#ic. don’t know what we’ve become

[confused-wanderer]

The villains are utterly confused.

They remember the first robin. They remember how bloodthirsty the little gremlin was, how he appeared out of the darkness with a “HIYA FOLKS” that gave people near heart attacks with PTSD so bad they flinched everytime they walked into a dark corner. They remember his grin, baring few too many teeth with a glint in his eyes whenever the bat wasn’t around to curb him. They remember the death stare, the brooding that made no one doubt this was the Bat’s son. They remember how a punch would land a lot harder than it was supposed to, or the screaming that followed. Oh they remembered him alright.

The second one thank the stars was better. The second robin was giggly. He would hop around town, offering his help to everyone who needed it. Sure he was rough with abusers but hell no one cared about them. Matter of fact, the villains were glad because those assholes deserved no sympathy. They remember his puns, his wonder, his innocence and his spark. They remembered his laughter, his concern - the kind that only comes from one who’s been on the streets. This one was better, and the villains thanked their lucky stars. They remembered him alright.

But now, as the years passed and new characters emerged, the crime city saw the rise of two characters - a sunshine happy nightwing and a ready to kill red hood. And naturally, from their experiences in the past, the villains ended up making an honest mistake that ruined the two vigilantes’ reputation:

The villains assumed the first robin was Red Hood and the other was Nightwing. And BY GOD Gotham has not seen unhinged chaos like this.

SCENE 1

Red Hood *drawing his pistol* : Please, reach for your weapon. I’m itching for an excuse for my intrusive thoughts to become extrusive.

Two-Face: You dare mock me little bird?! Well.. I may not have my weapon.. but I have something I know you’d like..

Red Hood: Oh yeah?What’s that?

Two-Face: TAKE THIS! *slams button and coconuts start falling from the sky, all cracking and spilling as they hit the ground*

Red Hood:

Two-Face:

Red Hood: .. the fuck was that supposed to do?

Two-Face: .. HOW ARE YOU STILL STANDING?! YOU HATE COCONUTS ROBIN!!

Red Hood: The fuck- .. wait did you call me robin?

Two-Face *grins* : Yea.. robin. The first one. Thought I didn’t notice?

Red Hood: The first one? Does this *gestures vaguely to himself and his weapons* seem like something the first robin would do?

Two-Face:

Goon 1: I mean.. yeah

Red Hood: What! The first robin was nice!

Goon 2 *guffawing*: I beg your fucking pardon??

Two-Face: .. you took my coin and attached a magnet beneath it so everytime I flipped it it wouldn’t stop spinning. Do you know how long that took me to figure out?? Do you know how insane it drove me?? Joker had to help me out of pity. OUT. OF. PITY.

Red Hood:

Goon 1: ..Also you did steal some of our bones

Red Hood: hedidfuckingwhatnow-

SCENE 2

Nightwing: Hey there buddy! You look frostyl!

Dr. Freeze: Aha! You are too late to stop me robin!

Nightwing: .. robin?

Dr. Freeze: why yes! Don’t act coy, I know it’s you there. Now that we’ve got that clear.. I was wondering if you remembered all those years ago when you gave me a source for electricity to power a hospital keeping my Nora?

Nightwing:

Dr. Freeze: well you weren’t careful enough and never told me how much I could take from it.. so I used it to power so many of my inventions that came after

Nightwing *remembering when Jason was robin and every damn time he came to visit Wayne Manor his room would always run out power and the countless cold showers in freezing winters he had to take because of it*: .. oh? Well, sorry to break your bubble, but that wasn’t me Elsa.

Dr. Freeze: no? You joke around, make puns and I’m supposed to believe it’s NOT you?. The first one brooded like there was no tomorrow. He pissed me off so bad once I overheard him saying his favourite ice cream flavour and I made sure it wouldn’t be available in Gotham for YEARS. You’re not as bad as the first one. I’d remember if you were him.

Nightwing:

Nightwing *firing up his escrima sticks to maximum voltage*: Oh let me jog your memory then :)

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Space Ice

Alien: By the gods……what did you do?

Human: What do you mean?

Alien: Luminal III was a desert world, and you’ve been on the world for half a century and now it’s a lush planet.

Alien: What did you do?

Human: Simple.

Human: Space ice.

Alien: What?

Human: Space ice.

Alien: I….I still don’t follow.

Human: Well it’s a desert world with almost no water, so we went out and got some.

Alien: You got some….in space ice?

Human: Well yeah.

Human: There are literal hundreds of thousands of chunks of frozen ice just floating in asteroid belts or orbiting planets in rings.

Human: So we sent a couple dozen harvester ships to grab them and then bring them back to the planet.

Alien: ………………..

Alien: Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?

Human: What do you mean?

Alien: Do you have any idea what was in that ice?

Alien: Possibly frozen organisms or diseases that are in those chunks of ice.

Human: Yeah we knew all about that.

Human: We’ve watched “The Thing” enough times to know what could be frozen inside random blocks of ice.

Human: We had each block scanned and detoxed before introducing it to the planet’s surface.

Human: By the end of twenty years into the operation enough water had been distributed that several large underground lakes were filled to capacity.

Human: Water on the surface continued to evaporate and condense into clouds causing temperatures to slowly decrease. This coupled with the underground water supplies resulted in land masses becoming more temperate and damp.

Alien: Thank you for explaining basic science class processes to the species that mastered inter-dimensional travel.  

Human: Well if you’re so god-damn smart why didn’t you think of this?

Alien: *Opens mouth to counter but stops

Human: You’ve encountered at least a hundred desert worlds and never thought, “Hey, maybe if I add water things will get better?”

Alien: *Stares in angry silence.

Human: Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Human: Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go make a second amazon rainforest called “Amazon+”.

Alien: But why?

Human: For shits and giggles mostly at this point.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Princess Party Pt 2 | Lando Norris x Best Friend! Reader

Summary: After a drunken night with his best friend, Lando ran away from the consequences. Over the next eight months, he's reminded that he made a huge mistakes.

Warnings: Swearing. Angst. Baby fever. Pregnancy. Lando redemption.

Blonde female reader with various faceclaims. Pics found on Pinterest.

Main F1 Masterlist

prev.

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YourUserName posted a new story

liked by oscarpiastri, yoursister and others

georgerussell replied to your story

georgerussel63 let’s hope that bean doesn’t expect homemade treats in the future

→ YourUserName this is exactly why i’m crying so thanks for the reminder!

→ georgerussell63 oh no, i was joking. i'm so sorry! don’t cry! i’m on my way with ice cream

→ YourUserName i’m over ice cream now. i'll take hot dogs?

→ georgerussell63 don’t tell charles. he just released an ice cream line for you

charles_leclerc replied to your story

charles_leclerc don’t cry, y/n/n. bean has a life supply of free ice cream. she won’t even like cookies

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YourUserName just posted

liked by alex_albon, carmenmmundt and others

YourUserName not long now. (i believe george called this nesting)

1,123 comments

lilymhe counting down the days until i become a godmother

→ francisca.cgomes lily we’ve talked about this. i know the number for a good therapist, help with your delusions

→ alex_albon ladies, ladies, please. we’ve already had this fight. you both lose

→ georgerussell63 you all lose because i’m the only contender for godmother

→ YourUserName none of you are godmother unless you show up to meet bean in a red sparkly dress and a wand

→ georgerussell63 stop watching shrek 2

→ YourUserName never!!!

oscarpiastri the room is really coming together. those drawers look amazing

→ YourUserName i ask you to help me build one piece of furniture and i never hear the end of it

danielricciardo 2 months to go! not that i’m counting. or excited. in any way shape or form

flonorris1 such a beautiful room. bean has such an amazing mum 

charles_leclerc baby incoming!

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YourUserName posted a new story

liked by carmenmmundt, yoursister and others

alex_albon replied to your story

alex_albon bean's just training to be an F1 driver 

→ YourUserName isn't the term usually footballer 

→ alex_albon oh, please. that kid won’t be a footballer if uncle george and i have anything to do with it. we’ll make her the first female wdc 

→ YourUserName my poor baby. what untalented uncles she has

→ alex_albon oi! 

georgerussell63 replied to your story

georgerussell63 carmen says bean was kicking so much because she’s excited to meet her aunty

→ YourUserName and carmen would be right 

→ georgerussell63 i told carmen it was because bean heard my voice and loves me so much already 

→ YourUserName and you would be wrong

→ georgerussell63 pregnancy has made you mean

→ YourUserName nah, the hormones just make you less tolerable

→ georgerussell63 after all i’ve done :(

→ YourUserName <3

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YourUserName just posted

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and others

YourUserName welcome to the world baby bean l/n-norris tagged: landonorris

1,098 comments

landonorris my two beautiful girls. no words will ever express the amount of love and gratitude i have for you but i will spend the rest of my life trying to show you

→ danielricciardo simp

carlossainz55 congratulations. you make beautiful parents

alex_albon little bean is the most beautiful girl ever. i don’t think i’ve stopped crying since you named me godfather

→ lilymhe he really hasn’t. but tbf, i haven’t stopped crying since you named me godmother

→ yoursister i still think she should revoke alex's godfather title. traitor

→ alex_albon i apologised!!

→ georgerussell63 it means nothing!!! 

charles_leclerc baby bean is here! i am so excited. we can have little playdates

→ alexandrasaintmleux charles, i don’t think bean will be able to play with leo for a good while

→ YourUserName no but i can! bring him over!! 

danielricciardo who’s crying? not me. let me know when you feel ready for visitors as i may have bought a ‘few’ things

georgerussell63 beautiful girls. thank you so much for letting me be part of this journey, and for naming me godfather 

→ YourUserName it’s a thank you for driving me to the hospital and holding my hair back whilst i puked. i don’t know what i would’ve done without you and carmen

carmenmmundt it was such an honour to be part of this beautiful journey with you. 

→ YourUserName thank you for being there for me. bean and i cannot wait for our first brunch date with aunty carmen

maxverstappen1 i am very happy for the both of you. she’s beautiful 

oscarpiastri the most beautiful baby. i hope she’s enjoying that dresser 

→ YourUserName let it go, pookie x

francisca.cgomes i haven’t taken my godmother hoodie off since you gifted it to me

→ pierregasly can confirm. i'm sick of looking at shrek’s face anytime i walk behind her

mclaren our beautiful papaya baby. we can already promise that she will be the most spoiled girl in the paddock. we’re already setting up a racing nursery 🧡

→ mercedesamgf1 except she will be spending time in our garage

landonorris just posted

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren and others 

landonorris to my beautiful daughter and her astounding mother. i am in awe of the pair of you. for the past nine months, i have been the biggest idiot on the planet. and yet both of you welcomed me back into your lives without a second thought. y/n, i have loved you since we were 12 and you kissed me because i grazed my knee falling off my bike. instead of telling you that, i dragged you around the world with me whilst i raced, falling more in love with you each day. your generosity and kindness never fail to wow me. to those who don't know, i was a complete idiot. i ran away from my responsibilities and yet, she didn’t hesitate in giving me a second chance. not just as a father but as a partner. she brought our beautiful bean into the world, and i will forever cherish the pair of you. you are my whole world, and if i ever upset either of you, george has full permission to run me over with his car. to y/n and bean, i love you both forever. you are my everything.

7,995 comments

alex_albon i’m so happy for you, mate. you owe me for all the grey hairs you gave me

→ landonorris i’m grateful for your friendship, mate. i owe you for so much more than just that haha

→ YourUserName @ alex_albon you’re still in trouble

→ lilymhe yes he is

carlossainz55 felicidades, compañero 🥳❤️

danielricciardo well done, brother. y/n did an amazing job. i’m glad you took responsibility

fernandoalo_official what a beautiful family. make sure you cherish it

georgerussell63 y/n made such a beautiful bean

→ landonorris hey, part of my dna is there too (but, yes, yes she did)

→ georgerussell63 unfortunately

oscarpiastri the caption is why you kept asking me for synonyms? but seriously, i’m so glad to have been part of this journey for both of you

pierregasly 🥳🥳🥂

mclaren papaya baby! we cannot wait to see baby bean in the paddock. she’ll be the most important part of race week

arthur_leclerc i cannot believe someone willingly had a baby with you, especially someone as beautiful as y/n 

               liked by YourUserName

user1 anyone else notice that none of the wags commented on this post despite y/n being in it?

→ user2 you can guarantee they all commented on hers though because they’ve all been gushing about buying baby stuff 

→ user3 they really said y/n may have forgiven him but we certainly don’t

user4 y/n stronger than me because if my baby daddy walked away from me and my child for the entire pregnancy just to decide he wanted to be a father once it was born, i’d cut his dick off

user5 guys, not only did we finally get lando and y/n together. we got mom and dad y/n and lando together

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landonorris just posted 

liked by maxfewtrell, oscarpiastri and others 

landonorris happy 1st birthday to my prettiest princess. you’re my favourite mini muppet in the world but if you don’t stop growing then you and daddy are going to have some words. (also, daddy best be the only prince charming in your life) 

15,449 comments

YourUserName whoa whoa whoa, i thought you were my prince charming

→ landonorris sorry babe but you know you lost me the minute i looked into her eyes 

→ YourUserName and here i go crying again 

danielricciardo mate, do you really think calling yourself daddy in an insta post is a good idea?

→ landonorris @ YourUserName pay up, i told you he’d make it weird

→ YourUserName damn it, daniel. you just cost me a back massage 

georgerussell63 and best godfather of the year award goes to me for the princess castle

→ alex_albon liar! best godfather of the year ‘twas me. she danced with me the most and wanted me to have the second slice of cake

oscarpiastri can’t believe princess bean locked me in the dungeon 

→ landonorris she wasn’t impressed that you overtook me last weekend 

→ oscarpiastri sucks to suck, i guess 

francisca.cgomes i still can’t believe my baby brunch buddy is 1!! when did that happen? 

→ landonorris @ YourUserName has enjoyed playing with the brunch kitchen kit more than bean has

→ YourUserName why would you expose me this way? i pushed a kid out for you

alex_albon happy birthday baby bean! can’t believe it’s been a whole year of spoiling you

→ User6 does this mean alex has been forgiven?

→ YourSister no. 

→ alex_albon don’t lie to the internet. you gave me a hug earlier

→ lilymhe it was only so she could spit in your drink, honey

charles_leclerc happy birthday, bean! she is the most adorable little girl. i think i will need to wear my fairy wings on the weekend to help me go faster

→ pierregasly i’ve already told alpine that they need to add my tiara to the helmet

User7 okay but can we all appreciate the fact that this little girl had the majority of the Grid at her party, all dressed in some way as princesses 

→ User8 @ YourUserName c’mon, we all know you’re a girls’ girl, release the photos of the princess grid

→ YourUserName shh, i have to wait until they're racing so you've all got 2 hours to save them before they make me take them down

maxverstappen1 P had the best day with bean, and said that y/n is her new bestest friend

→ YourUserName aww my heart. please bring P around for playdates forever though, she’s the best kid 

→ kellypiquet she was so exhausted she fell asleep in her princess dress

→ YourUserName so did lando

→ landonorris hey! 

→ YourUserName you started it

User9 i think we’re all asking the same thing; when are you having the next one?

→ landonorris @ YourUserName so..? 👀

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Baby Fever Angst Series

F1 requests are open!

Tag list - so sorry if I missed anyone. It wasn’t finding a lot of people

@bibissparkles @barcelonaloverf1life @rlalliehayes @softtina @callsignwidow @lav3nder-haze @minkyungseokie @luvrrish @evans-dejong @sadsierra2 @justdreamersdream @spookystitchery @dark-night-sky-99 @majusialikesfastcars @luckyladycreator2 @mrosales16 @reguluscrystals @tvdtw4ever @alwaysclassyeagle @gigicisneros @spanishcorndogs @thecubanator2 @goldenharrysworld @awritingtree @jxnellat @hc-dutch @buckybarnessweetheart @ironmaiden1313 @dreamercrowd @yourbane @reguluscrystals @peachiicherries @rosecentury @prettypink11 @emmynotawards @tinyhrry @sltwins @daemyratwst @lemon-lav @noneofyourfbusinessworld @bwormie @leclercsluvs @spanishcorndogs @hard4ndsoft @formulaal @classiclitfreak @weekendlusting @evesfile @powerpuffgirly @leclercvsx

[ellecdc]

Hi!! I’ve been reading your poly!marauders x femreader and was wondering if you could possibly write about the reader having a vision while being with only the marauders, and how they would react and help reader without Barty or Reggie being there to help her? Maybe the vision can be another cute moment with the boys and reader not wanting to tell them what she saw and trying to walk away but they stop her and eventually get it out of her? Also,I love how you write the characters and portray their relationships :) Thank you so much!!!

This ended up a bit angstier than you had requested? But I think our girlie-pop needs to work through some of her shit before we’re really leaning into the cutesy stuff so I hope this works for now! It’s not like I’ve already got the next part planned or anything…….. 👀😅

poly!marauders x seer!reader where they witness her first Sight alone

CW: fem!reader, angst? w/ a happy ending, hurt/comfort, reader still stubborn as all hell, boys still relentless as ever - but we’re getting somewhere folks!!

There was no sense in feeling agitated with the Marauders; you noticed a simmering resentment bubbling up within you whenever your mind began to stray towards them, but it could hardly be considered their fault.

Just one of the many consequences of the ability of Sight; gradual feelings forming over ideas and thoughts and imagines that aren’t real, haven’t happened, and may never happen. There was an undeniable soft appreciation - dammit, maybe even love - for the three boys growing in your heart, but it hurt.

It hurt because it was an outcome of experiences that they haven’t had, that they haven’t shared with you; it was simply feelings for versions of these boys that don’t even exist yet.

But it was becoming difficult to separate your Sights of them from them; it was becoming harder and harder to remind yourself that the love you were feeling wasn’t real, at least not yet.

Yet.

That was the worst part - yet - seeing as none of these supposedly sweet moments taking place between you and the boys have ever really taken place, save that one of your impromptu Hogsmead date.

And whatever agitation you felt only tripled when you heard their voices in the library and your face broke out in an involuntary smile.

Stupid lovesick girl.

“There’s our princess!” Sirius cheered loudly as he spotted you, earning him more than a few severe glares from surrounding tables as he sloppily (and loudly) plopped himself onto the bench at the table across from you.

“Do try not to get us kicked out when we’ve only just found her, yeah?” Remus muttered quietly, though he seemed no less pleased with his boyfriend despite his scolding.

Sirius made a dismissive scoffing sound as Remus took a seat beside him and James across from him (and, decidedly less importantly, beside you). “I’d like to see them try; my family paid for this sodding library.”

“Charming, Black.” You muttered as you kept your face pointed towards the notes in front of you.

From your periphery you could see Sirius flash you a salacious grin; all sharp canines and cocky attitude. “Thanks dolly; I think so too.”

“You’re exhausting.” You let out with a sigh.

“I have been told I’m ex-”

“-Exhilarating, we know.” James finished for Sirius, seemingly already knowing exactly what the boy was going to quip.

“See? Everyone agrees.”

“Feel free to ignore him.” Remus interjected then, looking at you softly.

So softly. In ways you’ve Seen him do many times but have never yet experienced.

It made you ache with want; wanting so badly for it to be real and then hating yourself for wanting it at all.

“You okay, dove?” He asked then; apparently seeing the conflict on your face.

And wasn’t that just the icing on the pastie.

“No, actually, I’m not.” You huffed as you began to pack up your things.

Sirius said your name then; all teasing and flippantness gone from his tone as he sat up straight. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No.” You grumble; standing now but closing your eyes and pointing your face to the ceiling in frustration.

‘It’s not you, it’s me’ sits on the very tip of your tongue, threatening to spill out but you just can’t bring yourself to release the words.

You hate this feeling; the lack of control in the direction that your life was seemingly going, moving through the motions unwillingly as fate pulled on the strings of your soul like some poorly mistreated puppet.

“Don’t go.” James all but whispered then; his hand seemingly aching to reach for yours but clearly resisting the urge.

That only made you feel worse.

You let out a breath and started to lower yourself back to your seat on the bench when you recognized the familiar feeling of your consciousness being pulled elsewhere; the dreaded sensation of being submerged under cold water followed by the neurons firing in your brain as they were gently plucked from their existing pathways and ushered towards a new reality.

No, you begged hopelessly, not here, not now.

Your vision blurred through the tears that threatened to spill from them; placing your elbows on the table in front of you so roughly that it left your fingertips buzzing, you covered your face behind your hands and fought to steady your breathing.

“You’re okay, dove.” Remus whispered from across the table; his leg under the table creeping over to apply pressure to the inside of your calf. You were thankful for the grounding it provided.

“Can you look at me, sweetness?” Sirius asked quietly as James tried pulling gently at your arm.

You shook your head quickly and tried to say no, but all that came out of your mouth was a choked sob.

“Okay, that’s okay.” Sirius relented evenly as James moved his hand from your forearm to rest gently between your shoulder blades where it began making soothing swipes against your jumper. “You’re alright, yeah?”

All he got was another sob in response.

You felt James shift in his seat; legs straddled over the wooden bench so he was now facing you.

“C’mere angel.” He cooed at you, gently yet firmly encouraging you into his chest by a hand on your shoulder.

You melted into him.

“You’re alright; you’re just fine.” He said again.

You flinched slightly when you felt a gentle hand grip your ankle.

“Sorry, dovey.” Remus murmured softly, rubbing his thumb over your Achilles tendon apologetically before pressing it to a soft spot on the outside of your ankle.

“Come back to us, pretty girl.”

Your knees buckled beneath you as you nearly fell into your seat; two strong arms quickly caught you by your elbows before James carefully lowered you to the bench.

“Easy, doll.” Sirius coached calmly albeit worriedly from across the table as you heaved in a much needed breath. “Easy.”

You felt your sinuses swell as you took a few more breaths, realising belatedly that you had three boys that you were rather quite taken with staring at you in one of your most vulnerable states.

They already had so much of you - much more than they may ever know - you didn’t want to give them this, too.

Your vision blurred through the tears that threatened to spill from them; placing your elbows on the table in front of you so roughly that it left your fingertips buzzing, you covered your face behind your hands and fought to steady your breathing.

“You’re okay, dove.” Remus whispered from across from you; his leg under the table creeping over to apply pressure to the inside of your calf. You were thankful for the grounding effect it provided.

“Can you look at me, sweetness?” Sirius asked quietly as James tried pulling gently at your arm.

You shook your head quickly and tried to say no, but all that came out of your mouth was a choked sob.

“Okay, that’s okay.” Sirius relented evenly as James moved his hand from your forearm to rest gently between your shoulder blades where it began making soothing swipes against your jumper. “You’re alright, yeah?”

All he got was another sob in response.

You felt James shift in his seat; legs straddled over the wooden bench so he was now facing you.

“C’mere angel.” He cooed at you, gently yet firmly encouraging you into his chest by a hand on your shoulder.

You melted into him.

“You’re alright; you’re just fine.” He said again.

You flinched slightly when you felt a gentle hand grip your ankle.

“Sorry, dovey.” Remus murmured softly, rubbing his thumb over your Achilles tendon apologetically before pressing it to a soft spot on the outside of your ankle.

“Come back to us, pretty girl.” Sirius whispered.

“I’m sorry.” You admitted; voice pinched emotionally as you continued hiding behind your hands.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, lovely girl.” Remus assured you as James pressed a kiss to your hair. “Nothing at all.”

“I hate-” You paused around a pathetic hiccup as you finally deigned to pull your hands away from your now likely puffy and tear stained face. “I- I just-”

“You don’t have to explain.” Sirius offered at your next hiccup. “Just keep breathing.”

You realised only as Remus resumed moving his thumb back-and-forth against your ankle bone that he had paused to track your pulse much like he’d seen Regulus do that first day in the Great Hall.

A bitter taste filled your mouth when you thought of that Sight too; how much of your supposed ‘relationship’ with these boys would be of you breaking down in front of them?

“I hate seeing things that aren’t real; that haven’t happened, with versions of people who don’t even exist yet.”

James let out a sympathetic breath at your words as Remus’ brows furrowed forlornly.

“Do those versions not exist yet or have you just not given them a chance to?” Sirius asked you slowly.

You made a pained sound as you straightened from resting against James’ chest; you pretended not to notice the look of loss that crossed his face and ignored the same feeling aching within your chest.

“People can surprise you, y’know?” James offered then; hope colouring the vowels of his words as he spoke.

“I’m sure that, whoever they are,” Sirius started pointedly. “Would love the chance to be whoever you needed them to be.”

“That’s the problem.” You groaned, though you were sure they could tell that the fight was quickly oozing from your body with every swipe of Remus’ thumb or stroke of James’ hand against your shoulder blades. “I don’t need you to be anything.”

“So it was about us.” Sirius asserted; all caution vanished from his face and was quickly replaced with mirth.

You snorted incredulously at him and wiped roughly at your eyes as a reluctant smile spread across your face. “You are such a prat.”

“We could be your prats.” He quipped.

“Is that what you need, angel? Do you need some prats? Sirius and I are well versed; might need to coach Rem a bit but he’s a quick learner.”

“For Godric’s sake.” Remus sighed with a tired smile. “We’d been doing so well boys.”

“I hardly see how, seeing as you all made me cry.” You jeered as you pointed your nose in the air, causing all three boys to exclaim various objections.

“We’d only said hello.” James cried as Remus watched you stand and hike your bag over your shoulder thoughtfully.

“What was it that you Saw, then?” He asked; still smiling though his brows dipped challengingly.

You stared down at him for a few moments, though there was no need to search his eyes for clues; you suspected that he knew.

“This.” You admitted quietly.

A smile spread across Remus’ face; it was slow and pointed but you didn’t know quite what it meant. Yet.

“I’m glad I got to see it too.” He murmured with a smirk.

You tried to hide your blush as you left the library, fighting the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl the entire way back to your dorm.

[eightmakesonebraincell]

our leaves must fall before our flowers can bloom (teaser)

genre: poly hockey team!ateez x coach fem!reader, enemies/strangers to lovers, athlete!au, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 1.0k (teaser) + approx. 38k (full fic)

c/w: sweaty ateez (warning well deserved), lots of hurt/comfort, one of the slowest slow burns to slow burn, remaining tags to be revealed with full fic

synopsis: you become the new coach of the elite men's ice hockey team, the red devils. but with both yourself and the team carrying burdens of the past, you all find it difficult to see eye to eye. as you lead them to the championships in the korean ice hockey league, you discover that teamwork and trust is not as straightforward as it seems.

a/n: when i started writing this i really thought it wouldn't exceed 25k but here we are :D full fic will be released in about a week and i am so ready

“she’s the new coach?” yunho frowns in confusion. “no offence, but we’re not a bunch of kids for her to practise being a soccer mum to.”

“she was the assistant coach for the grey eagles,” coach cho discloses.

“the grey eagles? the under-21 men’s championship team?” yeosang looks incredulous.

mingi sceptically comments, “the fact that we’ve never seen or heard of her before probably tells us enough.”

hongjoong’s lips purse sourly as he tries his hardest to analyse the situation with the professionalism of the team’s captain. but with the sudden change in coaches and the same critiquing doubts as mingi, hongjoong cannot help but feel his personal judgement webbing over his mind. over the team’s entire career as an elite ice hockey team thus far–five years, now well into their sixth–the red devils have only ever had two coaches. coach cho has been with them for the longest and whilst it took the team a while to eventually warm up to him, he has been with them for almost quadruple the amount of time it took to trust him.

the team’s alternate captain, seonghwa, speaks to you directly, “if you don’t mind me asking, why are you not playing as an athlete yourself? you’re clearly our age–nowhere near retiring.”

you knew from the very start that your age would make your credibility as a coach much lower, and your answer to seonghwa will not help your case either. “i stopped playing.”

“how come?”

the trigger of memories fills your nose with a sharp stinging smell. you blankly reveal, “i chose to stop playing.” you know exactly how it sounds like to somebody else, even more so to professional athletes. coach cho has also told you of the team’s hardheadedness and strong will when it comes to the passions of their career, so you are expecting the cold receptiveness that you are met with.

your response strikes the wrong chord within wooyoung. there was a point in his career not too long ago when the choice of continuing to play or not was at risk of becoming a forced decision. the way you answer so callously with those very words that had threatened to tear his world apart has his jaw grinding and eyes darkening, and he is not the only athlete in the arena who feels similarly.

“i would rather choose to die before i choose to stop playing. ice hockey is my entire life and without it, i am not living either,” hongjoong jabs and you cannot help but clench your fists because you know exactly what he means. still, you stay quiet as he continues, “sorry, but i can’t respect a ‘coach’ who chose to stop playing.”

at the captain’s words and subsequent move to leave for the changerooms, the rest of the team also gather their equipment and follow his steps. san’s feet falter in front of you, expression hesitant until he decides to voice, “our team needs a bit of time. it’s hard for us to warm up to…outsiders, and i know it might not mean much to say this but we have our reasons. don’t expect us to blindly trust you just because you’re a coach.”

the use of the word ‘outsider’ does not go unnoticed as you nod, “of course.”

san jogs off to rejoin the others and coach cho hums, “guess some things haven’t changed. they were just as prickly to me when i first became their coach.”

you raise an eyebrow, “prickly? to you?”

“yes, believe it or not,” he chuckles nostalgically. “we’ve come a long way because i’ve been their coach for years now. but it took me a while before i was able to break down their walls.”

you briefly mull over the information, then ask out of curiosity, “what would you have done if i didn’t sign the contract?”

“begged you to rethink your decision,” he jokes with a pleased chortle. “i would have to start looking for a different coach, i suppose. you were my only pick.”

“but why me, of all people? there are so many other experienced coaches that you can choose from.”

he looks at you, eyes glinting with intuition and confidence as he simply says, “you’re familiar with their playing style. they play just like you used to.” at your silent processing, coach cho probes, “why didn’t you tell them the real reason?”

you smile wistfully, “i didn't tell them because i’m not here to gain their pity.”

some of the boys’ voices grow louder as they emerge from the changerooms, changed into fresh clothes and their kit bags slung over their shoulders. you hear one of them ask, “captain, is she really going to be our new coach?”

they step out from the facility’s corridor and you accidentally make eye contact with hongjoong, yet neither of you look away. maintaining a steady gaze directly at you, he responds with a slight glower, “maybe, but she’s only the coach by title. i’m still the captain of the team, so let’s see who everyone listens to.”

as they exit the rink’s arena, you feel a fire of determination growing inside of you. you have won over your own demons and you have won the championships before–this is nothing in comparison. whether your next words are for coach cho or for yourself to hear, it does not matter.

“i may not play anymore but i was still once an athlete and no athlete has ever, in their career, wanted pity. i’m here to earn the team’s respect and i will win over them, especially their captain.”

you watch the swing of the glass door as it shuts behind the players, catching a brief glimpse of the trees lining the arena’s perimeter. it is the first day of autumn when you meet the red devils for the first time and outside, the leaves are beginning to change their colours.

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[miley1442111]

confession- s.reid

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a/n: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR 1K I LOVE Y'ALL, also my lc is over!!!! expect more stories more frequenrly and I'll finally get around to clearly m y drafts and finishing my TTPD series! also working on finishing my spencer reid series so yay!

summary: spencer's birthday was supposed to be fun for him and his girlfriend, what happens when his mentor (his girlfriends father) shows up at his door?

pairing: spencer reid x fem! gideon! reader

warnings: complicated family relationships, heavy making out, suggestive mentions, that's all

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“Spence-” you whispered into his mouth. God, this felt good. After not seeing you for 3 whole days, here you were making out on his couch like you two were hormonal teenagers.

He didn’t exactly mind though, and it seemed you didn’t either. Plus, you being here and the birthday gift you gave him (a doctor who box set and a blowjob) made this his best birthday yet. 

“So pretty,” he whispered against your lips as your hands messed up his perfectly styled hair. 

You took his glasses off his face and kissed him harder again, his moaning becoming unbearably hot. 

An ice bucket would’ve been an easier way to crush Spencer’s libido, but the loud ring of the doorbell brought you both out of the heated moment, and actually made you jump off his lap. You scrambled to pull your cardigan over yourself, and Spencer groaned out in frustration, the blood running back to his brain. 

“Coming!” He called as you dressed yourself. He grabbed his glasses, tried to straighten out his hair, and prepared himself to mentally curse whoever this was. It was 11pm, it was a weeknight, you two had already gotten your delivery order, and no one was supposed to come over. 

Who the fuck was at his door then?

Jason. Jason Gideon was standing at his door, and his soul left his body. 

He let out an involuntary scream which made you and Jason scream back. All were small, but distinct sounds, and Jason’s interest was piqued. 

“You have someone here?” He whispered. 

“J-just my girlfriend,” Spencer admitted. He’d never told anyone who his girlfriend was, especially not that she was his mentor’s daughter. “You can come in if you want?”

“Oh, I can finally meet the woman behind Doctor Reid-”

“No! S-she’s sick right now,” he squeaked. “She’s just… resting up.”

You had sprinted into the bedroom when you heard your dad’s voice and thank god you had, or else you would’ve been caught. 

“Wow, love really does defy all odds, you don’t even touch us when we’ve been fully sanitised,” Jason laughed. 

“ ‘We’, who’s ‘we’?”

“The rest of the team,” he nodded. “They’re coming up after me.”

“W-why?” Spencer picked at his nails as Jason smiled at him. 

“It’s your birthday Spencer, we wanted to throw a party,” he chuckled. 

“But it’s 11pm at night?”

“And we have another case,” Jason sighed. “So grab your bag and we’ll have the party on the plane.”

“Oh,” Spencer deflated. He promised he’d spend the next few days with you. You’d taken time off work and everything. And he had to leave, again. “I-is there anyway I could… stay?” 

“Pardon?” Jason stopped in his tracks. 

“It’s just… I kind of promised my girlfriend that I would be here for the next few days since it’s my birthday and-”

“Spencer, it’s fine,” you promised, coming out of his bedroom. You did it without thinking, and now you’re faced with the impending wrath of your father. 

He looked between the two of you, then where you held Spencer’s hand in comfort as you waited for his reaction. 

“You’re dating my daughter, Spencer?” He asked, a certain anger in his tone. 

“Dad, please just-”

“And you didn’t think to tell me it was you who’s keeping my best agent from me?” He turned to you and you rolled your eyes. 

“Spencer is allowed to have a personal life, dad,” you argued as Spencer got increasingly red. 

“And what? You’re the personal life he needs?” He snapped and your face fell. 

“I know you don’t think I’m doing enough with my life dad, but I’m allowed to be happy with my boyfriend. Sorry that pisses you off so much,” you snapped back, anger boiling through you. You’d only really known your dad for the last two years. He’s reached out after your mom died. They’d been broken up for over 20 years. “If you didn’t want a kid, which you clearly don’t, you shouldn’t have reached out when my mom died. I was doing just fine on my own.”

His face twisted into a mix of shame and embarrassment. He didn’t want to make you feel small, he just wanted the best for both of you. “Y/n-”

“You have a case. Go on your case,” you spat, then turned to Spencer. “I’ll text you later.”

“Ok,” he rushed out, then ran off to grab his go-bag and be out of his apartment and out between you two. His girlfriend or his mentor, he was hoping you two wouldn’t make him choose because he knew Jason wouldn’t like his choice. 

Jason held out a hand to stop him. “Stay,” he sighed. “Take care of her.”

And with that your dad left his apartment. 

And with that the first few tears fell. 

“Baby,” he whispered, pulling you in. His heart ached for you. You’d grown up with a horrible family, and you’d begged someone to take you out of it, hoping that your father would show up one day. He didn’t. Not until the funeral. 

“I’m sorry I'm crying on your birthday,” you whimpered, trying to stop. 

“Please don’t apologise, he was being an asshole,” he held you tighter, praying the pain in his chest would go away. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you sobbed. “I know I’m not enough- for both of you, and I just… I keep trying but nothing is ever good enough and I’m so sorry Spencer, I really am, I really am trying-”

“You’re more than enough for me. I love you. I adore you,” he reassured you and your heart stopped. 

Well, that was a first. 

“You love me?” You asked, staring up at him.

“Of course I love you,” he nodded, a wonky smile on his face.

“I love you too,” you whispered and his smile turned into a full-on grin. 

“Well, that’s good,” he leant down so that you two were face to face. “Because-”

You cut him off with a kiss. You could taste the saltiness of your tears and you were sure he could too. But you didn’t care.

You loved him. He loved you. 

That would be enough for the both of you. Your dad was a jerk. 

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criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, marvel, top gun, challengers, the bear, the hunger games, obx+)

cm taglist

@khxna

[mydearesthrry]

sweet nothing - h.s.

a/n: TOTALLY LOST THE PLOT WHILE WRITING THIS. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE BASED OFF OF THE PICTURE BELOW BUT I GOT DISTRACTED. pls listen to sweet nothing by taylor swift for the full experience!!!

🎀 warnings/cw: none, most tooth rotting fluff ever.

🐇 pairing: fem!reader x harry styles

💐 wc: 1.6k

summary: taking care of a very sleepy harry in an ice bath, and in the car.

“H, the bath is ready, bub.” Harry heard his girlfriend call quietly to him. He was slumped on the couch, this show particularly draining. He was quieter than usual, and instead of being glued to Y/N’s side like he usually was, he let one kiss to her full lips suffice before he decided to rest. 

“Mm, thank you, lovie. I’ll… I’ll be there in a second, jus’ don’t have the energy to go there right now.” His limbs were sore, almost every part of his body completely lost of energy, and he found it hard to even entertain the thought of getting up. 

“Okay… y’know what, just let me help you, H. The faster we get you into this bath, the faster we can go back to the hotel so you can sleep.” He knew she was right, and because he knew she was right, he allowed her to help (though not really at all since he already had felt bad that she ran the ice bath for him) him get to the bathroom. They walked slowly to the connected bathroom, Harry walking zombie-like in her arms. 

“Ready, sweet boy?” She tried to be as quiet as possible, the fact that Harry probably had a headache in the front of her mind. He nodded softly, stripping down to his boxers before letting her help him balance as he stepped into the bath. 

A wince immediately left him, Y/N whispering out ‘I’m sorry’s, knowing how shocking the bath was at first. She lowered herself with him, and sat on the floor next to the bucket when he sat down, submersing himself fully. 

“Okay bubs, y’know we’ve gotta do this so you don’t fall asleep on me. You ready?” Y/N says, pulling out her phone to pull up the trivia questions she’d pre written for the late night ice bath trivia that had become a tradition for them. Harry hums, and she flips to her notes to start. 

“Pick the category, my love. We’ve got pop culture, or the Marvel Cinematic Universe.” She asked, looking up at him, heart breaking a little at the exhausted expression that was obvious on his face. 

“Marvel.” He mumbles, sinking himself lower until his neck up was the only part of his body above water. 

“Okay… Timer officially starts now. Who played the character Pietro Maximoff, also known as Quicksilver?” Her tone was soft, almost at a whisper. 

“Umm… Aaron Taylor Johnson?” Harry questioned, racking his brain to try his hardest to stay awake. His body had now gotten used to the stark cold that he’d slowly started to get used to over the times he’s done this on tour. 

“Good job, baby. What was the name of Peter Parker’s love interest in Spider-Man: Homecoming? This one should be easy, it’s one of my favorite movies.” She giggled, a serene sense of peace overcoming her at the domesticity of it all. 

“It is easy, she’s called Liz, right? Liz Allan, or something.” His eyes were now closed, feeling the tension in his body slowly disintegrate from the cold of the water. 

“Perfect! Though the both of us know that Peter and MJ were the better couple, they were entirely more in love and cuter.” She smiled. 

“Oh, really? Like us then, hm?” Harry hummed. 

“Yes, H, exactly like us.” A few more questions had passed, and Lloyd had now come to join them in the bathroom, his camera hung around his neck. They’d anticipated him coming anyway, knowing that he would come to snap some behind the scenes pictures. Before they’d even left to go to his dressing room, they’d told Lloyd when to come in so that he could come talk to them. 

“Hey guys, sorry for intruding, but I need one of you to pick a few pictures for tonight so I can get them edited by tomorrow.” Lloyd tried to keep his voice quiet too, knowing the kind of atmosphere he was entering before he even came to meet the two in the bathroom. 

“Oh yeah, of course, did you want some pictures too?” Harry smiled, a tired but polite look on his face. Harry had built a great relationship with Lloyd over the months that they’ve been on tour, and they’d gotten more comfortable with each other than they’d anticipated. 

“Only if you’re comfortable, H.” Lloyd smiled. Y/N and Lloyd talked for a second, scrolling through pictures and picking out a few for him to edit. The time they took allowed Harry to rest in the cold for a little, before pushing himself up and folding over, dipping his head into the ice cold water. He could faintly hear Lloyd’s footsteps move to the front of the tub, along with the flicking of the camera shutter going off as he lifted his head out of the tub, ringing out his hair from the nape of his neck to the front of his scalp. 

A couple more flutters from the camera shutters were heard when Harry was rubbing his eyes with the pruny tips of his fingers, and he failed to see the smile on Lloyd’s face. 

Lloyd pulled the camera from his eyes, looking at the digital screen that held a preview of the picture. In the corner, slightly blurred because of the harsh focus that was set on Harry in the center, say Y/N with a soft smile playing on her lips, a moony gaze in her eyes. He made a mental note to send it to them later, and to also crop her out in the final edit in an attempt to salvage their private relationship. 

“Perfect. I’ll let you two rest now, think I’m gonna head to the hotel now myself. Sleep well, you guys, I’ll send you the pictures in the morning.” Lloyd smiles at them, sharing goodnights before closing the door behind him as he walked out. 

Harry’s now damp hair was combed back by his fingers and rested on the top of his head, save for the rogue curl that shriveled in a tiny curl on his forehead. Y/N rested her arms on the side of the tub, a gleam in her eyes as she watched Harry’s relaxed expression. Her timer, however, had different plans for the relaxed couple, and went off with shrill screams, notifying them that it was now time for Harry to leave the bath. 

“Alright sweet boy, time to go.” She tapped on her screen to stop the ringing, standing up to grab his black and white striped towel. She met him in the middle, her boyfriend already standing on the towel that laid outside of the tub, water droplets falling from his body in a soft cascade, small shivers shaking his shoulders slightly. Wrapping the towel around his shoulders, she pushes herself up onto her tiptoes to meet the level of his face, pecking soft kisses onto his cold lips. They stayed in that position for a bit, waiting for Harry’s skin to absorb the rest of the small water droplets. 

She led him with a soft tug to the main space in the dressing room, taking the outfit she’d gotten ready for him while he was on stage from the makeup chair and placed it onto the couch. Leaning down a bit, she took the towel to let him remove his now soaked briefs, before passing him a pair of boxers, tossing his towel onto the back of the couch. She passed him his clothes as he dressed himself slowly, humming at the words of love and admiration he sleepily spewed out. Once he got his last article of clothing on, she took his hoodie strings into her hands and tugged it down softly, making him lean down a bit to meet her lips. 

Their lips connected in a soft caress, his bottom lip wedges in between her two lips, a sweet hum emitting from his throat from the taste of her coconut flavored chapstick, one that was his favorite. Something that could only be described as love seemed to fill the room whenever they had these kinds of moments. Moments that was completely and purely their own. 

They broke away from the kiss, and when Harry went to say something, a yawn cut him off, mouth opening wide making him resemble something of a lion, making a giggle fall from her slightly swollen lips. “Let’s get you into a bed, sleepy boy.” 

“M’kay.” Harry didn’t put up a fight, wanting to get into bed with her to snuggle more than anything. 

They walked through the halls of the venue, pushing through the back door where their driver was already waiting for them, engine started and purring softly. Y/N opens the back car door, stepping in and moving to the side since she knew Harry would follow her. The driver muttered that it would take them about 5 to 10 minutes to get to the hotel before taking off without another word. 

Y/N snapped her seatbelt on, a confused twinge on her face when she didn’t see Harry do the same. Instead, he scooted over to the middle seat, laying into her sleepily. “H, you gotta put on your seatbelt.” 

“Noooo, s’not even that far, and I jus’ wan’ y’to hold me right now.” He mumbled, slightly muffled from the way he burrowed his face into her neck. She sighed in slight exasperation, saying nothing and just letting him completely collapse and rest into her. He was almost laying completely in her lap, her hand in his hair, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looked out the window and into the city. 

She let out a tiny giggle when she felt the slight tickle of stubble on her neck, followed by sweet kisses on the expanse of it. “I love you, love y’so much, it hurts.” 

“I love you, H.” She intertwined their fingers together, bringing up his hand to her mouth and pressing featherlight kisses onto his knuckles. 

“I love you,” Harry whined, making the smallest of smiles cover her face since knew how clingy and lovey Harry got when he was tired. She tried to relish in these moments as much as possible. 

“I love you, sweet boy, the Peter Parker to my Michelle Jones.” A sweet giggle sounded from Harry as he remembered the conversation from earlier. 

“Entirely in love and cute. I agree.” 

[privetdrive]

spoiled and soiled

18+, minors dni

summary: jisung gets desperate at an event and minho offers to take care of him.

cw: semi public sex, thigh grinding, coming in pants, desperate jisung, adoring minho

word count: 1.7k

AO3 link <3

The party was dull, the people were stuffy, and Jisung could not stop staring at Minho in his suit. He wears stuff like this all the time, why is he acting like he’s in heat. Minho had just about enough of it. He knew Jisung was a horny little fucker and adored him for it. But, he also rarely initiates anything. Even now, as clear as day, he’s turned on and can only stare at Minho longingly across the room. Minho could feel Jisung’s arm shiver with goosebumps when he would brush past him. He knew that look in his eye all too well. Those lost eyes, that pouty face, such a sweet thing, Minho muses to himself. 

But Jisung felt crazy. Unfortunately, his heartbeat had begun to travel, and with every pump his cock was beginning to grow. He crosses his legs chugging some ice water trying to calm down. Embarrassment was starting to creep in as he considered approaching Minho. He had his cock buried in his throat last night but suddenly now is far too shy to drag his boyfriend away to take care of him. He hated how needy he was, how he was never satisfied. Just one look at Minho and here he was trying to hide his boner from the cameras. His back tenses as he can hear Minho giggling quietly from across the room. He knows, he fucking knows and he’s laughing. Jisung’s eyes meet his and tries to playfully glare but Minho’s lustful gaze takes his breath away. His cheeks burn, his ears start to ring as he discreetly presses his palm over his bulge searching for relief. He tries to hide from Minho’s gaze and almost misses the way Minho was getting closer until he feels a strong hand on his arm.

He quickly steals Jisung away, dragging him into the closet by the hallway.

“Woah hey what's up?” He asks, trying to be casual.

Minho’s eyes darken unamused as he sits against a stack of chairs. 

“Come here” he orders. 

Jisung’s spine straightens as he follows. Minho lifts a hand to cup the now obvious bulge in Jisung’s pants.

“Jagi’s so hard isn’t he.?” He murmurs sweetly, throwing Jisung off guard. 

“I.. yeah, just that suit looks so good on you hyung, I.. I’m sorry..”

“Could have told me..I had to just watch you squirm, which I admit, was very cute, but, I told you to tell me when you needed me..” Minho pouts cutely.

“I didn’t think.. we’ve never done it in public babyyy” He whines, ears burning.

“Oh so you really can’t wait to get home.” Minho chuckles. 

Jisung gives him a pitiful look. Minho sighs, taking his hands and kissing his fingers. 

“Stop being so embarrassed… makes me feel like… you’re embarrassed of me..” Minho admits truthfully. Jisung shakes his head adamantly. 

“No, no I've never been embarrassed of you, never, hyung,” He says apologetically. 

Minho nods, sighing but still keeps his gaze down. Jisung frowns and reaches to cup his cheeks making their eyes meet.

“Hyung.. I’m sorry.. please..I need you.. I need you so bad..” he says, voice breaking into a whimper.

“Now was that so hard?” He teases.

“I’m sorry I’m so needy, hyung..” He continues to pout ears burning. 

“Don’t apologize. Sit.” He says casually.

Jisung turns to look around the tiny cupboard. Minho almost laughs and grabs his wrist, tugging him forward. 

“Sit..” He signals again, nodding at his lap. Jisung’s lips make an ‘o’ as he nods quickly and straddles Minho’s thigh. Both of their breaths hitching immediately at the contact. Minho’s thick thigh fits snug between Jisung’s thin legs. The strong muscle flexes against his sensitive groin and moans quietly at the feeling. He shyly lifts his gaze to meet Minho’s eyes and feels his hands find themselves on his hips. His chest rises and falls as his breaths become heavier and feels the air getting hotter. Before he starts to feel like he’ll suffocate Minho closes the gap connecting their lips. Jisung breathes him in, inhaling his scent, tasting his breath. He lets out a soft moan into his mouth as he keeps a hand on his nape. Minho tightens his grip on his tiny waist needing to feel him closer. Jisung feels dizzier each time Minho’s tongue meets his. Every graze of his teeth, the heat of his mouth, has Jisung twitching his hips pressing into Minho’s thigh harder. He grasps at Minho’s shoulders to ground himself as he starts to feel his cock ache between his legs. He hesitantly rocks his hips and pants out a curse. He’s so hard, he feels out of breath just sitting there. He looks down staring at his hardness throbbing against Minho’s thigh. 

“Come on then..” Minho smirks licking his lips

Jisung in a daze looks up. “Huh?”

Minho chuckles and slowly but strongly drags Jisung’s hips up his thigh up and back down ripping out a surprised whimper from him. His heartbeat picks up, his chest prickles with heat.

“Are you sure..?” Jisung whispers.

Minho rolls his eyes and drags his hips again. 

“Mmmph..” Jisung bites down in his lower lip. Minho tsksing raises his hand to Jisung’s face cupping his jaw. He takes his thumb and pulls Jisung’s bottom lip from out under his teeth. 

“None of that. Want to hear you” Minho whispers against his lips making Jisung shudder and nod obediently. 

He then feels his hips move, stuttering on their own, grinding against him. He lets out a soft gasp at the friction. 

“Mmm.. Minho..” He murmurs under his breath. 

Minho grips his jaw giving him a messy kiss, loving how his name sounds falling out of his lips. 

“Yeah? You feel good Sungie?” He holds his chin to look at his cute pleasure filled face.

“Yeah.. so good..” he breathes out lips wet from their kiss. 

“Then keep going..” Minho grins giving a good smack to Jisung’s ass as he starts slowing down. 

Jisung whines in response, blushing at how desperate he feels. He moves faster feeling a buzz through his entire body. He pants out curses as the pressure feels too fucking good. He stares dreamily into Minho’s heavy lidded gaze, not really believing this is all happening in a closet with reporters, and friends right outside. Minho simply smiles cheekily back. 

“I always know what you need mm? Right Jagi?..” He coos kissing down his neck. Jisung whimpers feeling his hips stutter. “Hyung always takes care of you huh?” He starts sucking gently on his throat.

“Always.. you always know mmmph..” He replies breathlessly. His jaw remains lax as moans start to spill out more freely. Sweat starts to build up and trickle from his brow. 

He wants to slow down, if he keeps this up, along with Minho’s words, he’s a goner.

Minho feels his hips slowing again and groans.

“I told you to keep going.” Minho reminds him sternly.

“I.. I can’t, I’m close, if I keep going I’ll come..” Jisung squeaks out cheeks burning. 

“You’re gonna come already? When I’ve barely touched you?” The elder teases nibbling on his ear lobe.

Jisung whines in embarrassment and nods. Minho nips again on his flushing ear. He presses a sweet kiss to his cheek and leans back to look at him.

“Then come.” Minho says simply gripping his chin. Jisung’s eyes widen and furrows his brows cutely.

“But… I’ll ruin your suit” he pouts. God, Minho wants to just ruin him.

“Ruin my suit then.. see if I care..” Minho breathes out, he’s almost as desperate as Jisung.

Jisung gulps trying to detect his bluff. He’s serious. 

“..won’t be the first piece of clothing of yours I’ve stained.” Jisung jokes breathlessly. Minho hums a smirk.

“Won’t be the last.” He whispers, biting Jisung’s lip and tugging his hips to move again. 

“Minho..” Jisung chokes out a moan, he tucks his face into Minho’s neck. He’s intoxicated with his scent and the feeling of his hot skin against his lips. He pants out breathy moans, kissing any skin he felt. He desperately grips tighter onto Minho, who takes over doing the work for him. 

“That's it.. you gonna come in your pants baby?” Minho coos kissing his jaw and giving his bum a good squeeze.

“Mmm yeah.. gonna come for you..” Jisung babbles out.

“Good.. give it to me then, need to feel it Jagi..” He orders with a final smack on Jisung’s ass. 

Jisung gasps out a whimper, his hips shake as he feels the white hot heat burn through him. 

“Shit… fuck..Minho..” He garbles out weakly clinging to Minho as he feels warm sticky cum shoot through his suit pants and seep into Minho’s thigh. It feels almost like his cock won’t stop twitching. His nails dig into Minho’s shoulder as his body heaves with each rope of cum he throbs out. He bites into Minho’s neck whimpering at the all too intense feeling. Minho groans as the wet patch expands, completely soiling Jisung’s suit pants, as well as his own suit pants. Minho made sure to give his hips a few extra drags so he could ensure Jisung had no more cum to give him. Jisung whines, hips jerking in sensitivity. Minho rests his forehead on his letting out a moan feeling the wetness through his trousers. He kisses him deeply but gently, stroking his cheek comfortingly. He then pecks his nose and lips making Jisung flush. 

Jisung melts into his broad chest curling up like a cat, still panting softly. Minho cradles him close, rubbing circles on his back and kissing his temple softly.

“You alright?” He asks sweetly.

Jisung hums, nodding.

Minho chuckles softly endeared by the sight. He gently scratches his scalp, fingers flowing through his hair. 

“You did so well.. So pretty, "he murmurs, kissing Jisung’s forehead. 

“Thank you baby… just give me 2 minutes and I can get on my knees” Jisung promises with a breathless voice.

“Oh? Is that right?” 

Knock knock knock.

“Cars leaving in 10, with or without you two!” Kim Seungmin shouts muffled through the door. 

Minho lets out a cackle as Jisung hides in Minho’s neck. 

“Fuck off Kim Seungmin!” Jisung groans.

Minho laughs harder, wiping a tear. He smiles goofily at Jisung.

“Okay, get on your knees then.” Jisung laughs but obeys.

“You two are ridiculous.” Seungmin groans walking away. 

[wingedcat13]

Siren Call: 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today, it takes effort - but she does it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For today, this awkward embrace is enough.

———————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean, ‘what is it,’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minerva’s grimace is answer enough.

Alexandria sighs, “Mom.”

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

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

Minerva remains silent.

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

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

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

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

What if she has more to lose?

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

One day.

———————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———————————-

On the roof, Synovus was pacing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” Synovus agrees. “I don’t.”

————————————

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

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

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

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

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

But no one does.

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

Towards the island.

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

They call it a super-tsunami.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get me in front of it.”

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

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

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

But Minerva does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

“You fainted.” Minerva informs them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It contains you.”

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

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

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

“I don’t require thanks.”

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

“And if I don’t want it?”

“Refuse it. I will survive the disappointment.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you did intervene.”

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

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

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

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

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

Because Synovus doesn’t trust themself either.

But Synovus trusts her.

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

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

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

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

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

Minerva stops breathing.

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

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

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

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

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

——————

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

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

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

She’ll never touch the Athena costume again.

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

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

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

——————————

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

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

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Yandere diaries. || Toby x reader. A new (possible) series I got the idea to do of the creeps doing diaries showing them gradually becoming yandere.

3k words. CW: Yandere, adult content (mentions of arousal and references to masturbation), descriptions of violence and gore, unhealthy relationships, severe abuse, delusions, Toby slipping into insanity and also being an unhonest/unreliable narrator with how awful he’s being.

4/26/22 -

I met someone new today! We bumped into each other at a park I like to go to on Earth. They were so kind to me. We ended up getting ice cream together and exchanging numbers. I hope I can see them again soon.

5/11/22 -

I’ve been able to see them a couple more times. We’ve been messaging regularly, and have also called a couple of times. I’ve never felt so connected to someone so quickly before. We have a lot in common, and they don’t even mind any of my tics or odd quirks. We have a plan to meet up this weekend and go to the movies together, I’m really looking forward to it. I hope we continue to be friends with each other for a long time!

5/14/22 -

I just got home. We had such a fun time at the movies! We saw one of the more recent horror films together. They got scared partway through and clung onto me to feel better, and it made me feel really happy and protective over them. I wouldn’t mind seeing more horror movies with them in the future if it means that they’d do that again. We haven’t known each other very long, but I feel so connected and interested in them, I feel sparks every time they touch me. Is this what falling in love feels like?

6/21/22 -

I haven’t been able to see them for a few weeks because of our schedule differences. I feel like I’ve been excessively sad because of that. I just feel like my life is so much dimmer without them. I wanna go to the park with them again, eat ice cream, and curl up under a tree with them. I wish I could be with them every day.

7/29/22 -

We haven’t known each other for a very long time, but I’m certain they’re the person I’m meant to be with for the rest of my life. They make me the happiest I’ve ever felt, they understand me like nobody has ever understood me before, I just feel so carefree and excited in their presence. I think they might feel the same way about me too. I need to try my best to build up some courage and ask them to be my partner before someone else can.

8/11/22 -

I asked them on a date and they said yes!! I’ve never felt more excited than I am right now!! We’re going on our first date in a few days. I need to make sure I have a nice outfit to wear because I want to take them somewhere nice to eat, and then we’re gonna go for a walk together and stargaze. My life truly feels so complete and wonderful right now, I feel like I’m finally on a path to keep getting better with them in my life!

11/24/22 -

I haven’t been dating them very long, but I convinced Slender to allow me to invite them to Thanksgiving dinner. Normally we have to date our partners for a year, but I just know our relationship is going to work out, so I don’t feel the need to wait that long. They had so much fun meeting everyone, and they were happy the whole time. I felt a bit jealous that they didn’t pay as much attention to me, but that’s okay because there were so many new people they had to meet. I’m sure next time I invite them over they won’t pay anyone else any attention. I’m looking forward to having them over here more often!

12/14/22 -

I got into an argument with Jeff today. I had them over to visit me, and I stepped away for a minute to get us some snacks and Jeff so rudely decided to try and steal their attention from me. It isn’t fair! He was trying to make them laugh and hang out with him instead of me!! I got really angry and I started yelling at him, and he yelled back at me, claiming he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He’s not allowed to just walk up to them and act like they’re buddy-buddy. They’re my partner, and they’re here for me. Nobody else has the right to their attention but me.

12/25/22 -

I got to celebrate my first Christmas with them today. We spent a little bit of time downstairs with the others, but then I wanted to bring them upstairs to my room so we could be together alone. I gave them a bracelet with our names on it so that everyone would know they belonged to someone, and they seemed to like it. However, I got a bit upset at them. They said they had to go home so they could celebrate with their friends and family too, but aren’t I good enough? Aren’t I their family now? It doesn’t make any sense to me why they couldn’t just stay at the mansion, but I let them go. I’ll have a talk with them about this later.

1/24/23 -

We had another argument again. They have this friend that keeps overstepping his boundaries and I don’t appreciate it. He’s been hogging their attention recently and hanging out with them more and it’s seriously fucking pissing me off. They wouldn’t stop talking to him so I had to lie to them about him to finally get them to back off from him a bit. I wouldn’t normally want to do that, but it’s for their own good. Nobody should be hogging them away from me that much. Their friends are lucky I even allow them to talk with my dove at all. I think that’s what I’ll start calling them, now that I think about it. My sweet, soaring Dove.

2/17/23 -

I ended up getting into a fight with one of Dove’s friends. I was trying to make sure I could spend Valentine’s with Dove, but this friend wanted to be able to see them that day since he’s going on a trip soon or some other stupid excuse. It pissed me off. IM their boyfriend, that day is for US. I confronted him to get him to back off but he had the nerve to stand his ground. I had to beat the shit out of him to get him to understand his place. It’s been three days, and apparently, he hasn’t contacted them since. Good. One less pest I have to worry about. Dove was a little suspicious when I came home with torn-up knuckles that day, but I just told them it happened during training and they believed me. They even took the time and care to bandage me up. They really are so special to me. Nobody else can have them.

3/18/23 -

I’ve never really thought much about blood before. When it’s on myself or my victims, I’ve never really cared about it, I’ve actually usually thought it was gross, but it was different today. Dove got this gash when we were out on a hike from tripping and slicing their arm on a sharp rock. Normally the blood wouldn’t have bothered me, but it was just so pretty. The red spreading across their skin was just so alluring. Of course, I got them cleaned off and patched up as soon as I could, but my heart is racing just remembering it. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I hope they get cut again soon. I have to confirm if this feeling inside me is real or just a one-off.

3/28/23 -

It wasn’t a one-off. We were cooking, and they were using one of our sharper knives. My curiosity got the better of me, and I “accidentally” bumped into them from behind. They ended up cutting themself, and their blood was just as alluring today, flowing freely out of their finger. I ended up putting their finger in my mouth to suck the blood off, and I’ve never tasted something so intoxicating before. They were a bit confused, but I just played it off and they let it go. Holy shit. I feel like I have to taste it again. I have to. The red on their skin, the metallic lingering taste in my mouth. It’s so addicting. It honestly made me a bit excited, I had to take a moment to myself so they wouldn’t notice.

4/16/23 -

I bit them. We were making out, and I just felt myself getting so worked up. I pinned them down on my mattress, and I started kissing down Dove’s neck. I couldn’t help it, my heart was beating so fast and I felt myself getting dizzy, and I bit them really hard. Their skin was so soft in my mouth, and blood started oozing out, running against my teeth and my tongue, and my lips, it was so warm and exciting, it felt like I was getting drunk. Dove didn’t like it though. They screamed and cried and begged me to stop, and I didn’t want to, but I did. I bandaged them up and apologized and feigned innocence. They said they wanted to go home early, so I took them to not get on their bad side anymore. I was so worked up though. I had to take care of myself when I got home, I was just so turned on. I have to do it again somehow. They won��t like it, but I have to. Nothing has ever felt so pleasing before.

4/29/23 -

I tried to bite them again, and they realized it wasn’t an accident this time. They yelled at me and hit me to get me off of them, and I hit them back much harder. They looked so broken and upset while they cried, but their tears and screams got me just as turned on as their blood did. The bruise that formed on their cheek was so beautiful. I held them close and apologized a whole bunch because I don’t want them to hate me. I cried a lot and I meant it. I promised I wouldn’t do it again, which I guess I didn’t mean. However, they can’t just disobey me like that. I need to try and be on my best behavior so they can be more relaxed around me. I can’t have them fighting back every time I want to do something to them.

5/09/23 -

I think my Dove needs to be caged. They’ve gotten so used to flying free that they need to be grounded and brought back to reality. I keep trying to limit their interactions with others because they keep poisoning my Dove against me, and Dove tried to fight me today. We got in a big yelling match, but I was able to calm myself down in the nick of time so that I didn’t make things worse. I got them to calm down, and we’re gonna have some space between us for a few weeks. I think I’m going to take this opportunity to my advantage.

5/30/23 -

While we haven’t been spending time together, I’ve been working hard. I found an old house in the Underworld for cheap, and I’ve been rebuilding it and fixing it up. I altered it to be able to hold Dove in without their escape, and I’m so excited about it. I’ve got a bedroom I’m setting up for them, and a nice kitchen because they’ve always liked cooking with me. I know Dove is going to love it so much when I bring them here in a few weeks. It’s going to be the best thing for us. Dove is too innocent about the world around them, and I have to be able to protect them. Nobody else can do a better job than I can.

6/08/23 -

[Parts of the entry have been torn. Words are smudged or crossed out and it is not completely legible, but some of it remains visible. *Full translation will be added at the end for those that use translators/text to speech.]

I CAN'T FU—— BELI— TH—!! DOVE WAS TRY— TO MOVE!! THEY W— TRYING TO LE—E ME!! THAT STU— BASTARD [Redacted] TRIED TO TA— THEM F—M ME! WHEN ALL IVE ———— IS PROTECT TH— AND THIS IS —— REPAY ME?!? I'VE NEVER BE— SO ANGRY!!!

Dove is FUCKING LU—Y I had the home re—y! If not, I wo—d’ve just thrown th— in the fucki— basement!!! [Redacted] got wh— they deser—. I be— the- so bad you —— —king recognize —. I’ll du— the bo— som—ere else.

7/06/23 -

Dove hasn’t been making things any easier. Since they last tried to move away things have been such a fucking pain in the ass. They were so scared when I locked them in here. I wanted it to be a warm welcome, where I’d bring them here voluntarily, but they had to go and ruin it because of [Redacted] sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. They tried to run away a few days ago, and I went to write about it but I was so fucking pissed I ripped the page to shreds. I had to break their ankles so that they wouldn’t be able to run again, least not for a long while. I’ve also been keeping them tied up more, but it’s easier now that they can’t walk. The bruises on their legs are just so beautiful. I think I might keep them like this, even though they cry every day from the pain and the circumstances, but their tears are beautiful as well. I have to get more painkillers soon for them.

10/18/23 -

It’s been a while since I’ve updated. Things have been going smoother lately. Every time Dove’s ankles start to heal, I’ve been breaking them again. I just can’t trust them because they tried to escape again. I’ve been enjoying myself a lot more. I can bite them and cut them and hit them whenever I want to. I can taste their blood and chew their skin and bruise their beautiful body however I like. Of course, sometimes it makes me sad when Dove gets so upset about it. I don’t know what to do. It gets me so turned on and riled up like nothing ever has before, but I also want them to love me. They haven’t been fighting back anymore, so I think they’re getting used to it. We’ll see.

12/25/23 -

It’s our second Christmas together. I got Dove a bunch of things they asked for since they’ve been so good. They seem to have given up hope of resisting me, and it’s made me so happy. They even made me a cake for Christmas, and it was so delicious. I’m so happy we can be together again like this, just a happy couple with no interruptions. It’s truly the best gift I could have received this year.

2/16/24 -

I’ve been letting Dove’s ankles and legs fully heal. They truly haven’t been trying anything, and they’ve been so devoted to being a good partner for me, I don’t think I need to break them anymore to teach them a lesson. They can nearly stand on their own now, and they seem so happy. They said it’s because they can hug me while standing, and that made me so happy to hear. We’ve started cooking together again. We’re becoming a happy family, and I’m so glad I was right that Dove is the one for me. They even let me bite them as much as I wanted today, and they let me scratch them too, they didn’t even cry out today. I could tell they were trying really hard, so it made me very happy.

4/25/24 -

Things have still been going well. Their legs have healed up perfectly. It’s been five months since I last broke them, and I think they’re so grateful for it. They don’t disobey me, they do everything I ask, they’re so affectionate and loving with me. It makes me so happy to know that they’re truly settling into life with me. I don’t think they mind how much I hurt them anymore. They don’t complain as much, but they still cry those same beautiful tears for me. I think they’re starting to enjoy it.

5/26/24 -

I have to go on an extended trip for a week soon because of work and I’m nervous. They said they’ll wait happily for me, but I’m still so, so nervous. However, earlier this month I was gone for a few days and they didn’t go anywhere. Dove actually welcomed me back happily. I think we’ll be okay. I think this is it, the true test. I know they’ll pass, but still, I can’t quiet the anxiety in my heart. I’ll have to spend as much time as possible with them and get out all my excitement before I have to leave. I’m going to miss the feeling of their skin beneath my fingers and teeth.

6/11/24 -

[This page has also been smeared and torn in anger. *Another fully corrected version will be at the bottom.]

I — FUCKING BE—VE THEY DI- TH— AG—!!! THEY R— AW—!! THE- STOL- SO MU— —IT FRO- ME!! THEY TO— THE MO—Y I HA- HIDDEN!!!! THE- TOOK FO— AN- CLO—— AN- LEFT!! I- SO FUCK—- ANGRY!!! I'LL K— THEM!!! I JUS- MIGH- FUCK— KIL- THEM!!! AT TH- VER- LEA— THEY— NEVE- WAL- AGAIN! WHEN I ———— NEVER ES— AGAIN! LOCKS, CA—S, CHA—S!! WHAT—— IT TAKES!!!!!!

Dove, you’d better pray to —y FUCKING DIETY in EXIST—— THAT I DON- FIN- —U!!! When I d-, you’re goin- to su——— much for do— th— to me.

--

6/08/23 -

I CANT FUCKING BELIEVE THIS!! DOVE WAS TRYING TO MOVE!! THEY WERE TRYING TO LEAVE ME!! THAT STUPID BASTARD [Redacted] TRIED TO TAKE THEM FROM ME! WHEN ALL IVE FUCKING DONE HERE IS PROTECT THEM AND THIS IS HOW THEY REPAY ME?!? I'VE NEVER BEEN SO ANGRY!!!

Dove is FUCKING LUCKY I had the home ready! If not, I would’ve just thrown them in the fucking basement!!! [Redacted] got what they deserved. I beat them so bad you can't even fucking recognize them. I’ll dump the body somewhere else.

6/11/24 -

I CAN'T FUCKING BELIEVE THEY DID THIS AGAIN!!! THEY RAN AWAY!! THEY STOLE SO MUCH SHIT FROM ME!! THEY TOOK THE MONEY I HAD HIDDEN!!!! THEY TOOK FOOD AND CLOTHES AND LEFT!! IM SO FUCKING ANGRY!!! I'LL KILL THEM!!! I JUST MIGHT FUCKING KILL THEM!!! AT THE VERY LEAST THEY'LL NEVER WALK AGAIN! WHEN I CATCH UP THEY WILL NEVER ESCAPE AGAIN! LOCKS, CAGES, CHAINS!! WHATEVER IT TAKES!!!!!!

Dove, you’d better pray to every FUCKING DIETY in EXISTENCE THAT I DON'T FIND YOU!!! When I do, you’re going to suffer so much for doing this to me.

[theminecraftbee]

Once again, Zedaph finds himself outside the closed gates of the Deep Frost Citadel, tapping his feet with annoyance. Honestly, by now you’d think the stupid thing would understand Zedaph always gets his way, when it comes to Tango, but no, Tango’s stupid base keeps trying to stop him.

“I told you, I’m not here to negotiate, I’m here to pick up my friend,” Zedaph says irritably. The gates of the base don’t respond, and don’t open. “I have a very important nap to be taking, I’ll have you know, and I will not be stopped by… by base chicanery!”

There’s a deep, rolling growl from somewhere in the bowls of the citadel. It sounds like ravagers.

“Oh, don’t you threaten me, you know I’ll run around and die in there all you want as soon as it’s ready. Not even afraid, am I? You’ve had your taste of the good old Zed flesh, but no sir, you aren’t getting me today. The high-voltage wires were a good trick last time I came to bother Tango, I admit, but it won’t work again!”

Another rumbling growl. Zedaph huffs. It would certainly be nice if Decked Out spoke in human to him, so he wouldn’t have to keep guessing. Even sheep would be better—Tango may have an affinity for beasts, but Zedaph only has an affinity if the beasts are also silly.

He makes an educated guess. “Yes, yes, I know you’ve ‘eaten him’ or whatever. Well I’ll have you know that Tangos have more nutritional value after watching me take a very important nap. And also dying. Its enriching. You like enriched Tango—okay, okay, that wasn’t the complaint, geez, you don’t have to shout at me. At this rate I’ll just use my pickaxe to break through the door, and then what will you do, huh? Nothing. You’ll do nothing, because you’re a big stupid building in the ground, and Tango was my friend first.”

A rumble.

“Haha, yeah, take that. We’ve been friends for years. You might be his magnum opus, but you’ve never made him sign a custom body pillow with your beautiful face on it, have you? That is the bond of men! No base can do anything about that.”

A louder rumble. Zedaph feels what he thinks is supposed to be fear and desire to wander into the depths and die or something silly like that. Zedaph isn’t certain, because it’s not as important as Zedvancements. This is one of Zedaph’s special abilities: if it’s not as important as whatever he’s doing right now, he’s very good at ignoring it until it becomes important. So, like, the Citadel is trying to lure him to his death, but that’s less important than taking a very deadly nap while Tango watches with horrified awe, so he’ll just ignore it until later.

Works every time.

“Listen, I’ll bring him back in one piece! Have I ever lied about that? I never do. He always comes right back to work, even when I do distract him, and he’s chipper again, right? I barely even disrupt things. Not that you could do anything if I did, of course, you hunk of stone and ice.”

Zedaph stares at the closed doors for a bit longer. He thinks this is about when anyone else would either die on the spot, or run away screaming, or maybe just come in and feed themselves to a ravager, but the that’s because the other hermits very frequently don’t have anything better to do than to get caught up in other people’s nonsense, in Zed’s experience.

Zedaph simply has so much nonsense of his own that he can out-stubborn even Tango’s base. Like he said: a special talent.

Slowly, as though greatly reluctant, the gates open.

“Thank you, geez! Was that so hard?”

Zedaph stomps through to the hidden access door of the Decked Out maintenance tunnels, grabbing one of the supplemental oxygen masks as he does. He sighs as he realizes that Tango, once again, has forgotten he needs to breathe. Hopefully, the fact Zedaph is currently keenly aware of needing to breathe on account of planning to not do that ten times in a row does not remind Tango.

He finds Tango taking a nap tangled in some high-voltage redstone lines. This time, Zedaph knows better than to touch them. It had been a mite embarrassing the last time. “Tango! Hey, Tango!”

“Wuh?” says Tango, eloquently. “I’m up, I’m up, level three’s almost done I swear—”

“Tango, get up, I have bedroom tricks to show you!” Zedaph says.

“I’m up! Zed? Oh hey! What are you doing all the way out here?”

“I told you. It’s urgent, Tango, urgent. I have bedroom tricks only you can assist me with.”

“Well, that’s a good time I wasn’t expecting,” Tango says.

“No, you idiot! Get your head out of the gutter, and come on! I have things to do!”

“Okay, Zedaph, geez, geez, lemme just—”

“I’ve already asked your stupid base,” Zedaph says. “It’s fine. Now, get out of those wires before I get shocked or something, and we’re going to go have fun.”

Tango slowly uncoils himself. “Right. I’ll get ready and—” Zedaph whips a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket. Tango pauses before smiling brightly. “Oh, you’re the best.”

“I really am,” agrees Zed, and he grabs his best friend’s hand and leads him out of the Deep Frost Citadel to show off his latest contraption. He turns around and sticks his tongue out for good measure at the base as they go. Hah. Take that. The best. There’s no beating it.

And there’s no keeping him away from Tango. Zedaph guarantees it.

[martyfive]

i lay in bed sick for two weeks straight. first there’s body temperature i never knew was possible for a human to have, then there are coughs that feel like they may be the last ones i could ever have in my life, then there’s weakness, then my five year old phone falls down from the bed ending up completely broken, then the bed sheets become something i couldn’t bear to see anymore. then i get up, go outside and unexpectedly find myself at the offer of a somewhat steady part job at this small italian restaurant we’ve been visiting every sunday sharp for the last year and a half except for these two weeks i spent lying sick in bed. we are leaving the bar for the night when R. asks me if i’d like to help her at the bar a couple hours a week.

“i have no experience or anything,” i say, feeling extremely daft. “i’m not even sure i can talk to people properly. i never really could.”

“it’s okay,” she says. “you’ll be polishing the glasses. it’s not hard. i’ll teach you everything.”

on our way home A. says, “it could be good for you, you know. being among people and trying something new,” and i feel like he’s right.

at this point this small restaurant already feels like another home i want to belong to. going there every sunday for so long totally helped with that. they have one of my works i gave them as a present for christmas on the wall. it hangs up above the table me and A. occupied the first time we ever came to eat there. the frame contains pages from a sketchbook i used to draw in while visiting italy five years ago. it feels too personal, but also somehow on it’s place. i hate to hoard the stuff i create. i want to be bolder.

regretting my life choices, i spend all what’s left from my last year’s salary on a new phone. it’s a first phone i bought without anyone’s help. it costs more than i deserve.

i can’t find any will to start drawing again after being sick for two weeks.

a couple days later i go to the restaurant to ask R. about the time i can get to work. she says, “this thursday, 6:30 pm,” and then adds, tugging on my star wars hoodie, “and put on a black shirt, if you have one”.

so i find one that looks like A. has been wearing it during his teenage years when he looked more like a stick than a human and i go for the job that for the first time in my life has nothing to do with any kind of art except the art of making cocktails i still keep messing up. a couple hours a week somehow soon turns into ten as normally as “polishing glasses” turns into “doing everything there is possible to do as quickly as possible”.

“would you like to do thirty hours a week?” R. asks one day looking hopeful as if i hadn’t broken ten of their glasses in the first five days of work.

“my back is gonna die sooner than you expect it to if i agree to that,” i answer. and it really is the only reason i don’t say yes.

i soon notice there is no time to think of anything else except the work to be done while i am behind the bar once again forgetting the difference between prosecco and chardonnay or picking the ice from the ice machine or freezing in the giant fridge while looking for the specific crate of beer everyone in this town drinks more often than water. the countless amount of crates are brought from and to the back room. the ten glasses are crushed, four of them in my own hands just from squeezing too hard on them. i cringe about every single one of them before falling asleep after coming home around midnight with my aching back and more money than i ever earned drawing pictures. i think about that one time my friend told me that once you start working in catering, there’s no way back. i haven’t talked to her in a while and i can’t ask her if she still thinks it’s true.

i still can’t draw. i guess it will pass. i still cough although i’m trying not to be loud when i’m behind the bar.

“you smoke?” R. asks. “i do. i just don’t have time.”

“i’ve been smoking since i was sixteen. but not anymore really,” i say to that. “when my mother calls me, then i smoke. but that doesn’t happen very often.”

M. laughs at that as if he understands what i’m talking about and says, “with this job, i either smoke a cigarette or kill somebody,” and i laugh with him.

M. is the chef and the restaurant is named after him. he cooks so good there is surely nothing better i’ve ever eaten in my entire life. i hear all about it from guests while picking the dishes from the tables, smiling and pretending my hands are not shaking. he and R. speak to each other in loud italian and i like how they sound even if i only understand a couple words from their dialogues.

“what’s allora?” i ask one time.

R. looks at me like i’m the only one who ever asked her a silly question like that, “huh,” she says, “i don’t know. it’s like here we go or something like that,” and she smiles.

i like talking to her. for some reason i like asking her questions and seeing the surprise on her face. she’s five years older than me but i feel like a child around her. she also has her birthday in november.

“all my family are scorpions,” she says after revealing the fact that there’s ten days between our birthdays. she names at least ten of the members of her family and all their november birthday dates in a row.

i say, “the parties must be hilarious when you all gather together.”

more often i feel like she’s my serious boss i keep disappointing with my every move but at the end of the shifts she turns into what feels more like a friend. i secretly hope i can be her friend one day even though it seems like she knows the name of every human being in this town and even some other nearby towns and doesn’t really need any more friends than she already has. but after all, i’m a part of this town now, too.

“what is your favourite thing to do here here at the bar?” i ask the other day.

she looks puzzled for a second, “maybe serving fish,” she says and this time it’s my turn to feel surprised. i saw how it’s done, and i don’t really know what she means.

“i thought it’s talking to people or something,” i say.

“nah,” she waves her hand, “it’s just my job, you know.”

i regret entering this territory but i still ask, “would you better like to do something else? some other job?”

“nah,” she says again, smiling, “i like it.”

and i like it too. horrifyingly, i like it too much. thinking about sitting at home and drawing stuff like i used to do all my life feels like a torture. it surely is one when i pick up my tablet and pencil and stare at the white canvas not knowing who i am anymore. there is nothing in my head i want to say. there is nothing my hands can do. i have no idea why. i want to go back behind the bar and ask R. what her favourite colour is.

“i’m proud of you,” A. says one night while we’re going back home from the restaurant where he got his two beers and one glass of whiskey i poured for him myself. he spent two hours sitting at the bar not far from these three teenage boys who have been drinking an enormous amount of beer and playing cards and then trying to guess where i come from according to my accent. “i’m proud that you’re doing good and you found something that you like so much.”

i buy two black shirts and jeans. i take my old black coat out of the wardrobe. i walk for two minutes from home to the bar and back looking fancier than ever. i feel happier than ever. i don’t look at my social media. i feel like this rotten sadness and loneliness that occupied my head for so long has nothing to do with my life now. i wonder if it’s just a phase. i consider finding a new therapist just to ask them if it’s okay to feel this good or i should be medicated before it’s too late. i want to go to bed at proper hour, wake up earlier, spend the day feeling good and then go to the bar and ask R. stupid questions and be stressed about the things i can control. i look at my workplace at home, at the white canvas that reflects nothingness in my head, at everything i have ever known, and i don’t know what to do.

i go back to work.

“you like it here?” M. asks almost every time. “is everything okay?”

“everything’s okay,” i say, smiling. and i mean it.

someone’s ordering an espresso at 11 pm. R. says, “tell them the coffee machine is already off,” turning it off while saying it. i laugh. i feel happy. i go home knowing there’s gonna be more work to be done tomorrow. i miss drawing stuff. i have nothing to say. i fall asleep thinking of the ten glasses i broke. in the morning, i can’t draw. i used to draw most of my stuff at the evenings and during the nights. now they are full of beer glasses and beer crates and adhd people who want an espresso before bed.

i ask myself if that really is how growing up feels like. i ask myself what i am going to do if i will not be able to draw a single piece of art ever again. i read the email of the person who wants me to draw an artwork for them. i wonder if they should know i’m an imposter who can’t draw anymore. i tell myself to shut up and stop being dramatic.

i go to work.

there’s a wedding at the restaurant. i once again bring what feels like an endless amount of bottle crates from the back room to the bar. i smile. i talk to people. i wipe the tables. i polish the glasses. i pour beer into them.

“my back hurts,” R. says.

“willkommen to the club,” i tell her, although for some reason my back doesn’t really hurt.

someone orders a beer and then changes their mind after the bottle was already opened.

“it’s yours if you want it,” R. says. “your shift is over anyway.”

and i stay. i sit at the bar as if i don’t really work there. i drink my beer, i talk to R. while she puts the new napkins on tables, makes sure everyone from the wedding paid what they had to and lets me ask her my questions. i pay for another beer, taking money from my fresh salary. R. rolls her eyes at that but allows me to pay anyway. she’s not a boss anymore. just… a friend. i tell her i don’t wanna go home.

“i can see that,” she laughs. “do you have friends here in town?” she asks.

i look at the bottom of my glass.

“no,” i say. there’s a lady on our street i sometimes walk our dogs together with. she’s as old as my mother. i always forget the names of her three kids although they’re all around my age. i wonder if i should mention her. “i have friends in other places. you know. not here.”

“i can be your friend here,” she says, smiling.

i feel like it’s the happiest day of my life. i’m also a little drunk on schwarzbier. even if my back would hurt i wouldn’t have noticed.

“if you need someone as me as a friend,” i say, “then. yeah. sure. uh. why not.”

we talk some more. the beer tests my language skills. i tell her i want a new tattoo. she says she got the first one when she was sixteen and it was a horrible butterfly.

“what is your favourite colour?” i finally ask.

she looks really baffled at that, then pulls out her phone. “i guess it’s red,” she says, showing me some of photos from her instagram where she’s younger than me now and is dressed up in red. “see, it looks good on me,” and she’s right. “but white is also good. and pink. and maybe purple. not black though. with my black hair, it doesn’t look good at all.”

we’re both dressed in black for work.

i come to the conclusion that colours are the least important thing in the world to her. that’s okay. i think about all the years i spent trying to make colours work. i wanna say something, but end up saying nothing.

she turns the lights off and locks the restaurant up. we spend a couple minutes walking in the same direction to our houses. i tell her about the name my friends from other places are calling me. i don’t tell her why it’s different from the one she saw on my id card. i’m not that drunk. she says she’s gonna use it from now on. she kisses my cheek before we part. i was at school the last time someone did that.

i go home. i sit at my workplace. i answer to the email of the person that wants me to draw an artwork for them from a new phone i spent enormous amount of money on. for a second i wonder if i should still tell them i’m an imposter and my career will be over by the morning when i wake up sober.

i think about the ten glasses i broke, then let myself forget about them. i tell myself to shut up and stop being dramatic.

i draw.

29/02/2024

[m1ckeyb3rry]

MY DEAREST MIRA HAPPY 1K 💯🤍 wowow your blog grew sm so quick i literally blinked and boom ur at 1k !?!?!!? congratulations i have and always will be in love with your writing i seriously need to catch up on ur works eheh..

i know the bare minimum about pokemon but google was indeed my friend so… may i request a team consisting of kaiser and arctibax (dragon + ice) 🫡 you know me and angst, plus the fact that i’ve been wanting to read fantasy as of late 🙂‍↕️

── SWORD OF THE SAINT

Synopsis: Shortly after the death of your mother, you meet a mysterious man in your family’s chapel, and as the days grow colder, you find that he is the closest thing to a savior you might ever know.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Word Count: 18.1k

Content Warnings: pseudo-christianity written by someone who is NOT christian, fantasy au with nonexistent worldbuilding #deal with it, death, angst, no happy ending, sickness, killing, reader is kinda delicate but it IS for a reason beyond just “omg women weak” HAHA, kaiser is an angel, kaiser is also kind of a jerk, kaiser is probably ooc idfk at this point, kaiser pisses me off, i don’t like kaiser, this is based on an actual myth but in the way pjo is based on greek mythology (so basically not at all)

A/N: ANGELLLL HI MY DEAR!! omg hehe i know i feel like i was just at 500 it’s crazy that i already managed to hit 1k 😩 you were an og though fr my seventh follower or smth like that LMAOAO we’ve been through it all together!! anyways sorry this actually rlly sucks but uh…kaiser’s in it ig…and it’s a fantasy au…and it’s kinda sad…and it has an angel…because you’re an angel…😭

The winter before the plague broke out, the river spilled over its banks, stealing your stores of grain and leaving serpents to litter your streets. They were vipers of the diamond-scaled variety, with blue tongues and slit eyes and thin teeth, white with venom and red at the tips. Their killing was random and indiscriminate — the trails of blood they left behind them dried on the cobblestones, and no one dared to wash the dark smears away for fear of their retribution, for fear that they would be the next victim.

It was an omen, that much was clear, though no matter how many stars the king turned to, he could never quite understand what it portended. Anyways, before he could divine the significance, the snakes vanished, leaving the city devoid of life, bar the bronze-footed horses and those individuals who had had the sense to remain inside and away from the dark-mouthed beasts.

The harshness of the winter never abated any; you were never given anything resembling reprieve from terrors after terrors, which came in quick succession. The departure of the serpents was followed by a fortnight of storms, raging winds lashing at your tightly-shuttered windows, shards of ice like daggers driving from the sky into the hard, barren ground, and after the storms there was, for a brief week, a time of eerie stillness where nothing grew nor prospered. 

That week, your every word turned to fog in the air — at least, when you deigned to speak, which was rare — and even the ermine-trimmed cloak your youngest uncle had gifted you two birthdays ago did little to ward away the cold. Your mother, who was of a delicate constitution, shivered near-constantly, wasting away by the fire which burned at all hours with a forlorn expression on her wan face.

It grew warm again, in time, but your mother’s trembling never did cease. You added your cloak to the pile of furs she was buried in, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing could seem to warm her, to breathe life into the husk of a being that she had become — she was hollow like a rattling cicada shell, her cheeks sunken and her eyes blank. 

Right about when your father was at his wits’ end, there was news of the first death: a peasant, one of the farmers in the king’s employ, who had grown unbearably cold and subsequently wilted into a corpse, spending his last few days alive in the same manner a skeleton might.

Your father, the eldest of the king’s younger brothers, had enough power still that he could command every physician in the kingdom to search for a cure. It was obvious that this was the affliction poisoning your mother, who grew worse and worse daily anew. Yet no matter how hard they searched, they could not find any herb nor method of soothing her.

In the meantime, the black-cloaked disease visited homes with even less discernment than the vipers had. There was nary a family who did not have at least one member with the sickness; eventually, the physicians came before your father and the elder of your uncles, the king himself, bowing their cowardly necks and saying there was nothing to be done about it. It was doom. Anyone who had the illness would surely die, and the best thing that could be done for your mother now was to leave her be so that you, too, did not fall victim to her plight.

You stood abruptly at the announcement, which ordinarily would have earned you glares from the surrounding noblemen but today only entitled you to their pity. Gathering your skirts in one hand, you ran towards your mother’s quarters as fast as you could, ignoring your father’s shouts for the guards to stop you.

She was where she always was, and even the slamming of the door did not cause her to flinch. The firelight reflected in her eyes, which shone like mirrors, and when you knelt by the armchair she rarely moved from, she exhaled slightly.

“Mother,” you whispered, drawing her hand out of the blankets and holding it to your cheek. It was bony and thin; already, she was more skeleton than woman, but something in her must’ve prevailed, must’ve rallied and clung to existence, for her heart still beat in her chest, however shallowly. “Mother, don’t — please don’t —”

She sighed softly. You wondered if she could even hear you, or if she was too fascinated with something beyond your vision to know that you were there. You clutched her hand tighter, her knuckles digging into your palm, her fingers like snow on your face.

“Y/N!” It was your father, bursting into the room, guards flanking him as they raced towards you. You pressed closer to your mother’s chair, gazing up at her. To your surprise, her eyes had widened, reflecting a radiance that made even the hearth seem pale. Her lips, once lush and painted, now dry and cracked from dehydration, parted in wonder, and then for the first time since she had grown sick, she spoke.

“Michael,” she breathed out.

“Michael?” you repeated. Even your father paused, tremulous hope brimming in his irises as your mother smiled slightly. Her hand on your face balled into a fist against the bone of your jaw, and then abruptly it loosened. “Mother? Mother, what do you mean, Michael?”

She laughed. It was a wheezing sound, brittle and reedy, breaking off at the end into something painful. For the first time, she tilted her head towards you, and it was as if she were met with a stranger, though eventually recognition did flash across her face.

“Ah, daughter,” she said, her voice hoarse as she smoothed her hand over your hair. “He is here. Right in front of you. Don’t you see him? He is so beautiful. As beautiful as the paintings.”

“There is no one,” you said, your throat thick with tears, your voice barely able to escape it. “No one is here but us.”

The soft motions of her fingers stilled, and she settled back in her chair, suddenly content. You gripped her wrist, willing her to come back, but she was no longer awake, her eyelids sealed shut, a faint smile still lingering on her face.

“You shouldn’t be here,” your father said gruffly, as if waking from a dream. Before you knew it, one of the guards, a handsome boy with hair like marigolds and eyes like autumn, was lifting you from the ground, carrying you out of the room despite your half-hearted protests and depositing you on the ground in the corridor with a bow.

“My father is still in there. You ought to retrieve him, as well,” you said. The guard looked towards the door and shook his head.

“If your father wishes to stay, then it is not my place to stop him,” he said.

“I see,” you said, for there was no point in further argument. Leaning against the stone wall, you wrapped your arms around your torso; compared to the sweltering heart of your mother’s chambers, the corridor was all but frigid. “Do you think this plague is some sort of a punishment?”

“For what, your highness?” the guard said. He was humoring you only because your father, to whom he was sworn, remained in the room even now, so you only shrugged.

“I’m not sure,” you said. “Perhaps the people have committed some wrong, or perhaps it was my uncle, his majesty the king.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “I am not so well-versed in the matters of theology.”

“Only of the sword, I’d reckon,” you said. 

“That’s right,” he said.

“My mother mentioned Michael,” you said. “Right before you dragged me out.”

“My apologies for that, your highness, but it was your father’s command,” he said.

“It’s alright,” you said, finding some diversion in the conversation, which at any rate was a welcome distraction. “I do not blame you. Do you know who Michael is?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” he said. “Though I suppose you might know more than I do.”

“Likely it is the case,” you agreed. “He’s the emperor of angels, or so they claim. Perhaps we are biased because he is our kingdom’s guardian; well, anyways, according to the stories and the songs, he is the one who enacts divine will unto us. Supposedly he amongst his peers is the most merciful by far, but there are as many or more poems of his rage as there are of his kindness, so who can say?”

“I didn’t know the last part,” the guard said. You patted his armored shoulder, motioning for him to follow you — he did so hesitantly, with a backwards glance at his broad-backed counterpart, who stayed behind to watch over your still-absent father.

“It’s true, though I doubt rage and kindness are things he can really understand,” you said, weaving through the hallways of the palace until you reached a familiar wooden door. 

“What does that mean?” the guard said.

“It’s a personal theory,” you said. “But how can we expect angels to understand the turmoils of humanity when they are so removed from it?”

“I confess I’m lost, your highness,” he said, ducking his head. “I shall continue to pursue the ways of the sword and leave such philosophical questions to you and your ilk.”

“Maybe it is for the best,” you said. “I don’t know that my uncle would be so pleased to learn I am becoming a preacher to the common folk. It’s not the kind of role best-suited to a princess.”

“Certainly not,” the guard said.

“Have you ever been here?” you said as you strode past the tapestry-lined walls of the gallery without pause. The guard shook his head.

“I’ve never had cause to,” he said. Arriving upon the painting you wished to show him, you stopped abruptly, pointing at the gilt-framed portrait, reveling in the shock which twisted his features. 

“It’s him,” you said. “The one my mother spoke of. Naturally, the painter has been lost to time, but the subject can never be forgotten.”

The background was plain — a muddy field, gray clouds brewing on the horizon and threatening rain, sunlight breaking through in a halo over his brow. He was tall and regal, a sword in his right hand, pointed at the neck of the viper upon which his left foot was planted. Gold hair cascaded down his shoulders, the shade of the sun at midday, and in his right hand was a rose, the same impossible color of blue as his eyes. The vines of it crept up his arm and curled around his neck, and from his back sprouted a pair of wings, the feathers silver-brown like an eagle’s, unfurled like banners in the air behind him.

“Michael,” the guard said.

“Yes,” you said. “He reveals himself to us very rarely, and only if there is some message which he wishes to impart. I wonder…I wonder what it means that he appeared to my mother.”

“He’s a healer, isn’t he?” he said. “Perhaps with this blessing, she will be the first to recover from this plague.”

“Perhaps,” you said quietly. “Well, I suppose I ought to return to the court and apologize for my misconduct.”

“Nobody blames you, your highness,” he said. “Nor do they think poorly of the reaction.”

“Regardless, it was unruly and childish,” you said. “I do not wish for my father to fall from my uncle’s favor because of my behavior. It’ll be better if I show that I am remorseful. Come, then, let us go. Unless my father has banned that as well?”

“He has made no such demands,” the guard. “After you, your highness.”

“Very well,” you said, and with one final glance at the painting of the severe angel, you led the guard out of the gallery, back towards the throne room you had fled from earlier.

Your father spent the night in your mother’s chambers, though his advisors begged him not to; perhaps it was a form of precognition or intuition, for he ignored their advice and lay at her feet until the next morning, whereupon he exited the room and informed you all, his countenance faded and dull and lifeless, that she was dead.

The carriage ride to your family’s summer estate was silent and awkward. As soon as your mother had been buried in the royal cemetery, your father had insisted you escape to your riverside manor, which had remained mercifully untouched from the winter’s floods. And so, although it was still barely spring and more people fell to the plague by the day, you packed your things and took leave from the castle, at nighttime when there would be no one to see you go. So quickly was it all done that the earth over your mother’s grave was still freshly turned, and you didn’t even have the time to wish her farewell before your father was ushering you into the carriage and whispering to the coachman to hasten his preparations.

“It will be better for us,” your father said again and again. It was such a hollow refrain that he kept repeating, clinging to it like it was sanity, but it didn’t become any more believable the more times he said it.

Yet regardless, you responded with the same thing every time: “Yes, father.”

“Perhaps this plague is a curse on the castle, in which case we are justified in fleeing,” your father said. “And I have already told my brother.”

You pulled your cloak tighter around you to ward away the nip of the nighttime air. “Yes, father.”

“Besides, who can blame us? Not when — not when your mother—” he broke off.

“Yes,” you said miserably. “Father.”

He might’ve ordinarily snapped at you, but today he only sighed and nodded slightly. You supposed you should’ve been grateful that he had enough of a handle on his grief that he could refrain from spitting poison at you, but gratitude was one emotion you could not bring yourself to muster just then, so all you could give him was an exhausted upturn of your mouth which resembled a smile in its barest form.

In the sprawling grounds of the summer estate, it was easy to pretend that nothing wrong had ever happened. There was no sign of serpents amongst the prickly evergreens, for the needly undergrowth was hostile to their pale, soft bellies, and so few servants remained there year round that, of their small number, the majority weren’t even aware a plague had broken out in the first place.

“It will be better for us,” your father said again, this time with finality, helping you down from the carriage and brushing himself off. “This was the right decision.”

You wanted to tell him that there was no world in which you earnestly agreed with that, because you had left your mother behind, and how could that be right? Yet he was so determined that you did not have the heart to, so you only exhaled and shuffled after him, the thought of staying outside for even another moment all but unbearable.

There was much less to do in the lonely manor, where you sat by yourself at all hours of the day, so eventually, despite your reluctance, your thoughts turned to the last time you had seen your mother, replaying that final conversation over and over in your mind until it was all you could see.

On the third day of this self-imposed torture, you dragged yourself out of your bed, trudging to the chapel which your father had commissioned — not for himself, for he was never religious, but for your mother, who often found solace in the marble of its walls and the gold of its altar.

The door, heavy and wooden and large enough to admit a pair of horses at once, opened with a groan and a plume of dust, revealing the inside of the chapel, which was as ornate as you remembered. Your father had spared no expense in its construction, and the floors and walls alike were covered in intricate, patterned mosaic, the high windows rimmed with marble and the ceiling painted with delicate, jewel-colored pigment.

In the middle of the room was a figure, and at first you thought he must be a statue, but then he moved slightly to face you and you realized he was a man; at least, if one could consider someone like that a man, for he bore all the resemblance to the cheerful guards of the palace that a dove did to a common sparrow. His hair was choppy and short and gold, though the ends faded into a blue shade as they trailed down his back, and his bright eyes were lined with something the color of blood that only threw the azure of his irises into greater relief. There was a sort of perfection to the slope of his nose and the curve of his neck, his shoulders held straight and true, his chin high and proud — strangest of all, however, stranger than any of these things by far, was that there was a rusted sword clenched in his fist, the sheath of which sat empty on his hip.

You were quite certain that he did not belong there, but you did not have the wherewithal to question him, so you only shut the door behind you and sat in the entrance, leaning against the walnut frame and closing your eyes, clasping your hands together in front of you and wishing you had something to pray for.

“What have you come here in search of?”

The voice was unfamiliar and keen, like a dagger in your heart or a fang in your calf. You knew without knowing that it must be the man speaking; opening your eyes, you were unsurprised to find him peering at you with no small amount of disdain.

“Whatever do you mean?” you said. He stared at you with a discomfiting intensity, his fingers playing with the hilt of his sword, his eyes wide and endless like the sky, his brows furrowed.

“People don’t come here unless they want something,” he said. “So what is it that you pray for?”

“The things I want are impossible to obtain, so I do not pray for them at all,” you said. 

“Hardly anything is impossible. What a limiting way to think,” he said. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“At least it is not an arrogant one,” you said. “Unless you believe that resurrecting my mother is truly something which can be done?”

“Arrogant?” the man said. “Certainly, your mother could be brought back, so for you to accuse me of arrogance is unfounded. The question is whether she should be revived.”

“What a pointless differentiation,” you said. “I doubt you believe she should be.”

“No, of course not,” he said. “Though I don’t believe anyone should, so you ought not to take it personally.”

You swallowed, hugging your knees to your chest, resting your chin atop them and averting your eyes from the strange man. Likely you should’ve felt angry at his callousness, but in the moment, the only feeling you could summon was resignation.

“Perhaps that is the truth,” you said. “Then it is the same regardless. She won’t ever come back. This is her chapel, you know. I thought I might find some reprieve by encasing myself in this place, but I suppose it isn’t so. There is no reprieve. I think of her always.”

The man made no move to offer you any words of reassurance, nor did he drop his sword. He just stood there and watched you with the sort of wary caginess that one might expect from a half-tamed animal, shifting and unsettled and pacing. You found it almost comforting that he did not offer you any platitudes nor condolences, for you had heard enough of those that you were sick of them.

“Who are you, anyways?” you said. “A servant? I don’t recognize you, but then it has been some time since I last came to this estate, so it isn’t a surprise.”

“I am something along those lines,” he said. 

“And what business do you have in this chapel?” you said. “As far as I know, only members of my family are permitted entry.”

“Nobody has ever stopped me,” he said. “So why shouldn’t I be allowed? Do you mean to cast me from here?”

He was already shifting from foot to foot, as if he expected you to strike him or throw him from the chapel; it wasn’t an incorrect sentiment, exactly, for certainly if you were your father you would’ve, especially for his earlier impudence. What cause did a mere servant have to talk to the king’s family in such a way? But you could not summon that same indignation, so you only shook your head, standing on legs which had grown sleepy and electric from inactivity.

“No, I have no great desire to,” you said. “If you do not disturb me, then I won’t disturb you. Might we coexist in that manner?”

His eyebrows raised almost involuntarily, and then he shrugged. It was an odd way of doing it, though you couldn’t exactly point out what was odd about it, and then he tapped his sword against his leg.

“I suppose it isn’t a tall order,” he said.

“You should leave your sword at the door, however,” you said. “Aren’t weapons forbidden in places like this?”

“It stays,” he said with finality. You peered at it; it was a comely instrument despite its age, the hilt gold and embellished with roses, dark corrosion creeping up the blue-white blade like vines, the tip as sharp as a thorn. His fingers were wrapped around it like a vice, and you tilted your head when you realized that there was something black drawn on his hand, resembling an emperor’s crown, though you were too far to ascertain if that was what it truly was.

“As you wish,” you said. “It’s not me who you’ll have to answer to, anyways. At least I tried.”

“Your efforts will be appreciated by someone or another, I’m sure,” he said.

“I’m sure they will be,” you said with a scoff. “Ah, wait, sir. Before you leave — can I ask for your name?”

“My name? Why, so you may curse it?” he said.

“So that I may call you by it,” you said. “If we happen to meet again, here or elsewhere.”

“Is it important to you?” he said.

“It’s a courtesy,” you said.

“Since when has the king’s family ever known courtesy?” he said. You thought he might shirk away after the brazen statement, but he only gazed at you levelly, as if challenging you to respond.

“We are trained in it from birth, and must practice it from then on,” you said.

“Courtesy and etiquette are not the same thing,” he shot back.

“Will you tell me your name or not? This exchange is tiresome,” you said. “I shall assign you a name of my own if you do not give it. I doubt it will be to your tastes.”

“Kaiser,” he said. “You can call me that, if you are so insistent.”

“Kaiser,” you repeated, tasting it in your mouth. There was a familiarity and a power to the word, but you could not place your finger on what it meant; deciding it was unimportant, you nodded. “I am Y/N.”

“Yes, I knew that already,” he said.

“It would’ve been rude if I did not introduce myself to you as well,” you said.

“And there is the difference between courtesy and etiquette,” he said.

“Hm?” you said. He did not even look at you, lifting his chin so that he could admire the ceiling.

“What a beautiful scene,” he said. 

“Beautiful?” you said, frowning. You had never taken the time to understand it, but now you saw that it was a depiction of Michael killing the hellish viper that was his bane. The roughness of the strokes, however, lended a gruesome quality to it that the painting in the king’s gallery did not have — Michael’s face was twisted into a grotesque leer instead of a gentle smile, and his sword was stabbed through the serpent’s throat instead of pointed at it in warning. Red-glazed pebbles wept like tears along the snake’s body, and the sword in Michael’s hand was made of cruel ivory, his eyes chips of blue glass that twinkled with delight instead of solemnity. 

“Isn’t it?” he said, smiling for the first time, not at you but at the mosaic. 

“Well, there’s a quality to the workmanship,” you said. “But it’s too gory for my tastes.”

“The truth of things can never be too gory,” he instructed you, and though he had no qualifications in the way of priesthood, you were somehow inclined to listen. “The truth is the truth. If that is how it happened, then you must accept it.”

“Who are we to know how it happened?” you said.

“Who indeed?” he said.

“You speak in riddles,” you said. “It is distracting. I do not mind it, though, because there is much I wish to be distracted from at present, so I am not chiding you, necessarily, but I hope that you know.”

“I know,” he said, amusement in his tone. “It’s something I’ve been accused of many times before, and by men several orders of magnitude more important than you as well.”

“I see,” you said. “Regardless, I believe my father might search for me soon, and as I have found some merriment in you, I do not wish for him to find you here quite yet, so I shall take my leave. But I will return! Please be here when I do.”

“I will be here,” he said, despite the fact that you hadn’t mentioned when you would next visit the chapel. You didn’t question it; he felt like the kind of person that was better left a mystery, or at least figured out slowly, so that no layers were missed.

The next morning, you entered the chapel as the bell rang upon the hour, peering in through the door and smiling slightly when you saw him perched upon a bench made of the same rich walnut as the entryway. He was perfectly still, his back straight, his sword laid across his lap, and he did not turn to greet you, staring straight at the flickering candles of the altar. Your footsteps echoed as you crossed the room, sitting on the bench directly opposite him, facing the candles as well.

“Did you light them?” you said.

“They were already lit,” he said.

“Hm,” you said. “It wasn’t me.”

“Naturally,” he said.

“I suppose someone else visits this place, too,” you said. 

“What will you do about it?” he said.

“Nothing,” you said. “If it brings them solace, then who am I to deny them that? The nearest church is a long walk; even this is not so close to the manor. I am weary already.”

At this he did glance at you, his eyes lowering for a moment before he returned his attention to the front of the room.

“You are frail, then,” he said. “The walk is not that long.”

“My mother was the frail one,” you said. “I have inherited my father’s good health, or so I am told.”

“Ah,” he said. 

“I will have to come on my horse next time,” you said, only half-joking. Perhaps the distance was not quite long enough to warrant riding, but you really had been winded, and the constriction of your chest was more than a little unpleasant, like there was a stone pressing into your heart.

“If that is what you require,” he said, clearly disinterested in the conversation. You wondered what he saw in the candles, if there was something he could divine from the small, captive flames.

“Was your mother a moth?” you said.

“What?” he said, blinking at you in alarm. “Are you an idiot?”

He said it so genuinely that it felt more like concern than anything. You suppressed a smile, pointing at the beeswax dripping into the golden bowl set there to collect it.

“I’ve only ever seen moths be so enamored by candles before,” you said. 

“So you are an idiot,” he said, clicking his tongue. “What a foolish thing to say.”

“It was in jest,” you said. “My apologies. I shall remain serious in your company henceforth.”

“See to it that you are silent as well,” he said, and so you were, sitting across the aisle from him and watching the candles until they burnt out. Even then, he stayed facing the wisps of smoke, tracking them with his eyes as they fluttered into the air with the briskness of a wasp, so eventually you left him behind, him and those blackened stumps marring the air and the altar alike with their crumbling, papery ash.

“There is news that the plague is worsening,” your father said one day at dinner. The news of the plague brought to the forefront of your mind your mother, who you had done so well at ignoring until then. It was easy to pretend that the sickness had never existed, that those days of flooding rivers and viper-lined streets and shivering women had been nothing more than horrible dreams in quick succession. 

“I suppose it shouldn’t come as a shock,” you said. “Winter has come early this year.”

“Do you think so?” your father said. You gulped, pushing at your food with your fork.

“Already, there is a chill in the air,” you said. 

“What horrible luck,” he said. “We’ve hardly had time to recover and replenish our stores of grain. If frost comes to the fields early, then we are doomed.”

“I am surprised it has not yet bitten the earth,” you admitted. Your father, who had always trusted you more than most men would trust their daughters, groaned, dragging his hand over his face.

“There is still time?” he said.

“We can hope,” you said.

“I will order the fiefs to begin their harvesting at once,” he said. “By all rights, summer is still yet to fade into autumn, but even if it is premature, the crops should be serviceable, and the fields can be replanted at once. If it goes well, then our yields may nearly double.”

“A sensible decision, father,” you said. “That should be more than enough to last us all until the next spring.”

“Thank you for your counsel, my girl,” your father said, and if you were not seated at the table, he would’ve patted your shoulder or kissed your cheek or shown his pride in some other such affectionate manner. “I will be lost without you.”

“I am not going anywhere,” you said. “Am I?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But one day you will leave this manor for your husband’s home, and then I shall be on my own.”

“That is still some years away,” you said. 

“As many years as possible,” your father said. “There are no suitors in this kingdom worthy of you, anyways.”

“I will trust you when you say that, father,” you said. The lines around his eyes deepened from the force of his grin, and it heartened you to see, for he hadn’t smiled much since your mother had died. Setting your cutlery down, crossing them over your plate as was neat and expected, you placed your hand over his, the skin of his hunt-worn palms rough against yours. “For now, I am content here.”

“And here you shall stay,” he said, firm and sure in the way that only the brother of a king could be. What he said was what happened. He commanded things into existence and so they did occur; it was the kind of power that very few were afforded, and hardly ever in a greater quantity than him, so when he spoke, it was always with the weight of expectation behind it.

You really did ride your horse to the chapel after that dinner with your father. Now that you had mentioned it to him, you could not help feeling the signs of the impending ice of the dead season, and only hugging the warm neck of your little bay palfrey as she trotted along could ward it away. She was gentle and game enough to not mind it, nuzzling you when you got off and dropping her head to graze where you tied her. You pulled your gloves off and tucked them in your pocket, rubbing the whorl of a white star on her forehead before ducking into the chapel.

It was later than you had been the other times you had come, but Kaiser was there anyways, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his forehead pressed against the altar. Never had you seen such misconduct, but you thought he must be sleeping, so you did what you could to be as silent as possible, tiptoeing over to stand behind him, reaching out your hand to jostle him.

“Don’t,” he said, flinching back and glaring at you over his shoulder.

“You were awake?” you said.

“Yes,” he said. 

“I thought you were not,” you said. He squinted at you.

“Your powers of discernment are frightening,” he said.

“Because of their uncanny strength?” you tried.

“The opposite,” he said. “You are fumbling and blind. I do not know how you have made it so far in life.”

“Maybe it’s a miracle,” you said, sitting beside him, mirroring the arrangement of his legs, your elbows digging into your thighs so that you could rest your chin in your hands. “My birth was one. Why not the rest of my life?”

“I assume you want me to ask what you mean by that,” he said.

“It’s not that I want it,” you said, swiveling eagerly so that you could face him. He snorted, not offering you the same dignity, the gold of the altar reflecting on his cheekbones. “But I’ll tell you if you’d like!”

“I wouldn’t,” he said. You waited, but he did not budge. The sword was at his side, his one hand placed over it, so instead of telling him any stories, you bent so that you could inspect the weapon.

“Where did you get this, anyways?” you said. “It’s of a make I don’t recognize.”

“And you are well-acquainted with every blacksmith in the entire kingdom, I expect?” he said.

“The ones of note, yes,” you said. “The ones with the talent to make something so fine. Don’t you remember whose daughter I am? I was loved by knights long before my father laid eyes upon me. They taught me a little.”

“What use does a princess have for smithing?” he said, though he did not make any moves to pull the sword away, allowing you to inspect it. You dared not touch it, lest he yank it back, but it seemed the lingering of your eyes was permissible, so you were unabashed in allowing them to rest upon the gleaming metal.

“Not much,” you said. “But a knight has very many uses for the matter.”

“You are no knight,” he said with a sneer. 

“Of course not,” you said. Now that you were closer, you saw that the centers of the roses blooming on the hilt were sapphire, and what you had thought was rust had a different shade to it, something dried and burgundy that you could not identify. “But they were. The ways of the sword were all that they knew, so I was raised on such tales instead of the more typical stories.”

A gust of wind blew through the windows, and you shuddered, tucking your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. Kaiser gripped his sword tighter, the veins of his hand standing out blue and angry, but otherwise he did not react.

“One blacksmith brands his work with a bull,” you said. “Another with a dog, and a third with laurels. Many and many things, yet the rose has no place on the list. It’s too sacred. Nobody would dare carve Michael’s symbol into a mere mortal weapon. Who are we, anyways? To compare ourselves to someone who does such grand things?”

“You said grand,” he noted. “Not great.”

“Great implies an antonym,” you said. “But I don’t think such concept really exist to him and those of that kind — good and bad and all. There are different scales, different evils, but the ways in which the angels impact our lives can only be grand or minute. It’s unfair to assign morality to it.”

“Yet if these acts, whether grand or minute, change your life for the better, or alternately for the worse, then can you not judge them to be either good or bad?” he said.

“I can, and indeed many do, but they are not my concern. I speak only of Michael, and I maintain that it is impossible for him to turn that judgment unto himself,” you said. “You know, my mother saw him right before she died. Everyone thought it was a stroke of good fortune. He’s a healer, so he must’ve been there to heal her — yet they forgot, in their desperate hope, that he also comes to escort us to our final resting places. As he had come for my mother.”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s true.”

“Well,” you said. “That’s it, then. Is he evil for taking my mother? Can I liken him to a villain for what he did? I would like to. It would be easier…if there was someone to blame, then it would be easier. I wish I could hate someone for it, but I cannot. There is no one. Michael did not take her to hurt me; that is just what he does. I can point my finger at that ceiling and curse him, but what good will it do? It won’t change his nature.”

Kaiser was silent. You must’ve bored him, and you wished you could disappear into the floor, melt into a mosaic, and freeze in place before he could mock you.

“Angels are above humans,” he said after a while.

“Everyone knows that,” you said.

“So how can humans do something that an angel cannot?” he said. “How is it possible?”

“I suppose it’s not unique to them,” you said. “Asking an angel to understand a person is like asking you or I to empathize with a dormouse. The best we can do is impartiality; it’s the same for them, I’d say.”

“Dormice?” he said. “I don’t think it’s the same at all.”

“No?” you said. “I’m not that learned. I don’t take offense. There’s as many theories about these obscurities as there are stars in the sky; I pass the time by coming up with more by the day, for I have little else to do when I am not here, but of course they would not hold under examination. I’m hardly a priest.”

There was another gale, this one howling and accompanied by your horse huffing anxiously outside. You doubted it was anything more than an oncoming squall, and ordinarily you’d wait for it to pass, but you did not want to leave the mare alone in the rain, so reluctantly you stood, dipping your head at Kaiser in the politest farewell you could muster.

“Wait,” he said when you reached the door, his voice still a dull, quiet monotone that you had to strain to properly listen to. “Next time.”

“Next time?” you said.

“Tell me the story of your birth,” he said, and then he was glowering at you again, demanding and haughty and piercing all in turn. “I will understand you.”

“Who said you won’t?” you said rhetorically. “Farewell for now. Please be safe in returning to your quarters.”

Your mare pranced the entire way back to the stables, her ears pricked towards the sky, her tail held high and the whites of her eyes showing. You tangled your fingers in her mane, the coming storm seeping through the fabric of your cloak as you urged her forward, hardly making it to the stable before it began to pour, ducking under the stone lip of the roof and holding onto her reins with sweat-slicked hands, trembling from the relief of the near-miss and leaning against her muscular neck to regain your bearings.

At the end of that week, you were met with a visitor — the youngest and dearest of your uncles, who loved you as if you were his own eldest daughter. He had set out from his own manor as soon as he had heard the news, and such was his haste that even now, the grit of his travels lined his clothes and features, but that did not dampen his jovial spirit any.

“You must rest, uncle!” you said, wincing as he regaled you with a story about the strange twins he had met while riding to the manor, with faces like crocodiles and mouths that only spoke lies, right up until he cut their tongues out, after which they could no longer speak at all.

“My, my, how you fret! Lovely niece, you are more and more like your mother every day,” your uncle said. “You must be so proud of her.”

This was accompanied by a good-natured punch to your father’s arm; anyone else would’ve been reprimanded, but at his brother’s antics, your father could only roll his eyes and cuff him on the ear, just as good-natured and half-heartedly.

“I don’t think it’s possible for a man to be prouder,” he said.

“Thank you, father,” you said, curtseying before brandishing an irreverent finger at your uncle. “But really, I insist! Let me take you to your chambers. You have come so far — surely you are weary.”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it…” he said.

“There will be plenty of time for your stories tomorrow over breakfast,” you assured him, taking the stairs slowly, so that he did not overexert himself. “I am sure you have many more.”

“Of course,” he said. “Though not all of them are as lively.”

“Is there cause for alarm?” you said. Your uncle turned away guiltily. Slipping the key to his chambers into the lock and rotating it, you waited. “You must tell me if there is.”

“I don’t want to cause undue stress,” he said. “Especially after everything with your mother.”

“You have already said it. Better to be done with the affair and tell me the whole of things; it’ll only stress me further if you leave me to conjure scenarios of my own in my mind, so there is no avoiding it now,” you said.

“Come in with me, then,” he said, following after you into the chambers where his luggage was already waiting. You sat on the edge of the bed, allowing him to collapse into the desk chair, his head in his hands. “The queen.”

“No,” you said, praying it was paranoia that forced your thoughts down the ugliest of paths. “No, you don’t mean—”

“She has taken ill,” he said. “Her condition is deteriorating at the same rate your mother’s did. My brother the king is…not optimistic. She has been secluded in an attempt to contain the affliction, though of course we do not know how long she has been sick and how much longer she has been contagious. The entire royal family, barring you, your father, and I — if we stay away from the palace, that is — could succumb before the flowers next bloom.”

“Only the three of us will be left?” you said. Your uncle nodded.

“It seems that even in death, your mother is looking out for you,” he said. Something scratched at the back of your throat, and despite how you tried to swallow it back, it only clawed its way up, coalescing into a small whimper. Your uncle’s face softened, returning ten years of youth to it. “Don’t be afraid. We are safe here. As safe as can be.”

“How does it matter?” you said. “If everyone else is gone, how does it matter?”

To this, your uncle had no response, so he only gave you a pitying look and bade you to return to your room, promising you both would meet again and discuss it in the morning, when your father could join you. Whether he would’ve held true to that oath or not, you didn’t know, because as soon as you heard the murmuring of the servants awakening, you threw on a pair of house-slippers and fled the manor, running as fast as you could to the chapel where you knew Kaiser would be waiting.

In the watery light of dawn, he was almost ghostly, ephemeral like smoke or a wraith, the blue of his hair iridescent, the gold closer to a soft cream. Today he was far from the candles, sitting on one of the benches again, his back to you. You panted from the exertion of your earlier pace, but he did not move, did not try to assist you or even greet you.

“There was a prophecy,” you coughed out, flopping onto the closest bench, lying on it with your feet hanging off of the ends. “About my mother. It said that my father’s blood would spell her death.”

Kaiser did not say anything, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t listening, or at least that was what you assured yourself with. He must’ve heard you. He must’ve known.

“My uncles commanded him to take a second wife. The prophecy must’ve referred to their progeny, and indeed every heir they attempted to conceive died in her womb before it could kill her in turn, further proving the point. My father refused, however. He wouldn’t do that to her. If he could not have a child with her, then he would not have one at all,” you said. “I’m sure you know where this is going.”

“They prayed,” he said. “In turn, they were gifted with a child.”

“And my mother did not die,” you said. “That’s why people say I’ve been agreeable for my entire life. I did not fuss, either. I was good, or so I’ve been told. The best of my cousins by far. At the time of my birth, my father was away on some campaign for my uncle the king, so he did not even hear of it for many months, and he could not return for many more. It’s why I was raised by knights and nuns.”

“And why you spout theories and smithing as if you were born to them,” he said.

“That as well. Anyways, the nuns always praised me for defying that prophecy,” you said. “For saving my mother from a certain death. Do you understand?”

“Prophecies are hardly ever so straightforward,” he said. “You can divine one million meanings from them, but it is the million-and-first which will come true. It’s foolhardy and presumptuous for one to claim they understand the truth behind the future. You can only know it once it has come to pass.”

“Yes,” you said. “I don’t disagree.”

“Perhaps it was still your father’s blood that led to your mother’s demise,” he said.

“How? She fell to the plague,” you said.

“It ended with the plague,” he said. “What did it begin with?”

“Snakes,” you said. “No, before that. A flood.”

“And before that?” he said, condescending as anything. It would’ve been infuriating if it was not so at home with his severe countenance.

“There was nothing before that,” you said. 

“If that’s what you think,” he said. “Anyways, is that what you came to tell me?”

“The queen is ill,” you said, gripping the back of the bench and using it to push yourself to a sitting position, swinging your legs down so that your feet were planted on the ground again. “They think it is the same disease which ruined my mother. It’s likely that the entire royal family will be lost — except my youngest uncle, my father, and myself, for all of us fled before the outbreak could reach the castle and have not yet shown any symptoms of the plague.”

“Maybe they deserve it,” he said, with no small amount of contempt. You trained your eyes on the ground, unsure of how you could even fathom saying something, and in your mother’s own chapel, as well. Surely you would be judged for it, but for some reason you thought that you owed honesty to Kaiser.

“Maybe they do,” you said. “Likely they do. But they are — they are still my family. I don’t want them to die.”

His sword caught the sun, and for a moment the maroon on the blade seemed to writhe and drip, coming alive in the light and only stilling when clouds passed across the windows once more. Kaiser’s shoulders still did not face you, but he tilted his head so that he could regard you as he spoke.

“You think they deserve it,” he said, phrasing it as a statement of fact instead of a question.

“I don’t know,” you said. “They must. We all must. These disasters are likely a form of punishment, though I know not what we are being punished for.”

“There is cruelty in this kingdom,” Kaiser said, his voice so cold that it caused a nervous tremor to shoot through you. “And it takes its purest shape in the L/Ns. That must be why they are facing the worst of it.”

You wished you could disagree with him. You wanted to. You wanted to tell him that your father and your uncles and your ten cousins were kind and good, but neither could you lie. Neither could you reassure him of a falsehood, when the both of you knew that had it been anyone else in your family who had found him in the chapel, he would’ve lost his head by now.

“They are cruel,” you said. “I know it. But I cannot bring myself to hate them, not when they love me.”

“It does not absolve them,” he said.

“It does not,” you said heavily. “And I suppose it does not absolve me, either.”

This time, he stood, hefting his sword and pacing in the same frantic way that a leashed dog might. He did not try to brandish the sword, allowing it to drag along at his side, but neither did he let it go. You watched him until you were dizzy from the repetitive nature of his path, and then you covered your eyes and listened to the thud of his boots against the ground.

“You are more like your mother and the queen,” he said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you said. “Is it because I am a woman? I have cousin-sisters as well, however, and they are as L/N as me.”

“No, it is not that,” he said. “You have been dragged into the sins of the L/Ns against your will, and now you must reap their consequences alongside them. Whether or not you have earned them is irrelevant at this point; you will receive them.”

“It’s already begun,” you said. “My mother — my mother — and who else? They will all be gone, and my father and uncle aren’t so young, which means I shall soon be alone. What will I do then?”

Kaiser was a servant, so by all rights such things were beyond him, but never once had he spoken to you with the deference that his station implied. You didn’t think he knew what it meant to bow his head and comply blindly, so you waited for him to respond, to bestow some small wisdom hidden in the biting jaws of his blasé attitude.

“You won’t be alone,” he said.

“You don’t know that,” you said.

“I do,” he said, as if it were an undeniable truth, written in the foundations of the world. You had never been the type to feel comforted by platitudes, but something about the way it sounded coming from him made your heart swell. “Y/N L/N, you will never be alone. That I am sure of.”

“Do you guarantee it?” you said. “Even though it’s impossible, do you swear?”

“I do,” he said. It was the kindest thing he had ever said to you, so you smiled slightly, although there was no amiability in his tone.

“Then I will believe you,” you said. 

“Believe me or don’t,” he said. “Your feelings will not affect that outcome.”

“Hm,” you said. “Well, thank you for reassuring me.”

“That isn’t why I said that,” he said. 

“But you managed it anyways,” you said. “I need to go, though. I did not dress to be outside, and it’s a bit cool today, isn’t it?”

“No,” he said, a peculiar lilt to his voice. “No, Y/N. I don’t think that it is.”

With your uncle there, it was harder to find time to visit the chapel. Where once Kaiser had been the only one to occupy your time and thus your thoughts, the only one with enough of a mystery to his being that even the bleakest of your grief could be warded off by it, now your uncle was there to distract you, with his stories and his tricks and his gifts. Never one for religion, just like your father, he laughed when you suggested visiting the chapel, and often by the time you were freed of his company, you were far too exhausted to even think about leaving your chambers, let alone the manor.

He was a whirlwind of a man, your youngest uncle, a tempestuous person whose sword was as ready as his smile. Quick to anger and slow to forgive, he had been the spear of your father’s campaign, slicing through the villages they conquered in the name of the king with brutal, clinical efficiency. You were the only person who had never been subject to his wrath, for you were the youngest and mildest of your ten cousins, and thus cherished by the rest of your family in a way that the others were not.

“Have you finished enough of those to go in the woods with me? There’s a place I’m thinking of going hunting, but I’d like your guidance before I do so,” your uncle said one morning, when the sun shone and the sky was as blue as if it were made of ceramic. You were sitting across from him in the parlor, embroidering handkerchiefs with your family’s sigil, folding them and placing them on the table for your father’s use. Your father himself was out for the day, checking on one of his vassal’s progress in the early harvest, which was likely why your uncle was asking you for assistance instead of him.

“It’s only something to while away the hours,” you said, tying off the end of the thin thread in a perfect, imperceptible knot, shaking out the newly completed handkerchief and then setting it with the rest. “I can go whenever you’d like.”

“I’ll send word to the stablehands to tack our horses, then,” your uncle said. “Have you gone to the river’s shore before?”

“Once or twice,” you said.

“If there’s anywhere to find deer, it’ll be there. What do you say about venison for supper by the weekend?” he said.

“Father will be pleased,” you said. The youngest of his brothers and yet the most talented when it came to hunting, your uncle was known in your family for his aptitude at picking out the rarest of game. Your father always told you that if there was anything resembling an afterlife, he would spend it all eating whatever your uncle brought home, and you had no doubt that he would be delighted to return from his trip and find a freshly-slain stag waiting for him.

In order to reach the river, you had to ride through endless swathes of green — some were tilled and tended, but the majority of those fields were wild, home to nothing but rabbits and robins, both of whom fled upon hearing the clip of your horses’ hoofbeats. At first the cleared paths were wide enough for you and your uncle to ride side by side, but eventually they grew narrower, the tall grass scratching at your legs, pollen leaving yellow streaks on your horses’ haunches, and so you were forced to ride in front, for your mare was as sure-footed as your uncle’s charger was flighty and spooky.

“Be careful,” your uncle said as you pushed her forward, kicking her when she pinned her ears at your uncle’s stallion. “The grounds in these fields are always treacherous. Snakes make their homes amongst the grasses and hide the entrances; even one misplaced footfall can be disastrous.”

“Ah, she is good,” you said. “I trust her to know where her feet are better than I would.”

“Smart girl,” your uncle said. “You must get it from your uncle.”

You swatted away a horsefly before it could land on your leg. It was gray and fat and lazy, but you knew that its bite burnt like a bee-sting, so you steered your horse away from it the slightest bit, in the hopes that it would dissuade any further pursuit.

“Of course,” you said. “Though more than smart, I trust that my father’s men have trained her well, in these very fields.”

“Do they come here often, then?” he said. “We won’t be able to find anything if there are many people passing by.”

“Not that I know of. This section of the riverbank is reserved for our family’s use. Nobody would dare come up this way unless they were on my father’s orders, and my father rarely issues such commands,” you said.

“Good,” your uncle said, relaxing in his saddle, taking his bow off of his shoulder and holding an arrow in his right hand. “If we are very quiet, then we may find something today.”

“So soon?” you said.

“Why not?” he said. “We must be silent, however, lest we frighten everything in a few leagues’ radius away.”

Soon, the only thing that could be heard was the whine of the crickets in the grass that your horses disturbed. It was a high sound, shrill and thin like a flute, insistent in the way of begging, and if your uncle had not been there, you would’ve covered your ears to muffle it.

You couldn’t tell how long you wandered along the riverbanks for, but eventually, there was a faint rustling in the brush. You and your uncle locked eyes, and then you reined your mare to a stop, allowing him to trot forwards, eyes locked on the place where the noise had arisen from, his bow held at the ready, a single arrow in place — because a single arrow was all he would need. Your uncle had never once let fly an arrow which did not then make a home in its target, and you doubted he would begin to do so any time soon.

Another minute passed before the rustling grew louder and something burst from the copse of saplings, crashing through the tightly interwoven branches. You gasped when you saw that it was not a deer or any other such game but a boy, his hair dark and long over his eyes, his shoulders narrow and bony, more like perfect, sickening corners with skin draped over them than anything.

“Please,” he said, dropping to his knees, gazing up at you, his pupils like black pinpricks in the expanse of his blank eyes. “I didn’t — I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t — I got lost, but I didn’t mean to end up here! I was only waiting for you to pass through so that I could return home.”

“So you knew that what you were doing was wrong. Expressly forbidden by the prince,” your uncle said. 

“Uncle, it was clearly a mistake,” you said uneasily. 

“Mistakes are made when one does not have knowledge,” your uncle said. “This was not a mistake, nor was it an accident.”

“I was looking for rabbits,” the boy pleaded. “My sister likes them.”

“So you were hunting on the prince’s land?” your uncle said.

“No!” the boy said. “No, she — we don’t eat them, she likes to pet them, she’s still young and our mother is sick so I thought I would find one for her but there aren’t any near our house, so I began to wander, and I don’t know how but I ended up here — please, I didn’t mean to! I didn’t!”

“It’s alright,” you said, loosening your foot from your right stirrup and preparing to dismount. “Where is your home? We can escort you—”

“Stay on your horse,” your uncle said to you. You froze, unaccustomed to hearing him speak in such a way. “You. Boy. You admit your guilt? You have trespassed?”

“Yes — no — I don’t—” the boy stammered. His lips were bluing at the edges, you saw, and you realized he, and likely his mother who he had spoken of, was cursed with the plague, which choked his mind and judgment as well as it did his throat and heart.

“He is unwell, uncle,” you said quietly. “Let him go home.”

The boy was not long for this world, and wasting the precious time he had remaining with this pointless interrogation caused a pit to form in your stomach and a glacial feeling to crawl down your back and shoulders, the kind which could not be chased away even by the strongest of fires.

“Crimes cannot go unpunished,” your uncle said. “If we let him go, then we will have to let the next go, and the next after that. Where do you draw the line?”

“Here,” you said. “That is where I draw it. We both know that he is closer to my mother than to us at this point. Forgive him this time. He will not return, I am sure of it.���

“I won’t,” the boy said, voice cracking. “Your royal highnesses, I won’t.”

“Tell me where you live,” you said. “Not far, surely?”

“Just over the hill,” the boy said, staggering to his feet. “The house with the hyacinths in front of it.”

“I will take you there,” you promised him.

“You will do no such thing,” your uncle said. “Y/N L/N. If you ever wish to be the lady of an estate, then you must learn how to punish those who disobey your rule.”

“Don’t!” you said, but you were too late, far too late. Already, the arrow was cutting through the air and piercing through the boy’s heart. He fell in the way a leaf might, silent and crumpling and brittle, a motionless heap staining the earth with his blood. You screamed, or at least you tried to, but there was not enough air in your lungs, and you could not inhale or exhale without the ringing in your ears climbing into a pounding sensation.

“Where are you going?” your uncle said as you tugged on your mare’s left rein, turning her around, away from the still body and your uncle’s stark figure. “Y/N! Wait!”

Tightening your calves, you cued her into a gallop, taking off along the riverbank, water spraying into the air wherever her feet fell. Dimly you were aware of your uncle shouting after you, and then he, too, was galloping in your pursuit, but his stallion was recalcitrant, rearing and gnashing at the bit with every step, slowing their progress immensely and allowing you to fly out of their sight.

Turning into the fields that swept towards the manor, you paid no heed to your uncle’s earlier warnings, pushing the horse faster instead of slowing as you should’ve, your surroundings blurring into nothing more than smears of viridian and mustard in your peripheral vision. You had to reach him before your uncle did. You had to, you had to, you had to —

Abruptly, your horse skidded to a stop, scrambling for purchase in the ground and snorting nervously. You were thrown up her neck but did not fall, sitting back and scanning the area for what might’ve spooked her. In the beginning you did not see it, but then there was a soft hiss from the ground that caused her to dance backwards uncertainly, and you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood.

“You are meant to be gone,” you said to the viper, which was baring its fangs at you, its dark tongue flicking out periodically to taste the air before it. Your words bordered on hysterical as you shifted in your saddle, eyeing its coiling body with equal parts fear and disdain. “Your kind vanished! Why are you back? Do you mean to torment me?” 

The serpent did not move to strike, but neither did it shift out of the way, its slit-pupil eyes never blinking, its white teeth like pearls against the roof of its black mouth. You looked around, but there was no other path as clearly demarcated as the one you were on, and you dared not risk going into the grasses where thousands more of the snake’s brethren could be lying in wait.

Behind you, you could once more hear your uncle calling your name, and you knew that the precious few seconds you had gained on him would come to naught if you continued to dither about. When all was said and done, there was only one thing you could do, so apologizing to your horse, you squeezed her onwards. She lurched forwards with a start, her tail swishing, her movements jerky as she inched towards the snake, which grew eerily still at your approach.

Death was supposed to be a mystery or a surprise, but for some reason, as your horse took that final step forwards, you were excruciatingly aware that the next few moments would likely be your last. The snake would dart up, as quick as a whip, and it would latch onto your leg, slaying you instantaneously. What a swift revenge it would be, that your uncle had killed that boy and now he would be met with your own body, pierced through with snake venom as that child had been skewered upon his arrow!

You could’ve done a great number of things in those final seconds, but your mother’s final words came to you, and you found yourself mulling them over. He is here, she had said. Right in front of you. Don’t you see him? He is so beautiful. As beautiful as the paintings. Michael himself had appeared for her, but then who was by your side? Who would accompany you after your death? 

There was a flash of movement in the corner of your eye, something azure and fluttering — a butterfly, surely, or some small bird frightened by the commotion. It was unimportant in the end; what mattered most was the color, which was so reminiscent of the person you had set out for that it broke you from your daze, heartening you enough to sit up and raise your chin, facing the snake with enough courage that even your horse ceased to shy away from it. Instead, she let out a squeal which sounded like a trumpet, and then she leapt into the air, bucking upon the landing and galloping away from the viper at such a speed that white lather frothed on her neck and streaked down her shoulders.

You reached the chapel in a time that should not have been possible, and even before you had pulled the mare to a stop, you were leaping off, your fingers clumsy as you tied her to the first fence post you saw. Your legs protested as you took the stairs two at a time, but you paid them no heed. You could not allow them to fail you, not when your uncle’s strides were twice the length of yours.

“Kaiser!” you called out when you entered the chapel. He was standing by the altar, a shower of sparks falling from the flint in his hands onto the charred cloth placed on the table, and instead of greeting you, he blew on the smoldering edge. A flame blossomed to life, and he used it to light a new candle, smothering the cloth under his boot once the fire had been transferred. “Kaiser, you must leave at once.”

“Why should I do that?” he said. “Who are you to dismiss in such a way?”

“It’s not me,” you said. “My uncle is furious, and if he finds you — if he finds you here, then he’ll cut you down, and not even that sword of yours will be enough to stop him.”

“Your uncle and his moods have little to do with me,” Kaiser said. “His tantrums are meaningless.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” you said. 

“Don’t I?” he said.

“He just killed a boy for trespassing,” you said. “I couldn’t even stop him. It was the most I could do to return in time to warn you before he came here to pray for that child’s life.”

“You disobeyed your uncle and ran from him for the sole purpose of…warning me?” he said.

“Yes, but it will be meaningless if you don’t hearken to my words,” you said. 

“Why is that?” he said.

“Enough with your riddles and your questions!” you snapped. “Are you incapable of taking anything seriously? You will die!”

“Answer this one and I’ll oblige your inane demands,” he said.

“Being with you is the only time I do not fear or mourn,” you said, your nails carving crescents into your palms as your gaze switched rapidly between him and the door. “My mother…my family…the plague and the vipers and the floods…I can forget about them all when I speak to you. If you are gone, then I will have no one. So please, please run. I cannot bear the thought of your blood being shed as well.”

Kaiser looked at you, and then, inexplicably, he laughed. It was a sound so lovely that it grated on your nerves, like a bell ringing too close to your ears. “Your uncle is not a man who could ever shed my blood, and he’d have to have an inordinately high opinion of himself to think he could.”

“You said you would oblige me,” you said, having half-expected such an arrogant response from him but finding that you were vexed by it anyways. “It doesn’t matter what you think of him. You must go, and only return once he has left this place.”

The door slammed open. You spun, drawing your cloak tighter around your shoulders and standing as straight as you could, dismay spiking in your stomach when your uncle walked in. The two of you had spent too long discussing, your explanation had been too lengthy, you had remained frightened of the snake for more time than you should’ve — at the end of the day, the reason didn’t matter as much as the result, which was that your uncle was here and Kaiser was still standing behind you.

“Y/N,” your uncle said, coming down the aisle, his stride light and elegant, the picture of a gentleman. You took a step back, reaching your hand out behind you to prevent Kaiser from saying something callous and damning, as he was wont to do.

“It’s not what you think,” you said. “Uncle, it’s not — please don’t —”

Yet when your uncle reached the altar, he did not draw his sword, nor did he command Kaiser to kneel before him. He only gave you a puzzled look, directing his attention to the candles burning behind your back.

“You played with your life just to come and light the candles a little earlier?” he said.

“What?” you said. 

“I know it must’ve been upsetting to see, but rules need to be upheld, or else they cease to be rules and turn into mere suggestions,” your uncle said, patting you on the head. 

“Aren’t you angry?” you said in trepidation.

“With you? No, of course not,” he said. “It was the same way for me, the first time I witnessed my father performing an execution. You’ll grow out of it.”

“Er, okay,” you said, too bewildered now to even comprehend his words. What was Kaiser’s magic, that he had escaped your uncle’s stern reproach and careless sword, which had felled countless men?

“Will you stay with me while I pray?” your uncle said. It was the only time he ever changed his mind about religion — after every life he took, he pleaded for forgiveness, as if that could be enough to exonerate him. You weren’t sure if it would be or not, but it didn’t really matter what you thought — it was the only way he had, you were quite sure, to go on. To continue living despite everything he had done.

“No,” you said. “Come — ah, what?”

You had turned to beckon Kaiser, but when you did, you realized that he was gone, vanished without a trace, though you had not heard or seen him leave. Your uncle gave you another strange look before returning to one of the benches and bowing his head, leaving you to wonder if Kaiser had ever even been there in the first place.

The stablehands were confused when you brought your drained mare back to them and demanded they ready another horse for you, and it was only worsened when you commanded them to also bring you one of the rabbits that were raised for their meat. Yet they could not argue with the princess, so they did as you said, bringing you the smallest of your father’s mounts and placing a young rabbit in your arms once you were in the saddle.

You could not tell whether you or the rabbit quivered more — the rabbit from confusion and fear, you from fatigue and the temperature, which had dropped rapidly since you and your uncle had set out in the mid-morning.

Taking a longer route so that you avoided the fields where you had seen the serpent, you trotted towards the riverbank, cradling the rabbit to your heart in the hopes that its warmth would transfer to you. Halting by where the boy’s body still lay, undisturbed and almost peaceful, you set the rabbit atop a tree branch so that it could not escape, and then you jumped off of your horse and crouched so that you could lift the boy onto your saddle. Draping him over it with every bit of strength you could summon, you took the rabbit back in one arm and used the other to lead the horse after you as you trudged towards the direction of the village, mud soaking into your boots and flecking the hems of your clothing.

You crossed the hill at a snail’s pace until you reached a small stone house with purple hyacinths littering the courtyard and a brown goat grazing on the scrubby grass, and then you knocked on the door and stood there until a man opened it. He was tall, his face lined and burnt from the sun, trenches like crow-feet digging into the corner of his eyes, his clothes patched and mended by inexperienced hands many times over. He squinted at you, like he was trying to recognize you, but eventually he gave up and cocked his head at you instead.

“On what business have you come knocking, miss?” he said.

“Your son,” you said. He rolled his eyes affectionately.

“Ah, that rascal. I hope he was not bothering you?” he said. You tried to swallow back the lump in your throat and found that it was impossible, so you stroked the ears of the rabbit and squeezed out a response anyways.

“He’s dead,” you said. “No. He was killed.”

“Pardon?” the man said. “Killed? On what — on what account?”

“On a whim,” you said, a tear splashing onto the rabbit’s back, turning the gray of its fur into a color like tar. “If there were a better explanation, I’d give it to you, sir, but the truth is there isn’t one.”

The man stared at you in disbelief, and you tightened your grip on the horse’s reins, waiting for him to say something. Yet he was silent, staring and staring as if by doing so he could turn your words to lies.

“I brought him back for you,” you whispered, the words digging into your windpipe as they went. “I brought him back.”

The man made a small nose which seemed to come from deep within him, guttural and low and keening, and then he fell to the floor.

“Please say it isn’t so,” he wept, pressing his forehead to your feet. “Lady, lady, say this is some cruel prank and go. His mother is sick already; you cannot say I will lose them both in such short succession. Say you are lying to me.”

“I can’t,” you said, your lower lip wobbling and your vision blurring. “Sir, I cannot do that.”

He wrapped his arms around your ankles and bawled like a child, folded over your boots as he cried and cried. You were motionless, wishing that there was something you could do but knowing that it would all be meaningless — just like Kaiser could not bring your mother back, so, too, were you incapable of resurrecting this man’s son, who had been put down at the hands of your own uncle.

“Thank you,” he said after some time had passed, standing and wiping his face, taking your horse’s reins from you. “I will see to it that he is taken care of. Might I have your name? So that I can repay you?”

“No repayment is necessary,” you said. “Please refrain; I’ve done nothing worthy of repayment. I only ask that you tell me if you have a daughter.”

“Yes,” the man sniffed. “Yes, she’s inside, sitting with her mother. Do you require her?”

“Only to give her a gift,” you said. “And then I shall take your leave.”

The man nodded at you, and you swept inside, brushing past him before he could exit the house and relive his grief anew upon seeing his son’s body in the flesh. You had been there the first time; the second time, you thought, should be something private, belonging to him and him alone.

Sitting by a fire and covered in straw was the wretched woman that could only be the boy’s mother. She appeared worse than your own mother ever had, even in the hours before her death, and her chest rattled with every breath. Squatted by her side was a girl, likely half your age and hardly even a third of your weight, her hair lank and heavy around her shoulders, her cheeks flushed a pink that promised the plague had not clawed into her body yet.

“Hello,” you said. The mother did not move, but the girl looked up at you in a manner reminiscent of a puppy or a foal, a certain naïveté to her features, which resembled her brother’s so much that for a moment you were breathless.

“Hello,” she said. Her voice was a brittle murmur, and her lips barely moved when she spoke, but her eyes shimmered with a slight curiosity, widening when you knelt before her. “Who are you?”

“Your brother sent this for you,” you said, avoiding her question and handing the rabbit to her. She inhaled in delight, taking it from you swiftly and burying her nose in the fur around its neck before beaming at you.

“Really, he did? He always called me foolish when I told him I wanted a rabbit! Said that rabbits are wild creatures and only fairies can catch them,” she said, kissing the rabbit atop its ears. “Are you a fairy, miss? You have to be, right?”

“Certainly, I am not,” you said, kneeling on the stone of the floor and placing your hand against her cheek, which burned with the heat of the fire she was tending. “Dear girl, please remember that it was not a fairy who brought this rabbit to you — it was your brother, who loves you more than anything.”

She still did not know about any of it. She did not know that her brother was dead and her mother was all but. She only saw the object of her desires encircled in her arms, so she was, at least for now, happy, and you could not bear to steal that happiness from her, not when you knew that you how fleeting it was.

“Okay,” she said gravely. “I’ll remember it well. Mama, look! It’s a rabbit. You like rabbits, Mama, so please wake up and look at it.”

“Your mother is resting,” you said when she bent to shake her mother awake. “You should not bother her.”

“She’s always resting,” the girl said. “And if she speaks, it’s only to say that she’s cold.”

“Is that what the straw is for?” you said. Even if she wasn’t sick, you’d have agreed with the woman; you, too, found it to be growing colder out than it ever had in the past, but she had been cursed with the plague, and so it must have been tenfold worse for her than it ever could be for you. 

“Yes, it’s the best we have,” she said. “My brother, father, and I share the blanket because we don’t sleep near the fire, and so we only have straw left to warm her. I think I’m going to start working soon as well, and hopefully then I’ll be able to buy the best blanket in the world for her.”

There would be nowhere that would hire her in time for her to give her mother a blanket, except as a burial shroud, so you undid the clasp of your cloak and draped it over the woman’s body. She did not acknowledge you, but you saw her shoulders fall into an exhale, and you knew it was her form of thanks. The girl gazed at you in wonder, her eyes settling on the gooseflesh which pimpled your upper arms without the protection of the cloak, and then she returned her attention to her mother, whose expression was a degree less distraught with the added shield you had provided.

“Not now, and not for some years to come, but when you are old enough, come to the L/N manor,” you said. “You will find work there.”

Outside of the house, her father was digging, and on the ground beside him was a heap of canvas that no doubt disguised her brother. The girl followed you towards your horse, lips pursuing as you used a nearby tree stump to remount.

“How? It’s impossible to be employed there. All my family’s tried, but they’re ever-full,” she said.

“They will admit you, as long as you bring that cloak with you,” you said. “And if you tell them that Princess Y/N sent you.”

Her lips parted in awe, and the rabbit’s nose twitched as you smiled at her, as kindly as you could. In a few hours, she might despise you — after all, you had been the one to bring her brother back, and even if she never learnt of the role you had played in his death, she might resent you for that fact alone — but for now, you were someone she admired, the princess who had come from the manor and left her with a cloak and a rabbit and a promise.

Without your cloak, it was brutally cold, and you soon grew more preoccupied with trying to warm yourself in some way than with guiding the horse home. And although it was tamer than the rest, your current mount still belonged to your father in the end — it was not of the same reliable temperament as your own mare, who would’ve doggedly brought you back to the stables. As you slumped further and further into the saddle, your vision swimming, the horse only halted in the middle of the field you had somehow ended up in, unsure of what to do without a rider’s direction.

“You are a surprising person, Y/N L/N,” a soft voice said, and then someone was prying the reins out of your hands and taking them over your horse’s head. You would’ve been frightened, but though your eyesight was blurred, you knew who it was as soon as he spoke. “Foolish and surprising in turn.”

“Kaiser,” you said. “How are you here? Where did you go earlier? I thought my uncle might find you, but you weren’t there…”

“Don’t concern yourself with such trivial matters. They are beyond your understanding,” he said, clicking his tongue to encourage the horse forward. “I came here for you because earlier, you came for me, no matter how unnecessary it may have been. That’s all that matters.”

“Aren’t you cold?” you said, leaning forwards, collapsing against the horse’s crest, too tired to hold yourself up properly. “I’m cold.”

“I know,” he said. “You’ve been cold for a while, haven’t you?”

“I suppose so,” you said. For a moment, there was silence, and when he finally spoke again, his tone was tinged with melancholy.

“I wish that you were more like your father,” he said.

“Hm,” you said drowsily. “Why?”

“I want to condemn you,” he said. “Curse you. Rebuke you. Damn you.”

“And you cannot?” you said.

“I can,” he said. “All too easily.”

“Then?” you said.

“Then nothing,” he said. “It’s only that it makes me feel strange when it shouldn’t.”

“Strange,” you said. “What a vague word.”

“I cannot explain it further,” he said. “So don’t ask me to.”

“I see,” you said, though really you didn’t — you only did not want to upset him when he was the only savior you had. “Wait, Kaiser, you must know — there is a viper, one of the ones from the flood, it’s in the fields and it might yet strike. I am not sure if it is the only one of its kind, as well.”

“No vipers will dare cross my path,” he said, a laugh trickling into the cadence of his speech. “Not while I have this sword at my side.”

“Even now, you have it?” you said, your eyes closed against the light. 

“Yes,” he said. “I cannot sheathe it yet.”

“What does that mean?” you said.

“It is meaningless,” he said. “You ought to be silent, lest you waste what meager amounts of energy your body has managed to retain thus far.”

You weren’t sure how much longer the two of you walked for, but suddenly you were by the stables and there was a clamor and you were falling off the horse’s shoulder, into the arms of one of the stablehands. He was speaking in a panicked rush, commanding someone to fetch your uncle and another to send word to your father before asking you something, his voice harsh and breathy, nothing at all like Kaiser’s needle-precise words. You would’ve answered, but the slight rocking motions of his gait were enough to lull you into a sleep before you could even understand what his question was in the first place.

The stablehand must’ve carried you to your room, for when you awoke, you were in your bed and the sun had set. Your father sat at your desk, a lamp lighting the letters he was writing. Wrinkling your nose and then wiggling your fingers and toes to regain some feeling in them, you yawned, sitting up with a rustle of the sheets.

“Father,” you said, your mouth cottony from sleep. “You’ve returned?”

“Y/N?” your father said, dropping his quill and jumping to his feet, racing over to your side and catching your hand in between his own, holding it to his forehead. “Oh, Y/N, you must swear never to do something so idiotic again. I was so frightened — I thought — I thought you might never wake again.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Why would you go riding without dressing for the weather?” he said. “And without at least asking for someone to accompany you?”

“I’m sorry, father. I wasn’t thinking,” you said again, because you knew without a shadow of a doubt that you could not tell him the truth behind your escapade, or he might find some way to penalize the family who had not been at fault and had already lost so much.

“You’re lucky that that horse was so intelligent,” he said.

“What do you mean?” you said.

“It managed to find its way back to the stables even with you all but unconscious on its back,” he said.

“No, someone led me home,” you said. “A servant.”

Your father furrowed his brow. “Ah, what do you mean? There was no one.”

“There was, I’m sure of it!” you said.

“Nobody saw anyone leading you back, daughter,” he said. “You must’ve been having visions from delirium. It’s not uncommon for those who have been so compromised.”

“Visions,” you said. “I suppose there is that explanation.”

“Setting that aside, how do you feel now?” he said.

“Much improved,” you said.

“A night’s rest will do you well,” he said. “We can speak again in the morning, yes?”

“Yes, that sounds appealing,” you said. “Goodnight, father.”

Oftentimes he, like the rest of his siblings, had a somber and unyielding expression upon his angular face, but never when he looked at you — because when he laid eyes upon you, he was no longer the prince of the kingdom. He was only your father, the man who had half-created you and loved you more than he had ever loved anything or anyone, excepting, of course, your mother.

Maybe it was because you had slept half of the day away, but the next morning, you were awake even before the sun. You lay in your bed for a moment, willing sleep to take you once more, but when it became evident that it had fled from your grasp for good, you pushed your blankets to the side and stood on shaky legs, finding comfort in the consistency of readying yourself for the day.

You had none of your usual composure when you entered the chapel. The moment you saw Kaiser standing with his hands laced together and his face tilted towards the sun, your heart skipped an irrational beat, and then you picked your way towards where he stood, careful not to slip on the precious stones of the floor, which today seemed to be more treacherous than usual.

When you reached his side, you were not sure of what to say, so you opted for the truth, however blunt. “I dreamt of you yesterday.”

“I’m flattered,” he said, in that same amused way he said everything, his every word a private joke you could never be in on. 

“You saved me,” you continued. “If it hadn’t been for you, I would’ve died.”

“You wouldn’t have died regardless,” he said dismissively. At first, you raised your eyebrows, because how was it that he always said such things with such conviction that you could not help but believe in them? Who was he to inspire such faith in you? Then, before you could lose your nerve, you embraced him, your arms around his neck and fingers dangling in the space between his shoulder blades, his thrumming heartbeat reverberating through your bones like a hymn.

Many seconds passed wherein he was motionless, a being made from stone, before, slowly, hesitantly, he pulled you even closer to him, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other arm wrapping around your waist so that you did not crumble. He was hot like a hearth, his skin blazing with the kind of warmth you had not felt in so long that tears sprang to your eyes.

“You saved me,” you insisted, weeping in earnest, wishing that there was some way you could stay by his side forever and then wondering where such a desire could even have sprung from. “Even if you were only a vision conjured by my mind, I know that I would never have made it home were it anyone else I saw. Had it been anyone but you, I would’ve been lost until the end.”

“Enough wailing,” he said, but it was devoid of the typical thorniness. “Y/N L/N. Stop it.”

“I cannot,” you said. 

“Pathetic girl,” he said; however, for the first time, you detected a hint of wavering in his voice. “Pathetic, idiotic girl. If only there were a way I could un-know you. If only it were possible for me to forget you entirely.”

“Don’t,” you said. “Please don’t.”

“I won’t,” he said. “If I were capable of it, I would’ve done so long ago, but as I haven’t, it can only mean that I never will.”

Somehow, you returned to the manor before anyone could raise an alarm at your second disappearance. Joining your father and uncle at the table for breakfast, avoiding your uncle’s greeting and sitting next to your father, you realized that it was not a miracle that you had escaped notice; rather, it was that everyone was supremely concerned with the letter your father was scanning, storms swirling in his eyes as he read it over.

“They’re summoning us,” he said, a second later. “Oh, Y/N, you’re here. Good.”

“Who is?” you said.

“My brother the king,” he said. “There’s been a prophecy. Very soon — in two weeks or even less — the queen will be dead.”

All of you set off at once, your father and uncle riding ahead, leaving you to cocoon yourself in a nest of furs atop the cushioned bench of the carriage. The guard from before, the handsome one with the hair like fox-hide, was requisitioned to accompany you, and so he sat across from you instead of riding in the company of your father and his retainers. You were the one who had asked for him specifically; he was kind and familiar to you, so in such a terrifying moment, you preferred his stalwart nature to any other’s.

“Tell me again,” you said, your voice muffled by the squirrel pelt wrapped around your neck and chin. “What did that prophet see?”

The guard did not know any more than you did, but in the monotony of the carriage ride, there were few other things you could occupy yourself with besides the obsessive question-and-answer game that you played with him. He was happy to follow along, or, if he was not happy, then at least he did as you asked without much complaint.

“Three things,” the guard said, holding up his right hand, the white calluses standing out against the pink of his palms. “Firstly, an eagle fell from its nest and broke its wings.”

“A clear omen against the L/Ns,” you said. “Eagles represent royalty, so for one to fall and lose its ability to fly in such a way…”

“Yes,” the guard agreed. “Secondly, upon reading the entrails of a sow, it was determined that the eagle was referencing a woman in particular.”

“And if it is a woman, then it could only be the queen,” you said.

“Correct, your highness,” he said. He could not see it, but you smiled at him — just barely, for you had not had enough to drink during your journey, so your lips were cracking from dehydration, and you did not rest well anymore, so you were constantly weary. “And finally, they consulted the mirrors, whereupon they saw death from disease tarnishing the pureness of the silver.”

“So they combined the symbols and divined that she would perish from the illness which has plagued her, as it once did my mother,” you said. “I wonder if it is worse or better to be aware that your death is approaching.”

“I suppose she must have known already, don’t you think?” he said. “In the moments before her death, your mother saw the angel Michael. I am sure the queen has had such a visitor as well.”

“Perhaps,” you said. “Though then again, I doubt that he would make appearances so frequently.”

“If he came to escort your mother, then would he not come for the queen? Forgive me for being candid, but it’s true that the queen’s station is far loftier than mother’s was,” he said.

“It’s alright. You’re not wrong, but even then,” you said, and then you sighed, sinking deeper into the plushness of your blankets. “Well, I don’t know. The affairs of angels are beyond you and I.”

“That’s true,” he said. You screwed your eyes shut, colorful spots painting the blackness behind your eyelids, the world spinning peculiarly, in a manner which was unrelated to the swaying of the carriage wheels.

“I think I will sleep now, sir,” you said. “If you do not mind very much.”

“I am only here to do as you command, your highness,” he said. “If you wish to sleep, then by all means, please sleep. I will wake you if anything happens.”

The journey to the castle was longer for you than it was for the riders, who could take narrower paths and cut across fallen trees and flooded bridges that the carriage needed to circumvent. By the time you reached, there was already a procession underway, and as the guard helped you towards the church, holding onto your hand and shoulders so that you could walk, you had to be wary of the spectators to the parade, who were shoving one another so that they could have the best possible view.

“They’re praying. For the queen’s health, and for the end of the plague,” you said, coughing hard enough that your chest ached from it, covering your mouth with your hand in shame, for you had been coughing more and more frequently as of late.

When you removed your hand, you noticed that there was something wet and wine-colored speckling it, and right when you were about to reach an understanding you should’ve come to long ago, a man’s shoulder rammed into your side, knocking you off-balance. Only your guard’s quick reflexes were enough to catch you, and he picked you up before such an accident could be repeated, taking care to push the man away rougher than he really needed to when he passed.

“Are you alright?” he said.

“Yes,” you said, half in a daze, the image of your stained hand imprinted in your mind. “Can you hear what they are saying, sir? Are they begging for forgiveness?”

“They are,” he said. “They’re repenting in the hopes that there will be mercy.”

“It’s late for that,” you said. “For me, anyways. But maybe the rest of you can still be saved.”

“What do you mean by that?” he said. Without you to slow the guard down, the two of you covered ground at twice the earlier speed, and you reached the steps of the church before the throngs of worshippers could. You saw them coming, the gathered masses of people, with the king and your father and the queen at the forefront of it all, and then you coughed again, because until you had seen that blood you hadn’t comprehended it, but now you did. “Why don’t you include yourself amongst our ranks, princess?”

“What is your name, sir?” you said.

“Kunigami, your royal highness,” he said. “Are you quite alright?”

“Kunigami,” you said, clenching the fabric of his tunic in your fists. “Kunigami, it’s not cold out today, is it?”

“No,” he said. “No, princess, it’s not. It’s mild and lovely.”

“It hasn’t been,” you said, and then you were crying, because you were afraid. You were more afraid then you ever had been, and you only had this bewildered boy to comfort you — and what slim comfort he provided! He, who was meant to be your staunchest defender but could never defend you from this. “It hasn’t been cold in many months, has it?”

“No,” he said. “Actually, it’s been rather warm. This year marks the warmest summer we’ve had since the time of the last king, or so I’m told.”

“The warmest summer?” you said. “I see now. I see. Oh, oh, Kunigami, you must go and fetch my father at once.”

“You are confounding me, your highness,” he said. “What is the matter?”

“Please bring my father,” you said. “Please, I don’t — I don’t want to be alone when it happens.”

Your poor father — some higher power had decided he deserved this. Your father, who was cruel, who killed and conquered, who was the horrible prince of the kingdom. Your father, who had already lost your mother. Your father, who would soon lose you.

“I don’t understand even now what you mean,” Kunigami said, setting you on the steps and straightening his shirt. “But I will do as you say. Wait here.”

He charged down the stairs, cutting through the crowds effortlessly with his imposing presence. You watched him go before turning back to the church, marveling at the building, the white pillars and the silvery dome which shone in the sky like a daytime moon. Statues of angels and muses lined the roof, and across the facade, there were words engraved. You could hardly read them, but you knew by heart what was written: On this mountain, I shall build my home, and thereupon I will give you the keys with which to reach me.

You didn’t know when your legs buckled, but they must’ve, for suddenly you were lying prone on the stairs, the stone freezing against your face, and although it was hardly the place for it, you found your tucking your fists under your forehead, exhaling and thinking of how sublime it would be to drift off now, drift off and not wake up for many hours or days…

“Y/N L/N.” The voice was the same, but there was something else behind it. Never had he spoken with such strength and such sadness in combination; his typical apathy had been chased away entirely, replaced with a fond if not distant pity. “I told you that you would not be alone. Did I not?”

Hands like embers held your face carefully, thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he tugged your jaw up so that you could look at him. You hardly had the strength to lift your head — how had you not known that it was coming? How had you ignored the symptoms of your own condition? Was it that you did not want to know it and so you refused to recognize the simple fact which had been looming over you for months now? But ignoring it did not make it go away. Ignoring it did not make it false. Ignoring it did not change the truth of the matter: that you were dying, that you had been dying for a long time now.

“Kaiser,” you said. He appeared different, though you could not place it; there was something hazy and golden about him, but regardless you were assured that it was him and no other. 

“Some know me by that name,” he said. “Most do not.”

“What do you mean?” you said.

“Michael!” It was your father who was screaming the name, and when you shifted, you realized he was doing his best to run towards you, though your uncles held him back, shock reflecting in their faces as your father bawled. “Michael, divine lord, don’t take her, too. Anybody else, be it the queen, my brothers — even me! Kill me, kill the entire kingdom if you must, but leave Y/N. Spare her, and I will repent! I will change my ways, and I will force the others to change as well. Spare her and I will do whatever you ask — but please, please spare her.”

“You should’ve come to this conclusion longer ago,” Kaiser said, and though he spoke at a regular volume, his voice rang through the square like he had shouted. “The time for begging is long gone. The plague will continue until all of you are dead. By my sword, I swear—”

“Michael,” you said. He was silent immediately, and you fought to keep your eyes open. Noticing your lowering your eyelashes against the sun, he reflexively spread his wings to cover you in shade, allowing you to admire him in full for the first time. “Has it been you all along?”

“Yes,” he said, a soft breeze running through his feathers and ruffling his hair. “Yes, it has been.”

“My mother was right,” you said. “You really are as beautiful as the paintings. Though, you were right as well. There is nothing resembling serenity in your expression.”

To your surprise, he chuckled, though there was a distinct tinge of sorrow behind it, so that it was as similar to a sob as it was to a laugh. Something moist splashed onto your face, and at first you thought he, too, was crying, but then you realized it came from his sword, which he brandished even now. Blood, that was what it was, the source of those sanguine stains which were now animated and lively, weeping down the length of the blade and dripping onto the white marble beneath his feet.

“Of course there is not,” he said. “When there is so much injustice in this world, how can I ever be serene?”

“You brought this plague upon us,” you said. “And the snakes, and the flood.”

“I did,” he said. “It was divine will. In the face of it, even I am powerless.”

“By your sword,” you said. “Is that why you hold it before you always?”

“How intelligent you are,” he said. “Oh, if only it were not you.”

“But you can stop it,” you said. “If you deem us worthy of being saved, you can prevent anyone else from dying.”

“Not you,” he said. “It’s too late. Even if I do that, I cannot save you. Not this time.”

“That’s alright,” you said. “You needn’t save me again. Once was enough. I’ve not done anything to be deserving of a second time.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You are the only one who I want to save. If you are lost, then there is nobody worthy of surviving. What have any of the rest ever proved to me? What goodness have they ever shown? What virtue or introspection? They are all brutes, and so they have earned it.”

“I cannot say whether that is true or not,” you said. “I don’t know about anyone else. But if even one other person like me exists and your inaction kills them, too, then will you ever be forgiven?”

“I am an angel,” he said. “I seek no forgiveness. I have not done anything to necessitate it.”

“I will not forgive you,” you said. 

“What does it mean?” he said. “What will any of it mean once you are gone?”

Your father had fallen to ground, repeating every prayer he had ever been taught, and even your uncle the king, who was typically stolid in the face of adversity, who had not placed a foot wrong the entire time he had thought his wife was the one prophesied to die, had tears shimmering in his eyes.

“Forgive them,” you said, and then, to your surprise, Michael, or Kaiser, or whichever name you called him, for it was irrelevant when they were all in reference to this singularly grand being — was dropping to his knees and tenderly taking your head so that it could rest on his lap. “As I will forgive you, forgive them. Please.”

Nobody even breathed. Every single body in the kingdom was stationary; the rabbits, the dormice, the people and the snakes, all of them waited to see what he would do. For a moment, it was nothing, and after that he merely hunched over and pressed his lips to your temple, his wings arcing to cover your body from any who might dare to glance at it.

“Very well, then,” he said. “I cannot save you, Y/N L/N, so this time, without riddles nor fuss, I will oblige you.”

A small smile graced his face, albeit an anguished one more characteristic of men than of angels, and as one blazing hand grew hotter and hotter against your rapidly-cooling cheek, he raised his sword in the air; then, for the first time since the plague had begun, he sheathed it.

[eternal-moss]

Good Lord I cannot stop Simonposting

Anyway. The Golbetty shrine. Is incredibly messed up and delightfully feels like the sort of thing someone would construct after comprehending the god of chaos.

It’s clearly not Simon’s first time doing the ritual in vain (we’ve already seen him try many times in the montage at the end of the show to get her back, including consulting the Cosmic Owl and Prismo), so there’s holes in the wall that correspond to Golb’s symbols. The Enchiridion is also there, which was the main source of power for summoning elder gods like the Litch (used to resurrect himself) Golb (used by Magic Man and Betty) and (attempt to) time travel (by Betty). But before the apocalypse, the Enchiridion was owned by Simon himself, and both him and Betty studied it. So it has the twofold power of being a very strong magic battery and has the emotional link to Petrigrof.

The empty bottles and whatever those terrifying lamprey looking things are in a makeshift statue, harbouring a cleaner looking idol (which he probably created himself) out of clay. Making a statue of a god at least twice? Does that mean that even if one gets broken or damaged he has the other one? Or does it make the rituals stronger?

We know that Simon knew a bit about Golb before the apocalypse- in the final episode of the main series we have a flashback of him and Betty, where he says “I keep seeing reference to this mysterious entity that embodies chaos” and “his presence is felt in every crevice where chaos lurks”. To which Betty replies “well it’s a good thing he isn’t here then.”

She sacrificed herself to keep him safe and away from the god of chaos and madness, by fusing her soul with his. Golb being this sort of god means that he’s probably the originator of MMS (Magic, Madness and Sadness) which is a canonical condition where insane/depressed characters will have a higher propensity to magic, and magic users are more prone to bouts of mania, amnesia and depression.

The crown was basically a catalyst of MMS, which caused Simon to have unnatural elemental powers (unlike the elementals which don’t experience default MMS) as well as effecting his body and mind.

Betty is pretty much the only character to have ‘diagnosed’ MMS, recognising it in most magic users, and in Simon, hoping to undo its effects on him. Her theory is proven correct in the episode ‘Betty’ by Bella Noche undoing all the magic in Wizard City and the effects of the crown are nullified, and retracts its influence from Simon, causing him to become ‘normal again’ and regain his clarity and memories.

Grief is shown to be a strong natural catalyst to MMS, which also happened to Magic Man (after his wife Margles was ‘taken by Golb’ which still has an unclear meaning, she definitely didn’t fuse like Betty, although wishing her back at Prismo’s did the exact same thing as Simon wishing Betty back which is really unusual), and Betty herself after the ‘You Forgot Your Floaties’ episode (which by the way is like one of the best episodes in the show).

Betty’s whole motive was to save Simon and free him from madness, which she did at the cost of her soul. But now, ironically, Simon’s grief is causing him to develop it again, which is how he channels the Golb rituals (like how Betty and magic man did) and also probably how the Fionnaverse portal even opened up in the first place.

Something about about Simon having panic attacks in his house and just generally getting triggered by a lot of stuff (Ice, the books he wrote as Ice King, etc) but then gently stroking the clay idol he made of the god of madness because that’s his wife is just heart breaking

Look at that expression :( it’s longing followed by guilt because he knows this is exactly what she would never want him to do.

[moriwood]

Mi Sei Mancato — p.sh

park sunghoon x male reader light angst 1.7k words

There’s no place in your small snowy village for a promising figure skater like Sunghoon. With his family’s increased visits to the city, it comes as no surprise when they announce their plan to send him overseas for professional training. What does he want to tell his closest friend before he leaves?

includes: written with a male mc but is actually gender neutral! and a lot of things happening in rapid succession woops warning: n/a

A thick layer of snow blankets the village, the serene winter stillness a familiar presence for most of the year. The rhythm of life in this tight-knit community is usually unhurried and undemanding, but today, everyone is out and about for the annual winter festival. In the heart of the village, next to the bonfire, a makeshift skating rink stands, where Sunghoon is one with the tunes of the tavern musicians, gliding across the ice with effortless grace.

Knowing Sunghoon since childhood, you’ve seen him outgrow the fringes of your small village. It feels like yesterday when you were kids, back when you would both slip and stumble on the ice, giggling as you kept losing your footing. But the years have certainly gone by, and his clumsy steps have now become effortlessly delicate. He’s gonna be a figure skater, he exclaimed, the first time he showed you a blade screwed into some boots that he bought in the city.

“Sunghoon-ie’s so talented, isn’t he?” you hear your mom gush, elbowing Sunghoon’s mom. “He should be competing overseas instead of indulging us here.”

The spark in Sunghoon’s eyes was always conspicuous, the way his face lit up talking about the Olympics, the applause, the medals, all that. You laughed it off then, thinking it was just some pipe dream of his; though watching him perform now, his spark seems to only grow brighter and hotter. Sunghoon is reaching for something bigger, an ambition that cannot be fulfilled in the confines of your village. He’s already a seasoned amateur champion, and with his family’s increasingly frequent travels to the city, you reckon that they’ve been meeting people who could further propel Sunghoon’s career as a budding athlete.

“We’ve been talking to some coaches in the city, actually,” Sunghoon’s mom reveals. “If all goes well, we might be sending him abroad to train for a while.”

Your mom gasps, pulling you closer to the two of them. “Has Sunghoon-ie told you about this?” she asks you.

You shake your head, making Sunghoon’s mom chuckle. “He’s too scared to say goodbye, I guess.”

As Sunghoon ends his performance and skates back to the sidelines, you meet his gaze. You silently agree with his mom. Other than his calculated movements on the ice is his calculated ambiguity recently, dodging questions on where he thinks his future lies. He gives you a tired smile, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “What y’all talking about?” he asks, huffing from exhaustion.

“Oh, I’ve told them about our plans,” Sunghoon’s mom replies. 

Sunghoon’s grip on your shoulder tightens. “What plans?” he clarifies.

“You know what I’m talking about,” she waves her hand. “The offer, Sunghoon-ie.”

The warmth of the bonfire does little to ease the sudden chill brought by the winter breeze. You watch as Sunghoon’s gaze shifts between the four of you, a brief flicker of surprise before being replaced by something you can’t quite place. His grip on your shoulder loosens.

“Mom,” he searches for the right words, voice steady despite the tension. “We haven’t made any final decision yet. You shouldn’t have told them already.”

“We’re just waiting for the visa,” his mother insists, tone encouraging. “You’ve worked so hard for this. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

Your mom lightly punches Sunghoon’s arm. “Aigoo, it’s a great opportunity, Sunghoon-ie. Don’t waste it!”

Sunghoon goes back to smiling, one that you certainly know is uncomfortably strained. “It is. It is a great opportunity,” he nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the ice beneath his feet. “Can we talk later?” he whispers to you. 

— 

As the night seeps in, the bonfire is down to its last embers. The lively chatter has toned down to ambient noise, with families returning to their homes to clean up. You find yourself near the frozen lake with Sunghoon. The silence between you is heavy. You walk in silence, the crunch of snow beneath your boots keeping you grounded.

This was where you two used to play around in. Surrounded by a small grove of trees at the edge of the village, it seems like this is now where you two will soon separate. For a long moment, neither of you says anything, both of you taking in the landscape that used to be the background to many of your stories together.

“Congrats,” you mumble, disrupting the silence.

“I’m sorry,” Sunghoon replies, voice barely above a whisper. “I should have told you earlier.”

You shake your head in disagreement. “I get it. You’re trying to figure out how to break it to us.”

“I won’t leave,” he declares. He’s bluffing. His parents would not go this far if their plans were anything but final.

You turn your head to him in incredulity. Sunghoon’s gaze is fixed to the ice beneath his feet. “That’s a stupid choice, Sunghoon, and you know that.”

“But I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of failing everyone.”

You let out a laugh, reaching to his gloved hand and gripping it gently. “Why’d you be scared of that? We’ll always be here rooting for you. You can’t stay here felling and bucking trees with the rest of us.” 

“But what if everything changes?” his voice cracks, revealing a vulnerability you’ve never seen so openly before. “What if when I come back, nothing’s the same? What if I’m not the same?”

You sigh. “Whether you stay here or not, we’ll change. But we’ll always be here to welcome you with open arms.”

Sunghoon looks up at you, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “It’s just… this place, these memories…”

He puts an arm behind your back and pulls you into an embrace. Your heart aches, the sincerity of it all making it hard to breathe. The weight of his impending departure looming over you only makes you more confused. He nestles his head on your shoulder.

“You’ll always have a place here,” you continue, “I mean, in my heart at least, you’ll always have a place.”

“Do I really?” he mumbles. You don’t reply, only tightening the embrace. “Why are you making it so hard for me to leave?” he whines.

“Why are you blaming me?” you chuckle. “I don’t want you to leave, but I also don’t want to be the reason you give up on your dream.”

“You’re not,” he raises his head and says firmly, pulling back to meet your eyes again. “You’re one of the reasons why I’m still chasing this dream. You’re a part of my dream now too, don’t you know?”

“You’re making it seem like you’re gonna wed me when you come back,” you grin.

“Oh, I will,” he replies, cupping your face in his hands. “I’ll visit here as much as I can. I’ll call you as much as I can. And when I get that gold medal, I’m running to you with a wedding ring.”

You search his face for any sign of humor or doubt, but all you see is that same determination that you’ve always admired in him. He’s serious about this confession, as much as it seems like a joke between best friends. And as you stand there, with snow falling softly around you and Sunghoon’s warm hands against your skin, you’re not against the idea.

“Then I’ll be here, waiting for you, cheering you on, no matter where you go,” you reply.

Sunghoon’s eyes light up and then, he leans in and presses his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet, even with your chapped lips. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“I’ll miss you,” he murmurs.

— 

“Sunghoon Park!” the arena’s speakers echo, calling the final figure skater.

The crowd grows loud as Sunghoon steps onto the ice, expression calm and focused. This is the moment he’s been dreaming for years, after leaving his hometown and trading it for countless hours of training and perseverance. Despite his growth and maturity, you still see that young rural Sunghoon in the glint in his eyes. He is as nervous as he is excited to prove his talent on an Olympic scale.

The music starts, a jovial melody filling the arena. It’s a rendition of the village tunes, as if his performance is an homage to the youth he spent in that small town up in the mountains. Sunghoon begins his routine, immediately proving that he has become flawless. He is artistic yet mathematical, his skates carving perfect arcs into the ice. His spins are heavy and powerful, yet he goes back to floating across the ice like it’s nothing. Tears blur your vision as you clap for him, proud of what he has become.

He finishes heaving, face flushed with fatigue. But when he looks up into the stands, his eyes find yours immediately, and the smile that spreads across his face is enough to pay back the years he had spent without you.

Sunghoon lands on the top of the scoreboard, earning the gold medal. As the medal is draped around his neck, he looks so ready to leave. The national anthem plays, and as the flag is raised, he looks straight at you. As it ends, he steps down from the podium and runs straight towards you, medal still hanging around his neck and blades to his boots still attached. He reaches the barrier separating the ice from the stands and pulls a velvet box from his pocket. It seems like he hasn’t forgotten a promise from years ago.

“Come here,” he shouts, voice barely audible over the noise of the audience.

Without hesitation, you stand up and make your way down the stairs, glancing at the staff who seem more interested in the stunt than in the tons of security protocols that Sunghoon must be breaking right now. He reaches for your hand and pulls you close.

“Do you still remember?” he asks, voice loud and filled with emotion.

You nod, tears already flowing. “You said you’d win the gold and run to me with a wedding ring.”

“So will you marry me?” 

“Yes, I will.”

He slips the ring onto your finger and the arena erupts to an even louder volume. His lips crash down on yours in a kiss that’s long been overdue. He then wraps his arms tightly around you, laughing.

“I’ve missed you,” he huffs, his breath misting in the cold air.

author's note: this one's for you @haocovr ! thank u for the compliments, sorry i took quite a while 🙇‍♂️🙇‍♂️

the paris olympics is over but hey! the next winter olympics will be held in italy, so that’s why my title is that. :]

— moriwood.

[strniohoeee]

oooo okay what i'm boutta request may sound crazy but

could you do a fluffy fic where it's all in matt's pov and he has a huge crush on the reader and he's so anxious around her and nick puts it together that matt is in love with the reader and one day they're hanging and matt's nervous around the reader and the reader is worried and asks matt what wrong and like after being so scared and shy matt blurts out he's in love with the reader and has been for a while and it turns out reader is in love with matt too and boom they kiss and become boyfriend and girlfriend

Dreaming

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Plagued by the constant nervousness Y/N makes Matt feel he takes to his journal. Afraid that his feelings are one sided he keeps it quiet until Y/N confronts him 📝

Warnings⚠️: None, kinda short??? I hope you enjoy tho🤞🏽

Song for the imagine: Ivy- Frank Ocean

I thought that I was dreaming

When you said you loved me

The start of nothin

I had no chance to prepare

Matt’s POV

Entry #14

Writing this down seems embarrassing because this isn’t something I do, but I have no one to talk to. I think that I’m falling in love? No! I know I’m in love, but does she love me back is the million dollar question.

I don’t crush on girls often, but when a girl is as gorgeous as Y/N how can I not? Everything about her draws me to her….like a moth to a flame. An ache comes to my heart everytime I see her because she’s so close yet so far away.

I was never shy around a girl I liked, but there’s something about her….I can’t explain it. Her dark intense eyes, her soft face, her gorgeous smile, her nails always perfectly shaped. Long but not too long just enough to capture someone’s gaze. The way she’d blink faster and bite her pointer finger nail when she was thinking hard about something.

Her ring clattered fingers, like ice to my skin when she’d grab my arm to tell me something. I mean her laugh…..always covering her mouth because she hated the face she’d make as she let laughter erupt from her chest.

She was always laughing too and it made me smile just to hear the joy come out of her. I’m not really sure when I started to like her, but it just happened. One day her looks and her touches made me nervous. It was a gradual liking that suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks.

She’s also our best friend, so admitting my feelings to her seems a bit dicey. I was never given any notion that she liked me more than a friend, unless she’s good at hiding it. I can’t fathom losing her as a friend because of my stupid feelings.

I guess time will tell…

-Matt

“Matt what the fuck are you doing?” Nick says barging into my room. Causing me to slam my book shut and snap my head up at him

“Nothing. I’m writing” I said placing the book on my lap

“We’ve been calling your name for a while….Y/N thought you weren’t here or anything” he said laughing

“Y/N’s here?” I asked my eyebrows perking up

“Uh yeah” he said furrowing his brows at me

“And she was looking for me?” I asked scratching the back of my neck

“Well we were all looking for you….What's going on?” Nick asked looking at me sideways

“Nothing nothings going on” I said shaking my head

“Okayyy then” he said raising his eyebrows

I threw my book on the bed and stood up stretching and patting Nick on the shoulder

“I’ll be in living room” I replied walking out my bedroom door

Unbeknown to Matt his journal had propped open on his bed. Showcasing the entry he just wrote, and Nick raised his eyebrows. Truly enticed by what he was writing

“Nick this is wrong” the boy said to himself

He trotted over to the bed and shook his head…thinking he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. Matt was acting weird lately and he figured the reason would be within these pages.

Looking over to see if anyone was near the door he let a breath of air out as he grabbed the book and looked down.

His eyes popping out of his head at what he was reading. Holy shit? My brother is in love with our best friend? He thought to himself

The way he described her had Nick's eyes scanning the page rapidly looking for more. How did Y/N not realize how head over heels this kid was for her….

But then he thought and things started to add up. Nervous around Y/N randomly, avoiding eye contact, getting embarrassed easily, catching him stare at Y/N always….

He knew it! All along Nick knew that his brother had a thing for Y/N, and he feels kind of dumb that it took him this long to realize why his brother was acting so weird.

Nick shut the book and placed it back on the bed. His heart racing with this new information that he was not supposed to know about.

Matt’s POV

Y/N had come over for our monthly movie night. Since our friendship started one night every month we binge watched all types of movies.

Y/N called it her stay relevant with current pop culture night. I just think she liked movies and needed a good excuse to keep us seated for hours on end.

Before playing our first movie we decided to eat dinner. Chris offered to cook and we all scurried away from the kitchen. Opting for McDonald’s instead.

“What movies are you planning for tonight?” Chris asked Y/N

“I’m not sure I think we should start with something sad and then build our way up to scary and then romance and then comedy” she said taking a sip of her drink

“What’s your idea of sad?” Nick asked her

“Now I wouldn’t say it’s sad, but it seems alt and creepy and it has a deep message” she began to say

“You’re such a weirdo” Chris said cutting her off

“Hey! Let her say the movie” I butt in sticking my hand out to stop Chris

“Thanks Matt, it’s requiem for a dream” she said looking at me

“Never heard of it” Nick said

“Yeah me neither” Chris replied

“Well it’s about drug addicts who are trying to find ways to get their next high, but it all starts to go wrong and it’s supposedly really good” she said getting excited

We all kind of looked at her. Me enticed and Nick and Chris bored

“Nick and Chris are looking at me like I’m crazy, but how about you Matt?” She asked looking over at me

“Hmm?” I replied looking at her

“The movie? Want to watch it?” She asked

“Uhh yeah, sure” I said smiling at her

“See! This is why you’re my favorite” he said leaning over and hugging me while laughing

Instantly her touch made me stiffen up. I was becoming nervous and my voice was straining far from me. All I could do was offer a pat to her arm and a smile.

Her eyebrows furrow at this and I mentally smack myself in the head. What the fuck was that? I thought

We cleaned up our wrappers and headed back to the couch

“Matt sit by me?” Y/N asked me patting the empty spot next to her

“Okay” I blurted out nervously

I sat down next to her, stiff like a board might I add. Not really letting my body touch hers as my breathing began to quicken in my chest.

Everything about this situation was making me so fucking nervous. How she mindlessly situated herself, often brushing her leg or hand against me and offering soft “sorries” to which I replied with a shake to my head.

We began the movie and it was actually very interesting. Keeping my eyes locked in the whole time, and scratching my head at the plot.

However I kept noticing Y/N glancing over at me. Making me swallow thickly as anxiety crept up the back of my neck.

She wasn’t even doing anything and my body was reacting. My leg started to shake and I mindlessly started to bite the inside of my lip.

“Hey you okay?” Y/N leaned over and whispered in my ear

“Yeah yeah I’m okay” I replied quickly glancing at her

“You seem a bit on edge today” she said back

“What? Me? No” I replied a bit confused

“Well okay” she said sitting back against the couch

What the fuck was I doing? The anxiety is becoming too much. I decided to stand up and head outside for a breeze and to clear my mind.

Nick had watched Matt walk outside, furrowing his brows and looking over at Y/N who’s eyes had followed where Matt was going.

A smile grew on nicks face and he began to speak

“I think you should see what’s wrong with him” Nick said to Y/N

“He seemed a bit on edge I don’t want to make him mad” she replied looking over at the boy

“No he’s just got some things on his mind I think you talking to him would be better than one of us” he replied to her

She nodded her head and offered him a small smile.

She got up and headed outside

Matt’s POV

I sat on a lawn chair looking at the trees moving in the breeze. My thoughts interrupted when I heard the creak of the back door

“Matt?” I heard from behind me

“Yeah?” I replied looking over my shoulder

“What’s wrong? You seem off” she said sitting next to me

“Nothings wrong I promise” I replied smiling at her

“You’re lying” she said staring blankly at me

“Okay fine….just a bit of anxiety is all” I replied

“That was the half truth…what’s really going on” she said rolling her eyes at me

“You wouldn’t get it” I replied looking back at the trees

“Matt, come on. We tell each other everything” she says groaning

“But this I want to keep to myself” I said rubbing my eyes

“But if it’s making you anxious you should just say it” she said back to me

“I don’t know how to say it” I said turning and looking at her

“Oh sure you do come on” she said egging me on

“It’s just I am so madly in love with you, and I have been for a while. And I don’t know that you feel the same way and I can’t risk losing a friendship over this. But everytime I see you it’s like my body is on fire and my chest aches for you. Everything about you is gorgeous and amazing and I can’t help myself from falling more and more each day” I blurted out

“Matt….I….I like you so much. And I thought the lingering touches and the glances would give you an idea. But I figured I was creeping you out” she said laughing a bit

“No. You were making me nervous” I replied laughing too

Without a second thought Y/N pressed her lips to mine, and at first it took me by surprise. But then my right hand laid on her cheek as I pressed my lips against hers.

This kiss was better than I could have ever imagined. It was like we were made for each other. Her soft lips made my skin melt as the stars aligned above us.

I pulled away and looked at her before smiling at her

“Can I….can I be your boyfriend?” I asked smiling at her

“Yes Matt! 100 times yes” she replied before crashing her lips to mine again

A beautiful kiss under the clear night sky…just like a movie<3

The End

HIIIIII hope yall enjoyed this one🥹🖤🖤 I got many more requests to pump out, so stay tuned! Love yall dearly 🤭🖤🖤

-J💅🏽