crumpling to the ground just like he did that night, calling out Pony’s name and dropping dead. Then he is standing up, and the bullets are hitting him, and it repeats and repeats like some horrible loop. Pony feels like all his hair is standing on end. He can’t breathe.

Don’t think about how you heard Dally and Johnny’s last words, how they called for you, but you’ll never know Mom and Dad’s. If they screamed for help. If they held each other as they died. If they watched the train coming and knew they couldn't run.

“Uh, I forgot to tell y’all a turn, I… I’ll get out here. Thanks for the ride.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he gets out of the car and shuts the door. Cathy’s got the window down and she asks if he’s okay and Pony is normally a good liar but he isn’t tonight.

“I’ll be fine. See you later.”

They drive off and Ponyboy sits down on the curb and stares at his hands. He’s never hanging out with any of them ever again.

He thinks about his dreams, the horrible ones that wake him up screaming and shaking, the ones he can’t ever remember, and he wonders why he had to be the one cursed with this stupid ability. To know something horrible is going to happen before it does. To see what happened to his friends after death. Why he has to be the one to know Dallas Winston will never move on. He has this feeling in his gut and he knows he needs to walk down this road to get home but he cannot bring himself to go anywhere near that street lamp. He already has Johnny’s spirit attached to him. He can’t deal with the idea of Dally being there too. He is too angry, and even from this distance, it’s starting to affect Pony, too.

He takes the long way home, because maybe he has a jacket tonight but he figures that if he’s going to get jumped tonight for walking home alone, what’s the worst that could happen after last time? He’s already lost two friends. He lost his parents. Who even cares anymore?

When Ponyboy gets back to his house it is well after curfew and he can see the light on inside and it is like deja vu. He has a black eye and his lip is cut, he knows it’s swelling up because he never put ice on it, and his chest feels tight and he knows he’s shed a few tears and he just. He can’t even bring himself to care as he walks inside.

“You’re late again,” Darry says. Soda is nowhere to be seen. 

“Yeah, whatever, Darrel,” Pony mutters.

“Where were you? I told you to be home by midnight. What happened to your face?”

“Some guy swung at me. Don’t worry about it.”

“You really think I won’t, Pony? We’ve talked about this.”

That is a lie. They didn’t talk. They just promised Soda not to fight anymore.

But Pony is tired and Dally and his heart hurts and he feels like he is going to explode, so he does.

“I was at the hospital, Darry, is that what you want? My friend got hurt trying to help me out because some guy I ain’t never seen in my life decided to swing at me at the dance even though I didn’t even do anything and I went to the hospital to check on Mark. And you know what? I had it all under control and then I hadda walk past that stupid room Johnny died in and now I know my brain is broken ‘cause I can’t stop thinking about it and about Dally and— and I don’t want to talk about it!” Ponyboy can’t even finish. He just storms past his brother and down the hall to his room.

He opens the door, grabs Sodapop out of the bed and shoves him out, and then slams the door shut behind him. The doorknob clicks locked and they hear a noise that sounds an awful lot like a heartbroken sob.

Soda looks at Darry.

“I told you waiting up for him would just piss him off.”

“Shut up.”

[kill-me-with-a-spoon]

I am here to rant about an admittedly small thing that only concerns the official animatic of "Odysseus" but I am working through my emotions so....

I really do not like this moment.

Telemacus being referred to as a warrior of the mind feels so cheap and unearned to me. But let's take it step by step.

What is a "warrior of the mind"

Athena sadly never gave us an exact definition but we have some things.

First, Warrior of the Mind:

> My life has one mission, create the greatest warrior

I had a challenge, a test of skill. A magic boar only the best could kill. One day a boy came for the thrill. A boy whose mind rivalled the boar's own will

> If there's a problem, he'll have the answer

From these we can gather that a warrior of the mind isn’t just a good fighter. They rely on their mind(duh) and problem solvers and very rare as it is implied that Odysseus was the first to accomplish Athena's challenge.

> Don't forget that you're a warrior of a very special kind. You are a warrior of the mind

> I know he'll change the world. 'Cause he is a warrior of the mind

> Maybe one day he'll follow me. And wе'll make a greater tomorrow

> Maybe one day we'll reach them. And we can build their skills as we teach them

From these we can gather that a warrior of the mind is meant to be a leader that can/will change the world, not simply through martial prowess but by leading the people.

But I think more importantly than that

> We are the warriors of the mind

Athena considers herself as a warrior of the mind. It is not just a title she gives to others but a title she herself has as well. So her declaring Odysseus as a warrior of the mind is her, at least in part, equating Odysseus to herself.

A brief look at Remember Them

> Have you forgotten the lessons I taught you? He's still a threat until he's dead

This is the only part of this song that matters to this discussion. Odysseus leaving a foe alive goes against Athena's teachings.

And finally My Goodbye

> You were reckless, sentimental at best

> Put your emotions aside. You're a warrior meant to lead the rest

From this we can gather a warrior of the mind is a general and one that can act without emotion.

These are just things Athena said, we can probably get more specific if we include what Odysseus does but it might also muddy the waters

Now which of these characteristics does Telemacus have?

Great warrior? No. He fought for the first time when he was 20 and lost to a normal man despite Athena directly helping him. (Yet, at most a few weeks later he was able to fend off several attackers at once. Must have been one hell of a training montage)

Clever/cunning? We see no evidence of that.

Leader? Telemacus doesn’t lead anyone. Sure he did go on a diplomatic mission but we literally do not know what he did.

Able to stay calm? He got baited into a fight pretty easily because someone insulted his mother. Admittedly Odysseus lost control like that after Polites's death which was also the first time he ever lost men but I think that was more extreme.

Telemacus doesn’t have any of the characteristics we know to be associated with a warrior of the mind. You can’t even argue he has earned that title by being wise and teaching Athena the value of compassion and trying to make things right as the first thing Telemacus does in Odysseus the song is kill someone by stabbing them in the back, only then does he offer them mercy.

Like I said, it just feels really hallow and nothing more than a moment for the audience go "Oooooo!" and "Yeah!"

[myechoecho]

When the Phone Rings, ep 9

I really do like In A. When Hee Joo speaks and affirms that she was not forced to marry Sa Eon, In A tells her that her voice is pretty. That despite hating Hee Joo's mom, she really liked having Hee Joo as a sister. I just liked that rather than try to argue or convince Hee Joo otherwise about Sa Eon, In A takes a moment to say something she's wanted to say for a while and it's something that Hee Joo needed to hear. In A is happy to see Hee Joo taking back her voice again. After, they are talking and working things out together. I think they will be able to mend their relationship.

Now that Hee Joo has reclaimed her voice, she is not going to be silenced again. When she cannot find Sa Eon, she marches right over to her in laws and demands that they report him missing. She's also makes it known that she knows he's not their real son and that they need him.

I love the parallel of Hee Joo being by Sa Eon's side as he was with her. Both of them woke up by thinking of the other. And when they did, they grabbed the other's hand to have them stay - stopping them from getting the doctor.

Reading Hee Joo's frantic texts and listening to her message must mean so much. For so long he's been the one tolerated; forced into a role he never wanted and hated. He doesn't even have any friends. He must have so lonely for so long but now he has Hee Joo firmly by his side.

Their confrontation in front of the police station was amazing. She's tortured because she unknowingly helped the person who is trying to take him down. She needs to protect him now. He is tortured because he cannot let her go and he knows she might be hurt. He's been holding on so long because of her. Most of their secrets are out in the open now - they can protect each other.

The bed cuddling was adorable. It seems like both of them are starting to dream of being happy together.

Sa Eon he does not have much time left with his secrets. It's why he's all but admitted to Sang Woo he's not who says he is. And that he knows about the missing orphans and the man who raised him is a key witness. We also get confirmation, once again, he was protecting Hee Joo. She is his only family.

I KNEW THE ASSISTANT WAS SHADY AF. I was only thrown off a bit because he seemed like he was a decade or more younger than Sa Eon when they should be a couple years apart. Makes sense though since the actors are about a decade apart in real life.

I was at least right that OG Sa Eon was torturing and killing the orphans. Makes me wonder why the grandfather was okay with it for so long??? Having a serial killer feels like it would be very bad for such a prominent family. Also how creepy was it that the mother immediately recognized the cut up and sewn together again fish as her son's handiwork??

Also, I have to admit I am still a bit unsure who is the twin and who is OG Sa Eon. There must be more two the twin's story - I still lean towards the assistant being the twin.

[l-egionaire]

My Warrior Penelope AU

Based on this post I'd done before. I've seen a lot of Warrior!Penelope AUs where the events of things are....pretty much the same as Odysseus's story. And while I can get why people do that, I wanted to give my own idea on how things might change.

At the start, things are mostly the same, besides Penelope being a chosen of Ares and more of a warrior, attracting Odysseus with her smarts and battle skills. Then, when the war breaks out, Penelope insists SHE go in Odysseus's place, citing numerous reasons (Helen is her cousin, Ithaca needs their king more than their queen, her not wanting their son to grow up with father). In spite of himself, Odysseus agrees to let her go, but does give her his bow as a parting gift to remember him and their family by.

The next ten years of war and the events through "The Horse and The Infant" and "Open Arms". play out the same way. But during her and her crews meeting with Polyphemus, rather than simply blinding the cyclops like her husband had, Penelope outright kills him with her spear....and then, in her wrath at having lost so many of her men because of their advice, she goes and slays each and every one of the Lotus-Eaters.

As she and her crew prepare to leave the island with the sheep they'd taken, a figure appears on the beach in a leapord skin tunic, the wine god, Dinoysus. He glares at her and explains that the Lotus-Eaters that she had killed had been HIS followers, and he was here to punish her for murdering them. As she was Ares's chosen, he couldn't outright kill her, but he could still punish her in OTHER ways. He then looked her in the eyes, and to her horror, she found herself suddenly surrounded by hundreds of horrible monsters, all having sharp teeth and claws, some wielding weapons. She withdrew her twin axes and began to slay them, some trying to hold her down or scratch at her, but she got out of their grasps and killed them with more ferocity until all of them were dead at her feet. Dionysis then smirked and snapped his fingers. The monsters then dissolved away....to reveal the bloody bodies of all her crew. Dinoysus claimed that he'd made her slay the ones who followed her just as she'd slayed the ones who followed him before vanishing. Penelope sank to her knees, her hands shaking and covered in the blood of six hundred men.

After a full day of crying and staying in a fetal position, Penelope took a ship and began to sail, trying to get home. Her lack of a crew forced her to stay awake nearly 24/ to keep the boat on course. And unfortunately, her troubles were only added to when she ran into a flock of Harpies. While she managed to fight off and kill most of them, they took most of the sheep meat she had and her food supply soon ran low even with rationing. Now close to starving and weak from hunger and sleep deprivation, she landed on the first island she could find. To her joy, the island was full of cattle....but in her hungry and tired state, she didn't notice the statue of the sun god. She slaughtered one prepared to cooked it....then, to her horror, saw the goldsn ichor spilling from its neck. Suddenly a massive thunderstorm blossomed out over the island. Zeus descended down from the Heavens and grabbed her by the throat. Saying how DARE she disgrace yet another of his sons by stealing his cattle. That she would need to be punished for her defiance of the gods, not just once but twice. He then got a lecherous smirk and said that the first part of her punishment would start now....and began tearing off her armor....

Once it was over, Penelope was once again left feeling disgusted, horrified, and broken, this time rushing to a river to scrub down every part of her body until she was raw. Even vomiting, the feelings of shame so intense. And she soon found what the second part of her punishment was when she boarded her boat, as the winds and waves were so strong that she was blown in one way, going farther and farther away from her home in Ithaca until she landed far away, in the Land of The Giants.

The Giants used their rocks to smash her ship apart and she spent the next ten years trapped in their lands. She lived like a rat, having to run and hide in caves and desolate places to avoid being eaten, stealing food from their huts and, in some harsh cases, being forced to kill their young when they discovered her.

Then, one day, after ten years, the goddess Artemis appeared before her in her cave. Ares had asked Olympus to give her freedom from her home and after agreeing, Artemis was there to assist her in getting home. The first step would be reversing her situation and making the hunted into the Huntress. The goddess gave her a quiver full of gleaming silver arrows and told her that, using her husband's bow, she would slay the giants as the quiver would refill itself over and over until she left the giants lands. Penelope thus took those weapons and her husband's bow and began killing the giants one by one, their men, woman and children, until their was no one to threaten her as she constructed a small boat to take her home. Artemis then appeared before her again and told her to sail every night, following the moon in the sky and she would arrive safely home.

She follows Artemis's instructions, eventually arriving in Ithica....and discovering to her disgust at den of betrayal. A group of men, having seen her husband as being weak for sending so many men off to die in war and taking so much time away from ruling to care for his only son, decided to work with corrupt members of his court and servants to slowly poison the king over the last ten years. Unfortunately, due to both Odysseus's hardiness to survive and a bit of divine assistance, Odysseus managed to survive their poisoning, though leaving him in a more abd more weakened state. They'd planned to use this day to strike the king and his son down and claim power for themselves...but Penelope arrived just as they'd been about to harm her husband. Filled with rage at seeing their hands on her beloved, Penelope raised her twin axes and slew every one of them. She'd killed 600 soldiers once. 107 were nothing compared to that. Telemachus returned home to find her holding up Odysseus. And, for the first time since she arrived at the land of the giants, Penelope removed her armors helmet to expose her face to her husband and son.

The reunion was full of love and tears and joy and sadness. But it was one they all felt was worth the wait.

[reverieblondie]

So I DESPERATELY need a distraction/reprieve (you can probably guess why), so could I ask you for one of your Short Thoughts prompt fills for if Rolan and/or Zevlor (plus Dammon if you want) had a significant other who came with him from Elturel and, when Zevlor's perception was manipulated to make him surrender in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, said significant other was able to snap the paladin out of it which allowed the Hellrider to help protect the others and avoid being captured but the significant other was instead captured as a result? When the refugees make it to Last Light Inn, what might the aftermath for the tiefling bachelor be like? Assuming Zevlor being snapped out of his induced stupor resulted in Cal and Lia not getting taken but resulted in Rolan's significant other being captured instead, how does the wizard react? Alternatively, how would Zevlor be handling it, especially since he can't really just walk away in this version of events without outright abandoning everyone?

Sorry this took forever! I hope you like my quick thoughts though!

Rolan:

Rolans not drinking (Cal and Lia have taken the bottle) but he is livid, he's trying to go out into the curse to go after them but Lia and Cal keep dragging him back with Larkessa and Alfria helping.

 Then Rolan Sees Zevlor and marches up to him, punching him in the face.  "You bastard! You're weak! You're the reason she's gone!”

 Zevlor takes the hit and Alfria is quick to go to Zevlors side. Rolan cracks into frustrated tears and Cal quickly is the shoulder he cries on before running off again.

Later that night Rolan is packing away what he can and sneaking off to go face moonrise towers on his own. Though as he reaches the inn's edge he's stopped by a familiar figure. 

"Move Zevlor I'm going after her and you can't stop me." 

Zevlor just shakes his head "We don't plan on stopping you, but if you must go you will need help or else be killed." 

Rolan sneers "I don't need help from you!"

 "That's what we thought you would say."

 The voice forces Rolan to turn around where he sees Cal, Lia, Alfria, and Larkessa all with packs all with weapons ready to go. 

"Out of the question you're not coming!" Rolan yells at his siblings

 Lia rolls her eyes, "You're a fool if you think we are not going, we all want her safe return. Now shut up we need to be quick and stealthy."

And with that an awesome rescue party goes and saves Rolans beloved. 

Later When She is safely returned (either with them doing the best prison break ever or Tav helping them) Rolan will personally thank all of them for what they've done for him and her.

Zevlor:  

Zevlor, poor poor Zevlor. He's beating himself up the entire time, he was practically dragged away from where S/O was caught. He feels like a failure... he wanted to save you, to help lead you through this nightmare to a brighter future he's promised to you. But now he's the reason for you living in a nightmare... 

He's too weak... he's too broken... he's nothing. Falling for false promises and dragging everyone down his descent... Zevlor can't help but sulk in the darkness praying to any god who is willing to listen to his call.

It was the opportunity he had asked for, Tavs party was heading to moonrise towers, and though he was ensnared before this time his mind is steady. He's going to travel with them and bring you back.. He still has those promises to fulfill to you. 

He knows he doesn't deserve you… but you want that small home with him at the gate and he is going to do anything to give that dream to you. 

[katerinaaqu]

Hello :) firstly I wanted to say that I love your analyses and I love all the information and knowledge you’re able to give us, thank you soo much for that.

Secondly since you know so much especially about the odyssey and Odysseus and I’ve recently seen a post where you explained the calypso situation I wanted to ask if you’ve made such an in-depth analysis on the Circe situation? I’m convinced the whole thing wasn’t consensual but there are always ppl saying stuff like “what Hermes said isn’t important” “Circe was at his mercy when she asked him to do the deed with him so he tricked her into doing it” “Odysseus was invulnerable to her powers so that means he wasn’t in danger meaning he willingly slept with her” and since I haven’t read the odyssey in a while I wanted to ask you .

Tysm for your time and I hope you have a wonderful day

Hello and you are very sweet! I really feel happy you do enjoy them and I am also grateful to receive comments and thoughts from you under my work 🙏 it always means so much when people get interested in the ancient texts much more when they honor me with their trust on tye matter.

I believe you are referring to my latest answer then where I re-analyzed the Calypso matter.

OF COURSE I can! I would be happy and delighted to especially since their relationship is so complicated and fascinating to begin with. The way in which it evolves in a very interesting degree and the way both characters share common traits is also fascinating. Circe is called also wily or with tricks which also seems to correspond to the essence of Odysseus himself. A power couple no doubt. But indeed so misunderstood by the media and their interpretations.

So here goes sorry if this is long:

I find it so interesting how far selective interpretation goes 🤔 😆 I find it interesting that indeed there are people out there that read the passage where Hermes SPECIFICALLY mentions how Odysseus has no choice and say that "oh it doesn't matter really!" Hahaha so to be more precise the passage goes as such;

Then you shall not refuse the goddess's bed if you want her to release your comrades, and she shall offer entertainment to you

(Translation by me)

The passage is clear. Hermes tells Odysseus he has no choice but to accept the bed of Circe's if he wants to save his men and see them again in human form. I find it quite interesting that people ignore that or they claim it is unimportant to the plot. This is literally the reason why Odysseus is there. What is more I find the notion of the moly immunity funny because Circe was not a force to be reckoned with only with her magic. In fact Homer also writes afterwards;

However make her swear a sacred and great oath that she will have nothing else bad in store for you so that she won't hurt or unman you when she has you stripped naked.

(Translation by me)

Hermes clearly states that Circe does not need to turn him into an animal to be dangerous. In fact as someone else said before me, it almost seems like Circe might as well kill or castrate him while she has him naked and vulnerable. Hermes clearly states that Odysseus is not safe even if he is immune to her power at that specific moment. It also shows that Circe could harm him at every moment and the only reasons she didn't were this promise that he extracted from her and perhaps her own feelings for him (curiosity or other). Throughout the passage Odysseus was speaking on the fear he was feeling even from moment number one;

And she opened the fine doors calling me in and I followed her with a heavy and grieving heart

(Translation by me)

Odysseus was literally frightened. All the time. As he said he had a grieving heart (ἀκαχήμενος ἦτορ) and he continued to be distrustful of her and afraid even if he had extracted that oath from her.

However my heart could not be pleased for I was distracted as my mind was always thinking on dark thoughts

(Translation by me)

I adore how Homer uses the word ἀλλοφρονέων (=to think differently, to be distracted) but the word αλλόφρων also used in modern Greek to speak on someone who is mad or crazy and is also used as a phrase to indicate someone who is not just worried but someone crazy in fear. Odysseus has extracted the promise, he has accepted the attentive care of Circe and her handmaidens in the bath and he is now sat before a real feast and he is crazy in fear and doubt. His continuous sense of anxiety is obvious in the passage. So to say that Odysseus was just fine and that the whole adventure with Circe was a breeze and that he was safe against her just because he had eaten the Moly at that time seems to me funny since every part of the passage shows how he was afraid. What was more, there is no guarantee that the Moly would protect him forever from Circe's magic not to mention that as we said before, even without her magic Circe had plenty of aces up her sleeve starting from her animal entourage till a potent knife at the time that she had Odysseus under her mercy (thus the need for a promise on her part).

Also even if we say that Moly would keep him immune forever, what about his men? His men had not consumed Moly and it was obvious that the only reason that Odysseus was there was to rescue his men. What guarantee did he have that Circe wouldn't enchant his men again if he misbehaved? Quite frankly as I said above, Circe's likeness for his boldness or potentially his mind plus the oath he extracted from her seems to be the only thing that prevents Circe from using his men as hostages once more. Quite frankly the whole adventure with Circe was a very big hostage business. Odysseus was thinking on his men's safety (not to mention the rest of them waiting by the ship) apart from his own and as you see he was already very much afraid as it was.

I also find it interesting that the reason why Circe seems to be getting Odysseus immediately to her bed is that she knew he would come. Just like Polyphemus knew by a prophet that Odysseus would blind him (although she didn't know the nature of the person that would blind him) Circe says that she knew from Hermes that a certain Odysseus would arrive at her isle on his way back from Troy. So in one way someone to say that Circe was out of options seems at least funny as a notion. It seems that she knew who was coming she just didn't seem to know the conditions that would bring him there.

Now was Odysseus attracted to her?

In my opinion there is no doubt about it as he describes how beautiful Circe was. Would he consider to sleep with her if it weren't of Hermes's advice? In my opinion no. Odysseus would absolutely be finding Circe attractive given her beauty and her divine nature, which is no surprise there but finding attraction to one person and act on it are two different things. In my humble opinion I do not think that Odysseus would act according to that attraction. Would he be curious on the experience with an immortal goddess? Absolutely. He is a naturally curious person and he wants to gain knowledge from other experiences in his life. Would he act up that one? Again I think not.

The reason why I think so is that the essences of loyalty in marriage are not as cut and clean as we usually think of in modern times. True if we judge from Hera myths, it was not preferable for a man to have extramarital affairs but it was generally tolerated. Agamemnon speaks on the affairs he had and many others had affairs. Odysseus would have no reason to hide his actual attraction towards Circe (and he doesn't given how he does speak on her very warmly eventually). Throughout his narration he mentions many things negative about himself including but not restricted to; the conquest and enslavement of Ismarus, his mistake to insult God Poseidon, self-destructive thoughts, feeling of fear towards Circe or Calypso, his moments of sadness and isolation etc. All of these things would be considered embarrassing or even diminishing for him. Why would he hide affairs at a world that was more tolerant towards the affairs and instead say all these others that would make a king or a warrior embarrassed?

Now there is an interesting question of course as to why did Odysseus remain there for a year?

It is indeed food for thought to think about it because once his men were back to human form in theory he could leave right? That in my opinion is not cut and clean like that. For once he had to wait until his men were back to good health and spirits to travel and he might as well take advantage of Circe's hospitality to refill their batteries. However there is also the moment where in the Odyssey his men arrive personally and scold him that he forgot about their country and their homeland for the arms of Circe. So one can think indeed; did Odysseus indeed forget himself?

In my opinion it is possible. His men are not the only ones who wanted to refill their batteries. So was Odysseus. In fact he has MUCH MORE in his plate than the average human already. He has already been at war, he has the war crimes on his mind anyways and he has also witnessed most of his men dying in horrifying ways (Cicones, Polyphemus, Laestrigonians etc) and he has just witnessed the results of his actions as well with the Curse of Polyphemus and the way that the sack of Aeolus fiasco happened. Odysseus already was suffering a lot. Regardless of the fact that he was always afraid of her, the hospitality she offered was very much needed. He could rest and enjoy some safety of dry land for a change after everything he had been through and Circe kept her promise and was a very good hostess to them. Odysseus too needed that break. It is possible that he forgot himself at the care of Circe and quite frankly Circe seems to be also wishing to keep Odysseus by her side so she does seem to make it as easy as possible for him to stay.

So Odysseus enjoying some nice rest after so long, even in the arms of a goddess that scares him makes it cheating? In my opinion no. What is more it seems that the fear of Odysseus was always apparent. It seems that he was avoiding requesting from Circe to let them go the whole time. It almost felt like he was putting the whole thing off out of fear for her anger and refusal. He almost seemed to be gathering off the guts to tell her. When his men straight out demanded it he didn't seem to have a choice but to comply. So it shows how scared he was when he literally BEGGED Circe to let them go by falling on her knees.

And then I climbed onto Circe's beautiful bed and hugging her knees I begged her to set us free with a cry.

(Translation by me)

So basically Odysseus felt helpless before her and he had to do the employing ritual to her (you can see my other post about this ritual) so that he would be sure that Circe wouldn't refuse him or be angry at him. That same fear continued later for when he came back from the Underworld, he preferred to stay by the ships. He was literally brought back in by Circe herself who gave him some advice.

But while most part of the text in the Odyssey indeed implies the lack of free will or lack of options etc someone would think why would Odysseus be considered a cheater in the hands of Circe?

I think the answer lies to the general idea that many people have that we should consider Odysseus as an unreliable narrator and that all the details he lists are lies to cover his cheating.

Although as a logic seems to be very generalized, and it COULD hold some water in regards to some details, I still am not convinced as mention above that Odysseus is lying here. For starters he was already very emotional when speaking to the Phaeakes and an emotional Odysseus is the most honest Odysseus (we saw his emotions betraying him with Polyphemus, with his revelation with the Phaeakes or later with Penelope). Odysseus was already in a very strong emotional state so I do not think his narration is inherently doubtful. What is more, he does seem to have so many details in his narration about himself that are not positive about himself. He would have no reason to hide the specific one. And Odysseus mentions how Circe never had his heart before (see also my other answer here). I cannot find much of a reason for him to lie about that when he has literally admitted everything else that could paint him in an unpleasant light (especially his hubris with Polyphemus).

So to sum up yes I think he was being forced. His men were held hostage and he had to save them. Circe was never helpless regardless of the situation and she had many different ways to kill him if she wanted to. Would he be curious anyways? Absolutely. Would he act according to that curiosity? In that case I think not. He does say so himself and his imprisonment in Calypso's island in his narrative was supported by other characters and the poet so why would he lie for Circe either. One can definitely think about his emotions and how strong they would be about Circe but I think regardless of that, he wouldn't have necessarily act towards that curiosity given how his psychological state was originally

But I guess this is everyone's guess.

I hope this helps. It definitely it is up to you what you want to interpret and I will be happy to offer more passages inside the future reblogs and such! ^_^

[trailmix-silent-old]

TDP: general thoughts about s7 (spoilers, duh)

Sooo I know it's been a week, but I wanted to get some of my thoughts about season 7 out. I'll be posting more TDP stuff for a while after this too. I haven't posted on tumblr in like 5 years (my old blog is @trailmixstar-blog) but the possible end of this show made me come out of hibernation.

So some general points I wanna make first:

AAAAAAAADHDKDKSFDJSKSK

I can't believe the arc is over omg

I've been following this show since the day it came out

I was such an early fan that I had a Rayllum fic on Wattpad that was top 10 in #thedragonprince

And now it may be over?????? FU-

Someone hold my hand

Now, some specific things I liked about this season:

Finally the Ruthari reunion 🥺

Kosmo and Wanda Astrid being relevant

Cute Rayllum moments

Also angsty Rayllum moments that almost gave me a heart attack

Ezran actually does something this season

It might be an unpopular opinion but I like what they did with Ezran's character, I might make a separate post about it later

Aanya is the queen we need but don't deserve

Human Aaravos is such a silly lil guy

Sorvus should've been canon but I enjoyed their banter nonetheless

The dry baguette is somehow still in the lodge

And so many other callbacks to earlier seasons

Terry finally joins the good side

Karim is still such a little bitch istg

(His death was gruesome but I still laughed)

Love how Callum still insists on using his elfsona even though the war is long over

Claudia's new armor? *chef's kiss*

Things I liked less:

Did- did they seriously confirm the Harrow bird theory in the last few minutes? Seriously?? Is this a joke to them? What's he been doing for over 2 years? Just eating worms while watching the potential end of the world?

Is it just me or was Aaravos dumbed down a little? Like him saying Callum's name while trying to give him the poisoned apple, like that's such an obvious mistake. And I didn't really understand why he killed the bird in front of Terry? He knew Terry would be upset, potentially leave and inform everyone about Aaravos returning. Was there a purpose?

I feel like the explosives could've been used more, but maybe if the series continues they'll be relevant then

Many things were left openended, many unanswered questions. What will happen to the novablade? And the evil coin? What about Miyana and her baby? And the self-eating to stay immortal they discovered? Was Harrow seriously the bird all this time?????

Overall, I really liked this finale. I especially loved all the callbacks to earlier in the show. When Aaravos said an archdragon's bite can kill a Startouch elf, I immediately thought of how Zym's bite was the only thing that could break Rayla's armband thingy in season 1. Was that subtle foreshadowing? Also, Runaan was the one who taught Rayla to sweep the leg!! And she used it against Soren, who said sweeping the leg wasn't a thing in swordfighting. Nice.

I think they tied up quite a few things in the plot, but left a bunch of unanswered questions for a potential continuation. I'm really curious about the self-eating, since I think it could be an important factor in a future arc.

That's it for now. Like I said, I'll make some more TDP posts for a while, but I'll probably mainly become a Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss focused blog after that.

If you read this far, thanks for the attention <3

[valtsv]

i hope that if VAL kills carson she doesn't turn him into her mother like her other victims, because he's already hateful enough as it is

[transmascutena]

thinking about how akio sees his younger self in utena and wondering if there's any fondness there. doesn't change the horror of what he does to her obviously but i do wonder