#instead of avoiding it like she did before

[tsuy4n]

The Artist Who Lives for the Plot

Warning/s: Fem!Reader, Mild language/swearing, still chaotic, teasing but that's just another word for verbal bullying, petty drama, reader still very much suffering (comically)

[A/n]: Okay, so apparently my calculations were off (nothing new to me) with how things are going and how much fun I'm writing the boys + [Y/n], this will become a short series!

Part 1, >Part 2<

Day 3: Five Failures, Zero Progress

You're on your way to work, absolutely dreading what lies ahead. Not the chores, not the endless hours of running errands, but them: The five walking demonic migraines with unholy cheekbones.

They were chaotic yesterday. All sharp grins and cryptic words, eyes gleaming like they knew something you didn’t.

What changed? You didn’t do anything. That, you're sure of. So why the hell are they suddenly breathing down your neck like you owe them your soul? (Which, considering who they are, might actually be on the table.)

Are they acting like this because you saw something you shouldn't have?

Like that concept. Was it supposed to be a secret? They didn’t react like you expected. No panic. No anger. Then again, you didn’t exactly study their expressions too hard. Priorities.

Still, the sight’s fresh in your mind. The holograms. The glowing golden eyes. That haunting yet stunning transformation. Whoever came up with that deserves a raise. You want those contacts. Seriously.

Focus. So what exactly did you do to earn their torment?

...Maybe their whole demon concept isn’t even a concept. Maybe it’s just them being themselves. It wouldn’t surprise you if they casually peeled off their skin one day and revealed horns underneath.

You’d arm yourself with holy water and crosses. Even if it doesn't work, at least you tried.

You sigh. The regular chaos of your job is already exhausting. You didn’t sign up to be personally targeted by five beautiful men with bad attitudes and possible hellspawn origins.

Still, you can’t deny the silver lining. Your last three chapters? A hit with your readers/audience.

With the extra income, rent is looking less like a nightmare and more like a minor inconvenience. You might even treat yourself to a pastry.

So, the plan for today is simple: Avoid them at all costs. Have another staff member deliver their water and lunch. Easy. Professional. Peaceful.

Elsewhere…

"She could be with Huntrix." Jinu mutters, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

"Or maybe she’s just weird." Baby says with a raised brow before flopping lazily into a chair. He's so convinced that you are.

Abby crosses his arms. "Or she’s spying for someone else. A lone agent." (He’s been watching too many shows)

Romance taps his chin thoughtfully. "Or a real artist, like she says. She does draw well for a spy."

Mystery, from where he’s crouched on the couch upside down, simply says, "What if she just takes her job seriously?"

The silence that follows is long. Suspiciously long.

Jinu sighs. "I'm sure you've all memorized the choreography enough. Let's take turns watching her and while you're at it, try to get that book. That'll help us clear this whole situation up."

At first, the boys think he’s giving them a free day. A chance to sleep. Eat. Breathe without glitter(?)

But he just kept speaking.

"So who wants to go first?" Jinu smiles, his teeth showing.

They groan in unison.

Instead of practicing, they spent the entire morning arguing over who goes first, then next, and all the way to the last. They eye each other like enemies before throwing down their hands in a dramatic round of rock, paper, scissors.

Mystery wins by default because he doesn’t even participate and somehow still gets the slot he wanted. Classic.

By lunch, they’ve just finalized the schedule when the rehearsal room door swings open.

"Hello! Here’s your lunch." A voice calls cheerfully causing for heads to whip toward the unfamiliar staff member.

"Where’s the other noona? The one who’s been bringing our food these last two days?" Baby asks politely all while flashing a disarming smile.

The staff member nearly swoons. "She asked me to take over today. Said she had errands."

Suspicious. They all thought.

Suspicious enough that the unlucky member with the first shift, Romance, rises like a man sentenced.

It doesn’t take Romance long to find you. A few smooth questions to the right people and a tilt of his smile does the trick.

He spots you sweeping the floor backstage, earbuds in, completely immersed in your own world, just vibing and enjoying your well-deserved peace not knowing it'll be disturbed within a minute.

Romance watches for a beat. Then two. There’s something about your concentration that makes him pause but it was only for a moment.

He approaches, hands in his pockets, leaning slightly with a soft, teasing smile. "Need help with that, darling? Or should I stand here and give you moral support while you sweep?"

You don't notice him at first, too focused or immersed and he noticed that because he took one of your earbuds off.

You thought at first it was a fellow staff member or maybe the manager but what you saw immediately made you scowl.

Really? It hasn't even been an hour!

Romance laughed at the expression you gave him, though he was clearly confused as to why you weren’t already swooning at his smile.

You snatched your earbud from his hand, brows furrowed. "You can help by not shedding glitter everywhere. That’d save me a lot of time."

He chuckled under his breath, undeterred. "Feisty. I like that."

You glanced at him, eyes narrowing like you were debating whether to smack that annoyingly symmetrical face with a broom.

Okay, maybe not the face. It was too reference-coded. But still. You’d aim for the shoulder.

"If you’re not gonna help, move. I���m on a schedule." You glared at him. Stupid pretty boys.

"So serious." He mused, but stepped aside anyway... only to linger. Watching. Following. Breathing near you like some sparkly parasite.

At one point, you dropped the broom to pick up a fallen costume prop: a foam trident.

You didn’t even look at him, too wrapped in your own world as you twirled it absentmindedly like some battle-hardened warrior preparing to train.

Romance watches, both amused and... vaguely alarmed. That twirl was a little too natural that he forgot about getting something.

When he felt like he's been following her for hours, he returned to the others and he doesn’t even flinch when Abby asks, "So? How'd it go?"

"I couldn't get it." Romance's answer made them sigh. They did honestly think it’ll only take him to get that book (sketchbook).

He didn't tell them about forgetting the original agenda, only that, "She was practicing how she’ll strike us. With a trident."

"What?!" Jinu chokes on his drink as he immediately thought, What kind of a human owns a trident? What the hell are you.

"What kind of trident?" Mystery asks calmly with a little tilt of his head.

"Foam." Romance replied so seriously. "She spun it like she meant business. And also called me a walking arts-and-crafts hazard."

They exchanged glances. Why didn't he choose to say the 'foam' part first? And what was that him being a walking arts thing...?

Failure #1

Baby’s turn begins with him stuffing his pockets with snacks. If he was going to tail someone, he might as well do it on a full stomach.

He finds you in one of the dressing rooms, sorting wigs and costume pieces into bins. It's boring work, but you're doing it with focus, just enough for Baby to slip into the room quietly.

Too quietly.

He slinks around, crouched low like some stealth agent, until he accidentally knocks over a mannequin arm. It hits the floor with a loud clack.

You jump. So does he.

Your eyes narrow instantly when you see him. "Why are you crouching like that?"

Baby straightens up and shrugs, trying to play it cool. "Stretching. Back pain. Old injury."

You look him up and down, unconvinced because you should be the one saying that. He's acting like it wasn't just yesterday that he was messing with you by littering all the things you just cleaned up, like some fucking cat.

"Huh, this box? Woops! I’m so sorry, noona." That’s exactly what he’d say, eyes wide and fake-innocent, like some baby deer with unresolved mischief issues.

And every time he said it, it made your skin crawl.

Not because of the word itself. No, you could handle "noona." You weren’t even that much older.

Actually, you were pretty sure you were the same age as him, maybe even younger than some of the others. But Baby said it with that tone.

That smug, cheeky little lilt that made it feel less like respect and more like a personal attack.

You did find him cute. Objectively.

But his whole existence had the chaotic energy of someone who knew he was cute and used it for evil.

And unfortunately for him, charm loses its effectiveness when paired with the urge to throw him out a window.

And here he is, grinning mischievously. "You know, your work ethic is really inspiring. Sorting wigs with that kind of passion? Sexy."

You squint at him like you're debating whether to hit him with the mannequin arm or the whole stand. That sounds so good, so self-healing after what you went through.

You felt like an old woman trying to crack her back when walking.

You let out a sigh through your nose before continuing on with doing your task while Baby walks closer.

You glance at him. "You remind me of my friend’s cat. Always knocking things over and demanding attention." 

Before he can respond, you pat his head, scratch gently under his chin, and walk past him like he’s just another prop to fix the mannequin's arm back in.

He’s frozen. Processing.

A full minute later, he’s still standing there, blinking and you're already done with the tasks here in the room.

"I’m not wasting precious brain cells on a live-action reminder that pretty doesn’t mean functional." You raise a brow at him while picking up a box. "Unlike you all, who have so much free time to pester me, I'm busy doing my actual job."

Baby finally snapped out of it when he saw you step out though before taking your leave completely, he heard you speak again in a demanding tone like you were a parent warning its 7 year old naughty kid.

"Go back to your little posse, alley cat." You said, eyes half-lidded as you smirked. "Don’t you have hair to flip and raccoons to fight behind a 7-Eleven?"

Back at the room, Baby slumps onto the couch with a huff. What happened repeated in his head like a player.

"She called me a cat. Not in a hot, aloof way, but a stray." He then adds, "Like the kind that gets into turf wars with raccoons behind a 7-Eleven.”

That was what all he reported to the others earning funny stares, plus a disappointed but intrigued Jinu.

Like Romance, he didn’t even get to ask about the damn book. He didn't actually had any chance to use half of his charms because one moment you're being playful then next you're roasting him like a bunch of coffee beans.

He may have forgot his original goal, at least he now has something new and that is swearing to make you swoon just like those other simple humans.

And that he agreed with his pink haired friend, who was the 1st victim.

Failure #2

You felt being watched. No, actually you 'are' being watched but by who?

You looked around, scanning the storage room. Empty. Still. Dusty. Dim. So either someone was lurking, or this place was haunted and your will to live had just expired on the spot.

You took one cautious step toward the door.

And then, Mystery appeared from behind a shelf like a summoned spirit. Just standing there. Silent.

"Shibal—!"

You jumped so hard you slipped, tripped over a box, and crashed to the floor in a glorious symphony of clatter and cardboard.

Mystery blinked then tilted his head slightly. "You startle easily."

You coughed once, sneezed from the dust, then squinted through a half-hearted glare. "You appeared like a ghost."

No apology. Not even a hand to help you up. Just that unreadable face and deadpan tone, like he wasn’t the reason you were now covered in packing peanuts and shame.

Though, his gaze didn’t seem malicious...just mildly unsettling. You were 85% sure he was judging you from under all that hair.

You pushed yourself up with a sigh, brushing off your pants like your pride hadn’t just taken a fatal blow.

But of course he didn’t. You’d already finished cleaning up. Again. You cleaned things up a lot these days, thanks to a certain someone and his espresso-fueled vendettas.

You turned your head to glare at Mister Human Equivalent of Dead Air, who blinked slowly. Unbothered. Possibly proud.

"You’re worse than the cockroach I found in the kitchen yesterday."

He hummed, completely unfazed. "Cockroaches don’t scream."

Unbelievable.

"Do you guys have a group chat where you plan this? Like, ‘let’s go bother the new hardworking staff girl’?" Your arms were crossed, your expression demanding answers.

"Book." Was all he said in return.

You blinked. Your brain lagged like bad Wi-Fi. What book?

And is that really all he had to say after standing there for a solid thirty minutes in monk-level silence?

"The one you always have your nose in." He added after a beat, still blank-faced. At least that's what you feel.

"...Is this whole bothering-me thing about that?"

He nodded once. You call bullshit—but also, maybe there’s hope?

"You mean my sketchbook?"

Another nod. You stared at him. Did this guy have a word quota? Was he conserving syllables for his vocal lines?

"If I gave you that, would all of you stop pestering me?"

He didn’t answer. At least not immediately. Just stood there, matching your stare, the silence stretching between you like a rope ready to snap.

You sighed, then gave him a smile. And for one brief, shimmering second, Mystery thought he’d won. Maybe you liked him best.

Maybe you had a thing for the quiet ones—the cryptic, brooding types who linger like ghost drafts in haunted castles.

Jinu did say people had different tastes in idols. Like food—

"No."

...Or not.

Silence dropped again, thick as concrete, before you squinted and spoke.

"What makes you think I’d entrust something of mine to you, or any of you?" you asked. "If you’re all worried I’m drawing you in ‘suspicious’ ways, don’t flatter yourselves. You’re just references."

You stomped past him with all the grace of a woman wronged, then spun back on your heel.

"Actually, scratch that. You should be worried." You jabbed a finger in his direction. "I will draw all of you in suspicious ways. And when you debut? I’ll post it."

You narrowed your eyes. As always, it was impossible to tell what Mystery was thinking, but that didn’t matter. You were confident.

You were an artist. You had the power to draw this stupid boyband making out with each other in watercolor and full shading without feeling an ounce of shame.

They, however, would never recover.

"You better think twice about bothering me now! Tell them that." Then you ran, like a child who knew they’d just poked a beehive and needed to disappear before the stingers caught up.

Back with the group, Mystery returned and stood in front of the others.

"So?" Jinu asked, arms crossed. Behind him, Romance and Baby leaned in, already bracing themselves. Whatever you’d said must’ve rewired something.

Maybe broke a few brain cells on the way out.

"She organizes her materials very efficiently." Mystery said, nodding like he was delivering critical intel to a war council.

Romance blinked. "That’s what you got?"

Baby, now sprawled across the couch with a juice box, snorted. "Told you."

Jinu pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did you at least get the sketchbook?"

Mystery shook his head.

Of course not.

Jinu sighed. At this point, he wasn’t sure if they were failing—or if you were simply immune to all known forms of charm, charisma, and supernatural bullshit.

Romance muttered something about foam weapons. Baby muttered something about alley cats.

And somewhere in the room, a collective ego quietly combusted.

Failure #3.

You volunteered to run an errand. A simple supply run. A chance to breathe.

Sure, you had your suspicions that the boys were taking turns tailing you. Mystery had confirmed it earlier with a thirty-minute silent staring contest that ended in zero answers.

Romance tried to flirt like he’d read one too many bad webtoons. Baby? You mistook him for a stray cat and nearly offered him tuna.

So today? You were ready. You had an escape. Or so you thought...

You regretted everything the second you stepped outside. Why? Because the universe sent you Abby.

Of course, it had to be him. The walking thirst trap of the group.

The one with annoyingly perfect hair, annoying abs, and the kind of face that probably got sculpted by the devil himself on a good day. Because of course.

He was walking beside you like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t single-handedly making people turn their heads from left to right.

And don’t even get started on his stupid shirt. Why the hell is it riding up every few minutes?

Is the universe trying to humble you?

Is nature in on this too? That one breeze that made his shirt lift just enough to show off those abs? It wasn’t a coincidence. That was a divine betrayal.

And of course, he saw you staring. He smirked.

"I saw that." He says, voice low and smug. "Like what you see, sweetheart?"

You groan. "I was looking at the crime against fashion you’re wearing."

He places a hand dramatically on his chest. "You wound me."

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly gives you vertigo. Still, this… wasn’t the worst. At least they weren’t swarming you like yesterday. With them taking turns now, it was more manageable.

"You know," Abby starts, hands behind his head as you walk down the street together, "I think I should be the one to keep you company more often. You seem calmer with me. Maybe even a little... interested."

You stop walking and give him the most deadpan look you can muster. "I was calm because I thought I was alone."

Ouch

But Abby, as always, doesn’t take the loss. He leans closer, lowering his sunglasses with a grin. "Come on, just give me the sketchbook. You like me the most, right?"

You tilt your head and pretend to consider it. "Let’s see..."

Then you dramatically slap a hand over your heart.

"Oh no." You gasp sarcastically. "My deepest secret! How did you know I fall for guys who flex their abs at me like it’s still 2012 Tumblr?"

That gets a crack in his confident grin. Inside, he's genuinely confused. What does that mean??

You pat his arm like you're speaking to someone tragically misguided. "Listen, I’ve drawn more abs than I’ve touched in real life. Yours aren’t special. They’re just... reference material."

Abby chokes on nothing. "Reference material?!"

You give him a cheeky smile. "Yeah. The kind I toss into the 'basic male idol' folder."

You start walking again, casually leaving him in the dust. He stands there, looking scandalized.

Back at the dorm, he slumps into the chair dramatically, hand over his heart.

"She called me basic, and made me carry everything." He mutters, defeated and tired just like the last 2 (Baby & Romance) who returned earlier.

"So she didn’t give you the sketchbook?" Jinu asks, already knowing the answer.

Abby sighs, deeply. "I think she drew a whole new character in her mind just to insult me."

Failure #4

That leaves Jinu, their last hope of getting that sketchbook before the day ends.

"We're counting on you, lead~!" Baby teased with a grin too smug for his own good. His voice dipped into mock aegyo as he winked.

The beef he had with Jinu wasn’t subtle; something about being 'the cute one' when he’d rather be anything else.

It didn’t help that Jinu never really fought back, just smiled like he had better things to do than argue with someone who collected Hello Kitty bandaids.

You, meanwhile, were clocking out. Finally.

Work was done. The sun was down. The universe had tested your patience in every possible way. A hot bath and unconsciousness were the only plans on your mind until he showed up.

"Happy that work’s over, huh?"

You didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

"Obviously." You huffed then rolled of your eyes. "Wouldn’t you be if a bunch of demon-spawn kept finding new ways to test your will to live?"

"…Is that a general insult or something more specific?"

His question made you gave him a look like you were hinting at the obvious.

"Fair." He said with a chuckle.

He walked beside you without asking. Just far enough not to be annoying. Just close enough to be impossible to ignore.

“Wanna grab dinner?”

You blinked then gave him a side-eye. "What makes you think I’d say yes? Is this another one of your weird group rituals where someone jumps out of a trash can to scare me?"

"I said dinner, not a prank war. It’s my treat." He said, hands up in mock surrender. "No one else will be there. Consider it… an apology. For the chaos they’ve put you through."

You raised a brow. "And you’re suddenly the nice one?"

"I never said that," He replied smoothly. "But I do know when to offer compensation."

You thought about it. He hadn’t stepped in earlier, sure, but maybe he wasn’t completely awful. And free food was free food.

You were broke, your fridge was empty, and a meal you didn’t have to cook yourself was a rare form of heaven.

So you said yes.

The place he brought you to wasn’t flashy. A quiet diner tucked away from the noise. Warm lights. Old booths. You ordered too much and pretended not to care.

"You know," Jinu said mid-meal. "I kind of expected you to throw your drink in my face."

"You still might deserve it," You said between bites. "Depends how this conversation goes."

He smiled, his chin resting on his hand as he watched you. You noticed, of course. But instead of reacting, you stayed calm, indifferent, even.

As if you weren’t being quietly studied by a man who looked like he'd walked off a runway.

"You always like this?" You asked with a raised brow. "Weirdly smooth one second, annoying the next?"

He smirked at you. "It’s a learned skill. Keeps people guessing."

"You’re not that hard to figure out." You deadpanned with a slight tilt of your head. "You’re probably the most normal one out of your group. Still a menace, though."

Jinu laughed. Just the short type. "That almost sounded like a compliment."

You stared at him then replied in a monotonous voice, "It wasn’t."

He chuckled, and the conversation settled into something surprisingly... normal.

Eventually, you talked about things you didn’t usually mention to strangers—about the pressure of pretending, of being exhausted all the time and not knowing how to admit it.

About how expectations from others wear you down until all you want to do is disappear.

At some point, maybe out of tired habit or plain honesty, you even muttered something about 'your demons whispering to you late at night.' You meant it figuratively, of course.

But the way Jinu blinked once, slow and calculating made you wonder if he thought otherwise. Like you’d just triggered something serious.

He didn’t ask. Just nodded and let it go. But you caught it: the subtle shift in his gaze, that flicker of recognition. Whatever he was thinking, it didn’t feel like nothing.

Still, he listened. Not with empty nods, but like he got it. Not everything, but enough.

And... that felt nice. It's been a while since you had someone to talk to about things you can relate. Your friends were busy and when they try to invite you to hangout, you're the one who has a pack sched instead.

When you got home later that night, sketchbook still tucked away where no one would ever find it, you let yourself sink into bed and stared at the ceiling.

Maybe Jinu wasn’t so bad. Not like the rest of his chaos crew. He's become 'just alright guy' to you.

Meanwhile, Jinu returned to the place they all stayed while living in the human world—a sleek apartment tucked above the city skyline, equal parts expensive and lived-in.

The others were scattered across the living room, feigning disinterest while clearly listening.

Abby was the first to ask. "So? How’d yours go?"

Jinu kicked off his shoes and shrugged, hands in his pockets. "No sketchbook. But I think she let her guard down."

That got their attention.

"She’s easier to talk to when you’re not pushing her buttons. Maybe try not teasing her to death next time." He added, giving Romance a pointed glance though his eyes definitely slid to Abby and Baby too.

Not that any of those three looked the least bit guilty.

Baby made a dramatic noise of betrayal when he realized something, his eyes squinting. "So you’re the favorite now?"

Jinu didn’t rise to it. Just smiled, smug even.

"If we earn even a little of her trust, that book’s as good as ours."

And judging by the way he looked quietly satisfied, it was clear their leader had a plan—and maybe, just maybe, it was already working.

Failure #5 (losers)

Day 4: Pretty Privilege Denied

At the rehearsal room...

"This is such a pain." Baby groaned as he dramatically flopped backwards onto the couch like he’d just carried the entire K-pop industry on his back. "Why can’t we just take the stupid sketchbook already?"

He tossed a bag of chips across the room. It missed the trash can by a full foot. No one corrected him.

"Right?" Abby stretched his arms behind his head, flashing abs like it was part of the punctuation. "We’re wasting time doing solo missions. What if we all just... I dunno, ask at once? Overwhelm her with our combined perfection."

Romance was already nodding, a smirk playing at his lips. "Like an idol intervention."

Mystery, curled on the floor beside the couch, mumbled faintly, "She’ll resist. She always resists."

"Because you just stood there and stared at her for thirty minutes." Baby snapped with a roll of his eyes. "That’s not a plan, that’s a horror movie."

"I was being... silent but effective." Mystery defended weakly, hugging a pillow with the dead-eyed conviction of a man who hadn’t blinked in an hour.

Baby didn’t bother looking at him. He just sighed and reached for his lip tint, applying it with a kind of weary elegance that suggested everyone else in the room was the problem.

"I don’t get why you all can’t just manipulate her like normal people." Baby muttered, popping a strawberry flavored lollipop in his mouth.

Like a fucking Bond villain in silk pajamas.

He next adds, "Look adorable, be sweet, and wait. She’ll fold eventually. Humans are weak to affection and eye contact."

Romance blinked. "You think this is adorable?"

"I think this is inefficient." Baby said flatly, glancing at his nails like he was bored of everyone's incompetence. "She clearly likes attention. She breathes like someone who wants to be perceived."

Abby froze mid-sip of his fruit shake. "You said that out loud."

"Good." Baby replied, unbothered, swiping through his front camera to check his angles. "I hope the wind carries it to her. Maybe it’ll reach her ego first."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"…You scare me sometimes." Abby muttered, rubbing the back of his neck like he was rethinking his life choices.

Jinu, to no one’s surprise, wasn’t in the room for this beautifully misguided planning session. He was allegedly "doing leader things," which in practice meant "ignoring all of them for his own sanity."

Which meant the rest of them were unsupervised.

Because in the next five minutes, fueled by ego, caffeine, and deep, mutual frustration, they came up with the worst idea possible:

"We’ll confront her together." Romance declared, sparkles practically glinting in his eyes. Mischief, too.

"Like a sketchbook heist?" Abby grinned. They high-fived, because of course they did.

"No," Baby corrected, sitting upright like a cat that’d just heard a can opener. "Like a coordinated idol strike."

Mystery nodded solemnly. "A synchronized emotional ambush."

"…That’s literally just stalking in unison." Someone muttered upon realization but no one listened. Not that it even mattered to beings like them.

And with that, four immortals in idol skin decided to do what no sane being should ever attempt: gang up on one overworked staff girl who already hated their collective existence.

Because why not? What could possibly go wrong?

-

Somewhere...

Jinu had always known patience was the real game. You don’t survive four centuries being impulsive. So when his members started treating [Y/n] like a raid boss with a lootable sketchbook, he didn’t intervene.

He watched. Waited. Calculated. And then last night happened.

Dinner wasn’t supposed to go that well. He figured she’d make it halfway through the meal, throw a napkin in his face, and storm out. But she didn’t. She talked.

And somewhere between the second plate and her muttering about "demons whispering at night," something in him stilled. That wasn’t normal small talk. And it sure as hell wasn’t nothing.

She either didn’t realize what she said, or she did, and didn’t care. Either way, Jinu recognized the weight of it. The strange, dangerous truth humming just beneath her words.

So yeah. He was interested now. Not just in the sketchbook. In her.

Which is why, this morning, he changed tactics.

She’d let her guard down. That meant it was time to keep her guessing. Balance the scale. Tip it, just enough to rattle her.

Cue: pettiness mode.

She thought last night was a truce? Fine. Let her believe that. Then let her walk face-first into his brand of passive-aggressive hell. Just enough to make her question herself. Her instincts. Him.

If they were going to win this sketchbook war, she needed to be off-balance. And Jinu was going to enjoy every second of it.

So when he saw her coming down the sidewalk with coffee in hand, face still half-asleep and blessedly peaceful, he held the door open.

Then let it close. Right as she reached it. Perfect.

...

You were already tired.

Not physically—not yet. Just spiritually. Which was impressive, given the day had barely started.

But then again, surviving a full shift surrounded by glitter-dusted demon boys could rattle anyone’s soul.

Still. Today would be different. It had to be.

You saw the studio door ahead, sweet salvation in view, and picked up your pace.

And then, of course. It was him.

Jinu. Holding the door like he was doing you a favor. Like he hadn’t spent last night pretending to be a decent person.

He let it shut before you even touched the handle.

It was official. The man had a switch, and you were done trying to figure out which position it was stuck on. You stopped. Stared, then narrowed your eyes as the door clicked shut with smug finality.

Why the hell was he acting like this now?

Maybe he’d decided to be just as unbearable as his idiot members. Or maybe he realized being nice wasn’t getting him your sketchbook.

Or maybe, just maybe, he woke up and chose violence. With iced coffee.

What happened last night? Too good to be true. You were stupid to think otherwise.

Jinu turned his head, smiling like a summer villain in a drama. "Oh? I thought you weren’t coming. My bad."

Your eye twitched as you smiled politely. Violence is a choice. "You saw me walking straight here."

"I see a lot of things." He said vaguely, stepping inside and letting the door stay closed behind him.

You yanked it open with more force than necessary after tapping your id and followed him in, already regretting clocking in today. If HR asked why the break room window was shattered later, this was why.

You tried to brush it off. Keep walking. You had your sketchbook in hand, a long list of things to prep, and exactly zero energy to spare on whatever weird game he was playing now.

And then—

"Good morning, hardworking staff member," Jinu said with the fakest earnestness you’d ever heard, falling into step beside you. "Did you sleep well on your commoner bed?"

You stopped in your tracks, your mouth agape while your brain buffered.

"…What," You said slowly, letting the words drag like a system error. "What did you just say to me?"

Was flabbergasted the right word? Because honestly, that didn’t even scratch the surface. You were spiritually winded. Like you’d just been slapped with a Gucci slipper made of pure ego.

Jinu, the absolute menace, took a delicate sip of his artisanal coffee and smiled. That same saintly, beatific smile that made you want to throw a chair.

"I heard those floor mattresses are terrible for your posture."

You blinked at him. Hard. "You think I sleep on the floor?"

He raised a brow, so effortlessly smug. "Don’t you?"

Oh, okay. So this was the level of unhinged we were on today.

You stared at him, soul leaving your body one judgmental breath at a time. What was wrong with him? What was wrong with all of them? Did they audition to be idols or audition to test your will to live?

Because right now, you were genuinely convinced the universe had assigned you to a group of sleep-paralysis demons with backup dancer skills.

He stared back, calm and composed, like the human embodiment of a rice paper screen: pretty, delicate, and annoyingly hard to punch without consequences.

The silence stretched long enough for you to seriously consider hitting him with your sketchbook.

You turned and walked faster. He followed. He wasn’t done.

"You know," He said, all airy and unbothered, "I heard stress causes wrinkles. You might want to be careful."

"Great." You deadpanned. "Can I borrow your skincare then? I assume it’s made from crushed angel wings and virgin moonlight."

He laughed softly. Like you were joking. You were not.

You reached your desk, set your things down with a sigh, and frowned. Your pencil bag wasn’t where you left it.

You squinted and searched. There it was, off to the right by a few inches. You didn’t leave it like that. You were sure.

"…Did someone move my stuff?"

Behind you, Jinu shrugged with the grace of a lying cat. "Maybe the ghosts like you."

You turned slowly, narrowed your eyes. He was already walking away, sipping his cursed latte like he hadn’t just kicked your entire sense of peace in the kneecaps.

And the worst part? You knew this wasn’t even the peak of his pettiness. This was the prelude. The overture. The trailer before the disaster film.

You swore if he did this one more time, you were going to draw him as a worm in a luxury bathrobe. And that was being generous.

-

Dear god.

You tried to hide.

Not from your work, that would be irresponsible, but from the boyband plague that had decided to infest every corner of your daily life like glitter-coated cockroaches with jawlines.

Storage room? Mystery was already inside when you flicked the light on, calmly leaning against a shelf like he was part of the cleaning supplies.

You screamed and that earned a few pair of eyes from fellow staff members to see what's happened while Mystery just blinked.

Just fucking that. Like he wouldn't be the reason for you having a heart attack at such a young age.

"I was just watching the broom." He said solemnly.

You felt Deja vu and also, "????"

Toilet break? You exited the staff restroom to find Romance waiting by the door with a smile so charming it should’ve been a crime.

"Did you miss me?" He asked with a little tilt of his head. How cute. Like that was supposed to work on you.

You stared back, deadpan. "Did you follow me to the bathroom?"

"No." He said too fast. Then added, "I was just… in the area."

You folded your arms, unimpressed. "Of the women’s restroom?"

"…Geographically."

You shook your head then walked past him. He followed. Damn it.

Lunch break? You were five feet from the vending machine when Abby materialized from nowhere, leaned casually against it, and held out a protein bar.

"Hungry?" He asked with a wink.

You stared, the same dead-eyed stare you gave Romance. At this point, you were immune. Beyond exhausted. Somewhere between "please stop" and "God, just smite me."

"Are you seriously trying to flirt with trail mix?"

He grinned. Handsome bastard #3. "It’s high in fiber."

You almost growled at him like a fucking wolf. "I hate you."

Coffee break? You escaped the building. You escaped the chaos. You made it to your favorite shop. You ordered your drink, basked in a moment of peace.

You shouldn't have turned around.

"Hi." Jinu said, already holding out a matching iced Americano.

You didn’t blink. Yeah, at this point you wouldn't even be surprised if you suddenly moved countries and their striking asses are 'suddenly' there, too.

Which leads you to a thought: Are they even after your sketchbook or other things? Did they fall for you and became obsessed with you like in those webtoons?

Pfft. Yeah, right. You must've lost it there for a second.

You blankly stared at Mister royalty-wannabe. What he said about your bed being a commoner's really got to you. It looks like you weren't the only one who can burn people like toast.

Jinu watches you space out. Poor you, not that he actually cares and that smile on his stupidly handsome face was enough to tell a tale.

"I’ll trade you this premium Americano for a peek at your sketchbook." He offered smoothly, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You stared him down then reached out, took the coffee from his hand, and said in a monotone voice: "Thanks."

He didn't see the smirk on your face as you walked away, simply enjoying your drink. Ah, it feels good to taste victory. An expensive one at that.

Meanwhile Jinu just stood there, betrayed.

"That was a limited roast." He muttered to which you heard as you raised the drink like a trophy.

No peace. No privacy. And definitely no sanity.

But if they thought this was going to make you fold, they were sorely mistaken.

You had pens, paper, and spite.

Let them try.

Later that day, the practice room was supposed to be empty.

Keyword: supposed.

You walked in with your sketchbook tucked under your arm and your emotional shields fully charged, only to freeze when you saw them. All of them.

Oh, god. The dread. The disgust. The divine urge to U-turn right back out the door. As much as you liked the sights of their faces, you could go one fucking day without seeing them.

There were other inspirations in the world, like sewer rats. Or tax documents.

You looked at them, judging, and they could tell. Your judgment wasn’t subtle. It had volume. Weight. A spiritual glare.

Romance on the window sill like a tragically bored novel character. Baby draped over the couch like a spoiled cat who owned the lease.

Abby standing behind the couch, peering over Baby’s shoulder and silently judging whatever cursed content he was watching.

Mystery sitting upside down in a chair like a sentient cryptid. And Jinu by the mirror, sipping coffee and watching like a smug, beautiful stage mom directing chaos.

You stared. They stared back.

"…What." You said flatly.

Baby was first to speak, tossing you his best faux-innocent smile. "We just wanted to hang out.”

You squinted. "All five of you. In one room. Together. With no cameras. No choreo. No staff instructions. Just… existing?"

They didn’t reply.

"Unscheduled." You repeated with narrowed eyes. "Yeah, see, that’s what’s throwing me off. You people only move in packs when someone tells you to."

"Team-building." Abby states with a charming grin. "Very healthy. Builds trust."

Romance stretched like he was auditioning for the villain role in a romance anime. "Or maybe we were hoping for a little sketchbook time."

"Denied." You answered immediately. Yeah, you saw that coming, even smelled it.

Mystery didn’t move from his bat-like perch. "I brought snacks."

You looked at him. "They’re pocket mints."

"They’re shareable."

Yep you turned toward the exit. You aren't gonna waste another energy, but Jinu stepped forward and casually leaned on the doorframe. Blocking it.

"Leaving so soon?" He said, calm and smug and, unfortunately, gorgeous. You don't know how many times you called them all those words inside your head. "We haven’t even started the icebreaker."

But of course no matter how good looking they are, they still continue to test your sanity. With that said, your eye twitched for the nth time.

"What is this, a hostage situation?" You looked him up and down, and he felt you judge him.

"That depends." Romance hummed with a grin. "Are you willing to negotiate?"

Baby pouted, still trying that method of acting cute. "We just want a peek."

"You’ve been studying us." Abby chimed in. "Seriously. We can feel it."

"We’d like to see your... interpretations." Romance added, clearly trying to sound seductive. You gave him a withering look. He faltered for half a second. "Strictly for performance critique purposes."

You let the silence stretch, then slowly opened your sketchbook... just an inch. It was cute but mostly funny on how their eyes lit up.

Then you snapped it shut.

"No." You said with a condescending smile like some typical villainess.

"Cruel." Jinu muttered with a huff.

Baby groaned dramatically, flopping back. "Why won’t you just let us see it?"

"Because it’s mine." You said, backing toward the wall. "And because I know you’ll cry."

Romance scoffed. "I don’t cry."

"You cried when your contact lens flipped inside out." Abby pointed out with a little laugh.

"Emotional trauma." Romance said with dignity. He was quick with his reply. Being on those little screens paid off.

Jinu tilted his head, still blocking the door. "This all could’ve been avoided, you know. Back when we were being nice."

You narrowed your eyes. "You smiled at me one time and then threw a door in my face."

"I smiled twice." He corrected. "That’s effort."

You sighed, dramatically and soulfully. "This is what I get for not calling in sick."

They inched closer, slowly closing in like a very attractive zombie horde.

Then you raised your sketchbook like a weapon and said, "Another step and I swear to God I’ll post the ‘Abby Cries at Pixar’ spread online."

Everyone froze.

"…You wouldn’t." Abby whispered.

"Try me." That wasn't a challenge. That was the truth. You'd do anything for this war.

Behind him, Mystery was already reaching for his phone. "I’d retweet it."

Abby narrowed his eyes at him. "You traitor."

Eventually, Jinu sighed and stepped aside. "You win this round."

You smiled and gave his shoulder a pat. "You mean all rounds."

And with that, you walked out like the final boss of their lives—sketchbook clutched tight, peace restored (for now), and your petty revenge arc stronger than ever.

Sketchbook Status: Untouched.

Artist Mood: Petty

[bahrtofane]

home is where the heart is

Hiccup x run away princess! Reader

in which you’re thousands of miles away from your home you fled. Now calling the edge home after months of tracking the dragon master till you were face to face with a man no older then yourself, with round eyes and a need to figure you out.

But whispers travel fast on the wind, disturbing everything you’ve built for yourself.

Word count - 4.4k+

Watch it - some angst w happy ending dw

Im binge watching race to the edge can u tell

On most days Hiccup barely has the time to think. 

There's so much to do, so much to be done. There's always more waiting for him. Go do his rounds, come back and deal with the endless squabbling that never ends, go out again and add more watch towers, do a lap around the island, patrol the neighboring ones, come back and yell some more till everyone listens, see who actually did what he asked of them, eat dinner and pray they listen to his new list of things to do for the next day. Rinse and repeat. 

And yet at the end of a day, when his bones ache and muscles are sore. Stiff and aching from the hours hunched over toothless, he’s glad he has you. 

He doesn’t know how to properly say it, not yet at least. He’s never been good with words in a way that really matters. Always failing him, never making it past more than a faint breath past his lips as the words fade into the wind. He wishes he could be more like the twins, pushing past any judgment and saying whatever they wish when they wish. But he is not them, and instead he tells you he’s happy that you’ve made the edge a home. 

He remembers the day you came to them. You had come searching for him specifically, begging for the knowledge that no one around you had. Which was funny considering you arrived on your own dragon. A desert wraith. Not many of those around here. 

Rmel is a dragon so unlike any he’s ever seen. Tidal class, yet completely content out of the water. He thrives in the sand. Burying deep into it. Breathing with it. You two complement each other. 

Here you are months later, with your own modest hut on the edge and more knowledge than you could have ever hoped for. And a few scars for your troubles. But it's a good life. 

Unfortunately, your time comes to an end and you have to go back to your home soon. Your real home. Hiccup has forgotten what it’s like around here without you. But it’s not your place to call your own. It's time to pack up and head out. If not for you, for Rmel. 

That's what you will continue to tell yourself. To avoid the trouble of thinking about your actions. 

—--

Hiccup finds you laying on the sand, watching the clouds as they roll in. 

“Hey there stranger.” He calls out, slipping off Toothless is one smooth motion.

You smile, sitting up and patting the sand off you. Rmel is half buried in it. But beach sand can never replace his true habitat. Can't replace what you’ve left behind. 

“Hey Hiccup.” you watch as Rmel comes out of the sand to say hello to Toothless, jumping up and down as they play. 

He takes a seat next to you, sighing softly. “You know, your hut will always be here.” an invitation. Stay please, he wants to say. 

You smile, "I know. But I have been away for too long. It’s not good for him.” It's not my place to stay. 

“I understand.” I don’t, don't go. 

But does he? No, not really. No one here does.

Oh well. 

—--

“Are you sure? You've made your own home here.” Astrid says, handing you a pile of metal as you sort through the store house. 

“What else is there for me to do? Rmel needs the desert, and I miss my home.” a white lie. The words home betray you as you say them, what is your home at this rate. 

“I know but- it’s nice having you around. We all think so.” she tries. And it only tugs at your heart. 

“I have my own duties.” 

“You and Hiccup are the same, you know. Always thinking of the people before yourselves. “ 

You shrug, “it’s the duty my birth has assigned to me.” a well repeated mantra that's been hammered into you for longer than you can remember. If you dare to reap the benefits of your birth, you must answer its calls. You mustn’t ignore your duties. 

How silly considering you ran away from them, only to regret it all on an island thousands of miles away from everything you know. 

You don't tell Astrid this, you tell no one. Instead you finish setting the mental scraps in the corner, old weapons in other. On to the next task. 

Astrid doesn’t say much more. Not thinking too deeply into the words

—-

“Fishlegs!!” A yell comes from above. You crane your neck to watch as Snotlout comes barreling into his hut, screaming as if all hell broke loose. 

You hold back and laugh as you watch Hiccup groan so loudly it wakes Toothless up next to him. He marches up to the hut, yelling obscenities and waving his arms around wildly. 

“What is going on?” Heather muses, back from patrol, sunkissed and watching the spectacle unfold fondly. 

“Oh Hiccup is going to kill Snotlout.” Ruffnut replies, flipping through a modest pile of sheep hide. 

“Thats nice..” she takes her leave, heading to her own hut and waving everyone a collective goodbye.

You sigh, leaning back in your chair farther, trying to make out if Hiccup is punching Snotlout or biting his ear off. Could be either or honestly. You'll miss this. 

—

You get knocked out of the sky during a training drill, Rmel isn't fast enough and you end up in the water. Thankfully close enough to swim to shore. 

“Thank you Rmel! All that training and you can't catch me from the sky!” you yell, fist in the air. 

Hiccup flies down with Rmel by his side. He bites back a smile as you wring your clothes out. Your dragon is indifferent, watching you grumble. 

“Dont even.” you warn.

He laughs anyway, “Im sorry im sorry!” 

You sigh, "I'm going to hide your leg then who will laugh.” 

It only makes him laugh harder as you stomp up to him, waving a finger in his face. “You will be the next in the water just wait.”

The laughs sputter and die in his throat as he looks at you with wide eyes. Watching the water droplets drip from your eye lashes, down to your lips. Where his eyes become fixated on. Unable to look away. 

You turn on your heel to scold your dragon. Ignoring him. 

Hiccup thinks you just might be the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen. More than a sunset at Berk, more than when the clouds give way to clear skies. More than anything at all. 

It hits him all at once really, the sinking realization that these really are the last few times he will be able to look at you like that. 

—

“Oh well today is ‘everyone hates Hiccup’ day then!” comes a shout from the armory. 

You turn to investigate, peeking inside and finding a very exasperated Hiccup on his knees digging through piles of weapons. 

“What are you doing?” you close the door behind you. 

“Oh, I'm glad to see you. Do you have any spare iron ore? I would say I'm on my last leg but it fell into the ocean." He points to his stump.

“I do not. But fishless does. Need a hand?” you offer your hand and he gladly takes it. Steadying himself as you wrap his arms around you for better support. Guiding him out of the armory and to his precious iron ore. 

You try not to pay attention too closely to the details. The curl of his fingers where they rest cautiously on your hip. His steady breathing. Just how close your faces are. Why did it have to be Hiccup? Beautiful smart Hiccup. 

You would use your dragon, but you sent Rmel off to play on the beach for the afternoon. Go figure when you really need him huh. 

“Thanks again.” Hiccup mumbles, trying to concentrate and walking with only one foot. 

“No problem.” you hum. 

You get to fishlegs, even if your hands are clammy and face warmer then it was where you entered that storage room. 

Fishlegs only squints but takes Hiccup inside. Well you know what everyone's going to talk about at dinner. 

—--

“Go after her, or watch her fly away.” Heather says, watching Hiccup work on his newest creation. Well its more a hunk of gronkle iron right now but not the point. 

Hiccup can only sigh. “I can’t force anyone to stay here.” Hammering away at his work. 

“Yes, but you also can’t say anything.” Heather tries. 

“Why not. It's easy.” he grunts. “ I can go about my life,” thwap goes the hammer,  Settle down and forget.” the hot sizzle of coal echoes. 

“But will you truly forget? You aren't the most subtle Hiccup. Trust me.” she crosses her arms, raising a brow. 

Hiccup stops to look up at her, brows furrowed. 

Is he really that obvious? 

—-

“I heard you're leaving.” Snotlout says. Watching you get ready for one of your last patrols. 

“Not right now.” you mumble, tightening your girth and checking your buckles. 

“I know.” 

You don't say much more. Putting a few rations of food into a satchel. Scratching Rmell behind the ears for his good behavior. Should be everything. You hoist yourself up on the saddle, watching Snoutlout cross his arms. 

“Listen I know its breaking your heart to part from this much viking manliness-” 

You tsk. 

“But think about sticking around some. You know, it'll be cool.” 

You don't reply. Curling your fingers into the reins and taking flight. You don't look back, if you would you'd see Hiccup peek from around the corner, shaking his head while Snotlout shrugs. 

“I tried!” 

“Really Snotlout because she didn't seem to listen to a single ‘manly viking’ thing you had to say.” 

“You talk to her Hiccup why send me come on.” he storms off, muttering under his breath. 

In hindsight sending in Snotlout probably wasn't the best idea. But he was the only one available. 

Hiccup really does need to talk to you. 

—-

“When do you leave?” is the first thing Hiccup says to you when you're back from patrolling. 

You look around to an empty room “Where is everyone?” 

“Back on Berk. Picking up supplies.” 

“Okay,” you hop off your saddle, “I'm leaving in 2 weeks.” Undoing the girth and sliding the saddle from Rmel who rumbles in happiness. “I know buddy I know. Feels good huh.” you mumble into his neck, resting your head against him. 

“You always take his saddle off?” you're reminded Hiccup is in the same room. You've been trying to avoid him. 

“Of course I do. Don't you think it would be uncomfortable if you had to wear it 24/7?”

“Well yes but what if you need to get in the air fast.” 

“Then I'll ride him with no saddle. You complicate things, you know that Hiccup.”

“So I've been told.” he sighs. “Listen, I'm serious about you staying. We could use the extra dragon, and it looks like you could use a place to call home too.”

“I have a home Hiccup. This isn't my home.” You wave to the space around you. “You aren't my people, you don't speak the same tongue, you don't have the same way of life, I'm not one of you I will never be.”  don't make this harder then it is. 

The words sting, but he presses on. “Nonsense, you're always welcome here you know that.” 

“Listen, I know you need all the dragon ridders you can get around here but my people need me. You're not the only one with a father who leaves big shoes to fill.”

“I didn't know im-”

“I’d prefer if no one knows okay. I have my duties as do you. And mine are to return. Please don't ask me to stay again.” 

“Okay.” he gives in, nodding softly. 

—-

“You and Hiccup huh.” Astrid teases. 

You are both out patrolling. Spending 2 days doing the rounds before going back to the edge. They're using you while they can before you leave it seems. You don't blame them. 

You groan. “No! There's nothing going on.”

“Right right.. Sure.” she hums, nodding along. 

“Oh come on I haven't even been here that long. Besides, aren't you guys like, you know an item.”

She laughs, clutching her stomach while trying not to lose balance off of Stormfly. “No. I kissed him once or twice sure when we were kids but he’s not exactly my type.”

You roll your eyes, clutching onto your reins. “Sure sure.” 

—

“Youre seriously leaving? But we've made so much progress with the book!” Fishlegs says at dinner. 

You try not to let your eye twitch. “Yes. I'm sorry but I have to.” 

“Whose leaving.” Tuffnut says, wiping his head to you. 

“Leaving who?” Ruffnut echoes. 

You groan, putting your hands in your head. “Me. I'm leaving. It's me.”

“It is because she smells like fish. It's okay I'd leave if we didn't ride the same dragon.” Tuffnut nods. 

“Shes leaving because you never stop talking.” His sister rolls her eyes. “You can't go wrong smelling like fish anyway.” 

“No she's leaving because you guys are annoying," Snotlout says.

“No really please reconsider, for the book! It just needs a little more and we can even make a second edition.” Fishlegs tries again. 

“Guys enough.” Astrid tries, but it falls on deaf ears as everyone begins to debate the reason for you leaving. 

“She doesn't have to tell anyone, guys.” Hiccup says, but it gets drowned out by the rising voices. 

“I left but came back, maybe she's doing the same.” Heather shrugs. 

Everyone's voices overlap at once, giving you a migraine. You get up, shoving your chair in harshly, taking your dinner with you and leaving. 

“Geez someone's upset.” 

“Shut up Snotlout.”

—

Hiccup follows you. Of course he does. He comes to your hut, banging on the door and not taking your go aways as an answer. 

“Im not leaving!” he shouts from the door. 

You're crying. You don't know why but you're crying. Tears streaming down your face as you watch the moon rise from your window. 

Why must things become so complicated? Why are you so far from everything you know just for the chance and feeling in control for once in your life? 

You did everything asked of you, and now for just the start of freedom you are forced to pay dearly. 

The shouts and knocking stops, and a part of you wishes he would've tried harder. But you are too hard headed, cold hearted and mean it means for anyone to want to try harder for you. All you care about is chasing a feeling you dreamt up in the corner of your room as a child. Sticking your hands under the sun to feel a warmth that can not be replicated. 

You should leave now, no? 

—--

You manage to get Rmel ready in record time, slipping out the back of your hut and taking flight with blurry vision and a heavy heart. What you don't see is a night furry hot on your tail. 

“Stop! Don't leave now!” Hiccup's voice sounds from behind you. 

You wipe the tears from your face, slowing down till he flies beside you. “What do you want, Hiccup? Just let me leave. “ 

“Come on, I'm sorry for the way they acted, but don't make any rash decisions.” 

“There's nothing more to decide. I'm on my way home. “

“No you're not.” 

You turn to look at him with enough furry to knock him out of the sky. “Dont tell me what to do Hiccup.” 

“Im not trying to!” 

You glare at him, “That's exactly what you're doing.”

“You don't have all your things, your girth isn't tightened. You're slipping right and you haven't noticed. Just- come back so we can get you properly sorted out.” He pleads. 

“I don't care.” 

“Dont do anything you will regret.” he tries. 

You look down, your center of balance is off. Your girth is hanging open, you're missing a lot of equipment honestly. It's not worth running Rmel to the ground to prove a point. You fly in silence for 10 minutes before you stop. 

“Just you.” you mumble. “I don't want anyone else to see me.”

He smiles. “Then no one will. You have my word.”

Silently you follow Hiccup back to the edge, landing back to your hut. 

—-

You work in silence refitting your saddle, tying your knots and double checking everything. Toothless is half asleep while Rmel fights off his own exhaustion. All the patrolling has really given him a run for his money. 

Hiccup is on the other side of him, fitting a satchel to his underbelly. 

You can't leave now, you risk him falling out of the sky. 

“Hiccup, stop. I can't leave now.” you mumble softly. 

He looks up at you so tenderly it's as if you're the moon. Shining his way.  “Okay.” 

So he helps you take everything off. Setting it in the corner and letting Rmel go to bed. “I should take Toothless to bed.” 

“Come back after?”

He perks up.” I will.” 

—-

He comes back as promised. Sitting in your one chair while you sit criss-cross in yours, now in your pjs. 

“What made you change your mind?” he picks at his fingers. 

“Rmel, you. He’s in no shape to fly all the way home. I would be cruel to ask him that.” 

He hums, “You don't owe me an explanation, but why do you need to go back?” 

“I need to go back to get married, Hiccup.”

Silence. 

“It’s my duty to my people. You understand as the son of the chief. Our roles are so much different to everyone around us. And mine is to marry well. To bridge gaps through alliances. I have studied my whole life for this, and I finally feel ready to actually do it.”

You bite back the feeling of a lie. 

You escaped the first engagement, your intention was to stay here. Far away from where anyone could find you. But with news of a brewing war between your home and that of your ex fiance, you are the only hope to end the budding violence. 

You crave freedom more than you can ever express. And you got it with Rmel, but as everything in this life, it costs a price. A hefty one of war. You can not live while your home becomes painted in bloodshed. All because you wanted something more. You wanted to be selfish. 

The neighboring prince is pig-headed, stubborn, with very little interests outside of ruling. But if it means saving your people then so be it. You were promised to him and you ran. Now you answer to war. 

“That's not the real reason is it?” he whispers. 

You look away. “What is it to you?”

“I care about you. You've been here for just about a year you think I'd just let you loose without trying to understand.”

You sigh. “It's complicated.”

“Everything in life is.” he tries, getting up and taking a seat right next to you. Hand on your knee. He’s warm, radiating heat that feels closer to the feeling of sunbathing on a cool fall day. Closer to the one you've been chasing. 

“I’ll tell you about it some time.” you rest a hand on top of his, smiling softly.  “Thank you Hiccup. Really.” you give him a chast kiss on the cheek. And he blooms pink like a tulip in May. 

“Of course. I'll let you sleep.” he slips out of your door and you try to sleep. But your worst fear is coming true. Falling for another while on your way to go home and get married to end a possible war. 

What a life you live. 

—-

You tell Hiccup, you tell him everything. It becomes too much. 

“I have to go back. Too many will die and it will be on my hands.” You confess, huddled in the corner of his room. 

“How do you know it's true?” his face is grim, hand on your shoulder while you pour your heart out. 

“I have an inside man, my cousin who's been keeping in correspondence.”

“And you trust him?” 

“With my life.” 

Hiccup shakes his head, “verify the information before you leave. Any can be a trap. Trust me.”

“How? Go all the way there to see if it's a war and then come back?” your shoulders sag, eyes narrowing. 

“No. We’ll ask Johan. He’s been south.” 

Johan. Oh you know him. Who doesn't. 

—-

“Ah Princ-”

“Oh Johan, so good to see you too!” you interrupt him with a glare. 

He sighs. “Yes, very good to see you, this far north.” 

The other riders and Berkians are busy looking through his ship while you and Hiccup look for answers. 

“Any news from down south?” you ask. 

“Same old same old. Your father is furious at you leaving. But he’s sort of adopted a policy where you don't exist.” he strokes his beard thoughtfully. 

“Thats nice. And the war?” 

He blinks. “War. What war? With the mosquitos sure. But no bloodshed on that side of the sea as far as I know.” 

“Are you absolutely sure Johan?” Hiccup stresses. 

“Master Hiccup, what would I gain by lying? The young woman seeks to stay in Berk, that is her business. I continue my trade through her sea ports nonetheless.” 

—

Hiccup takes you for a ride with him, to clear your mind and give Rmel a break. 

“You know, when I first started flying I had this little cheat sheet for his tail.” he tells you fondly. 

You hum, arms wrapped around him and face pressed into his back. “How many times did you crash?”

“Honestly not that many. could have been way worse but we sorta just I don't know- clicked.”

“I knew Rmel since he was a weee hatchling. He used to play in our garden before he got too big.” you chuckle. 

“Yeah? I wonder what Toothless looked like as a baby.” Toothless whines at the mention of his name, shaking his head. 

“Hmm prolly a small little guy, less spines. Soft.” 

“Sounds about right.” he chuckles softly. 

“Knowing him for that long made it much easier to ride him. I was a friend.”

“Cant say the same for us.” he clicks his tongue.  “I shot him out of the sky.” he mutters. 

“Oh I've heard. Quite the coming of age story.” you tease. 

You feel him laugh, “that it is. What was yours? Coming of age story.”

“This is.”

He brings a hand to cup yours, letting Toothless cruise through the clouds with ease. Bringing your hand to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss. You're only making it worse for yourself. 

—--

“I have to go see for myself.” you tell Hiccup. 

He lets you go. Even though he knows if it is true, you won't come back. He helps you pack up, fingers brushing against yours and you tie your leather together. Buckling pieces and looping knots. 

“Thank you for everything Hiccup. If I don't come back-”

“Dont say that. Have faith.” He stops you before you can finish, holding your hands. 

“Do you?” you look at him, eyes searching his.

“I do.” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

You part, looking into his eyes for the last time before you are set for the skies. For a home you fear will never be as you left it. 

—--

As your oasis town comes into view your heart drops in anticipation of the worst, but in the end you were right after all. It isn't the same, it will never be. 

The father you once treasured more than life itself tries to shoot you out of the sky the moment you are seen in the clouds. Standing from his perch on a watch tower commanding legions of the men who were sworn royal to you, now raising their arrows into the sky, right at you. That's okay. 

You manage to make it to your cousin's home. It's empty save for a few scrolls. When you open them your heart drops. 

His handwriting has been copied, word for word letter for letter. They've found out he was speaking to you. There lies a single note on the wall, marked with the nickname he used for you growing up. 

To my little princess. If you're reading this it means I too have long left. I will find you, do not fear. But your search for freedom has inspired more than you know. Until next time, little dragon.  

And Johan's words are confirmed. There is no war. It was all to get you back. It’s time to go back to the home you've been building. 

“Youre not my daughter you hear me! You're a pathetic excuse for a princess!” Your father roars, shooting any kind of weapon he can get his hands on. You only smile. Looking down at the people, safe and sound. Going about their days, even if their minds have been filled with hatred for you. It will heal in due time. 

Your brother, the oldest prince will take the throne, your sister will mary, and you will become like a phantom. Only spoken of on occasions that deem it a necessity. But your family has chosen their side. And it is not with you. 

You will never be a princess again. Gone are the days of lavish nights and slow mornings. Your wealth is reduced to nothing more than what you can carry. Once smooth hands now replaced with callused ones from holding reigns for hours on end. 

A completely reimagined version of yourself. One that dares to take what you yearn for.  Something that was almost taken from you. 

You hope the neighboring prince is having a horrible day. 

It's time to head back. After Rmel gets his fill of desert sand of course. 

—

You come back to the edge 4 months after you first left. Lights on and everyone is home for dinner. Perfect. 

A dramatic dismount is in order, diving from the sky and shooting a few shots. Heads peek out and shouting before it dissolves into shouts of joy, of cheers. 

“Miss me?” you don't have a second more to speak before everyone piles onto you for a hug. 

“Oh thank thor.” Hiccup sighs when you manage to break away from the pile. 

You laugh, loud and bright. “No war after all.” you hum. 

He kisses your lips, slotting them against yours as you hold into his arms desperately. You get a few fake gags but you only roll your eyes. It's good to be back. 

[crustyfloor]

Mizi calling out HyunA for her avoidance and coping wasn't necessarily untrue...very cruel, but it was true that HyunA was using the rebellion as a distraction from her grief. She was getting better, but never truly healed. When Jacob died, she absorbed herself in his mission, she walked in the life and hope he left behind and made it her own to get by, but really, by doing all this, it feels like HyunA was trying to make up for her guilt and suffering and escape her past (In another sense, she wanted to take Jacob's words to heart and find healing by taking up the idealistic ambition and hopes of the rebellion, but that too might've been HyunA grappling for a distraction)

I can see why this part of Mizi's speech is also tinged with projection and self-loathing. Honestly, all of what Mizi monologues about are things that she hates about herself, things that she finds foolish about herself, and projects them onto others. It's just fascinating that she and HyunA are so alike (and that's why at Mizi's lowest, she serves as HyunA's antithesis, a show of what humans can become at their lowest if they delve into hopelessness instead of hopefulness...they're parallels)

In light of her hopelessness and lack of faith in the world, Mizi is criticizing HyunA's faith in humanity and her complete determination with the rebellion, as hopeful as their cause was. But her words in this section carry a sense of contempt that can translate as self-deprecation. Hope can easily manifest into a coping mechanism, and that can be quickly attributed to the way HyunA and Mizi both confront their life. She and HyunA were both trying to distract themselves in the past with idealistic dreams because of their pain, knowing what they felt deep inside and choosing not to confront it. Mizi has criticized herself before for "feigning ignorance and only looking out for herself instead of the people she believes she loves." Mizi knew what Sua was doing, knew Sua wasn't honest,, but then decided to ignore her own feelings and the truth and let Sua do it just because Mizi didn't want to break her heart. She felt like she could've done something, but she was too wrapped up in some blind hope and faith in Sua. So, "Did clinging to some useless facade of happiness and naivety ever really fix anything, did lying to themselves and hoping save her? It resolved nothing-- it caused a preventable death." It's quite stone cold that she speaks about HyunA's trauma, criticizes her response to it, just because it seems like she's projecting her own trauma onto the scenario... But wow, it's just so raw... I really like how her twisted perspective is conveyed in these unclear moments

And I like how the dynamic between HyunA and Mizi is once again re-established (that cute "HyunA, unnie" in the beginning...) Mizi may not hold the same righteousness or attitude as HyunA, but there's a reason why HyunA went out of her way and saved Mizi because she saw her past self in her during Round 5. There's a reason why Mizi finds HyunA to be the one she can easily confide in most (especially after having known some of what HyunA went through). Their trauma and their responses to it, and their grief and despair... They can understand each other so well (I would suppose that's why Mizi can read HyunA like this, she knows what HyunA's been through and can probably make connections as to why HyunA is so caught up in the rebellion as a means of escaping her trauma. Mizi can also see some of herself in HyunA, the way she reaches for healing through hope, and projects resentment onto it.) Even HyunA can understand why Mizi lashes out; she gets grief and guilt

Mizi and HyunA parallel each other so much as people who use avoidance as a coping mechanism, as innately caring, loving people who suffer in grief and loneliness and self-blame, it's been mostly reiterated in the patreon how similar they are, but it's really nice seeing this conveyed in official art/mvs now, because it's really becoming more apparent how similar they are

[chara-cat5]

lads isekai au ch 13

reader is gender neutral, warning: swearing, mdni

masterlist

first 1

previous 12

next 14

(q/a for any confused readers!!)

even though caleb had off work, didn't mean you did. both you and mia had to report in the next day, you stuck with paperwork while she ran off on a mission. you felt bad for caleb just sitting at your apartment alone, but just assumed he'd find something to busy himself with. you shot mia a text after you got off, walking just outside the association when she messaged you back.

you: just got off and heading home. tell me if you need anything!!

mia: hey!!

mia: sorry to ask this, but dr. zayne said he had a new medicine for me.

mia: do you mind swinging by and picking it up?

mia: i know it's out of the way.

mia: promise i'll make it up to you!!

mia: especially after the raf thing.

mia: thank you btw

you: yeah sure!

you: and it's no problem, mia. i don't mind

you: just to check, i will be able to pick it up?

you: i don't need a note from you or something?

mia: thank you so much!! you're a life saver!

mia: and you should be fine without a note

mia: i'll just text zayne you're coming.

guess you were visiting a certain icy doctor instead of going straight home... you had told yourself you would avoid him and caleb because they both have history with you, but hanging around caleb wasn't a problem so far... except that one time he grilled you, but i mean, thats it! so really, your only issue was with sylus... which is sad, you liked the sweet loverboy dragon when you still believed this world was a game. but now it's life and he clearly didn't trust you... like at all. and you were worried what he would do to someone he thought knew too much.

you hummed softly as you entered the hospital, walking up to the front desk. the receptionist was on the phone but seemed to recognize you from your last visit, just waving you towards zayne's office. your steps clicked against the tile, the rest of the hall almost silent. zayne's office was just where it was before, the closed door looming before you. sure, it wasn't your first meeting with zayne, but you still felt nervous. what if he brought up old memories again? what would you do?

your hand raised to knock on the the door, but before you could even touch it, it swung open, right into your face. you let out a cry, stumbling back and gripping at your nose, tears pricking your eyes.

"ow! ah haha, owowow..."

you were started when cold hands gently tugged your's away, firm but not forceful. you blinked at hazel eyes, zayne's eyebrows pulled together as he looked over your features.

"sorry. i didn't realize you were here so soon."

you winced as he reached out to brush his fingers against your nose bridge, his hand retracting. he led you back into his office, pulling up the chair you sat in last time. you wiped under your nose when you felt wet, seeing it was bleeding.

"it's okay. mistakes happen you know. guess it's good i'm in a hospital, right?"

your attempt a humor was met with silence, his lips set in a firm line. you looked away as embarrassment crept in, fidgeting with a unnecessary buckle in your hunter's uniform.

"look at me."

you startled yet again when you looked back to him, zayne way closer then before. he knelt in front of you, gently taking your chin in his hand. his face was set, concentrated as he treated your nose with the upmost care. you couldn't help but take in his features, pliant as he patched you up. it's only when he pulled away you diverted your gaze, going back to fidgeting with that buckle.

"thank you, dr. zayne..."

"no need to be so formal. zayne will do."

he huffed softly, tossing the dirty tissues in the garbage. you chewed you lip, nodding slightly. right. known him since middle school...

"w-well, i mean, we're at your place of work. i'm just trying to be respectful."

he sat behind his desk, sorting through a few papers there.

"well, theres no need. it's only us here. i'd prefer it."

you hummed, nodding blankly as you shifted in your seat.

"alright, zayne... a-anyway, do you have mia's medication? that's what i was supposed to get before, you know..."

he nodded, pulling out a paper bag and placing it on his desk. you stood up and reached for it, only for him to slide it back toward him.

"i hope you've been taking it easy after your episode the other day."

you blinked, whiplash at the change in subject, frozen reaching for the medicine.

"episode?"

"mia mentioned that you fainted and slept for about two days. i would've visited if i was informed, but i was not. you should have come here and i told her as much..."

you saw a few emotions pass behind his eyes before he stuffed them down again. unreadable as ever, he slid the paper bag back toward you.

"please come to me next time. if not before or during, after at least. i would hate to know you were hurt or sick and i didn't help."

you picked up the bag of medicine, your thoughts stirred into a confusing jumble at his admission.

"r-right, of course doc- zayne. i'll be sure to tell you next time."

he hummed, sitting back down and turning his gaze back to his papers as he went back to sorting them.

"good. we wouldn't want another incident on the playground like the one back then."

you nodded, even though his mention of an 'incident' confused and intrigued you. it was better to not know then to ask and raise suspicion. you left with the medicine, not noticing the way his gaze tracked your form.

"... so you really don't remember..."

.

.

affinity l̵͇̓͜è̸͚̪̇v̴͓̇ḙ̸̅̐ľ̵͙͆ [12]

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taglist: @sleepisfortheweakpooh @plzdonutpercieveme @young-adult-summer @mentaltrouble2201 @noxus123 @asakiyu @leftpoetrymoon @hon3yydew @anemobabygirl @clandestienly @crimsonrubie @beaconsxd @yuurisfavblog @cutiesgaloree @udejoenrlddo @mephisto-with-a-knife @poptrim @rhoswen-drake @szafficat

hello loves!!

things are picking up in la story. pieces are in place, plans are in motion.

i am the big evil mastermind and there is no escape for anyone!! muhahahaha!!

anyway, make sure you're staying hydrated. eat a fruit if you can. i had an orange!!

thank you for reading!!

-chara <3

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

The Emperor gets dating advice. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

[Part one] [Ao3] [Chapter Index] [26]

27 * Please  [11.7k]

"They just couldn't see, That it was me needing you, not you needing me, They just couldn't see, That a puppet loosely strung is not what I wanna be."

Puppet Loosely Strung - The Correspondents

         The passage of time did little to soften your resolve. Whenever he wasn't having Markus and Gray run errands he could do himself or going back and forth with Kregg on if the next attack should be a surprise or a simple walk up to their planetary doorstep; Mark talked about you. Constantly. Complaining. Whining. 

        Always saying something like, "She's sleeping in the bed again but gets mad when I touch her." Or, "Dude, what I said was super funny but she won't laugh because she's still mad." Or, "You guys were married right? You ever been in the dog house before? How long did it take for her to start putting out again?"

        At first, Markus tried to steer the conversation back on track. Thinking he couldn't climb the ladder with talks of you- but instead politics. He didn't like the council having more sway than he did, always talking about you like some animal when you were a person. But politics didn't make Mark happy, they only made him disagreeable, which the longer you went without giving him any sugar- got worse. He couldn't climb the ladder going like this. He supposed it could also double as a way to make your life better.

        Markus never thought he'd have to be his own wingman. He'd had to talk himself up plenty when he was a teenager. You were the perfect girl next door, his hallway crush, but this was a whole different level than overcoming teenage doubt. 

         He started with little suggestions. Nudges. A reminder to keep Mark's temper in check, that you didn't respond well to anger. He honestly didn't think Mark would listen intently but he did, circling back with him within the next day or few hours with a report on how it went. "She was a little less of an asshole this time. What now?"

        It wasn't like Mark hadn't had a long relationship with you, but paired with someone also short fused he lost his head. Mark's version of you had been fawning and agreeable most of the time, quiet when upset. He wasn't used to push back, was accustomed to you not reacting to his anger or biting remarks.

        Markus wished he could catch you alone, back in the Emperor's room where there were no cameras and he had time to talk to you uninterrupted, but a perfect storm like the other night wouldn't come for awhile. He was sure his latest idea would let you know- the Emperor's (hopefully) changing attitude was because of his influence. 

        You were more than confused. You'd taken all your meals in two places: in Mark's room or in the dining hall with Seb or Lensless, who'd glued himself to you anytime he wasn't busy. He had no access to the tracker or cameras but the man had a scary sixth sense for where you'd usually be. In the desert, he had memorized the chore rotations to count down the days until he could be alone with you, he did the same here, knew vaguely where everyone would be at certain times of the day. At least he kept you informed about Sebastian's whereabouts. He was always busy now, leash pulled tightly back after he scared the hell out of you and left the ship without permission. But the longer you stayed cold to Mark? The more he considered dropping the leash.

        You'd never seen Mark eat besides that first night. Just assumed that room where the pizza party had been was where he took his meals. It wasn't. 

        The invitation came while you were wandering the ship. The Marks were busy, so you'd taken to trying to understand the layout better. You still couldn't access much. No lab, no beating the asshole on your own. Servants mostly avoided you, sticking to their own passageways, but today one slithered out of a hidden door and came right up to you. Holding out a scrap of paper in a three-fingered hand. Markus said an analog approach was much more romantic than simply having the nearest screen ask you to 'hang'. 

        You took it and they scurried away. The paper was folded three ways hot dog style. You opened it, half expecting junk mail about opening a new credit card or pet insurance. Instead you were met with official Empire stationary. The Empire's sigil large in the bottom right corner. A message was written large and wobbly without lines to guide in blue ink, "Dinner?" Followed by a series of confusing directions. 

        The message was framed as a question but you weren't taking any chances. You walked along, holding the paper close like it was a map. Checking and rechecking the directions. Take a left turn at the really big room outside my room. Yeah, real helpful. 

        Mark watched your approach on his sleeve-set monitor. Smiling stupidly at your confusion. Markus would've been horrified at his hand writing, his meandering sense of direction. And Markus was, watching you on his wrist monitor, Gray, and Kregg were supposed to be talking over compromised trade routes. Nodding to Kregg as he listened. 

        Eventually, you actually made it to Mark's personal quarters. Winded because it was on the ship's highest level. At least the door was giant and obvious. You walked in annoyed but the snarky comment you were planning was forced out of you by the sight of his office. Walls inlaid with screens, some showed live feeds of other planets, some showed areas of the ship, some showed charts or tables you couldn't understand. Mark was sat at a high desk. Drawers filled with files and data discs, pads, and other tech. Behind him was an open window to space, framing him and his tall chair in stripes of passing light.

         A projector sat in front of him, small and displaying a live view of the alien he was supposed to be in a private meeting with- because that was what his private office was for. He pushed the projectors to the side, revealing his smirking face to you as the alien garbled on in guttural tones. It was a leader of a loyalist planet, explaining in a suspicious amount of detail just how loyal he was. Mark didn't buy it for a second but his ramblings fell to the wayside as he watched you walk in. Sat yourself in one of the two seats in front of his desk. Setting you significantly lower than himself. 

        Mark leaned toward the projector, never taking his eyes off you. Grunted in the foreign tongue, "I'm gonna stop you there. I've seen two Coalition ships fly overhead in the half-hour. Not sayin' yer next or anything buuuuut-" he pressed a finger to the projector and the image disappeared. Call ended.

        He laughed at your wide eyes staring at where the image used to be. "Still not used to all the sci-fi shit, huh?"

        You shook your head and held up the paper. "Viltrumites eat dinner at," you eyed what seemed to be a clock but could not decipher it and its nine time hands. "...That time." It wasn't a jab, but it wasn't sweet either. Perfectly passive. He had to give it to you, you were navigating the situation well, but not smart. If you were smart, you'd be all over him, loving him already.

        "Forty-five hundred hours." He said, "Usually I'd eat at forty-four but you took so long I had to take a call." He broke down snickering when you gave him an annoyed look. "Kidding. You're here faster than I thought you'd be. Dinner's not even ready yet but-" Mark turned in his chair, pressed a finger to the wall and a compartment opened. A shelf came from the wall with a swirl of chilled air. Two glasses, harvested and cut from an asteroid, wait on the shelf behind a bottle that seemed was orange, it glowed. "Never too early to start drinking."

        You eyed him suspiciously as he set the glasses on his desk, sweeping confidentially stamped reports out of the way and into a drawer for automatic sorting. He'd been a tad more tolerable these last days. That with the offer to get you drunk, made you think he was trying to pry sex out of you with forced chivalry.

        "I'm not a horny drunk." A lie.

        One that made Mark smirk. He wanted to say something nasty. That he knew damn well you were, would prove to you that you were but- he could hear Markus in his ear. Be more subtle if you're going to advance on her. Don't be gross or obnoxious. Not everything has to lead to innuendo. 

        But that was Markus's way of going about things and Mark was nothing but a horny dog. He finds a happy medium with a hummed, "I'm sure you're not," laced with only a little doubt.

        You don't take the bait of his teasing, "What's this about then?"

        "Can I not want to spend time with you?"

        "You should worry more about your empire." You said bitterly. There you were. Not passive, but mean. 

        "Oh? Somebody been missing me? Getting a little jealous?" He couldn't help but cross Markus's carefully constructed rules for flirting. The flash of anger across your face was too cute. Too reassuring when you didn't suddenly spout murder plots that you had no betrayal in mind.

        "No." You snapped. "But I miss my powers."

        He free poured you a glass, pushed it toward you before pouring himself one saying, "You'll get them back. Don't be such a baby. Relax with me. I've been working for a hundred-fifty hours straight, I need a break." It was an alteration to the line Markus gave him, long and flowery and full of yearning, and no excuses about work.

        You'd been thoroughly out of the loop some time now. You didn't particularly care about space politics, but you were realizing you might have to if you ever wanted to know what the hell was going on. Be good to know if space rebels were going to attack the Emperor's warship or something. "Working on what, exactly?"

        You didn't expect him to spill. As Emperor, he shouldn't even let you, a human who hadn't even sworn fealty, into this very room. But if anything got out there was a small pool of people to blame for a leak. He'd go to you first. "Checking in on the off-planet enforcers mostly. I've got months of invasion reports to catch up on. Then there's calling loyalist planet leaders to see if they're actually loyal. Shit ton more to do than ushual since Kregg fucked the empire's ass while I was gone. God, I should demote that guy." He waved the topic away, "It's as boring as it sounds."

        "You run an empire and think it's boring?"

        He had expected you to shut down the topic immediately and was pleasantly surprised by your interest, "I like it, but it can be boring after awhile. Everyone's so scared of me and there's no resistance that actually stands a chance. Even the council shits themselves if I look at 'em wrong. I heard some servants have made mistakes and killed themselves before I could discipline them or something. It's good to have that reputation but... boring. Smart of them to be scared of me, which you totally should be too, but you're just not. I mean, nobody ever talks to me the way you do. Not even the other versions of me!" He lifted his glass with a smile. "It's kinda hot."

        You didn't give him the satisfaction of telling him he scares you. You turned your head away from his heated honey gaze, lifted the glass to your lips and said, "This better not poison me." Almost as soon as the liquor hit your tongue, you lurched forward, gagging on the thick bitter body of it. You manage to swallow most of it. But you still slammed the glass down and started hacking. "Fuck- Shit- Are you trying to kill me? What the hell is this?"

        He laughed, sharp and loud as you wiped at your mouth. "See? Thula would whip herself before she was that rude to me!"

        To you, Mark made no sense. In one moment, he reveled in your attitude, the next he tried to electrocute it out of you. The look you gave him as your coughing slowed was utterly murderous. Mark sighed, leaned across the table, cheek on hand. "Ya look cute when you're mad. Actually, you do look really cute tonight." His eyes darted down a fraction. "Goes good with that." He danced around the collar's existence in vagueries, just like Markus told him.

        You came wearing something not so frumpy. The less fashionable aspects of the other you's wardrobe had been disappearing. You swore Mark had been tossing them out when he could. Forcing you into a more fashionable corner where nothing you wore had a high neck to hide the collar. 

        You hadn't been shocked in days. Been vigilant about not using your powers, keeping the gestures as an emergency. You'd been standoffish but not entirely cunty to Mark, towing the line of what he would and wouldn't allow you to say to him. You weren't about to start now, make things worse so they'd never get better.

        "It's growing on me," you said but not without adding a sharp, "mostly because I can't take it off."

        "That's a start." Mark knocked back another sip. Finishing with a contented sigh before setting the glass down. "You gonna drink that or am I the only one getting tipsy tonight?" Only after he drank the full bottle and twelve more, but he didn't need to tell you that. 

        Suppose this dinner would go a lot better if you were drunk. You'd had worse so you tip the glass back.

        The food came on hovering carts that self drove to an empty corner of the room, a window looking out to the stars. A table and two chairs came up from the floor, the little carts hovering by them as if waiting for you.

        "Come on." He said with a smirk, rising from his chair and floating into the other. He loved watching the shock on your face at the most basic amenities Viltrum had. You were easy to surprise. You followed without comment, eyeing the carts. One tray was clearly yours, sporting a smorgasbord of your favorites. You tried not to look too eager. Already light headed with drink and stomach achingly hungry, you hadn't been eating enough recently, but your time in the desert dulled your reaction to hunger. Human food seemed to override that. You noticed he was watching you from his seat and sat down.

        "It's the last'a the food from Earth." He picked up a heated loaf of rye bread from his platter. "Been seein' ya in the dining hall with Seb. I'll have the cooks work on making more Earth-adjacent stuff. I know alien food can be a bitch to get used to." Especially since every time Lensless and Seb's meal blocks lined up, Lensless found the most fucked up thing he could eat in front of you. You don't even want to think about the thing he ate last time.

        "I'd appreciate that." You reached for the food and dug in. Looking at him as little as possible and trying to keep the satisfaction off your face. Mark knew you were near tears, watched you savor every bite like it was your last. Soon it would be. He'd have to have a scout circle back to Earth eventually, bring a ship full of your favorites. 

        He knew you wouldn't be good conversation, not unless he started. You'd been cold, at arm's length. He needed to fix that. Soften you. So he asked something he'd been curious about for awhile, "So, livin' in New York, huh?"

        You swallowed, chasing the food with the rich liquor that soothed your throat the more you drank. "Wouldn't call it that but sure, what about it?" Just like her before you, you were a lot more complacent when you were drunk.

        There's no cutesy, flirty way to approach it. "Was it fun or...?" He asked awkwardly.

        "If you consider gang violence fun, barrels."

        Strikeout. Try again. "Nice?"

        "The city is a cesspit. Can you believe I thought fucking Chicago was shitty?" You laughed, head bobbing, already tipsy despite the food, "It's not like I chose to live there though, I was a teenager and shipped to a supe prison in New York." Machine Head had been in Chicago on business when you met. Had Isotope pop you into the big city for the one job you thought you would do, before you got busted. "Then I was just... Stuck there cuz I had nothing else and I owed Machine Head a fuckton and he was like, 'I'll hook you up with this shitty landlord I know whose apartments I probably won't burn down if you kill people for me'. And I couldn't say no. So yeah, New York was fucking amazing." 

        Mark set down the fork he'd been holding. You were squirrely about your past whenever he asked, especially after the collaring. That was the most you'd willingly talked to him in days. He liked you sober, but sometimes a little alcoholism went a long way in his favor.

        Maybe you wouldn't be so angry if he brought her up now, the dead girl between you. "Should'a had you around to tell 'er that. Not possible, I know," he looked down at his glass, empty, and poured himself another to the rim. "But she was so mad when I took her off Earth before she could take her big shot in New York." 

        Markus told him not to bring her up. To treat this relationship as a blank slate. A fresh start with you, talk of the dead version of you would only muddy the waters, but he couldn't help it. She'd fucked him up so bad and he was still so scared you'd do the same.

        Instead of getting angry, you took a bite, chewed and swallowed. Said, "She trying to be an actress or what?"

        Mark's shoulders lifted. He'd been expecting barbs. To be shut down and pushed out. He was too eager to tell you, "Honestly, couldn't tell you. She kinda wanted to be everything. Talked about how cool it'd be to be a music producer one week then was all like, I should act, another. We left Earth before she could decide. I thought she'd get over it cuz you know, we were sixteen, and being Empress one day's a lot cooler than being a DJ."

        You pointed at him with your own fork, a small smile on your lips. "That's how you know she was an idiot, wanted to be a DJ, Jesus Christ." You huffed a laugh, "Did you like, always know you were gonna come here or did you also wanna be a DJ?"

        You were asking about him. This was a big step. He couldn't fuck it up. "Not really, Dad was always pretty vague, saying I like, 'had a destiny' but I thought that meant like, I'd find what I wanted. Thought it was heroing but I dunno, I just never really gave a shit. I was kinda stupid in school too. Thank God I found out he was the Emperor before I had to graduate. Man, those SAT's were gonna kill me, well, not if Ma did first, I skipped the PSAT, she was gonna find out sooner or later."

        "Your dad was the Emperor?" You felt like you would have heard that on the news if Nolan had said anything about being the emperor in your dimension. 

        "Yeah, that's kind of how monarchies work babe."

        "Is killing your dad the... normal way people ascend the throne on Viltrum?"

        "Oh, no it's not. I murdered the shit outta him for the spot. I mean, who keeps that from their kid? Fucked up man."

        You blinked. "Huh." He was grinning, wanting you to ask for morbid details. You didn't want to, not while you ate, changing the subject, "You didn't graduate either, huh?" 

        "Wouldn't have even if I made it the full four years." With the amount he flunked, he would've been a super-duper senior. 

        You held up your glass, elbow propped on the table. Swaying slightly. Learning fast that anything that could get a Viltrumite tipsy, got you piss-drunk. "Cheers to that."

        Mark held up his own, smiling and kissing the glass rims together. "To being stupid."

        You knocked the rest of your drink back. Managed not to spit it up on the table and slammed the cup down. "I feel extra stupid since we came here. I still don't even know how long we were in the desert."

        The whole ten months happening in two thing really scrambled your brain. When you first arrived, they told you time moved faster in the desert dimension, and in the hours you were initially gone, only a few minutes had passed. So why had it switched? How could you have been there for less time than passed here? Mark perked up at this and told you Gray had a theory, passed it onto to Markus and Mark. The black hole being so close made time weird, slow and stretch despite the initial timestream being faster. Then mixed with interdimensional travel- it was bound to be messed up. Mark explained but you hardly followed along. Eating your second plate of food eagerly. 

        "Gray thinks that place is probably gone by now cuz'a the time warp, sucked into that blackhole Markus found. Kinda hard to imagine that place being dead before us. I really thought we were all gonna die out there." And now he was here, in his air conditioned office, sitting across from you. 

        "Me too. A bunch of times." Heat stroke. Starvation. Sebastian. The caves. You'd been thinking less and less about that last part. That last Mark who you ate to survive those last days.

        "Glad you're not." And he must have read your mind, because he said confidently, "Everyone who died out there deserved it." 

        It was the first time anyone had acknowledged him since coming to this dimension, the weird guilt you felt at that made the food feel like lead in your stomach. You hadn't thought about Mark, the prisoner, in weeks. All the while he was stuck in hell looking up at you flouncing around, slowly forgetting him. "Probably good he's dead. He would've hated it here and you would've had to kill him. Would've been nice if he stuck around though. The rest of you are so fucking weird."

        Mark decided not to take that as insult. "We're weird but he kept you in a dark cave for weeks? You know, if that pussy asshole came along neither of you would'a known it. You would'a stayed stuck down there forever. He wasn't a nice guy."

        Your appetite waned at the memory of eating bugs. Their shells shattering in your teeth, the guts mashed into the bit he brutally tied around your head. "Considering he had me tied up and gagged in the dark for a few days, I guess you're right. He wasn't very nice." If you weighted Mark's actions against Mark's who would you deem worse? Should you even be angry anymore? Or should you just keep drinking, keep talking like the collaring didn't happen? Because it wasn't the worst thing a Mark had done to you, far from it. 

        "Fuck's sake." Mark had heard plenty about your time down there, but you had never divulged that fact, wouldn't tell anyone how he hurt you. They had all guessed based on the injuries you had, but hearing it from you made the fear he felt at the time come back in a wave. He could've lost you.

        You straightened up, "But it's over now." You weren't hungry anymore but you ate just to have something to look at and do. Just an excuse not to talk about the caves anymore and that blooming anger for a dead man welling up in your chest.

        Mark let you ruminate. Markus impressed that on him multiple times, give you time to process. He had no idea how Markus was so patient. After just a few minutes of quiet, he was ready to talk your ear off. 

        You beat him to the punch, hunched over the table, clutching your belly. Aching with fullness like you wished you had in the desert. Your mind meanders on Mark, Baldie. What you did to him. What you'd done with your life before that. All this talk of a better version of yourself.

        You couldn't help but wonder in your stupor, "Do you like it that I'm evil?" It sounded so stupid said out loud. The only kind of thing you say drunk.

        Mark leaned over the table, napkin in hand. "I wouldn't call you evil. I'm evil. But, yeah, I guess. Nice that you understand what it's like to have to kill people." Smooth fibers wipe crumbs away from the corner of your lip, "You've never tried to make me feel bad about what we do here."

        It's the kind of gesture you used to daydream of Mark doing when you were a teenager. The kind you yearned for in years and bad dates since. Now it was happening with the same guy who ruined then kind-of fixed your life. God, you were too drunk for this.

        "I don't really know what you guys are doing anyways."

        Mark pulled the napkin back, "What really? Mark never-"

        "Broke up with me because I found out he was a superhero, remember?" You said as he wiped his own face.

        "Right. My bad. Well, if you're asking about what the empire does," another good sign, "we have the solution to every problem and we wanna share it."        

        You nodded, "Sounds simple."        

        "And in return, all the we ask is their cooperation and planetary resources. Fuel and ships don't grow on trees. We also ask for volunteers to help harvest those resources and build those ships, as well as soldiers to man the ships." It all sounded so Boy Scout. "But sometimes they don't want to help, don't want to submit even though we have more power than they know. They're too stupid to realize what we've got going on is better than what they've got goin' on, they don't want to change. If they're that weak and stupid when faced with such an obvious opportunity, it's clear they'd just drag the empire down. So we kill 'em all, it's not that complicated." Nevermind, not Boy Scout.

        That was fucked up, clearly evil but at least he knew it. What you didn't understand was, "If you guys always win, why fight?" You had been asking yourself the same thing, letting it sink in how fucked you were. 

        "Cuz they're pussies who would rather die for their planet than let it change. Can't accept progress because 'waaaah, murder is wrong.'" He sneered, shrugging his shoulders as he said, "It's not murder if they're stupid." 

        You should have just given up. Agreed with everything he said.

        "It's still murder." You said instead, because the thought of giving up filled you with insurmountable dread. You couldn't just sink into this new life. Couldn't just accept this as nice as it was. It was happening, true, you couldn't escape, also true, but you couldn't just roll over. You had rolled over your entire life and almost died because of it numerous times, had lost everything because of it. 

        Mark saw the war on your face. Interpreted it as a moral dilemma. "I thought you didn't care about murder."

        "I didn't say that." You were getting defensive now. Scared at the thought of becoming too complacent. 

        Despite your tone, Mark softened, "Baby, you don't have to pretend with me." He snapped and the trays lifted themselves off the table, floating themselves out the automatic door. Once the table was clear of saucy plates, he reached over, put a hand over yours. 

        Under him, you stiffened, but didn't move away. He wondered if you were too scared to or if you genuinely craved comfort.

        "I didn't want to kill people." You said, "I didn't enjoy it. I'm not like you."

        He tried not to laugh at that, "You remember when we first met? You called those dumbass superheroes on me? You were grinning like a maniac thinkin' you were gonna kill us."

        "I was high." You were deflecting. You just needed some time, maybe needed to see a planet without the empire's influence, compared to one with, then you'd see. "It sucked."

        "Yeah, cuz you didn't kill any of us." Mark jabbed not unkindly.

        "I killed the other black and blue one." You recalled. "He was a real ass."

        "See? You got satisfaction outta it. You get me a lot more than you think. It'll be good for us if I take you on a few ride alongs. Won't take the collar off but we have a few imported heat guns that are pretty fun to use to melt rebel skulls. Whadd'ya say?"

        Your fingers curled under his, a scowl on your face, "You want me to murder random aliens for what? For fun?"

        "It's not random murder, it's quelling rebellion. They rope other planets into their holier than thou bullshit, makes them too afraid to join the empire and then we have to kill them too. If you think about it, you're murdering them before they can get other people killed." Mark hummed, drumming his fingers over your own,  "A date on one of the loyalist planets doesn't sound half bad either."

        "Do you hear yourself right now?" 

        He huffed, annoyed, "Nobody's gonna judge you here for killing unworthy idiots. What is with your instance on being moral?"

        "I'm not trying to be moral, I just... I can't accent this is what my life would be like here." It was the most truthful thing you'd said all night, a fear that your life would always be murder and fear, that you would never get to choose what you wanted.  

        He didn't believe you. Still misread your grievances as empathy that made him worry you'd turn out to be another Coalition mole. He needed you to empathize with him more than some random aliens. "Look, I get it. Human conditioning makes you feel bad about killing people. The first time I killed someone I felt bad too. I thought just because she was my mom, I should feel bad, but I didn't. Viltrum isn't right about everything, I think the mustache tradition thing is stupid, but they're right about most things. Killing is super fun yeah, but it's better if it's for the greater good. And killing my mom was for the greater good because she was a stupid bitch who wanted me weak."

        You'd accept life here. He'd make it good. Make you understand.

        You pulled your hands out from under his like you'd been burned, your mind racing with things you tried to shut out. You heard her voice, felt hands shaking you, holding your mouth shut as he yelled and yelled and yelled.

        Mark doubled down, "Once I realized it was taught, I stopped letting it hold me back. Humans are weak anyways. It was good for them that we took over their planet. Do you even realize how healthy the population is now? Cancer doesn't exist, there's no war or hunger. They don't even need heroes anymore, they're safe. We fixed them but they still feel that conditioning. They're still weak but they're better because the rebels are dead, because we took over."

        "You want me to just stop feeling things?" You push back your chair.

        Mark could feel he was losing you, his temper flared hot but Markus told him to control it. "No, no, I just want you to know no human bitch is gonna judge you here. I get it's hard to get over what you learn from the moment you're born there, but if I can enjoy murdering my mom in hindsight, you can-"

        You shot up from your chair, hear a different voice over Mark's. "I can't talk about this." You turned hard to the door, feeling sick.

        Mark watched the door slide open. Feeling odd. The last time you saw eachother things ended in a similar storm off but under different duress. At least you weren't mad at him- Question mark?

        Mark rose from his seat, followed you to the door. You reeled on him, wobbly, teeth bared, ready to sink your nails into him if you had to. He didn't come at you with demands or viciousness. Though this didn't end well, it was good step for your relationship. Slowly, you were becoming a better pet, but the only way to be the best pet was to be fully declawed.

        "Can you walk?"

        You swayed as the door opened. "I'm fine. I know where the room is."

        "Actually, I was going to take you to the lab after we finished eating. There were some tests you needed done." 

        Your brain went to stupid sci-fi bullshit. The effects of artificial gravity on the human body or if the alien food had made you start to grow another stomach. "Right now?"

        "The lab's schedule is packed so I had them prepare it for you now. Do you want me to walk you?" Another suggestion from Markus, one he hoped you'd accept.

        "I can walk." You insisted, shambling toward the open frame.

        "Alone? Thula told me what happened with Sebastian. I wouldn't want you feeling unsafe."

        You paused, glared at him. He swore you saw right through him in your drunken haze. "Lock him up then."

        "You know I can't do that."

        "I'll be fine." You wobbled away. Door automatically shutting as you passed the clearance. 

        Mark knew you would be. Knew you still kept a scrap of power, but not for long. The next time you saw Sebastian, you needed to be properly helpless. Run into his arms without him inviting you to. Accept that humans were weak and the only way forward was to join the Empire.

        ***

        You probably should've taken Mark up on walking you to the lab. You were lost and stumbling until Mark sent a servant to fetch you, to bring you to the lab because he couldn't bear watching you lean on another wall while staring aimlessly down the hall.        

        By the time you arrived at the lab, you were swatting the alien and its four arms away. Saying, "I'm fine," when you clearly weren't. The servant didn't let go, scared if it let you drop, it'd be killed. The longer you were held against your will the rowdier you get. Kicking its cloven legs and beating fists back against its low ribs. 

        The room was gray, like everything else. Every wall was occupied by delicate machinery, some things were obvious, like a more advanced gas hood setup. Others weren't, like an empty tube that looked like a hotel revolving door without the door. 

        Phantom emerged from a backroom where a large machine hummed. He'd been loading the machine when the room had gotten a call directly from the Emperor's office. He'd known you'd be coming today, had suggested his alien cohorts leave in case anything went wrong so all blame could fall on him. In reality, he wanted to be a little more alone with you- even if that wretch of an Emperor would be in attendance. He waited around so long without an update he assumed maybe the Emperor rescheduled, maybe he'd found him out, knew he was trying to set you free. Just as the whispers of paranoia became screams, Mark called. Said you were coming, alone, and were drunk and he needed to fix that by giving you a cocktail, not literally, of drugs to force sobriety so the test results wouldn't be ruined. He gathered the supplies while Mark grumbled in his ear.

        Phantom rushed forward, pulling you out of the alien's arms, gave it a nod of approval so it could leave. There was nowhere to sit in the lab, all machines and a big table to do work on in the middle. So he sat you on the table, making note to sanitize it later. He held you stable with one arm, not listening when you said, "'M fine." You tried to wave away the white cylinder he held but your reactions were slow, sloppy.

        How could Mark let you get this drunk? Did he not think about alcohol poisoning? Did he just not care?

        Viltrumites didn't need a sudden cure for drunkenness. It was so hard to get drunk and none of them, except the Marks, even wanted to. The drug came about years ago. You'd showed up to one too many meetings, drunk as a skunk, reeking and sleepy in the Emperor's lap. Mark didn't mind, not at first, at least you were with him. But the council minded. Then there were the times you, a lowly human, spoke up during meetings and made the council mind even more. Kregg had pulled him to the side, gave him a verbal undressing, or as close as he could get speaking to the Emperor.

        Mark tried to get you not to drink so much but he was busy and you were persuasive with the servants. Always having a stash somewhere at the ready. You'd never stop trying to cleanse your brain with alcohol. Trying to forget what you were involved with. Kregg went behind Mark's back, had the drug developed in these very same labs. When it was done, he gave Mark the vile of milky liquid, told him you could be as drunk as you wanted outside of meetings, but during was unacceptable. Instead of just letting you skip meetings, he sobered you up.  

        That's when Mark thought you really started to hate him. It wasn't the genocide or colonization you hated, it was being sober enough to understand. Stone cold awake in meetings where they talked about what planet to next destroy. Unwillingly conscious and suddenly too aware of what you were letting happen in the universe. He never should've started giving you the stuff before meetings. Should've let you stayed drunk, never listened to Kregg. Mark felt an old, dormant horror flash in his gut as he watched Phantom put the vial up your nose and press his thumb to the trigger. What if you went right back to hating him when you were sober? But it had to be done. He needed full control over you and that wasn't possible if your brainwaves were too slow to read.

        You jerked back, the tube flying out your nose. It felt like being hit in the face with a cold sack of rocks, like Narcan without the heart pounding adrenaline and nausea. You hissed out a swear as a headache drilled into your skull. The drug dripped down your nasal passage, smelling and burning like hand sanitizer.

        "What the fuck?" You leaned out of Phantom's touch, supporting your weight on your own. Suddenly much more stable with a clearer but pounding head. "Ow. What the fuck was that?" You rubbed your forehead as the drilling feeling quickly ebbed away. Leaving you with a gross feeling nose and a heavy head. The airy feeling and pleasant brain fog you associated with being drunk, gone.

       He was so in his head worrying, he didn't realize he said nothing. Body automatically moving to set up the tests. He was under the impression the Emperor would be coming along. That he'd fill up the room with big words and his plans for you. Your ire could easily be pointed at him while Phantom could secretly glare at him- tell you his allegiance with his eyes, but it's just you and him. He's grateful, deeply, but mute with terror. What was he supposed to say? 

        "Uhm, hello?" You asked after minutes of quiet. Phantom's slate blue eyes had glazed over as he'd pulled a box out of the wall. Opened it to the glow of blue light and started setting rectangular chips onto a side table.

        He went rigid at the sound of your voice, at the feeling of your eyes pinned on him. He was a deer in your headlights, no mask to hide his expression, only able to watch as you frowned. "Are you gonna tell me why I'm not drunk anymore?"

        Your prior drunken state was a shame. He couldn't believe Mark would let you be so inebriated. You were perfect sober, if he couldn't see that-

        "You gonna answer me?" 

        He's frozen again, trying to take a subtle breath to stabalize himself. He'd been staring again but he couldn't stop, blindly reaching for the nodes with shaky hands. "I- I'm not sure." His voice came out with a waver. He hadn't the time nor warning to look into the compounds or what it'd do to the body. He only had unsatisfying guesses.

        "Cool, random alien drugs in my body, awesome." You watched him, eyes clear and sharp. Scrutinizing his every movement. "Did he really send me here to ruin my day some more?" It's a joke, a mean one. One that makes Phantom wary. He wasn't as aware as he should've been the first time you walked together on the ship. Before he didn't realize how many cameras there really were. How Mark heard everything down to his dis-allegiance he was now desperately trying to cover up. But at least you hadn't changed your new stance on him. Too busy hating Mark to even think of him. It's a small victory.

        Across the ship, Mark laughed. You were so defensive and full of shit. You'd had a perfectly fine time, until that weird bit at the end. 

        Phantom shook his head. He held up the node for you to see. No easy, pretty way to say it. The words fall out his mouth in an awkward heap, "The Emperor has... concerns about your powers." His throat closed soon as he said it. Making his vocal cords throb. There was a balm the Viltrum doctors provided him to rub on his throat twice a day to ease the discomfort. It worked well, he could talk at length much easier than before, but with you, he was nervous, felt that old throb of pain. Anxious for how you'd react- think him a willing accomplice in your entrapment. 

        You looked at him strangely, "What's it matter? I can't use 'em." Mark had shown him the tape when making the appointment. You using your hands to defend yourself, then mess around with Lensless. You'd been careful not to use them since, a plan B stored in your back pocket that made Mark beyond anxious. He nearly murdered the entire bio-engineering team for the oversight. Phantom talked him out of it, a monster himself but not so far gone. He needed the team to keep the lab running smoothly and the more time they spent together, the more sympathetic they'd be to him when the time came.

        He didn't want to say it. Crush your small feeling of hope and safety but for the long con, he had to. "I was told you found a loophole?"

        You went still. Your heart rate spiked but you kept your voice even, well-practiced, "A loophole?"

        Oh God. Please. Please don't make this harder than it has to be. The more you lied and fought, the more you'd hate him. He pleaded at you with his eyes but all you saw was blue. 

        You continued when he didn't answer, throat constricting, "No seriously, I have no idea what you're talking about. Is the collar broken or something?"

        He was afraid he'd have to tell you, so he didn't. "I'm being kept out of the loop." Which was somewhat true. Mark didn't say it, but he'd kept Phantom busy. Busier than the others. Kept him away from you, out of council meetings when he could. He had heard in Mark's voice, the disgust at having to send you down to the labs, into his orbit.

        He reached up for your temple with the node in his fingers, "I need to..."

        You leaned back like the thing was going to shock you. It wasn't, but he should have anticipated the response. "What the hell is that?"

        He hesitated. "It-" He prayed you wouldn't hate him, hoped you'd remember what he'd said and understood he had to play his part for now. "It reads brainwaves so when you're uhm-" He held up his hand and made a u-turn motion.

        It really hit you then. They'd seen or Lensless had snitched. The former was more likely. Lensless was too horny to deprive himself of even a shred of your power.

        "You've got the wrong idea." You said. "I can't use my powers without my voice, that's the whole point."

        Phantom really wished the coward was here to speak for him. To receive the barbs he knew were coming.

        "Then nothing will come of this." He said. Knowing something would. He brought the node a smidge closer to you. "Can I?"

        There was no way you could refuse. Either way, you looked suspicious. The best thing to do was make the motions without putting any power behind it. It'd work. You could keep your powers and Mark would have no idea. "Fine." You didn't lean forward, so Phantom pressed himself into the table side, his thigh brushing your knee. Hand shaking the closer and closer he got to your brow. Finally, a single fingerpad connected you skin to skin. 

        He'd touched you though enhanced Kevlar in the desert, but never like this.  Never felt the warmth of your living flesh. The pulse in your temple sent electric shocks down his arm as his fingers moved, pressing the node to stick to your skin. His fingers linger under the guise of still needing the press the node in, but he knew it was already attached. Just wanted to be in this moment a little longer.

        Eight more careful, loving times he got to touch you. Pressing node after node to your head with only with his arm of skin and bone, the prosthetic useless at his side. He always lingered a little longer than he should have just to feel your flesh, your breath on his underarm. He had to stop himself from cradling your head, caressing your cheek though every fiber of his being needed him to. 

        When it was done, your forehead was pock marked with nodes. Some sat at the nape of your neck. Others (sat atop your scalp/were buried in your hair). He noticeably didn't step back from the table like any professional would. Instead, he picked up a data pad and opened the right set of programs, thigh still touching you. He waited for you to do something.

        You waited for orders that never came. "What do you want me to do?"

        "Control me." It came out too fast, too charged. He flushed with embarrassment, getting wanton flashes of you in his head that had tortured him. 

        You didn't take it that way. Too scared by the prospect of losing your powers to pick up on the double entendre. "I can't, It'll shock me." You were still intent on playing dumb. Phantom could admire your resolve, but it didn't help his bleeding heart to see you so desperate, even if you were trying to hide it. 

        "The..." He looked down at the chunky thing sat round your neck. Silver heart shiny in the center. So gaudy and disgusting. He never would've done it, cut your powers off. He knew you could be brash, but taking your one defense was mindless, it should be cultivated and used, not thrown away. That was an idea only fit to come from a madman. Mark should die for it, for the bruise still fading on your neck. For a lot of things, Mark should die. But he didn't say that, he kept working like he needed to. "...Device isn't calibrated to your non-verbal commands, only your voice. Your powers should have unique frequencies." It was the most simple way he could put it, he didn't want to ramble while you stared at him with those pretty eyes, "Begin whenever you are comfortable. I promise it will not harm you."

        It wouldn't shock you now but once him and the team were done, it would. And he could see it on your face that you knew.

        "Okay." You went along anyway. "I guess I'm gonna try and make you spin around?" You held up a finger, Phantom watched it intently. Willed his mind blank. Wanting to feel your sweet control soothe over his brain. You made a circle motion but Phantom felt nothing. 

        The data pad showed standard brainwaves, no change. He knew it was a farce, you could tell he knew, but still you tried. Over and over he asked you to try and control him. Over and over you said you were trying. Dragging out the inevitable. 

        Phantom didn't call you out, just said, "It's not picking anything up."

        "I'm trying." You lied.

        He could take it at face value. Let you slip away with your scrap of power and dignity but he couldn't. This was a band aid fix as much as it was a loyalty test. Mark was watching, probably with his own copy of Phantom's screen. He knew Phantom didn't want to do this. Knew it hurt him. Knew Phantom was a plotting, scheming anti-loyalist rat. But Phantom wasn't so foolish to make himself look incompetent and more disloyal. Without this lab position, he had no power to help you. He needed to stay here and somehow in your good graces- directly at odds with eachother, just like Mark wanted.

        He needed to appeal to your human nature, fixed you with look, meek and pleading. "He'll kill the whole team if this doesn't get fixed." It's not a lie.

        The lie never had a chance, but his acknowledgement of it, no matter how passive, made your stomach drop. You tried appealing to his loving nature, to the man in the desert who thanked you when you kicked his bleeding body. "Can't you just lie?" And for added impact you whispered, your knee bumping into him just a bit harder, "For me? Say you fixed it?"

        It was stupid, Mark would know. If you ever used your hands again without a shock there'd be hell to pay, not just for you. Things would only get worse but you couldn't help feeling scared, like the collar was tightening around your neck. 

        The longer he didn't reply, his own throat feeling like it was cinched shut, the more your face fell. Despair sunk in bone deep. You thought talking with Mark more cordially would make things better. That he'd loosen the leash, not the other way around. 

        Mark would, in time, a long time, because he knew change didn't happen overnight. He'd take the collar off when you said you loved him. When he could listen to the rhythm of your heart for the truth. But you didn't know that. You were a scared, cornered animal, begging Phantom to let you go with your rapidly blinking eyes, trying to hold back tears. 

        The shake of his head was like a death sentence. Accompanied with the last thing you wanted to hear, "The Emperor is watching." It was the most rebellious he'd let himself get. 

        You understood. Just like you had no choice to work for Machine Head, Phantom had no choice but to work for Mark. And like you, he had no hope of escaping either. Stuck in this place, doing whatever Mark wanted. It was nice knowing you had someone else to relate to. 

        You turned, looking for an obvious camera. You saw no obvious lens, no red-dot of recording. "I don't-"

        "They're there. In the walls." He confirmed, voice the most solid it'd been the whole interaction. He wasn't lying. He was still trying to figure out how the lenses saw through the thick alien metal, if it was like a one-way mirror.

        There was no lying. No faking. 

        "God." You turned back to him, fighting a wobbling frown. "Fine. I'll just-" This time when you motion, the connection slapped into place. Phantom turned about face, stayed there a moment before the connection fizzled. The data pad showed a massive change in frequency in your brainwaves. 

        You went through the motions. Did as he asked, which was ironically, controlling him. Pointing him to stand in corners. Making him approach just to stop. It got a little awkward when you mimed choking. Watched Phantom's prosthetic fingers press into his own flesh while he maintained a blank face. 

        He had more than enough data to bring to the team to start. The plan was to make an implant like the ones used to monitor patients in the medical bay, insert it to the base of you skull. Have it more directly monitor your brain activity. Not an elegant hot fix but a fix he would be able to tamper with.

        The first node came away from your temple. You sat there, let him touch you lingeringly, eyes staring into nothing. The dread overwhelming. He tried to soothe you, voice a whisper against your face, "It'll take more data to finalize everything. You have a few days." The one good thing that came out of this was you coming to him regularly. Access to you was precious and rare. He still couldn't believe Mark let Sebastian anywhere near you. That animal that ate him alive. He should be dead, just like Mark.

        "Viltrum days or Earth days?"

        "Viltrum."

        You nodded like your neck was on a puppet string. Another node was pulled away. Then another. Your brainwaves going flatter and flatter on the data pad.

        "Fuck it up." Phantom paused, hand poised to pull a node off the back of your neck. You leaned into him, whispered, "Fuck up the data. Make the update, I don't care, just leave me something." He pulled off the node. His silence made your nervous. "Please, don't do this to me, Phantom."

        If he could shatter into a million pieces he would. But he wasn't made of glass, nor you a hammer. 

        He remembered his time as Phantom. Associated it with you and the desert and the caves. At first, he liked the name, that you thought of them all differently, gave him a name he thought was cool. Then everything happened. What little of it he could remember in hot flashes of agony were accompanied by the name being said tauntingly.

        The splitting phantom pain he felt in the stubs of his limbs. The dreams of skin slowly being rolled up his twitching muscles, torn off with teeth. The worst dreams were of that little carved out cavern where it reeked of sex and sweat. His consciousness uncertain, the sound of slapping skin. Mark in front of him drilling his cock into you. The surge of murderous intent he felt, still did, but could no longer act upon.

        "Grayson." He croaked, breath warm over your face. He wanted to be Grayson to you again. Not the weakling in the desert but your boyfriend who'd come home and talk about comics with you and make sweet love on your apartment's shitty futon. One day, not today. 

        You caught his drift, switched up without missing a beat. "I know I've done a lot of fucked up shit to you, okay? I'm sorry, Grayson. Please, don't do this. I can't take it." 

        Grayson knew you could. You were stronger than your circumstances. Survived so much worse so far, but he knew you were scared. He let his hand go flat on the back of your neck, rubbed his thumb up and down your skin, avoiding the collar. "I could never hold a grudge, not against you." But everyone else, absolutely. Plus, to Grayson, you were even. He had fucked up, and you took your revenge. Even. 

        "Then don't do it." But you knew he had to.

        He pulled the node off, let it clatter to the table. It was an answer of some sort, but one you can't translate. "Grayson..." His eyes flicked behind you, to the wall where the hidden camera watched on. 

        ***

        Being released from the labs was a strange feeling. You still had powers, but not for long. You were tempted to recede. To go to Mark's room and curl up in bed and do nothing for hours. But the idea made you sick. You couldn't stand the idea of him coming back, petting your head and cooing some bullshit apology about how he still cared. 

        You needed normalcy. You need someone to talk to that wasn't batshit insane, wouldn't say they wanted to help then box you in further. 

        Your legs took you along a tour. To Seb's room, unoccupied, to one of the places he sometimes oversaw, not there, before you finally you caught him. Hovering down one of the long halls, opening doors to peak inside before letting them slide shut. He marked something off on a screen attached to his sleeve. Floated forward, dragging his fingers along the hall to catch the next button. 

        You wanted to run to him, but were so drained you couldn't. You just shambled slowly toward him as he worked, casting confused glances your way until you were both close enough it wasn't awkward to speak.

        "Hey dude." It was so normal, casual, without secret intents, you could sob. 

        You barely kept your composure as you continued to shuffle closer even though you were about to collide.

        "Whoa," Seb stopped you with hands on your shoulders, holding you at arms length and getting a good look at your face. "You look terrible."

        Going from drunk to not drunk in a matter of minutes did that to a person apparently. "It's been a day." You leaned into his touch. It was so strange, he had Mark's face but something about him was so uniquely Seb. The stubborn way he held his face and the cheek piercing made him seem younger. The crooked nose, the attitude, all so different.

        Seb felt another type of confusion. In the past he'd always lost interest fast, especially after he got his rocks off, but not with you. He wanted to know what happened. He kind of cared and that was fucking- he didn't know what- scary? Good? Bad? Territory like this was to be danced around the same way he had with Rex.

        He surprised himself saying, "Wanna like, talk about it?"

        It came spilling out because God yes, you did. How your powers worked, how you used them on Sebastian, how you thought Lensless was the only one who knew, but apparently not. You'd been so scared to use them you hadn't even told Seb until now- and it was too late. It wasn't like he'd be able to change things anyway. He had no lab or administrative access to shit, he was just a grunt. Still, he mentally self flagellated. 

        All he could do was reel his arms in and let you sink into his chest. Your arms wrapped around him, hands clinging at his back. Breath hitching in his neck, trying so hard to keep it together. He held you as tight as he could without hurting you. Thinking maybe he could squeeze the pieces back into place. Somehow fix things.

        Hugs didn't fix shit, you both knew it. "Do you have any alcohol left?"

        Alcohol didn't either, but it was the closest you'd both found to fixing things out of your control.

        "Kinda sorta drank it all." He cringed, feeling like an asshole. 

        "Can we get some more?" You needed to be drunk again without someone to take it away. Needed to black out stupid. Escape this space bullshit for just a few hours.

        "Uhhh, I think the guy that accidentally gave it to me got thrown off the ship and is like, frozen solid in space by now." Seb wasn't one for caring but he felt like a dick for inadvertently getting the dude killed. He'd been feeling like a huge asshole ever since they came to this dimension. Sure, he worked for the empire before, but in this last week he'd done more for the empire than he ever had in his years as an enforcer. Forced to be a high-speed cog in a war machine. Coasting felt like the wrong choice, but what else could he do? 

        "Oh."

        It was a little sound but it made his chest feel like it was caving in.

        "I can... leave? Find a fuel station, they're a lot more common than you'd think. Get us some smokes and booze that probably wouldn't kill you." It was the best he could offer. Hopefully he could find the ship again, actually catch it now that it was on the move again. Probably would be a bad idea to leave when there was another mission slotted in twenty hours or so, but he had no idea what would happen if he missed it. Death? A collar of his own? 

        If you had peeled up your face from his neck and looked at him with red-rimmed teary eyes- he may have done it. Except you anchored him to the spot, mumbling against his neck, your grip tightening, "Don't even think about leaving me."

        He barked out a laugh that sounded meaner than he meant. He was surprised, was all. A flush warmed his cheeks. "Aw jeez, you sound like one'a my crazy exes." 

        "In a way, I kinda am." Mumbled into his neck.

        "You got me there." The conversation dropped. You were still hugging. Was it normal to hug this long? Was he going to die for hugging you this long? His grip loosened on your back but you either didn't notice the social cue or didn't care. "We should..." He flipped up his wrist monitor, "Nevermind. My next meal block is in fifteen hours."

        "What're you doing right now?" Your tone was innocent, but not enough. He'd slept around enough to know a sly invite to fuck when he heard it. 

        Behind his ribs, his heart throbbed. He wasn't opposed to you, not at all, he was opposed to his head on a pike for fucking the Emperor's girlfriend. Mark played casual, cool headed, but whenever Seb saw him in meetings he got the distinct vibe of disapproval. Could feel the hatred wafting off of him, because he had everything while Seb had nothing, yet you gravitated toward Seb. 

        He swallowed a thick lump. Fighting, thrashing against his fuck-everything-that-moves nature. "I'm supposed to be patrolling right now. Checking that the servants are where they're supposed to be." Your hand made a compelling argument as it began to slide down his back. Traveling around his side to his front. Tracing the curve of his muscles until your fingers stopped, pressing into the crease of his hip. He stiffened and relaxed in different places but tried to keep his cool. "The automatic security systems kinda does it all for me but I'm the backup in case they fail- which they apparently never do- but if they fail it's on me. How about we-"

        "Seb." You cut off his rambling, voice low, "I don't want to think about this stupid fucking empire."

        He didn't either. Hated working for it. Just wanted to forget for a time, buried inside you. Still, it was a dangerous idea. "I dunno."

        "Please." You hated using the word so much, but today had been a day of low lows and begging. "I just need to feel normal." Your touch migrated from his hip, dipping down to his upper thigh. Rubbing up and down, slowly splaying out your fingers, moving more and more inward. He was used to being the goading one, not the seduced. He was nearly paralyzed by the hardening of his cock under his Viltrum uniform skirts. Too scared to give in, but too horny not to be persuaded.

        "Not here." He said, breath hot and fast.

        You moved. From leaning into his neck to kissing it and sucking gently. Fingertips grazing the side of his hardening length. He held in a moan but couldn't help the way his body shuddered. "Take me back to your room then."

        Still, he hesitated. Hands twitching on your back as you tease him with ghostly touch. "That thing tracks your vitals. He'll know." 

        You could hear the hesitance in his voice, yet you pushed, "Please, I'll do whatever. I'll suck your dick. I need this."

        Under your fingers he throbs. "Are you sure he's not gonna kill me?" 

        "Said it himself, he needs you for the empire." You moved, wanting to grab full hold of him through his clothes. 

        When you grabbed, there was nothing there. You almost stumbled into the wall without support. Catching yourself, you realized Seb was suddenly a few feet away pulling his skirt awkwardly in front of himself with legs crossed.

        "Hey! Hey!" Seb tried to smile but it just looked pained. "What's up?"

        Gray hovered in the middle of the hall. Looking mostly impassive, hands tucked behind his back as usual. He paid Seb no mind, brown eyes burning into your hand and the space where it was about to be. 

        Seb rambled on. He didn't know much about the empire but he knew Gray was now stationed above him and this was a really shitty situation to be caught in. "We've just been patrolling. That's been going great. Do you want a like, report or-"

        "(Y/n)," Gray said, "I need you for official business." Seb clammed up when Gray's gaze slid coldly onto him. "You can continue patrolling. Preferably without any unnecessary distractions."

        Seb honestly expected Gray to shoot forward, cut his cock off but he was left intact. Slowly floating backward, fighting an internal war- stand up for you because you looked horrified or put his head down like a good dog. 

        "Oh uh- yeah, sure boss." After the desert, he was too scared. "I'll see you later?"

        Your face fell. God, he was such an asshole.

        He waved at you, brow furrowed with concern before he turned away and left, tail tucked between his legs. Telling himself it was good to stay alive, even if he was abandoning his friend. Telling himself Mark wouldn't hurt you, you'd be fine. Everything would be fine, even if he had blue balls.

        Despite what Seb thought, you weren't angry. You'd have probably done something similar. This wasn't his fight, his life anyway. You side-eyed Gray, who had once been your greatest defender and was now just a silent sentry for Mark. You hadn't even seen him since the collaring, hadn't actually talked to him since the medbay. "You're not taking me to Mark right? I don't want to see him."

        His face gave nothing away. "Come with me."

[vineofwar]

Spotlights and Silences (Part 2-ish of Dresses and Disguises)- paigebueckers x fem!reader

summary: after weeks of silence following the moment you shared in the dressing room, you show up to Paige’s WNBA draft after party... wearing that dress.

warnings: angst, slow-burn, mutual pining, kinda lore accurate, (somehow) not proofread

word count: ~2.2k

a/n: sorry it took me so long but here she is!

You did an impeccable job of avoiding Paige after that day. 

Forgetting about it– her, was something else entirely.

The end of the semester was coming up sooner than you expected, with exams, projects, and prepping for your goodbyes. Meanwhile, March Madness was ramping up for Paige. She was everywhere. 

There wasn’t an app you could open, a TV you could watch, even a person you could talk to without being reminded of her. Interviews. Highlight reels. Stats. Predictions. WNBA draft projections. You tried to scroll past, turn off, and disengage, but it was no use. You were overdosing on her. 

But there was simply no way of avoiding her as the championship game rolled around. Besides, your best friends were playing, and you wanted to support them. Or at least that’s what you told yourself… Sitting on the living room floor, 30 minutes before tip-off, wearing a worn-out #5 jersey. Burning with anticipation.

Paige, on the other hand, could not get enough of you. It was like you completely disappeared from her life, overnight. And no amount of flashing lights, confetti, or stadiums full of fans could shake that gnawing feeling. She needed a fix– of you. 

But that didn’t stop her from winning the national title.

Paige played like something was burning beneath her skin– a fiery determination. When the buzzer sounded and the confetti rained down, Paige let it in. The noise, the celebration, the joy. She let herself feel it– the emotions, good or bad. Something that she wasn’t used to. She let herself be present in something she didn’t have to question. Something that didn’t ache. 

There was nothing else you could feel in that moment besides pride. A breathtaking sort of pride bloomed in your chest when you saw her lift the trophy high above her head, eyes glistening under the stadium lights.

You facetimed Azzi and some of the team shortly after.

“National champions! I have never been happier for you guys!” You beamed as they showed off their piece of the cut net, screenshotting a moment and sending it off to your Instagram story. 

“Where’s the trophy? Let me see it!” 

“Uh- It’s with Paige and coach, actually,” Azzi said, trying to sound too casual as she flipped the camera back around to herself. “You know. Press stuff.” 

“Ah, right. Well, send me a photo.” You changed the subject before anyone else could say a thing. “Go out and enjoy the rest of this win okay? Tell… everyone, I say congratulations.”

Azzi just nodded her head before you said goodbye.

The championship high hadn’t begun to fade before Paige was thrown into the spotlight again. She was hours away from her life changing all over again. Not even a second of turnaround, a second for her to catch her breath, before she was on another flight, sitting in another hotel, doing another round of interviews with questions she’d already answered a hundred times. The draft.

She’d foolishly thought that tonight would bring you out. More than the championship game did. She heard your congrats through Azzi. She saw the blurry photo you posted on your Instagram story, captioned: 'proud of my girls <3.’ It was the most that she's gotten from you in weeks. She thought of liking the story– her finger hovering over the heart at the bottom of the screen– but she thought better of it and kept tapping through instead. 

Another moment. Missed.

The lights were hot and brighter than she expected, but Paige never faltered. She was good at this part– the public part. The polished part. Calm, cool, confident. She stepped onto the red carpet and the crowd erupted. A wave of noise and flashing lights crashed over her. Cameras snapped in rapid fire, as if the world might blink and miss her. Her name echoed relentlessly from every direction with a particular urgency, like everyone already knew they were staring at the number one overall draft pick.

Paige was buzzing beneath the surface, beneath the perfectly packaged smile, eyeliner, and black sequin suit. Buzzing with something hard to name– something lonely. Far from nerves or excitement.

She never used to imagine being with you, because you were always there—or you used to be. But now she caught herself lost in thought, picturing you on her arm as you walked down the row of flashing cameras and back-to-back interviews, showing you off, sporting that sweet, shy smile you saved for her. Your eyes meeting like there wasn’t anything to question, like none of it intimidated you. You whispering something in her ear, like “I hope you’ve practiced your autograph” in the quiet moments, cutting through any sort of nerves that started to rise. Your hand finding hers under the table, fingers laced—anchoring her.

She imagined her name being called and the thing she’d be most excited for, something she was dying to do– to kiss you. There. In front of everyone. Like she wasn’t scared of it all.

The buzzing was so loud now that she barely heard her actual name being called.

“In the 2025 WNBA draft,” The voice sounded far away. “The Dallas Wings select,” And fully trailed off, swallowed by the roar of the crowd and the rush in her ears.

It wasn’t till Azzi nudged her arm that she registered the words.

“Paige Buekers.”

Now, standing on stage, the crowd, white jersey in hand, her future ahead of her, she wasn't thinking about the win, her team, or her new contract– she was thinking about you.

This was the part she hadn’t prepared for– that success would taste just a little sour when you weren’t there to share it with her. All her hard work and dedication finally paying off, and… it didn’t feel right. 

She knew what the fame and adoration felt like. The quick fire photos, the headlines, the glory. It all felt shallow. She craved your quiet devotion. 

In any capacity. You both needed to be with each other again.

And that’s precisely why you were in New York, in Kk’s hotel room, applying a red glossy lipstick in the bathroom mirror. 

Initially, you weren't planning on coming– even with the growing, insatiable need to see Paige in person again. You were used to that by now. The wanting. And for the last few weeks, you had become better at managing it. But it wasn’t until Kk, Sarah, Azzi- practically half of the damn UConn women’s basketball team, nearly on their hands and knees, begging you to come celebrate with them, that you even entertained the thought of being at the draft after party.

You realized somewhere along the line that you were being a bad friend. Especially to Paige.

Regardless of the complications– of your feelings, Paige was someone you cared for. Deeply. You acknowledged in your complete avoidance, that you claimed was self-preservation, was really a cover. Cowardice. And in that, you were abandoning the only thing you knew you were to each other. Friends. Even if it was hard to admit because you wanted more, you were always, at the very least, going to want to be friends with Paige. 

And friends support each other. Especially when they are the number one overall WNBA draft pick.

You waited to get dressed till Kk told you the ceremony was over, sending you the location for the after party. 

You eyed the familiar black sparkling dress, laying on the contrasting white bed sheet. It felt like the knife was being twisted as you stepped in and slipped the fabric up your body. It clung to your frame like a second skin, like memory.

And suddenly, your willpower was starting to chip away. Each step you took towards the venue was another piece flaking off, and by the time you crossed the threshold of the party, you were one gust of wind from falling apart.

You, thankfully, immediately spot Nika and some of your friends before you could change your mind and turn around and walk out the door.

“I have no idea where Azzi  went, last time I saw Kk and Sarah they were with Paige somewhere.” She pauses. “I don’t think anyone told her you were coming,” Your heart sank. The last thing you wanted to do was ambush her. 

“Shes barely had time to talk to us, I’d catch her as fast as you can to say hey.” She tried to sound as relaxed as one could, tipsy and shouting over music. “Then we can take shots!” She adds, clearly picking up on the uneasy look on your face. “Matter of fact, I’ll go get some right now!” She was gone, disappeared through a crowd before you could even object.

But she was right, you wanted to get it over with and then just enjoy yourself. You wanted closure.

There wasn’t a moment for Paige to stop- to slow down. She smiled until her jaw ached, shifting from handshakes to hugs, and from congratulations to thank-you’s. Her name echoed off the walls. She was being pulled in every direction without a moment to take it all in. 

Until she saw a familiar shimmer from the corner of her eye. She jerked her head and froze. Her gaze fell on you, clinging to a quiet corner of the room, wearing that dress. 

She blinked, hard, thinking that maybe the champagne was getting to her, like she'd open her eyes and you would be gone. Vanish, again, into thin air, and she’d be without you. 

She drifted through the room, not knowing her next move, just felt her chest pull towards you like a magnet she had been resisting for too long. 

And when your eyes finally met, neither of you looked away.

You froze when you saw her in that black, sparkling suit. You hadn’t realized it was the perfect, almost matching counterpart to your dress. 

You watched the gold lights perfectly bounce off her blond waves, the way her black eyeliner brought out her blue eyes. You were scared that if you even flinched, your heart would take over and you’d hug and tackle her to the ground.

Now there she was. Two feet away from you. After weeks, that felt like months, of no contact. And now there you were, entirely undone in front of her once again. 

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

And just like that, Paige lost the upper hand. Her cards were showing. But she finally didn’t care. She wanted you to know she was thinking about you. How she already accepted that you weren’t going to be here. How she was not coping with it well. How relieved, and scared, she was that you were within arm's length of her.

How just 5 words could mean so much without having to admit what she was really feeling. A game of how truthful she can be without just saying it.

“I almost didn’t.” You admitted back. 

She wanted to ask why you changed your mind, but the lump in her throat was making it hard to speak at all.

Then that all too familiar silence stretched between you like it always did. Taunting you. 

She glanced at your dress again. Your stomach was doing flips.

“You wore it.” Paige says, gesturing to you. What she meant to say was, ‘I remember the last time you wore that dress.’

“Yeah,” It came out breathy and uneasy. “Well, it fits better to wear at a party. Definitely not a graduation.” Your lips slightly turn up at the edges in a cautious smile. 

A smirk appeared on her face as she shook her head. 

“Honestly, I still kind of hate it.”

“I don’t.”

Paige saw the moment your breath hitched in your lungs. It set her skin on fire.

The way you looked at her was dangerous. You had to remind yourself why you were there. To support your friend.

“Well. Congratulations, Paige.”

Hearing her name from your mouth again felt like a jolt of lightning. A shiver went down her spine.

“You deserve all this. I’m proud of you.”

That is when it all sunk in. The whirlwind of the past few days finally caught up to her and hit her right in the gut. But she didn’t care about that right now.

Paige’s lips parted as her eyes drifted to yours. 

The space between you began to shrink. You didn’t even realize it till you felt the warmth of her body and the sweet, musky scent of her perfume. 

You held your breath as her hands slid their way onto your hips, pulling you closer. 

“I missed you.” Page said, more like an admission. You watch something shift behind her eyes, like relief.

“I missed you too.” You replied with ease.

The first thing you’ve said to her in months that didn’t feel like a roundabout truth.

You leaned in slowly- still somewhat scared that this was one of your daydreams- hesitating, giving her a chance to back away. But she didn’t. She closed what little space there was left and kissed you. Tentative at first, but then more sure as you melted into each other. 

Paige slid her hand up your lower back to your shoulder, then to your neck and stopped at your jaw, cupping it. Like she needed to make sure you were real. Like this was finally happening. 

And just like that, the noise of the party faded, the lights dulled, and all that existed was the way her mouth moved against yours— easy, effortless, and too soft for something that had burned for so long.

Like an exhale.

a/n: wow. let me know if you liked it! i kind of hate it!

[wakandamama]

Wading Towards Shore Part. 5

A/N: Yes! Yall hoes are getting back to back chapters. My heart couldn't take putting my girl Annie through the fucking ringer and not give her a quick turnaround towards happiness. ALSO! Translations at the bottom 😁

Another collapse, another conversation. The final confession before Smoke and Annie can move on to a new stage of life together once and for all

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

When Smoke decided to pour all his faith and trust into Annie, he wasn’t surprised when little odd shit started to happen or follow him. Like the urge to duck, or to avoid a little thing or pick something up. It was never hard for Smoke to trust his gut, he’d done it all his life, Annie simply improved his judgement with her special ways. 

What really threw the man off was the dreams.

Smoke was used to nightmares or nothing before meeting Annie and letting her do her thing. But it seemed with just the proximity of sleeping next to her every night did the tune and tone of his dreams change. 

Something sinister of his past would chase into Smoke’s mind then suddenly it would become nothing but rain or of him laying in the meadow with his head on her chest. Those lonely nights in Chicago became passionate dreams of Annie riding him and chasing away his blues with her soft touch.  

Smoke always made it a point to tell Annie about his dreams, so she could interpret them or put his mind at ease with her wisdom about it. There were only two dreams Smoke hadn’t told his wife about; the first one was the one he had while on the verge of dying from that one klan bullet after their night of Hell. He thought Annie had been killed when Remmick threw her headfirst into the wall of the Juke Joint after she blessed the pond that led to his trap with Sammie. Smoke was completely ready to follow his woman into peace.

Next thing Smoke knew, he was waking up in pain with a bloody, swollen-faced Annie patching him up and pleading for him to come back to her in the harsh noon sun. 

Annie sat right by his side, beautiful in the golden hue of the sunset dressed in white with their baby girl on her chest. But instead of handing Mariah over to Smoke’s outstretched arms, Annie had placed her hand right on top of the bullet hole and screamed in his face. 

Smoke didn’t need to understand the language of dreams to know what that one meant.  

Elijah finds himself alone driving on a long stretch of dirt road in the car away from the Juke Joint. The sky is clear, the heat is mild, the fields full of carnations and lemon trees instead of the delta’s cotton rows. A cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth, grey plumes steaming from it. He doesn’t know if he’s been driving for a minute or a million years at the moment, just that he blinks and suddenly a little brown hand is waving him down to pull over. 

The next dream he wouldn’t tell his wife about? 

A little girl stands on the cross road and starts to wave both hands at him. She is a cute little thing, chubby, chocolate skin dressed in white frills and carnation buds sprinkled in her halo of an afro. Elijah stops the car and she gets in like she owns the vehicle. He spits out the cigarette when her face wrinkles, once it is gone she smiles at him then guides the steering wheel so he turns around the car and starts to the Juke Joint.

He does so. Why didn't he question the little girl? Elijah doesn’t know. The little girl hums gently, kicking her bare feet from where they dangle. Elijah notices she had turquoise beads and cowrie shells wrapped around her ankles and wrist, she even had some around her waist that matches Annie’s.   

“Stop the car Poppa.” the girl says softly, her voice wispy like a head of dandelion seeds and Elijah is quick to do as such. They pull over and she points to the Mill pond; it was full of dark rolling water, steam wafted off the surface. Tons of dragonflies skipped on top of it, and two golden fish constantly jumped high then dived deep. Elijah’s breath hitches to see Annie’s shoes, dress and one of her baskets were on the shore of it, tossed carelessly. 

After a while the little girl places her hand on top of Elijah’s, it feels much smaller than it appears. And she looks right to his soul with her dark doe eyes. (eyes like her Momma) The pull up the Juke and Smoke is tempted to just drive them straight into the building.

Mariah stands on the seat, she grabs both sides of her father’s face and forces him to look her in the eye. His own grumpy pout reflected at him on a chubby little face. 

“Momma drownin’, Poppa. You gotta get her and let hers know ya here.” Mariah instructs, ignoring Elijah’s tears flowing over her little fingers. 

“Ma-Mar, babygirl.” Elijah chokes out in realization. Mariah grins at him brightly but shakes her head.

“I ain’t baby girl anymore, Poppa.”

“What?”

Mariah leans in close until her forehead rests on his, her skin is cool and he feels the tiny curls of her baby hair.

“I ain’t the baby no more Poppa.”

“Ma-mariah, please.” Elijah chokes out and he is answered with a light kiss to the cheek.

“You gotta help Momma, Poppa. Hers drownin’ and she don’t wanna know it.”

“I-I, okay.” he breaths. Mariah leans back and gives him a big Mississippi smile with a cute little gap to the left.

Mariah hops out the car and runs towards the pond with a giggle, Elijah races after her. His suit jacket and hat dissolve off him and his pistol crumbles off his hip, leaving him in just his white undershirt and pants.

“Good. Let’s go.” 

Mariah’s giggle bubbles around him as he dives in and sinks deep. Elijah quickly spots Annie with a black cloth covering her face as she screams under the water. Two giant golden fish gently circle around her and try to bump her body towards the surface, yet she fights to sink down further. Pleading to drown.

Elijah kicks fiercely through the hot water until he can wrap his arms around Annie round middle and pull her close. Annie flailing arms are like lead but Still Elijah places them around his neck, braces her with an arm around the waist.

Then pulls them both back to the pale blue surface. 

Smoke wakes up abruptly with a gasp, sitting up ramrod straight in the chair pulled over to take watch over Annie’s at her bedside. He looks over to Annie and sighs in relief to see she was breathing just fine. Her chest and pulse steady and even, a cold sweat across her neck and forehead. 

With a gentle touch Smoke reaches over and cups Annie’s face, frowning to see her brows drawn down in pout of pain. Smoke uses his thumb to gently press it out until Annie sighs. 

He rubs his thumb over her cheek, finally aware of the new fullness added to it. Her bottom lip is plumper as well, nose a touch wider, just like they were eight years ago when she was pregnant with Mariah. He can’t help but to kiss her in that order: cheeks, lips, nose. Annie sleepily hums at it but is eased when Smoke rubs her ear.

He gets up, shedding his undershirt and pants, finally able to relax after finding her flushed out and collapsed only a few hours ago.  Smoke gets into the bed behind her, pulling her to his chest. Annie snuggles back into him instinctively, the ride of his chest properly settles her back to the deep sleep she was needing.

Smoke ghosts his hand down her side a few times to ease the lingering tightness before sliding his arm around her waist to palm the front of her belly. Annie was still plump, soft and warm but there was a solidness to be found on her stomach, the touch of weight growing to pressing out. A sensation of Annie that scared him just as deeply as it enthralled him. It was a feeling he’d never forget (Eights years erased nothing) and felt utterly blessed by Annie to feel again. 

“Oh, Annie. I’m sorry ya been carrying all that by ya’self.” he whispers into her hair, before finally closing his eyes and finding his sleep again. 

----------

Annie swallows nervously, eyes darting to the doorway of her and Smoke’s bedroom when her man walks through the door. He is quiet, a bit solemn but deliberate in his current task. Smoke sits on her edge of the bed, he makes sure to turn until they were mostly face to face and hands the items to Annie one at a time.

In one hand, is a mug of warm water with mint and chamomile steeped into it because tea was still too harsh. 

In the other was a bowl of cut up pineapple, on top of peeled and quarter lemons and limes, the salt shaker resting on a napkin on top. Her top craving besides smothered neck bones on a bed of red beans and rice. 

Annie shyly takes the mug first, let’s Smoke settle the bowl in her lap for her to get to in a moment. 

“You shouldn’t be here, it’s only two in the morning. It’s too early for you to be back from the Juke ‘nd dealin’ with them white boys that’s suppose to pop up.” Annie says and Smoke shakes his head.

“Stack is watchin’ out, he’ll call on the radio if they pop up. They ain’t come at sunset, so they’ll be there at sunrise. I can get ‘em then.” Smoke answers her. Annie goes to give Smoke another excuse but is hushed by him tapping the lip of her mug for her to drink. 

She does so. Both of them relax another inch when it quells her queasyness. 

“Annie. When was you gonna tell me, ya pregnant?” Smoke asks directly and Annie just looks at her mug.

“You been workin’ too hard for too many folks lately. Ya not doing your prayers and personal rituals like ya always be doing. And ya definitely not eating enough, Mary told me you’ve been hidin’ gettin’ sick everyday from me.” Smoke reveals

“ I eat.” is all Annie says. It’s a weak affirmation, a desperate argument really. Annie moves quickly to scarf down a chunk of pineapple but Smoke stops her by gently snagging the bowl away and placing it to the side.

“We both know you gotta finish that mug first or anything you eat just gonna be up again in 20 minutes I remember that, Ann.” Smoke tells her and Annie frowns but finishes her drink in a protesting silence. Smoke settles back a bit, just watching her shrink in on herself, hiding herself from him in a way she’s never done. Not even when they were still strangers passing each other on the street. It hurt his heart to see that he had driven her to that point.

“Annie Moore, talk tah me.”

“Ain’t nothing to talk ‘bout Smoke.”

“Yes, there is Annie. You’re pregnant.”

“I ain’t with child! My only baby girl is buried.” Annie argues sharply. The words make Smoke tighten up, but he quickly shakes his hands out and keeps going.

“Annie. I felt it on ya stomach when I held you, that little bit startin to push-.”

“You married a fat woman Smoke! Been big since 16 when ya first pic’ me up. Don’t tell me them skinny hussies up North done made you forget that? Did you forget this heavy?” Annie dares him, forcing that fury from her second year alone to spit the accusation at him. She even slams the mug to the table side to solidify it with a falcon's glare. Smoke matches it with a cock of his head. 

“Never, and you know that. Not a woman walking on earth or wherever else ever gonna compare to you Annie. My body will always be yours,” Annie sucks in a breath as Smoke suddenly comes in close. His hand sliding up from her thigh, to her side, past the swell of her waist to possessively cup her heavy breast only to balance it with a tender flick of pressure over her nipple. His other hand tips her chin in so they press cheek to cheek and he’s in her ear. 

“Elijah.” Annie sighs at the bliss that threatens her denial. 

“Ara re si ni temi.” he reminds her. 

“There we go, that’s the name you say. Now talk to me.” Smoke affirms, both of his arms sink down and rest on her hips. Annie gives a small flinch as his thumbs rub in gently swoops over both sides of her stomach. 

“I can’t be pregnant. I-I- what if I can’t carry it?”

“Yes, you can. You did so well carryin’ Mariah. I’ll make sure ya get all the stuff you need to take care of yaself. I’ll take care of ya when you can’t. Yo’ body good, Ann. That ain’t it.”

Annie blinks and blinks but still tears well, she shakes her head making her nose bump his, “My root ain’t gonna be strong enough, again.” 

Smoke shushes her gently cooing comforts to Annie’s cries, “Yo root enough baby. Always was, always will be.”

“I still don’t know why it ain’t work! I couldn’t save my baby girl!” Annie cries out and Smoke shakes his head.

“Mariah… is where she needs to be. It’s okay.” Smoke says, pulling Annie in for a hug so she can’t see his own eyes tearing up. 

Annie clutches the front of Smoke’s shirt then curls in to cry a bit harder. 

“It’s not! I gotta know, or….. Or…. you gonna leave me again. I think imma die if you leave me alone like that again Elijah. I tried so hard but I failed! I failed her an-and I failed you. Fuck I think I failed me” Annie admits. She feels the shift of Smoke’s chin on the top of her head as he shakes his own in disbelief at the words.

“Annie, baby, you ain’t no failure.”

“But -”

“You work hard, too hard. I’m ya man and I am gonna take care of ya. And I ain’t going anywhere!”

“Not to Biloxi?” Annie croaks out. Smoke pulls back a bit so he can hold her chin, forcing their eyes to meet. Raw, and open, Smoke needed her to absorb in his truth.

“I. Ain’t. Going. Anywhere, not with Stack and not wit’out you. Not again… I’m sorry I hurt you leavin’ like that, baby. I never wanna hurt you unless you command me too. You more than everythang to me, let me prove it to ya. Dontcha ever think you gotta be more than just what you is for my sake. Love’in you. Being witcha, caring for you will never be too heavy. Yous never too heavy, anyone make you feel like that again I’ll fuckin’ kill them.” Smoke pleads. 

“But ya did.”

“Then ya best tell me where to put the bullet. Yous the only one with that permission.” Smoke whispers like a prayer and Annie presses the Mojo bag hard into his chest. 

“All I ask is that you won’t leave.” Annie demands and Smoke nods. Both are quiet for a moment, Annie gently pulls out of their embrace, reclining until her back rests against the pillows. Smoke tracks her movement, tentatively, Annie sets her hands on top of his on her stomach. 

Her man was right, that bloat on her belly was starting to firm and push back. 

“I’m scared. I’m scared inna way I ain’t wanna be again.” Annie says in a shaky but determined tone.

 “I wasn’t scared that first year you left, worried but never scared. It was by the second year…when I had to face our babygirl’s grave alone. When ya came back to visit that winter just to say you was gonna be gone for another year… that’s when I got scared. Cus’ how many more years? I started thinking about just what I could do to make you never step on that train again. By the time I got the courage you was gone.”

“You ‘s never the reason, Annie. Not a thing you could ever do ta make me quit ya.”

“Then why you leave me?  I know it wasn’t to find another woman, wasn’t for some damn money, cus mobbin’ was Stack’s idea. So it had to be me.” Annie cries.  

“It wasn’t. Oh, my Annie, it wasn’t you. It’s cus’ I got scared!” Smoke looks so hard at Annie his eyes go out of focus, his jaw aches to confess in wait for Annie to allow it. 

Annie licks her lips nervously before taking her hands off his and opening her arms out. Smoke folds into her hold this time. Head to her shoulder, one arm slips between her back and the pillows while the other curls around her middle. Annie turns her head in towards him to listen, bracing herself as his breath hitched before speaking. . 

“I killed Big Eli and nearly got shot out of Mount Pleasant. I went tah war and got nothin’ back but Noid and bad nerves. Robbing banks and running liquor was just drops in the bucket but it was all I figured out how ta do. I was scared I couldn’t provide for ya how you deserve to be provided for Ann… but then there was Mariah…. And then she wasn’t. I was mean when I blamed ya roots, Ann. Cus really I blamed myself. You ‘s right, I had to leave because I needed to run. Won’t nothing you coulda done that gonna heal that parta me and I’m sorry.” Smoke confesses. He leans in and kisses the stay tears off her cheek before resting his head into the cove of her neck and shoulder again.

“So what do I do then?” Annie whimpers.

“Just relax. Cause I ain’t runnin’ this time. Imma be right by ya no matter what. If we lose it, if we don’t, if we have a million more babies. I am here with you Antonia Moore. You bring me to life.”

“I do?”

“Always have… taking care of Stack was my reason to live but… you make me want to live.”

Both go quiet at that, Annie hand creeps between them and lays over her heart, she settles another inch when Smoke’s hand moves from her side to cover her hand as if to press that affirmation into her. Annie starts to tear up again.

“I wanna be a good momma, Elijah.” Annie admits. Smoke hums at that and drags their hands down from her chest to her stomach.

“You already good. A good woman, a good wife, a great momma.”

“And you make a great poppa. Mariah had you butter soft and never said a word.” Annie says with a tearful laugh and Smoke grins at that. 

“Yeah, she was lil boss.” Smoke says, thinking about that beautiful chubby little girl from his dreams with her cheerfully quiet commands and points. 

They both remember that little baby, who refused to let go of their fingertips even while she ate, even while she babbled, even in her last breath. That little girl was the center of gravity for both Annie and Elijah. 

“Elijah, I’m pregnant. Over two months, almost three.”

Both of them sigh in relief when she says it.

-------------------------

Translations:

Ara re si ni tem = And your body is mine.

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[handsome-strangers]

I want to be inside you

Warnings: Sebastian is growing quite attatched. Obsessive behavior, Stalking, Scent/Musk, Body fluids, Sabotaging food, Being a general creepy menace. Sebastian x Anxious!Maid!Y/N

This is written in Sebastian's POV.

This content is intended for readers 18+

🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩

The first time I noticed her, it was the way she flinched when I entered a room. Not like the others—servants who bowed, or greated me with a wave and other pleasantries. No, she shrunk, as if she could fold herself into the walls and disappear. It fascinated me, like she saw me for what I was, respected the power that I held.

I told myself that my fascination was merely curiosity. She was just a new addition to the gaggle of idiots I already had to deal with. But then I caught her humming while she dusted the library shelves, her voice soft and uncertain, as if she were afraid the books themselves might scold her for the noise. And something in my chest—something I had long thought dead—twitched.

I wanted her attention.

Not the fearful glances she gave me when she thought I wasn’t looking. Not the way she stiffened when I stood too close. I wanted her to seek me out. To crave my presence the way I found myself craving hers.

But she didn’t.

She avoided me. She fled from my touch. Once, when I brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, she jerked back so violently that she nearly fell. The way her breath hitched, the way her eyes watered—it should have angered me. Instead, it only made the hunger worse.

I could not have her, not in the way I longed. I couldn't bring myself to go that far. Her purity was sacred. I knew that. I revered that. The thought of tarnishing her, was unacceptable. No one could corrupt her, not even myself. And yet, I needed something. Some way to mark her, to make her mine.

So I began leaving things for her.

At first, it was subtle. My sheets, carefully removed from my bed after I had spent hours lying in them, ensuring my scent was deeply embedded in the fabric. I watched from the shadows as she handled them, her small hands gripping the linen, her nose wrinkling slightly at the musk. She didn’t know it was mine. Not at first.

Then, I escalated.

A handkerchief, deliberately soiled with my semen, left crumpled on a side table where only she would find it. I hid behind the doorframe, watching as she picked it up, her fingers hesitating. Her gentle brow creased as she observed the damp fabric, alas she quickly tucked it into her apron and continue on with her day.

It wasn’t enough.

I needed more.

I waited until she was alone in the dining room, polishing the silver. Then, from my hidden vantage point behind the heavy curtains, I watched as she worked. I allowed myself these little moments, to watch her and allow my fantasies to run wild. Her nimble fingers stroked along the silverware, if only that were me. Her soft lip were caught between her teeth in concentration. Oh, how I longed for a taste, to have them on my skin.

When she stepped out to fetch a fresh cloth, I was given just long enough to pump at my cock and spill myself across the gleaming surface of the table. It was ecstasy after an eternity of waiting. I took one last lingering gaze at the gift I left her, then disappeared behind the curtains once again.

She returned moments later, humming again, unaware. And then she saw it.

Her breath hitched. That look of confusion she gave was absolutely precious. Her fingers trembled but she did wipe away the evidence of my sin. I could see the way her pulse fluttered in her throat, the way her lips parted slightly as she rubbed away at the table. And, oh, the way she bent forward, the delicious arc her spine took, simply enrapturing.

I was hard again before she even finished. Unfortunately, soon after she departed and never came back.

I couldn't have that, not her avoiding me.

I needed to have a part of me with her always.

The thought came to me one evening as I watched her eat, her small hands delicate around her spoon. What if I could give her something of myself that she had no choice but to take? Something that would become a part of her, even if she didn’t realize it? It was a line I hadn’t yet crossed. But the thought of her swallowing me down, of my essence becoming a part of her—it was intoxicating.

The idea was depraved. Twisted. And yet, the more I thought about it, the more my body responded.

I waited until the kitchen was empty, until Bardroy had retired for the night.

I stood in the kitchen, a bowl of fresh cream in my hands, my body aching with need. I could do it. I could mix myself into something sweet, something she would never suspect.

The next morning, I watched as she took her breakfast, reaching for the cream for her tea and to smear on a roll, as she often did. Unaware, she nibbled and sipped, swallowing it all down without a single care.

Mine.

She was mine now, in a way no one could take from me.

And yet—

It still wasn’t enough.

Because when she looked up, her eyes met mine across the room, and for the first time, I saw something flicker in their depths. Not fear. Not disgust.

Curiosity, a question...

And then, more than anything, I wanted her to know.

[frogtemple]

☆ Night Sky ☆

summary: Growing up with two older brothers that aren't so open with their emotions, it's difficult to feel like sharing when you're having a hard time.

Sam & Dean Winchester x sister!reader

word count: 2.4k

"See, I just don't get how that's supposed to work." Dean threw his hands up.

"Do you need me to explain it again?" Sam huffed.

"....No." Dean's eyes avoided his brothers.

You came out of the corridor, casually walking past your brothers who were sat at the war room table. They saw you but were too wrapped up in their almost argument of a conversation. It was about a hunt they were working on, what else was new?

"Look, all I'm saying is if we ambush them that way, it could catch them off guard and-" Sam tried to continue.

"Yeah, key word 'could' Sam... real convincing." Dean struck with extra snark on that last part.

Sam sighed and looked past Dean, finally noticing you fidgeting with your shoes in the distant room. "Hey kiddo." He breathed out. Dean did a double take, glancing back at you.

"Hey." You barely acknowledged, as you finished tying your sneakers.

"There's a close hunt we're gonna go check out, did you wanna tag along" Sam asked in a hopeful tone.

"To sit in the backseat the whole time? No thanks." You turned back.

You were 15 years old, but weren't allowed to hunt. Your brothers had only taught you how to use a gun and some self defense skills, that was about it. Being that it was so difficult to fit into your normal side of life (school) you tried to pry for the longest time to go hunting, in hopes that was where you could fit in. Sam and Dean would not budge, it was always the same answer- 'when we feel your ready' which seemed like a bunch of bullshit at this point. You weren't sure you'd ever actually get to hunt, unless you snuck behind their back which you knew would get you into trouble. You hated it, but you knew you didn't have experience.

Lately, your life felt like such a colossal mess, and the thought of hunting began to feel less and less interesting in your mind. So, you stopped asking, realizing it probably won't ever happen.

"You sure? You don't want-"

"It's alright, I'm going for a run." You didn't let Sam finish, passing by the both of them and retreating out of the bunker.

"Be safe!" Sam yelled out right before the door slammed shut."

A short silence fell briefly among the room. "Kinda weird how she hasn't asked- begged practically to come on hunts lately." Sam stated.

"Beats her buggin' us about it." Dean was short, going right back to packing a duffel with supplies.

Sam dropped it and resumed reciting his plan.

~

A couple weeks went by, just the usual agenda for the Winchester brothers. Hunt after hunt, seeking leads, heavy on research, making a go for it, and repeat. That's always been the job, that's how you watched your brothers growing up, even when John was still around.

For you it was school, terrible as always, coming home and pressing Sam and Dean to be apart of whatever it was they were working on. And not research, that was the only thing they'd let you do but you would still try and beg to do anything else.

Not these days, instead it was school, come home, and... well, you didn't really know what else to do. You just started to avoid them both a little bit, self isolate and attempt to pre-occupy yourself with whatever you could.

You were reluctantly working on homework in the library when Sam and Dean flooded into the room, each with a stack of files in their grip.

"If there's not something in here, we're gonna have to go to plan b." Dean set down his pile of file folders on the table across from you.

"Yeah, and what's that." Sam asked a bit annoyed.

"I'm gonna have to figure that out, info on this is already pretty slim." Dean ran a hand through his hair, relieving some stress before pulling out a chair.

You closed your book and started packing up your stuff. "Y/n, you don't have to leave." Dean looked at you, slightly confused.

"It's okay, I gotta focus, I'll just go to my room." You retreated but were stopped by Dean, grasping for your arm.

"Hey... what's goin' on with you?"

"Nothing. Okay." You avoided, turning around but Dean wouldn't let up.

"Seriously, what's with all the moping... What did we do this time?" He scorned ever so quickly as he gripped your shoulder, trying to turn you around again.

"Nothing, Dean. Can you just stop! I need to finish this." You pulled back harder, rushing out of the room before they could say anything else.

"What in the world..." Sam whispered. "What's up with her?" He spoke up once you were far enough.

"I don't know, teenage stuff?" Dean shrugged his shoulders, cringing faintly.

Sam thought about leaving it alone but couldn't shake your weird behavior recently. "I'll go try." He said as he headed towards your room.

"Good luck with that." Dean pointed your direction.

Sam stepped with caution into your door frame, curling a fist to knock on it. "Can I come in?" He scrunched his face, anticipating an unpleasant reaction.

"Yeah, I guess." You rolled your eyes. Great, here comes Sam trying to figure out 'what's wrong with me' type of talk. He sat on the edge of your bed, across from where you were at your desk.

"Dean's just trying to help, make sure you're okay n' all." He spoke softly.

"I said I'm fine, Sam." You kept your focus on the paper in front of you.

"You have been kind of distant though, is there something we did to upset you?" He asked.

You dropped your pen and swiveled around on your chair. "Sam, you and Dean did nothing wrong. I am fine, can you just drop it... school is just annoying right now and I'm trying to get this done." You faked an excuse, itching for him to leave.

"Well, if it's anything I can help with-"

"Sam! I can handle it, I don't feel like doing this with you right now. Get out." You could feel your inner wall beginning to break.

"Y/n/n, relax, I just wa-"

"I don't care, get out!! Now!" You stood up, pushing Sam to do the same and inching him towards the door. You shut the door, not too hard though in slight fear that it would piss Dean off into coming over here.

Sam stood in front of the closed door, confused and a bit shocked. He went back to the library, shoulders slumped in defeat.

"That sounded good." sarcasm filled Dean's voice.

Sam's sated eyes met his. "I dunno, we'll figure it out. Anyways, let's get back to finding this..." His attention went to the files.

~

It was another late night of you waiting up for your brothers again. Even if you got word the hunt was successful, you couldn't ever fall asleep until you saw them come back. It was a long drive this time around, you became restless and decided to go sit outside and look at the sky.

You stared up at each of the individual twinkling dots, taking a deep breath and felt a little bit of release from all the tension you've been holding deep inside. It was not often you shared your thoughts and feelings to your brothers, despite you being an emotional teenage girl. That's just how you operated, like them. Neither of them are the type to talk about how they feel, and give advice or solutions to. It's never been that way, the men in your life you grew up with always took the 'suck it up' approach. You had to be tough, even though they'd remind you to come to them if you ever needed to. You just couldn't, you always mirrored their tough front and told yourself to appear strong. You couldn't afford to be weak in this life, even if it was a life you were barely apart of.

Stuck in your deep thoughts, you didn't hear the rumble of the impala on the other side of the brick building.

"Y/n! We're back." Dean announced, coming down the bunker stairs. You weren't at all very responsive these past weeks. Sam and Dean shared an affirming look. Dean walked away to your room, planning to pop in to say 'goodnight' and 'hunt went well' type of stuff.

Sam began unpacking their things on the war room table when he heard abrupt footsteps coming back his way.

"She's not in her room." He stood there questioning.

Sam proposed logic before introducing panic as an option "She could be somewhere else in the bunker... like the bathroom or something." He turned back to Dean's duffel as Dean left the room again, coming back minutes later with added distress.

"I can't find her." Dean patted his pockets for his cellphone. "Where is the damn thing." he stomped up to Sam, nudging him aside as he searched the bag. "Call her, now." He firmly ordered.

Sam felt his pockets, seeing his were empty as well. "My phone's in the car." He began walking with a swift pace. Sam exited the garage to the car which was parked in the gravel outside the door. He stopped when he almost crashed into you.

"Y/n? What the hell! You scared us."

"Sorry?" You backed up, confused at the sudden disturbance.

Sam released the breath he was holding in. "Where were you?"

"Sitting out here, just needed to get some air." Your eyes barely met his as you attempted to push past him. Sam stood in front of the door, forcing you to look up at him.

"What are you doing? I'd like to go to bed now..."

Silence followed, Sam studied your body language before speaking up. "What's wrong, y/n. Why haven't you been talking to us much?"

You stopped, circling around and letting your head fall back in frustration. You weren't getting out of this one. You walked a few steps over to the brick wall of the bunker and let your back thud against it. Sam followed you with those curious puppy eyes of his.

"That's just how we do things. We keep... feelings and stuff to ourselves. Nevermind bothering you guys about it." You shrugged.

"What do you mean? You can always come to either of us if-"

"Something's bothering me, yeah, I know." You finished his sentence.

"Okay, so why don't you?" Sam crossed his arms, matching your lean on the outside structure.

"Cause, I can't be weak I guess." You said quietly.

"Bug, feelings don't make you weak. You can't help that." Sam reassured.

"You guys never show yours though, you always say to 'suck it up'. I- I just... never mind."

"No, what? Tell me, sweetheart." It wasn't often Sam or Dean called you that, and somehow you knew that was your queue to spill it.

"I just feel like... I don't know if you guys would take me seriously, if I'm... spilling out my feelings? I don't know, it sounds stupid. It probably is stupid." Your gaze fell to your fidgeting hands.

Sam stifled a chuckle. "It's not stupid to tell us how you feel. I know we don't do it often, but it doesn't mean that you can't."

Just then, the door burst open with a stumbling Dean looking at the empty car, then aimlessly looking around for Sam when he spotted us.

"What the- what's going on?" He asked, catching his breath as he walked over.

"She was just outside the bunker." Sam gestured.

"You trying to scare us, kid?" Dean half joked.

"No..." You started.

"But, now seems like a good time to talk about what's been up with you. All the distant attitude n' what not." Sam raised his eyebrows at you.

"Wha- I can't!" You whined, beginning to pace in annoyance.

"Y/n, we're your brothers. You can tell us anything, floor's open." He motioned at you.

"Ugh.. I don't know how to put it." You stopped, shoving your hands in your back pockets, eager to put your mind at ease. "I have no plan."

Both brothers furrowed their brows in confusion. "Huh?" Dean questioned.

"I have no plan, no purpose. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with myself. My future is blank, literally." You stated, looking back at your confused brothers. "I don't really, fit in I guess you'd say. Not at school, not with people my own age. I don't even fit in to what our family does, mainly cause I'm not even allowed to do it! So, why am I here? To sit around and watch each day go by. I'm useless."

"Sweetheart, you are not useless." Dean reached out a hand, placing it on your shoulder."Yeah, then what am I?" You challenged, looking up at him.

"You're the most important person in our lives. Now, I don't care if the snot nosed kids at school don't think so, but you're the level headed, intuitive, pretty awesome glue that holds us all together." Dean explained.

"So I'm just glue?"

He looked at you blankly. "You know what I mean."

"He's right, y/n. Nothing would be the same without you. I understand school can make you feel that extra pressure. Aside from that, you're an important part of this family, whether you hunt or not." Sam gave you a small smile.

"I know, it doesn't feel the same though. I feel like I'm off to the side, existing for no reason." You caved on yourself. "Whatever, I told you it was stupid."

"It is not. You know why we can't risk you coming hunting with us right now. We also want you to have a chance at what we didn't have. And, that's a normal life." Sam explained.

"Either way, I'm not normal. I'm related to you two." You pointed out.

"Wow, thanks." Dean reacted fake insulted, making you smile a little.

"In the best ways, of course." You smiled genuinely.

"Nice save, kiddo." Dean smiled back, slowly coming over and pulling you into a side hug.

"Come on, we need you more than ever. Can't have you becoming a rogue teenager on us." Dean squeezed you into his size.

"Kay, okay, I get it." You pushed away playfully. "I won't be so closed off!"

"Please?" Sam checked.

"Yes, sorry." You let your arms fall to your side.

"No need to apologize. We just want to make sure you're okay, always. That's why we're here." Sam opened his arms, inviting you into a hug which you accepted.

The three of you walked back to the bunker. "Big tough hunters can show their emotions too y'know..." You hinted.

"Not a chance, I'm not falling into any chick flick moments." Dean said over his shoulder.

"Don't be so rigid, Dean!" You called out.

"Nope!" He confirmed. You and Sam both shook your heads.

[salt-clangen]

Id love to know more about Archstar and Jaggedstar's relationship. How'd they meet? How did Arch react to Wolf being their daughter? How did Jagged react to Arch being leader? Any sort of insight on the two Id love to know (and my bad if these have already been answered, you can mention the moon when it happened if you want instead)!! B/c omg the angst between the two must of been heavyyyyy

Let's keep in mind Arch is a weird dude, like even before the dream and becoming leader, they were an odd duck.

Jagged falling for a loner is kinda out of left field for her, but she found Archer charming....eventually. She'd chase them off of clan territory once but they just kept coming back, only when she was alone, to tease her. They were smart and a good fighter, as well as being a little weird, at first she was territorial and aggressive, but it slowly shifted to just annoyed then curious. She was already leader and had split up with Thornstrike, but she still wanted a mate and kits, but there was no one who really matched her in terms of fighting and words in the clan.

It's not uncommon for loner's to join Duskclan, though it doesn't happen as often as other clans, and siring outside the clan is respected as well. Jagged kept her relationship with Archer secret, mostly because they weren't really official, whatever this was between them was unspoken and weird. Once she realized she wanted to court them, she said so and they played coy, playfully drawing out the courtship. Archer was gonna join Duskclan, they truly had every intention, but they enjoyed the dynamic they had so they drew out their decision for a couple moons. Jagged, for her part, tried to seem cool and aloof, not wanting to seem desperate especially after her last relationship.

They didn't know Jagged was pregnant when they ghosted her, they'd gotten a mysterious dream the night before and decided to go to Oakclan to fulfill it. They didn't meet with Jagged to tell her bc they thought she'd try to stop them or finally beg for them to join Duskclan. In all honesty, Archer probably would've abandoned the ambition if Jagged had been emotionally vulnerable. So they decided to avoid her until they were leader.

The first few moons they were in Oakclan they avoided going to the gatherings, so when they'd showed up one moon as Archstar, she was shocked and angry. Of course this was after she'd given birth and Wolfstar had defected from the clan, but before Saltclan made it's first gathering appearance. Since it was a gathering and everyone was watching, she chose to play dumb and act like she'd never met them.

This worked for Archstar, the fewer cats knowing their backstory the better, so for moons the two just didn't acknowledge each other other than necessary. No one questioned this as Archstar was (again) weird and Jagged wasn't that nice to any other leader anyways. Of course this meant she never told them about their daughter, so Arch got a taste of their own medicine when Wolfstar strolled into the clearing. As soon as someone said this was Jagged's daughter they knew they were the sire. The timeline and ages matched, plus the fur color was obviously not from Jagged's side of the family. In fact Wolf looks a lot like Archer's mom.

They met Jagged in secret once, right after Saltclan became an official clan, to confront her. Jagged confirmed Wolf was their kit and told them if they tried to meddle with that she'd reveal their past. Arch agreed since it would look bad on a new leader if the clan's knew they'd previously considered joining Duskclan (Oakclan would NOT take that well). So they had an uneasy truce that held until the Mothsong summoning. Jagged didn't even mean to tell Archer to confess, it kinda just slipped out as she was tired of all the secrets and hiding.

The reason no one in Duskclan (aside from Stoatfang probably) knew about this is bc she lied and said she'd been seeking a sire from the twoleg place. Nothing against the rules about that. She was too embarrassed that she'd fallen for a loner then got dumped without a word, or worse that something had happened to them.

If they'd gotten together they'd probably lasted a while, possibly even until death but the odds would be against them. Archer is very eccentric and while Jagged thought they were clever and refreshing, the rest of the clan wouldn't be so accepting, this would put social pressure on Jagged. But if they were accepted by the clan I think they would've been the classic "Sunshine x Broody" couple trope.

Also Archstar's warrior name in Oakclan was Archfeather, but in Duskclan they would've been either Silverarch or Archhook.

[paramountinplace]

🐨If you’re comfortable, can I request a fic where Tai and Shauna come home tipsy/drunk, and Van overcomes some of her trauma because Tai and Shauna are so silly and affectionate and friendly when their tipsy, they aren’t aggressive or mean like her mom was.

Turkey Raptors - Little!Van, Cg!Nat, etc.

Summary: As requested above! Tai and Shauna come home from having dinner to say goodnight to a few of the girls. Van, feeling brave with Nat (and a few others) at her side, joins them in a dinosaur-related conversation. TW for alcohol related stuff, mentions of childhood trauma More notes at the end

At the beep of her phone, Natalie sits up from her comfortable position on the couch, reaching for the remote. She turns down the volume of the television, garnering a soft protest from Van, who is sprawled out next to her, gaze fixed on her movie.

"Van," Nat says, waiting for her to make eye contact before she continues. "Tai and Shauna are on their way home now. Would you like to go upstairs and have bedtime now so you don't have to see them, or would you like to try saying goodnight to them first?"

Van's mouth twists as she starts to chew at the inside of her cheek, eyes big as she stares at Nat. Her gaze drifts back to the television for a long moment, caught by a particularly exciting scene.

"I'm gonna turn the television off in five minutes either way," Nat adds. She knows that finishing the movie might be tempting enough for Van to choose to wait up for the others, even if that isn't what she actually wants.

Van looks away from the television again, scooting a little closer to Nat. She looks like she wants to reach out, hands twitching in her lap, but she winds them together anxiously instead.

"Stay?"

Nat nods firmly.

"Yeah, bud, I'll stay with you. You won't be alone with them. Mari, Akilah, and Jackie are going to want to say night-night too," she explains. Van considers the new information for a moment before nodding slowly, hands untangling from each other to clench into little fists in her lap.

"Say goodnight," she decides.

"You sure?"

Van lifts her thumbs to give Nat two tense thumbs-up, looking only half-convinced about her choice.

Figuring out Van's relationship to alcohol had been a journey that was testing Nat's ability to keep herself from marching back to Wiskayok and giving Vicky Palmer a piece of her mind. Before the crash, Van had matched the rest of the team (barring Laura Lee) drink for drink seemingly without flinching. After getting back, she'd avoided drinking and acted stranger and stranger around anyone who did partake until one night, she had brokek down over Mari, Tai, and Shauna coming home a little drunker than usual.

Since then, they had been working to navigate Van's feelings around drinking even as she pretty resolutely refused to talk them about directly. At Tai's suggestion, the routine they settled into was giving Van the option of going to bed early if anyone was planning to drink—which only happened outside of the house or when Van wasn't around. Until now, Van had always chosen to go to bed early.

"C'mere, tiger," Nat murmurs, lifting an arm for Van to settle under as she turns the volume on the television back up. She can feel Van's tension in the pull of her shoulders, but she doesn't say anything about it, allowing the redhead space to think about whatever it was that was tumbling around in her mind. They get through a little more of the movie before she switches it off, allowing Van some time to consider her options again without the distraction. She checks in after a few minutes of quiet. "You still wanna wait up?"

"Uh-huh," Van says, nodding absently. The tip of her thumb has made its way to her mouth. She presses a little closer to Nat's side when she gives her shoulders a squeeze.

Mari, Jackie, and Akilah clamoring down the stairs helps perk Van up a little and she pulls away from Nat's side to sit with them as they huddle on the stairs to wait for the front door to open. She doesn't miss the way Mari winds her arm around Van's shoulders casually in a display of protectiveness that tends to come out whenever Van is feeling younger. Mari's arm keeps Van settled on the steps with everyone else instead of bolting when the door finally swings open to reveal Tai and Shauna.

They had gone to dinner together to a restaurant that they both love and no one else really cares for, so they aren't more than a couple drinks deep, movements relatively fluid as they slip their shoes off. Shauna's cheeks are a little rosier than usual, but she hardly stumbles when Jackie launches into her arms, laughing as she catches the other girl.

"Happy to see us, huh?" She teases, holding her other arm out for Mari, who gives Van's back an encouraging pat before she pushes up to go hug Shauna. Nat draws a little closer when Van doesn't move, frozen as she watches Tai wrap Akilah in her arms.

"Hey, tiger," Tai calls gently over Akilah's shoulder, waving. She doesn't try to beckon Van over or get any closer than she already is. Van swallows hard, giving a tiny wave back. Nat leans forward, putting herself in Van's line of sight.

"You wanna go upstairs now? No one will be mad if you do," she offers lowly. Van shakes her head jerkily, eyes tracking Shauna as she guides Mari and Jackie into the other room to sit on the couch as they babble about their night. After a moment, Tai and Akilah follow, which prompts Van off the steps, trailing a few paces behind as they too go to sit on the couch.

"And we had fun pasta for dinner!" Jackie is saying, referring to Nat's penchant for mixing a bunch of different pasta shapes into one big pot just for the fun of it.

"And then Van picked a movie but I got bored," Mari adds, "so I went upstairs with Kilah to play Barbies."

"What movie did you pick out, bub?" Shauna asks carefully, looking over at Van, who hovers in the doorway with Nat beside her.

"Um," Van murmurs, looking over at Nat. "You say?"

"Jurassic Park," Nat says, smirking.

"And Mel didn't wanna watch?" Tai questions, brows raised in surprise. She has Akilah cuddled up on one side of her, leaving the couch open on the other.

"Naw, Gen had her in bed early," Nat explains, shrugging. "What part did we stop the movie at, Van?"

"After the raptors," Van informs them, voice a little louder. She takes another step into the room. "They're wrong."

"They're wrong?"

Tai knows full well that the velociraptors in the movie are much larger than any actual dinosaur of that kind had ever been because Van has told her about a million times before, but she's more than willing to hear it again in this case. Apparently, everyone else is too, because no one says anything about the fact that they've all heard Van explain this over and over again.

"Uh-huh," Van nods, taking another step as her eyes shine with excitement over the chance to talk about her interest. "Too big."

"They weren't that big in real life?" Shauna asks softly. Beside her, Jackie is smiling widely as she watches Van climb up onto the couch. Mari pats the spot beside her encouragingly. Even small, they're well aware of Van's hesitation with this kind of thing.

"Nope," Van chirps. She holds her arms out, trying to demonstrate a more accurate sizing.

"Where'd you learn that?"

At Tai's question, Van crawls even closer, pausing by Mari's side. Mari puts an arm around her waist to steady her as she wobbles a little. She points at Akilah.

"Kilah told me!"

Akilah nods emphatically.

"And where did you learn that?" Tai directs her attention at Akilah, pretending not to notice as Van slowly stands up to inch around Mari, Shauna, and Jackie's feet to sit on the side of Tai not occupied by Akilah.

"I read it in my book," Akilah explains. "They were more like turkeys. And they probably had feathers too."

Tai and Shauna keep peppering the girls with questions as Van very slowly, very carefully settles against Tai's side. She scoots away quickly when Tai tries to lift her arm to put around Van's shoulders, but she shifts back when Tai stops moving, even going so far as to put her hand on Tai's knee as she leans forward to whisper a question about dinosaurs into Akilah's ear.

Nat watches it all go down fondly, hanging back in the doorway to give Van the occasional thumbs up when she glances back at her. She nearly steps in when Van flinches as Shauna raises her hand to high-five Akilah a little too suddenly, but Shauna realizes just as quickly what had happened and lowers it instantly, immediately pitching her voice to be low and soothing. Van gets up off the couch after that and sits on the floor by Mari's feet, but she doesn't try to leave the room, continuing to contribute to the conversation every now and then when she's asked a question.

Nat gives it nearly half an hour before gently suggesting that they get the kiddos into bed, catching Van in her arms as the redhead flies across the room towards her. She guides her away before everyone else gets up.

"How was that?" She asks as they climb the stairs.

"Weird," Van mumbles, pushing into her room. Tai's sleeping in the spare tonight to give her space. She winds around the corner that separates her and Tai's areas in the room and drops down on her bed. Her face is a whirl of emotions as she works through something in her head and Nat doesn't try push her more as she gets her changed for bed.

"They had drinks?" Van asks skeptically as Nat starts to tuck the covers around her. She should probably have had Van try the bathroom, but she doesn't want to send Van out of the room again in case she gets distracted and she hadn't fought Nat over the pull-up, so she's choosing to roll with it.

"Yeah, bub," she affirms. "But they didn't have very much, so it didn't seem like it, huh?"

Van shakes her head slowly, trying to stifle a yawn.

"Sleepy?"

Nat reaches for Nathaniel Dino and offers him to Van, who draws him in close even as she tries to deny it.

"Story?" Her voice is pleading and Nat glances at the clock on her bedside table. It's late, already much later than Van was meant to have been in bed, but she also doesn't want to risk upsetting whatever delicate emotional balance Van seems to have found herself in.

"One story," she bargains, relieved when Van doesn't try to argue.

Getting Van to sleep ends up being far easier than Nat had expected, even if she is made to promise that she'll leave her own door open a crack in case Van wakes up in the night so that she can come in.

As she's leaving the room, she runs into both Tai and Shauna, sitting on the floor a few paces down the hallway.

"Woah, what—are you two okay?"

She's worried first, because they're sitting outside the bathroom and neither of them have changed out of their clothing, but Tai is quick to assuage her worries.

"We're fine, Nat," she soothes, smiling. "How is she?"

"You mean Shauna-bear wanted to wait up with you?"

She can't help but take the chance to jab lightly at the brunette, who scowls faux-seriously at her.

"C'mon, Scatorccio. We didn't freak her out too badly did we?"

Nat softens, seeing the way Shauna's forehead is wrinkled in genuine concern.

"She's fine, guys. Passed the hell out. You did good," she reassures.

"I thought for sure she was going to bolt," Tai admits, relief washing over her face at the confirmation Van hadn't freaked out the second she was away from them.

"It went well," Nat says. She nudges Tai's foot with her own. "And she'll be fine tonight. You guys should get to bed."

"Are you sure? I could sit out here just in case she wakes up or something—"

"Tai." Nat's voice is soft, but firm. "Really. It's okay. You had a nice time tonight, right?"

She nods, glancing over at Shauna who nods too.

"Van did too. We watched that freakin' dinosaur movie again and she didn't hole up in her room the second you two got home. It's progress, okay? Everything's fine," she soothes.

Tai sighs, nodding as she drags a hand over her face.

"I just get worried. She wasn't always so skittish."

"I know," Nat hums. She helps Shauna to her feet, then Tai. "Can you trust me when I say that, right now, everything's alright?"

Tai scoffs, shoving at Nat's shoulder lightly.

"I'm not five, Nat," she murmurs.

"She's right, Tai," Shauna cuts in, looking much calmer after Nat's assurances. "It's fine, yeah? Let's go to bed. You can talk to Van about it all in the morning if she's up to it."

Between the two of them, they manage to get Tai to stop worrying (or, at least, to stop voicing her worries) long enough for Shauna to urge her into bed. Her and Nat split ways in the hallway without a word after that, but Shauna pauses by Van's door, listening intently.

She won't try to open it—she knows better than that, but she waits long enough to ensure that Van's not tossing and turning or whimpering in the dregs of a nightmare before continuing on down the hall.

Nat's door has been left open a crack and after a moment's hesitation, she decides to leave hers open a little too. It can't hurt.

Hope you enjoyed, anon!

[garussy]

What if Hiccup found the light fury in the first film instead of toothless?

If the light fury had the same backstory as she does in the movie I think the bonding process would be a lot harder

Maybe instead of just roaring she’d shoot at him?? (Not like directly at him but a warning shot)

She’d keep her distance and clearly not trust men especially because she can smell Vikings on Hiccup

I think he’d first bond with her after spending all day there not bothering her just sitting far away and minding his own business until her curiosity got the best of her and she’d slowly start sitting closer and closer to him

Since Vikings never heard of light furies before I think Hiccup would have even less to go on and start researching sub-species to try and figure out what exactly she is

After the events of the first movie and they are bonded I think they’d adore her

She is his special little girl and she can do no wrong ever at all

And Hiccup is her weird little brother so what if he doesn’t have wings and he’s skinny and his voice sounds like a dying mouse?? That’s her tiny baby brother and you have to be nice to him

Since they also have retractable teeth I genuinely thing Hiccup would name her toothless anyway

I think the light fury would take longer to adjust to Viking life and she outright avoids other Vikings and dragons even when her and hiccup fly she refuses to fly near the other dragons

Astrid would be the first one (other than hiccup) she’d bond with since she sees Astrid as someone strong enough to take care of Hiccup if she can’t

She is kill first ask questions later like if hiccup weren’t fast enough Viggo would’ve died on the spot

Now toothless in this au?? I feel like he probably would’ve died because grimmel (ew) would’ve gotten to him if Hiccup weren’t there

But also if he did survive I think they would not like each other at first

The light fury is a lot more defensive and Toothless would’ve grown up in the wild and wouldn’t like people

So toothless would probably try and attack Hiccup and the light fury wouldn’t hesitate to put him in his place (idk if she’d be the alpha?? Probably??)

Toothless is curious though so he’d still follow them but they are like cats and fight everytime they see each other

Toothless would notice how kind Hiccup was and would slowly warm up to her and lead to their love story

I also don’t think she would leave hiccup at the end of the third movie (neither would Httyd 1 & 2 Toothless and I HATE the third movie)

Hiccup would be all sad and tell her she has to leave and she’d just stare at him not moving

Hooray Hiccstrid and Toothless/Light Fury kids being raised together as siblings!!!

[itskindofidontknow]

What dreams know about love?

Chapter 17

Dream of The Endless/Morpheus x Love!OFC

Summary: The Queen of Love has grown used to the absence of her husband, the Dream King. After banning her from the Dreaming, they only saw each other when Morpheus summoned her for social or marital duties. He would go decades without calling for her, enamorated by a variety of mistresses. It broke Love's heart. Not that her husband cared. However, after being imprisioned for a century, The Dream King wants to regain his Queen's love. She doesn't believe him, not after centuries of neglect. The question is: Can dreams repair a broken heart?

Tag: Established relationship, arranged marriage, regency romance, eventual happy ending, angst, morpheus is a dick prepare to hate, love is eoster from west germanic mythology, typos are to be expected

Notes: This is the longest chapter that I wrote. It has everything: children, sisters, husband, and it is Solstice day!

The weather in the Dreaming was curiously pleasant. Some might even say it was the finest it had been in ages. To call it a sunny day would be an exaggeration, for no golden rays pierced the skies, and the sun itself remained hidden. Yet the absence of dark, brooding clouds, replaced by a pale blue firmament adorned with clouds like spun sugar, marked a change distinct enough to be noted. Her sisters had arrived the previous evening, as tradition dictated. It was their custom to gather on the eve before the turning of the seasons. Togetherness, this year, meant merely proximity, for Love had taken great pains to avoid the company of Pride, Honesty, and Melancholy. Happiness, as usual, had not yet arrived. Honesty had more than once dubbed her "attention harlot," for Happiness had a tendency to steal the spotlight from whichever sister was being honoured. At a winter gathering, she once appeared mere moments before Pride passed the Seasons Sceptre to Melancholy, an event meant to be the pinnacle of the evening. But with radiant Happiness in the room, who paid heed to the sombre, meek Melancholy? That year, Mel’s wrath unleashed one of the harshest winters known to humankind, its bite lingering well into summer.

Eoster had evaded them all, citing overwhelming demands upon her time and promising instead to join them for breakfast the next morning. And what a morning it was—gentle, fragrant, and graced with the hush of a new beginning. Thank the stars her sisters were not early risers, for as soon as dawn’s light touched her chamber, she donned a bonnet borrowed from one of her dream-servants and wandered through the palace corridors toward the only room—and the only company—she truly desired.

Or rather, company of the plural sort.

She slipped through the door with practised silence, entering a chamber large enough to cradle eight sleeping children. Its ceiling was a canopy of stars that shimmered like ancient constellations. She was surprised by the thoughtful arrangement of the room. More care had been given than she would have believed of her husband, who, to her knowledge, had never met the eight little dreamers slumbering peacefully in their cozy beds. Her heart swelled as she gazed upon them. She had no desire to face her sisters, their prying questions and constant assessments of her marriage, but these—these dear little souls—she yearned for.

She hated that she did not see them more often. The fault was partly her own. Her tangled emotions, her yearning for a family she would never have, too often turned inward—into sadness, indifference, even anger. She feared letting the children witness such turmoil. And yet, by all the stars, how deeply she loved them.

The Queen shook herself free of such thoughts and crossed to the windows, flinging open the curtains and letting soft light bathe the room. The children stirred, groaning and covering their eyes. “I cannot believe you would rather waste such a fine day in bed than accompany me on an adventure!” she declared, her voice alight with youthful mirth, as musical and bright as any storybook nanny.

As deer prick their ears at the sound of rustling leaves, the children responded instantly. Some sat up, two tumbled out of bed, and the rest tangled themselves in blankets in their haste to reach her. Through the double doors echoed a chorus of delighted cries: "Aunt Love!"

“Alright, alright. I missed you too,” she said, laughing as she patted their backs, her arms not nearly large enough to encircle them all.

“A lot, then?” asked Alith, a dark-haired girl with silver eyes, one of Honesty’s brood, pushing her older brother Valkar aside with admirable determination.

“Yes, my love. A great deal,” Love replied, kissing her niece’s brow.

“Like Lady Mother misses Lord Father whenever they dance?” inquired Talon, son of Happiness, sent to the Dreaming with his cousins. He and his twin sisters, Elira and Solin, all bore that Mona Lisa expression that made Love uncertain whether their questions were innocent or sly. At merely six centuries old, they were wise beyond appearances. The “dance” he referred to was the so-called "eternal summer dance" — a euphemism for the violent quarrels Happiness and her husband, Lugh, engaged in each summer. Love had long pitied the triplets, who endured that endless cycle without comprehending it.

“Much more,” she said, lifting Talon into her arms and twirling with him until she fell with theatrical flourish onto the nearest bed, making him shriek with laughter. “Now, we can lie here and calculate precisely how much I missed you, or we can have an adventure in the Dreaming!”

“Are there nightmares here, Aunty?” asked Bellator, Pride’s son and a future war entity, whose greatest joys were swordplay and tales of ancient battles. He idolised his father, Ares, and even more so Wotan.

“Why? Are you afraid of them, Bellator?” she asked gently. He blushed. Of course he was, though he would never admit it. Nightmares to children were monsters, not the burdened beings they truly were.

“N-no! But Vanira is!”

“I am not!” his younger sister protested, shoving him. Fierce, though less battle-hardened, Vanira would not tolerate being cast as the frightened one.

“Yes you are! I’ll bring my sword to protect you!” he retorted.

“Am not!” she shrieked, lunging. Love intercepted her mid-leap.

“As long as you are with me, there is no danger, dears. Now, may I finally tell you our plan before your mothers come and kidnap me for a most dreadful breakfast?”

“Mum won’t wake until afternoon,” Lethe sighed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The child of Melancholy, her gaze always held sorrow, her shoulders bore its weight.

“Then we have time to visit Goldie. My dear friend.”

Heads tilted in curiosity.

“You know, my old friend Goldie the gargoyle.”

Even Lethe’s eyes lit up. If there was value in that ridiculous parade of introductions Morpheus had once conducted through the Dreaming, it was knowing its subjects. Love knew a creature as charming as Goldie would enchant the children and grant her a way to avoid her sisters a little longer.

__________________________

The Dreaming unfolded before them like an impossible tapestry — forests that breathed in rhythms older than time, rivers that hummed forgotten lullabies, and skies that shifted hues with every blink, as if responding to the heartbeat of the dreamers who walked beneath them. Along the winding path toward the Houses — the ivy-cloaked House of Secrets, crooked and whispering, and beyond it, the solemn, time-worn House of Mystery — the children of the divine were ushered gently forward. It was there that Cain and Abel received them.

Well, not exactly, because to receive one must be waiting.

More like invaded.

Could they blame the Queen? Cain sure felt like it, but as Abel told him before she could get any closer, Love did not know many places at the Dreaming. Lord Morpheus took her on a parade and he showed her their houses.

Cain, tall and sharp-eyed beneath his wide-brimmed hat, stood with arms crossed, lips curled in theatrical suspicion. Abel hovered behind him, wringing his hands, a nervous smile flickering under his mustache like candlelight in the wind.

Cain scowled under the brim of his battered hat, his arms crossed like closed gates. “What is this,” he muttered to no one in particular, “a divine field trip?”

“H-hello,” Abel, ever stammering, offered a nervous wave. “W-we weren’t told—um—exactly that anyone was—visiting today, but it’s—it’s lovely to see you! Isn’t it lovely, Cain?”

Cain grunted. “Lovely is not the word I’d use for a swarm of divine brats threatening to trample my roses.”

“They’re not trampling, they’re just—uh—exploring,” Abel offered, glancing nervously at the children.

“I saw one licking a sundial,” Cain growled. “And the twins are using my prized irises as catapults.”

Abel blinked rapidly. “Oh, n-no, that’s—that’s probably just creative play—” Just then, Solin shrieked with delight and launched herself at the House of Mystery’s doorknob, trying to hang from it like a tree branch. Cain flinched.

“That's it. I'm retiring. I'll go live in a dream of mildew and silence.”

But even Cain's usual snarl softened when Love approached. Hair half-loosened by children’s hands, her cotton gown brushed with grass, the timid sunlight caught in the folds like memory. The air itself seemed to hush at her arrival.

Cain tipped his hat with a reluctant grace. “Queen Eoster.”

“Cain,” she returned, warm but distant.

“Your—um—Majesty,” Abel added, nearly tripping over his own feet in a frantic bow. “A-a pleasure, an honor, and also a bit of a surprise—though not, not unwelcome, of course!” Love raised a brow, smiling slightly. “ I apologize for the sudden intrusion. These are my sisters’ children. Someone told them about Goldie and they desperately wanted to meet her. Would you find in your good hearts enough patience and decorum to make the introductions?” Even Cain could not say no to her request. Morpheus demanded, he ordered as their sovereign, Eoster charmed them, making it impossible to deny any request she made.

Cain would deny ever falling for her ‘spring tricks’ as he would secretly call her looks and sweet voice, but he only fooled himself. Anyone who did not deal with Love daily, got mesmerized by her. Abel gave a solemn nod, which earned him a broader smile from the queen. “Thank you, Abel. You’ve always had the kindest heart in this realm.” Cain rolled his eyes with theatrical exasperation, but Abel made no attempt to disguise the way he lingered—caught, perhaps, a moment too long in the glow of her gaze. He nodded again, slower this time, entirely entranced.

Cain delivered a sharp jab to his brother’s ribs.

Dream and the queen were not known for the blissful harmony of their union. But. Lord Morpheus was fiercely possessive of anything he deemed his own, so Cain knew that if he even considered that Abel was gazing so longingly at his wife, he might find himself dispatched—swiftly and unceremoniously—into the darkness. Love, for her part, merely chuckled. She was quite accustomed to such reactions.

Turning a vivid shade of pink, Abel abruptly thrust the gargoyle into the air like a talisman of self-preservation. “G-Goldie!” he stammered, voice cracking slightly. “W-would you like to meet Goldie?” The children turned their heads in perfect unison—like chicks glimpsing corn for the very first time—before stampeding toward him with divine enthusiasm.

Abel knelt with reverence, cradling the small stone gargoyle in his arms as though presenting a sacred relic. Goldie blinked once, languidly, his wings curled inward like a sleeping bat. A collective gasp of awe escaped the children. For a moment—just a breath—the world stood still in perfect reverence.

It lasted, of course, precisely three seconds.

Then came the inevitable storm.

“Do gargoyles dream?” “What’s the difference between a secret and a mystery?” “Can nightmares be nice if they’re yours?” “Can Goldie eat nightmares?” “Can Goldie eat you?” “Do nightmares taste like pepper?” “Are you a nightmare or a dream?” “Are you a nightmare because you are bald?”

Abel’s smile became a grimace of earnest panic as he tried to answer all of them at once — stammering explanations, making vague gestures, and nervously glancing at Cain for help that would not come.

Cain looked appalled in the singular manner only an ancient murderer could manage.

“Why,” he asked, deadpan, “are they asking so many questions? Is this the Inquisition?”

“No,” Love replied with a lightness born of divine patience. “It is curiosity—unfiltered, untamed, and—”

“Sticky,” Cain finished grimly, “like the footprints on my ceiling.”

“I do apologize, my dear Cain,” Love said, her voice a gentle murmur as she turned toward him with regal grace. “My nieces and nephews can be rather—”

“Pampered pests?” he interrupted, one brow arched with dry derision.

To that, Love responded with a smile—not a bright, beaming grin, but something measured, opaque, designed to suggest that she neither agreed nor disagreed.

“Spirited little wonders,” she corrected, voice still warm. Where Cain saw unruliness, unpredictability, and a complete disregard for order, Love perceived a sacred spark. That wildness—so often misnamed disobedience—was, to her, vitality itself. Promise. Emotional honesty in its purest form. She had once known such a spark herself, before her role demanded it be quieted. She saw their chaos not as an affront, but as a kind of necessary, divine disorder—a garden left wild to grow what it would.

Cain, with a huff and inward sneer, thought darkly: Ah. So that’s what they’re calling it now. A polished name for gremlins with crowns.

“If they break anything,” Love added, her voice as honey poured over wine, her hand reaching gently for his as though it were the most natural thing in the world, “do let me know. I shall see to it myself.”

Even Cain—who distrusted monarchs as a matter of philosophy—found himself offering the faintest of nods, grumbling something incoherent about compensation in blood and sanity. It was, of course, meant as dramatic embellishment, though in truth, only partly so.

He didn’t look her in the eye. He never did, not for long. Not because he feared her, exactly, but because something happened when he did. She had that same crownless weight that her husband wore — that gravity of old laws and older roles — but she wore it like silk instead of stone.

Looking at her too long made Cain uneasy. Made him feel like maybe the children weren’t demons in disguise. Like maybe he was a bitter old caretaker who had simply forgotten how to laugh. Looking at her too long made him question the narrative — and Cain had only ever felt safe when he controlled the story.

“One of them,” he said instead, voice dry as the Deadlands, “I’m not naming names, but it rhymed with Vanira — threatened to lick my sundial.”

She smiled.

Not a smirk. Not a courtly grin. Not even a polite upward twitch. Just a slow, genuine thing — like spring thaw on a grave. She didn’t take offense. She took it as truth, offered in the only way Cain knew how to give it.

It was enough for her.

She gave him a farewell glance — all rose-gold and soft firelight — then turned back to the chaos of the garden, skirts trailing moss and the scent of honeysuckle. Cain watched her walk away, and for a moment he felt something like vertigo. Like the whole world tilted around her steps.

Cain had seen kings and gods and nightmares rise and fall. He had seen galaxies burn out like candle wicks. But he had never seen anything quite like her.

She moved through the children like a song remembered. Her presence calmed the riot — not through commands, but through grace. They gathered around Goldie now, chattering, climbing, touching feathers with reverence. And in the center of them, Love knelt to cradle the smallest one.

Lethe.

The quiet one. The watcher. The child with eyes like fogged glass and a silence that made even Cain uneasy. But now she folded into Love’s arms like a shadow drawn to a flame.

And Love? She held her without hesitation. Without fanfare. As though the girl had always belonged there.

Cain swallowed thickly. It wasn’t natural.

Morpheus never did that. Morpheus loved through architecture and silence, through stories told in sand and sorrow. His affections were distant stars — beautiful, cold, precise. But her? She was the sun at dawn, and the children bloomed around her like stubborn weeds.

She didn’t ask for loyalty. She received it.

Cain looked away.

There was something unsettling about that kind of power — soft and boundless. He didn’t like the way it twisted the narrative. It made him doubt the ending. And Cain, above all else, hated stories that refused to end the way they should.

And then — as always with her sisters’ offspring — chaos bloomed like weeds after rain.

Soon, Bellator had conscripted Abel into a dramatic reenactment of The Siege of the Screaming Bridge, complete with phantom blood, exploding ghosts, and impromptu stage directions shouted by Valkar.

Meanwhile, Cain had been strong-armed into playing “Two Truths and a Lie” with Happiness’ triplets, cornered near the garden wall like a reluctant suspect. Alith, her curls bouncing, insisted she could unmask any deception with a single question. Cain snorted. “Good luck, girl. I’ve been lying longer than your mother’s been dancing.” Vanira and Talon solemnly sealed a bet over the outcome — fifty years of servitude, paid in song or silence.

Elsewhere, Solin and Elira whispered conspiratorially, discussing the ancient rumor that Cain always killed Abel over petty grievances. They wondered if he’d try the same with one of the cousins—since, admittedly, they were spoiled, annoying brats—and most importantly, what Aunt Eoster would do if he dared.

After all, no one had ever seen Aunt Love truly angry. And wasn’t that a story worth witnessing? Would she have any power over him? Would she tell their uncle? And what would their mysterious, cruel, cold, never-before-seen uncle do? And most important: Could they watch?

But not all the children plunged headfirst into mischief.

While the rest of the cousins dashed through the gardens with the recklessness only children possess, Lethe lingered behind. She was not like the others—soft-spoken, inward, always watching, rarely joining.

The others burst into the world like firecrackers.

Lethe was mist — silent, ungraspable.

And only Aunt Eoster seemed to notice.

Of all the divine sisters, it was Eoster — not Pride, nor Happiness, nor even Melancholy herself — who knelt to tie a child's ribbon, who laughed at their riddles, who wiped their tears with the same tenderness that once birthed spring into the world. Sometimes, Love even preferred their company to that of her own siblings.

Lethe once overheard her mother murmur to Aunt Happiness, "Darling, It’s because she’s no mother herself." But Lethe wasn’t so sure. Eoster, to her, felt like the heart of motherhood—radiant and aching. Valkar once told her it was jealousy she heard in their aunts’ voices—even in Honesty’s. Lethe didn’t quite understand why. Valkar didn’t either. He could only sense it.

Now stroking the little gargoyle’s snout with reverence, his leathery wings curled in like a sleeping bat, his blinking eyes half-closed in pleasure. Her fingers moved with sacred care, as though Goldie might stir and sigh if only touched gently enough.

“Will there be spring this year?” she asked, voice nearly inaudible. A breath more than a question.

Eoster froze — her fingers halting mid-stroke in Lethe’s curls.

“Of course, my heart,” she said softly. “Why would there not be?”

Lethe didn’t answer. She whispered into Goldie’s ear, as though confiding in something older than stone.

“You feel like Mama… before the grey years.”

The words were quiet—but they landed like thunder.

She feels it.

The grey years. Melancholy’s reckoning. The age when the world was wrapped in silence, rivers forgotten, skies brittle with sorrow. Even the pulse of the land grew dull, the seasons slipping their rhythm.

Lethe remembered. A child too young to name grief, yet old enough to drink its bitter draught. Born in the stillness between thunderclaps, raised on lullabies that never lifted above whispers.

Viddar, Lethe’s father, stood unwavering beside her—dusk made flesh, a shadow born of twilight’s grief. He loved Melancholy not despite her sorrow, but through it—mesmerized, as a sculptor who bows before his masterpiece wrought from ruin and mourning. Together, they moved through their kingdom without warmth or laughter—only the sacred and terrible art of despair.

But Lethe was still a child.

She longed not for myth or shadow, but for her parents.

“Maybe a cold spring,” Lethe breathed, fingers brushing Goldie’s weathered ridge. “Would you like that, Goldie?”

Her niece’s word digging deep beneath her skin, stirring her pulse.

She feels it.

Lethe bore more than softness. She saw with her skin, felt with her breath—the frost gathering before the grass shivered.

A cold spring.

Would such a thing come to pass?

“Aunt Love,” she asked with devastating innocence, “Would different flowers bloom if the spring were cold?”

The question struck earth like a spade turning soil.

Cold ground yields no blossom. Seeds sleep beneath its frostbound shroud. Love knew this truth well. No matter how gently she sowed, no matter how fiercely she warmed the earth—nothing could rise from barren stone.

A cold spring meant no spring, the seasons would collapse, the mortal realm would be put in danger.

No.

Mortals must have spring.

Fertility. Renewal. The turning of the ancient wheel.

Even if she could not feel the earth calling for her. Even if the Garden ached, and her own heart faltered, the earth must awaken.

Duty was the reason she kept being faithful to her broken marriage, the reason she came back when he asked. Everything was her duty.

Eoster drew Lethe close, her lips brushed the child’s brow in solemn vow.

“No matter what shadows linger in my heart, little one,” she murmured, “spring will come—warm, fertile, and true.”

Lethe looked up, eyes deep as still pools, heavy with knowledge no child should bear.

“That’s good,” she said, voice soft as a prayer. “Because I heard the earth whisper it’s waiting.”

_____________

By then, both Cain and Abel had surrendered — not with dignity, nor in any gentlemanly terms of parley, but with the panting breath of men besieged by a force of nature in silk ribbons and opinions. Cain had made a valiant stand. He had raised his voice (twice), bared his teeth (once), and at some point brandished a rake with all the pomp of a ceremonial halberd. Yet children — especially the overindulged sort born of immortals — do not fear monsters they consider decorative. And to them, Cain was simply an eccentric antique from a nursery tale, dusted off and brought into the sun. Little Alith, curls bouncing with the entitlement of a minor empress, had fixed him with the imperious stare of the terminally unamused. “You do own a skull made of glass,” she had declared, “and you did steal a kiss from a banshee. So that means—”

Cain had thrown up his arms in despair. “Fine! Yes! I was married to a troll. It’s all true. I regret nothing except my willingness to participate in this conversation.”

That was when he knew he had lost the war.

Abel, poor soul, had fared no better. He had been conscripted into a reenactment of the Siege of the Screaming Bridge — a historical travesty if ever there was one, written and directed by Bellator himself, who claimed strict accuracy despite ghost-skeletons, jellybean bombardments, and a goat in epaulettes serving as Supreme Commander.

At one point, Abel found himself crowned with dandelions and declared “Queen of the Fallen River.” His confusion was audible.

“Do I… do I have to be?”

“Yes,” intoned Valkar gravely, “Until the moon cries” He took a second to think, and childish shrugged it off “Or snack time. Whichever is first.”

From the corner of her eye, Love perceived the signs of fatigue — the twitch at the corner of Cain’s mouth as he feigned civility, the shrill edge to Abel’s laughter, half a beat too late and half a tone too high. They were fraying, unraveling before the altar of indulgent youth.

But Eoster did not need to raise her voice. She did not chastise. No thundercloud darkened her brow.

She merely stepped forward “My little lords and ladies I would take my tongue out if I have ever encountered a group as,” she said, her voice a warm gleam upon the garden stones, “Valiant as you and…” Her eyes flicked gently to Bellator and Valkar. “As sharp of mind and tongue as you” she added, with a wink to Alith. “And of course, never met any group of such kind hearts, that I believe I do not even need to request, would kindly let both Cain and Abel rest, after such an enthusiastic visit.”

The children blinked. And then turned. As if her voice had magnetized the air.

“But we were about to—” Valkar began.

“Let me guess,” said Love with a smile that suggested omniscience and a touch of mischief. “A third attempt at the Siege of the Screaming Bridge?”

Bellator squinted up at her. “How did you know?”

She touched a finger to her lips in mock secrecy. “Because I know you, dearest.”

She paused — dramatically, deliberately — then sighed, a picture of feminine regret. “Of course, if you prefer playing at battles you’ve already won, you may stay here and rehearse what you know. But… I had thought you were brave enough to undertake a proper quest.”

Their ears pricked up.

“Only the truest of knights,” she said in a whisper full of promise, “Have ever dared the Maze of the Garden and retrieved the hidden treasure kept by Cain in its center. Some returned. Not all.”

Vanira gasped. So did the others.

Then — a shriek. “EVERYONE FOLLOW ME!” Vanira shoved Bellator aside and took off like a comet, the rest thundering after her in a flurry of satin and shrieking valor.

Somewhere beyond the hedgerows, a flowerpot shattered with a dramatic crash. Cain did not turn. He merely blinked slowly, like a man awakening from a fever dream.

She had untangled the storm with half a dozen words and not a drop of sweat.

Love approached them now with Lethe nestled upon her hip “They will not trouble you again,” Love said simply, her voice still laced with mirth. Then she dropped into a graceful courtesy. “You have my eternal gratefulness.”

Cain’s mouth opened. Closed. Then, in a low mutter: “That was deeply unnatural.”

“Merciful,” Abel breathed, crumpling into a heap. “She’s like… like spring with hands. And an agenda.”

Love laughed — the sound chiming like glass in sunlight — and glided past them. Her hair caught the wind like a banner. Lethe blinked sleepily at the brothers, then buried her face in Love’s collarbone.

Cain watched her go the curve of her shoulders, the ease with which she carried Lethe, the way her presence transformed chaos into choreography, and how just as calmed the storm, she returned humming an old spring melody.

“She’s not like him.” Cain finally said.

Abel tilted his head. “You mean Lord Dream?”

Cain nodded. “Morpheus commands with silence. Fear. Presence. You obey him, even when you don’t want to. But her? She makes you want to follow.”

As the children scattered into the winding garden maze behind the manor, their laughter echoing like windchimes through the hedgerows, soft moss and violet petals cushioned their quick and heedless steps. Love tried, with no success, to forget that her sisters were almost certainly hunting her down as one might a wayward lamb.

No doubt they had already cornered poor Lucienne and Elijah, pressing them for her whereabouts with the veiled ferocity only sisters and sovereigns could manage. And no doubt they were simultaneously inspecting every corner of the Dreaming, fingers twitching for some small imperfection to criticize.

It did not matter that this was the very realm from which their own dreams arose, that it was shaped, nurtured, and guarded by her husband.

Or perhaps it mattered precisely because of that.

Of course they would hate it. That was the nature of sisters and old grudges, particularly when thrones and pride were involved.

But her brief illusion of peace shattered not with footfall or trumpet, but with Alith’s unmistakable, high-pitched declaration ringing through the hedges “It is a dance!”

Vanira shouted from behind the hedge, exasperated. “There’s music and twirling and dresses! That’s the definition!”

And that was enough for both brothers to hide in their houses. Love could not blame them.

Elira and Solin responded with an unison groan. “It’s not a dance if half of you are throwing acorns at each other.”

“And it’s not a dance if you keep complaining” Valkar chimed in, arms flung wide. “Dances are supposed to be fun!”

“You don’t even know how to waltz!” accused Bellator, pointing at Talon, who was awkwardly attempting a waltz step and looking like he might trip over his own lineage.

“I do know how!” Talon snapped, red in the ears. “It’s just—these boots are cursed.”

“Cursed with clumsiness,” Solin muttered, earning a shriek of laughter from Elira.

The commotion had reached an operatic pitch — dandelion crowns flung like gauntlets, accusations of cursed boots and rigged duels echoing behind the hedges. Eoster watched from the edge of the garden with a bemused expression, one hand gently smoothed Lethe’s silken hair while the other stayed loose and open, catching the breeze like it might hold music.

Lethe murmured softly into her aunt’s warm breast, “They are trying, you know—to dance as grown folks do at parties.”

Eoster smiled down, a faint crease touching the corners of her lips. “And do you think they succeed?”

Lethe tilted her head with the curious innocence of youth. “Only in covering themselves with mud. Are you going to put a stop to this, Aunt?”

Love regarded her niece with a brow slightly knit. “Surely, no one has thought to teach them to dance at this tender age?” It seemed strange, indeed, considering how she and her sisters had been initiated into the art of the ball as soon as their feet could carry them.

Lethe shrugged with a quiet admission. “The nannies despaired of the attempt. And the dance instructors—well, they would sooner meet an untimely end than face this crowd. And my uncles did threaten them. It is a most hopeless endeavour.”

She spoke with the modest reserve of one who had herself been taught young, yet had never quite embraced the ritual. No one of her gentle stature usually danced. Moreover, her parents, she reflected, were seldom inclined to do so themselves.

“They are merely spirited children,” Love replied softly, “not creatures beyond hope.”

“Only with you, Aunt.”

With that, Love rose—graceful and unhesitating—and stepped into the tumultuous circle her nephews had wrought.

She clapped her hands once; the clear note rang out like the herald of spring’s first morning.

“Attention, my dears,” Love called out with the regal mischief of a sovereign who had long ago mastered the art of gentle command. Her voice rang out over the din like a silver bell at court. “I can no longer bear witness to this slaughter of the precious art of dancing.”

All movement ceased.

She stood at the center of the garden like the eye of a storm—grace in full bloom, skirts catching the breeze, hands folded as if cradling laughter. Her gaze swept over them with playful severity.

“I shall teach you,” she declared. “And I will not—will not—tolerate partners being twirled headlong into hedges, nor acorns being lobbed as though they were battlefield missiles.”

A guilty cough escaped from Talon. It was swiftly followed by Elira’s elbow jabbing him with sibling efficiency.

Love’s smile curved into something warmer, almost wistful. “I can assure you, your parents once spent many evenings—often at the expense of their dignity and shoes—engaged in precisely this sort of amusement.” Some look surprised that their parents would actually engage in dancing.

If only they would know what men do to catch the way of women.

“It is, after all, how a princess shows her grace,” Love continued, eyes twinkling, “And how she may observe equally graceful princes.”

What she did not mention—though her tone held the faintest flicker of memory—was how such dances led to couples slipping off into hidden alcoves, or vanishing entirely into garden mazes. But that was knowledge her nephews and nieces would acquire in time. Hopefully not too soon.

“Sometimes,” she added with a perfectly timed pause, “Matches are made.”

Rather than sighs of romantic delight, she was met with synchronized groans and noises of pointed disgust.

Ah, children.

“But only when you are much older,” she conceded, fighting a smile. “Until then, if you do especially well…” she lowered her voice as if sharing the most coveted secret in the realm, “they award you cake and lemonade.”

She delivered it with the tone of one offering a consolation prize.

The children, of course, did not know it was a consolation prize. Probably because Love had invented the entire idea—complete with ritual and ceremony—just to keep them interested.

To them, cake and lemonade were the crown jewels.

“Now! Two lines, if you please,” she instructed, “Princesses on one side, Princes on the other. I would hate to assign partners as if this were a lesson in old-fashioned matchmaking.”

A cheerful scramble ensued. Valkar and Solin nudged each other in mock opposition, Vanira helped Talon discern left from right, and Bellator tried and failed to change sides thrice before being intercepted.

“May I have this dance?” Love inquired, extending a hand and fluttering her lashes with an exaggerated coquettishness.

Before Bellator could comprehend the invitation, Talon pushed him out of the way, but Solin put his foot in front of his younger brother, and, ever the peacock just like his mother, swept an exaggerated bow before Love, one hand tucked behind his back, the other extended with all the pomp of a courtier triple his age.

“My Lady Queen,” he proclaimed with theatrical flourish, “May I claim the honour of your first dance?”

Love laughed, the sound like bells on a spring breeze, and took his hand. “You shall, my dear prince.” She gave a delicate curtsey and called out the steps, her voice a clarion call to joy. “Face your partner. Hold your heads high, no barn owls among you, but royalty at the grandest ball of the season. Yes, even you, Alith.”

Alith’s eyes rolled in mild rebellion.

“Now, bow,” Love instructed, dipping into a gracious curtsy. The children tried, some with dignity, others more like wobbly storks. But Love made no correction, only laughter, and that was enough to bind them together.

They began to move, hesitant at first, then with growing confidence. Love’s skirts billowed as she floated across the clearing, guiding—not commanding—the steps, weaving their disorder into a fledgling harmony.

“Observe me,” she said, taking Solin’s hand. “Step forward—one, two—and then back. To the side, and switch. Like so. The secret is to feel the music, even when it dwells only in your hearts.”

The Dreaming itself seemed to respond; the trees bent with the rhythm, the breeze caught an unspoken tempo, and the dappling sunlight across moss and stone marked time with quiet precision. She spun lightly, her feet barely touching the earth. The children followed, clumsy and imperfect, but eager and bright.

Partners exchanged; Love passed Solin to Elira, calling to Vanira as she spun her beneath an arm and caught her again, “Remember, it is not the precision that matters, but the presence you bring.”

Talon hesitated, cheeks flushed with uncertainty, until Vanira grasped his hand firmly and gave him a look that brooked no refusal.

Though far from perfect, the scene was enchantment made flesh—children whirlwinds of laughter and effort, trying, stumbling, rising anew. Love was the quiet axis around which their world turned, her laughter the subtle force binding them.

Then, suddenly—a faint crack. Her heel betrayed her.

She should have known better; with such wild company, one never knew if the dance might become battle or chase. The sound was soft, but her balance faltered. She caught herself, now barefoot on one foot.

The children halted, breaths held.

A broken heel might have ended the revelry for any of her sisters.

But Love waved a hand, light as spring air. “The first rule of any ball, my dears,” she said, lifting the ruined shoe for all to see, “is to choose good shoes.”

It was a shoe of lilac satin, delicate as a petal, embroidered with hearts and trimmed in lace, a small silk rose perched on its toe. The very pair she had worn on the night she and Morpheus first appeared as husband and wife—perfect shoes for a perfect dance, and yet never danced, not until today. And it broke. Guess it was not the perfection she had hoped.

She tossed the broken slipper aside, then shed the other, the movement freeing her utterly. The children exhaled—some in delight, others in wonder. Solin offered another bow, his relief plain. Love curtseyed barefoot in return, looking every bit the woodland spirit rather than the queen of love.

A strange pang struck her—a yearning for a freedom lost, for years slipped away like shadows at dusk. This was no fault of Dream’s, she knew. Long before him, she had yielded her wildness—bit by bit—to the demands of mortals, to their need for rules and order.

Love had once been simple and raw, a force as impulsive and untamed as spring itself. But mortals complicated their affections, weaving them into codes and customs. So Love evolved, mastering protocol and etiquette, becoming a keeper of ceremonies and expectations. Only now, with bare feet upon moss, did she realize how dearly she missed the unbound wildness of her youth—when she could be all that she was meant to be, unshackled by the endless rules.

Perhaps it was the mortal fate, she thought, to surrender the lightness of youth to the weight of responsibility.

“Shall we continue?” she asked, and the children nodded eagerly.

The music resumed—if one could call the chaotic clapping and humming that—but one by one, the children surrendered themselves to the spirit of the dance. Even Talon dared a twirl that was more than mere stumble. Lethe smiled, clapping her hands.

Eoster let the dance dissolve, watching the children scatter back to their small worlds. She stood at the clearing’s center, skin warm with laughter’s glow, tendrils of hair clinging to damp temples. Her white underdress, loosened and flung carelessly in play, revealed glimpses of a gold-stitched corset beneath—delicate, intricate, and somehow a symbol of all that held her together. It was then she felt it.

Not in sight, nor in sound, but in the quiet stir that filled the space between heartbeats—a presence that made the air itself pulse with meaning.

She did not look.

But she knew.

A silence—not from the children, but from the world itself, a deep sensation like a bell in form of a bond. Their bond.

He stood between the trees — not walking, not arriving, but simply there. Morpheus, cloaked in dusk and memory. Watching her, the children, the circle of joy she'd conjured with nothing but will and affection.

His eyes moved to her bare feet. Her flushed face. Her undone laces. Her joy. He never saw her like this. Was she this free at the Garden? And why did she looked more beautiful than ever? He had seen her wearing pieces made with the sole purpose of entice a man, wrapped for his pleasure, black and lace, silk, see through, also seen her dressed like a queen in thick chiffon, velvet, silk gowns heavily embroidered in pastel colors, but he never saw her this…free and unpolished. The thought made him glance away back to the safe innocence of children.

One by one, the children slowed down until they fell silent. They stopped their game mid-laugh, staring. Lethe tugged at Eoster’s skirt, asking quietly to be held. Their mothers didn’t talk a lot about their uncle but when they did, none of the stories they told were comforting. It didn’t help that Morpheus looked more scary than friendly.

He didn't speak. He simply watched.

Love turned toward him, her breath catching — not in fear, but in something she didn’t have a name for. The air seemed thinner, charged with the silent awareness only he brought, cutting down the idyllic domestic scenery.

As a reflex she fixed Lethe in her lap. Suddenly hyper aware of her state, the hem of the dress painted in mud, feet at the ground , hair falling down with many threads wild. He would be disappointed. He would think she was provoking him just a day before they had their understanding in amicability. He will think that she is doing this to embarrass him.

Love only hoped he would berate her behind closed doors and not in front of their nephews.

The children clustered closer to her, even Bellator’s grip on his wooden sword faltered.

Then, a small voice spoke.

It was Elira, one of the triplets. Wide-eyed and unblinking, her golden curls tangled from running. She stepped forward, hesitantly.

“Lord uncle, is it true…” she asked, clutching the hem of her dress, “that you put bad children inside mirrors forever?”

A hush fell like snow. Love’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth, unsure if to scold, reassure or protect. Would he even answer her? Morpheus knew how to be painfully cold. Worse than that was the fact that she couldn't sense anything other than silence in the bond, which must be wrong.

But Morpheus knelt slowly, folding himself like dusk, his cloak rippling across the ground like ink spilled in reverse. It made the queen hold her breath.

He looked at Elira, then at the others, and softly answered “No, Elira, daughter of Happiness and Lugh, Princess of Joyous Light, I do not punish children for being loud, or wild, or afraid. I dream them stories of who they might become… and sometimes I walk beside them, if they are very brave.”

The silence cracked, gently. Talon tilted his head. Lethe's eyes shimmered with something unreadable, but she still clinged to Love like Morpheus could take her away from her aunt’s arms at any time.

Bellator didn’t speak, but took a cautious step closer.

“Lord uncle, do you… do you make dreams just for us too?” Vanira asked, arms crossed like she wasn’t impressed but her voice too hopeful to match her stance.

“All dreams are made for someone, Vanira, sister of Bellator, Princess of the Proud Blade.” He said, “and I remember each of you when I make them.”

“But you never saw us before!” Alith said, voice a bit too loud and too accusing, before hiding behind Love’s skirt, as it was the strongest shield in the realm. Morpheus remained kneeling a moment longer.

He didn’t look at Love, but his eyes wandered far too long over the cotton dress, lingered where her corset faulted and showed more of her skin.

Then he raised one pale hand and blew gently into his palm, sand took the air.

From his breath came shimmer: motes of starlight and ink, catching in the air like drifting embers. The children gasped as the dream began to bloom around them.

The sky above them shifted, deepening into velvet blue, and stars began to arrange themselves — not randomly, but precisely. Shapes formed. Whole constellations danced into life.

A silver wolf descended from the sky, made of smoke and moonlight. It circled Lethe gently and bowed its head. “ Lethe, daughter of Melancholy and Viddar, Princess of Whispering Shadows and Quiet Lament.” the sad-eyed child reached for it, her fingers vanishing into the soft illusion. “Her name is Threnody,” Morpheus said quietly. “She remembers your sorrows so you don’t have to carry all of it.”

Bellator’s wooden sword glowed suddenly with runes of fire. “Bellator, son of Pride and Ares, Prince of Proud Wrath” The air split with a war drum’s rhythm as phantom warriors rose on the horizon — but none of them fought. They saluted him. He stood straighter, stunned. “A soldier’s worth,” Morpheus said, “is not in battle… but in restraint.”

Elira and Solin found themselves atop a floating tower of books, with feathered wings sprouting from their backs. They flew — awkwardly, at first, then laughing. Talon watched as a map of doors unfolded in midair, each leading to strange, enchanted summers that only he would know.

Valkar and Alith’s hands filled with mirrors. But these didn’t reflect faces — they showed paths. Choices. Some difficult. Some beautiful. One cracked when he hesitated, then healed when he whispered his name. “Even truth must make peace with uncertainty, Prince of the Iron Resolve and Princess of the Unyielding Truth” Morpheus said, his voice low.

Vanira found herself inside a storm, not battered by it — but dancing in its center. Lightning obeyed her hands. Her hair lifted like a goddess, and she grinned in wild wonder. Love blinked a few times, she mechanically had to let Lethe down, because the girl was unusually agitated with her dream wolf.

From afar Cain and Abel watch the couple Her husband being kind and gentle to children. Her nieces and nephews. Chaotic, full of energy, overwhelming. Everything she knows he hates.

Or at least she thought.

Eoster had never glimpsed him with children — perhaps that was how he had been with... Orpheus. A sharp, forbidden ache tugged at her heart, a secret she dared not cradle, as if she were touching a flame meant to burn but not to warm. Was this the father Dream would be? Would he cradle his cubs with tenderness, their warmth woven into his shadow? Or would he drift cold and distant, a ghost among them, as Morpheus’s own blood had been — as her own kin had been with her? Or worse still, would he mirror her brothers-in-law? Men who saw their children only as prizes of virility and tokens to secure the fragile legacy of their bloodline.

It seems unlikely.

The children’s eyes sparkled—wide and expectant, limbs already twitching with anticipation. And just like that, they were gone—scattering through the garden like starlings loosed from a cage. Some danced, some tumbled, others plotted dramatic duels under rose arches. Goldie fluttered after them like a small, winged sentinel. Love turned… and realized the garden had grown still behind her.

She was no longer surrounded by laughter and limbs and petals. Instead, she stood with her husband again.

Alone.

It was as though the universe—quietly insistent and more meddlesome than it let on—had conspired, yet again, to fold time just so, to hush the world around them. To leave them alone. As if it knew something still needed to be said. Or done. Even though they had already settled their marriage in words, drawn the lines between them with solemn civility.

“Thank you, husband.” She said softly “You didn’t have to be this kind”

Morpheus remained where he knelt, cloak still pooled like a second shadow, mud in the hem of his cloak. His eyes followed the children as they scattered into their dreams — laughter rising like flocks of birds into the deepening twilight. And Eoster pretended that the bond and his presença alone did not edge their bond, aching inside her, whispers of attraction she was shutting down.

“I did not do it out of obligation,” he said, his voice quiet but resonant, he was perfectly presentable not a single hair out of place which made Eoster even more aware of herself. Vulnerable. This wasn’t a moment for him. She wasn’t ready to be presented, not wearing her armor in disguise of gowns, or pre-rehearsed speeches, or even had the time to think and prepare her actions.

“And neither did you when you gave them your lap or your laughter.” He softly said, as it was something so obvious.

Love didn’t answer, lips parted slightly, a breath she hadn’t meant to hold catching in her throat, he had been watching her longer than she felt comfortable with. She felt her cheeks burn and thank the gods for the natural flush from dancing hiding it.

She couldn’t answer, out of embarrassment but also because his voice held that aching softness — the one he never used with her unless it slipped through his walls by mistake. And the Dream King rarely made a mistake.

He stood slowly, and the night stirred around him, folding back into its usual gravity. When his eyes met hers, they weren’t cold — just unreadable, as always. But softer at the edges, like moonlight over still water.

“It is the Solstice today,” he said, hands behind his back, changing the subject, though not without meaning. “The day winter dies.”

She let a breath out through her nose. “Or fails to.” Why did she confess this to him? Why did the words felt so easy in her mouth? Even to her sisters she would not confess this uncertainty.

He tilted his head. “Do you doubt your power?” His voice did not hold judgment, as her sister would, but a hint of curiosity and worry.

She looked where Lethe now curled against the wolf made of sand, where Elira was still circling overhead with a crown of stars trailing behind her. Love pressed her palm to her own chest, where the warmth should have been rising.

“The earth is not answering my call” she admitted. “I usually hear a hum that grows louder and louder until it turns to pure music at the spring solstice. I thought I was just too busy with the arrangements and your return that I was too distracted not to hear” She sighed, hugging her arms. “And then came today.” She could hear every palace noise, but not the melody she needed.

She has come to an understanding with Morpheus, Lucienne and Elijah were working together, the cupids were at the Dreaming, the preparations were at full speed, guests from all over the universe were coming, everything was on course but spring herself. “I can’t feel the thaw.” She confessed. More frustrated than sad “I can’t feel the earth sing the beginning of the spring melody.”

Silence stretched between them again — not uncomfortable, but fragile. Morpheus and Eoster knew little of each other, although they had more than a few centuries as a couple, but one thing the Dream King knew as he knew his own soul, his wife was one of the most dutiful entities he has ever know, and her work was her reason to be proud or a failure. He understood that.

“You are not failing,” he said at last. “You are afraid.”

He hadn't meant to say it aloud, but the bond had whispered it to him — not in words, but in the ache between her shoulders, the tremble veiled beneath her poise. He could feel it in his spine, as though her unrest had become his own.

He saw it clearly now — the weight she bore, invisible but immense, taken up not for glory nor favor, but for him. The Spring Solstice celebration had not been mere spectacle. It was strategy. She had summoned the universe to witness not festivity, but stability. Strength. Continuity. She had done so not to be seen — but to make him seen again as unassailable.

She did not need to orchestrate the revelry of gods and spirits and stars. She did not need to summon ancient rites or lace each ritual with symbolism that even he, until now, had failed to decipher. She did it because she saw the danger — the silence left behind by his imprisonment, the way rumors curved like blades when they sensed weakness.

Did she always work like this?

In the footnotes of his reign, hidden between sentences of silence, weaving safety into beauty, diplomacy into dance?

Had she always carried this weight — unasked, unthanked — to ease burdens he didn’t even know he bore?

Even after everything. Even after the betrayal, the hurt, the cold chasm between them, she still thought of how to protect his realm, his name. Still chose him, not with words, but with action. Even when it cost her.

And he — in his blind sovereignty — had not seen.

He could not have asked for a better queen.

She blinked at him. As if stunned that he had seen at all.

There was no accusation in his voice, no attempt to correct or contain her. Just a truth, spoken plainly — like someone offering shelter to a stranger in a storm.

But Love — who had learned long ago to make her home inside tempests — flinched at the kindness. It was too raw. Too real. She had grown accustomed to surviving in harsh winds and cold silences. This warmth was disarming.

“I did not know you could be kind to me,” she confessed.

The bond seemed to push the words forward, as though they had to be spoken — and she regretted them the instant they left her lips.

“It is not kindness,” he replied, his brow barely furrowing.

The words weren’t entirely true — not to the marrow — but he knew they would make her more comfortable. Eoster had never wanted to be wooed by gentle gestures, had never asked for softness. She had learned to distrust it.

“I am afraid it is mere selfishness,” he added, gently. And Eoster could swear there was a smile hidden somewhere in the shadows of his voice. “You promised a spectacle of strength.”

He could sense her unease with his support — the discomfort of needing someone — and they silently agreed it was better to keep things rational. Easier that way. Cleaner. He was simply giving her what she needed to hear, because it served him — not because he wanted to carry the weight she bore.

Not because he saw her. Not because he felt for her.

Not because he loved her.

He wouldn’t know how to offer help without it sounding like pity. And pity would break her.

When you’ve stepped on a rose a hundred times, there’s no way to pick it up without it falling apart.

They stood close, within arm’s reach. Neither moved.

He looked past her, to the garden’s edge, where the first crocus had quietly opened near the fountain. Life, soft and defiant, returning despite the cold.

“You could have performed a spectacle on your own,” she said. Her voice was quiet, steady. “You are Dream of the Endless.”

He had regained his full power. He could shape stars and storms with a blink. He didn’t need her. She had always been — in her mind — an ornament, a footnote, a beautiful distraction that fate bound to him by error or design.

But even as she said it, she looked at him. Still searching. Still hoping for an answer that would prove her wrong.

Morpheus didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped forward — only slightly — just enough to brush the edges of her presence with his own.

How many times, in one day, would she hold her breath near him?

His voice, when it came, was lower now. Softer. Like an embrace they couldn’t share.

“No. Today… I am Spring’s husband. Or perhaps only a man who knelt before your nieces and nephews and gave them dreams.”

A beat passed.

“Tomorrow, I may be the Dream King again.”

She couldn’t tell if it was the answer she wanted. But it sounded like something shaped carefully for her heart, like a dream constructed to feel like truth.

She swallowed. Her voice wavered.

“And if I fail to bring the spring?”

If she failed, it would not just be as his queen, but as Love itself — as the Princess of Spring, the Queen of All Four Loves, patroness of desire, affection, devotion, and care. She would fail the mortals who adored her, the cupids who served her, the sisters who expected her strength, the children who believed in her. She would fail herself.

Morpheus could feel it in the bond — the weight behind her eyes, the tight coil in her stomach. The tension she carried like a second skin.

Had she always felt this way? Every spring? Who helped her? Who listened?

Not the cupids — she would not burden them. Not Lucienne. Not her sisters, who had little mercy for vulnerability, especially in one of their own.

He should have noticed.

He should have been there.

His face turned fully to hers then — all shadows, stars, and sorrow — and he spoke with a devastating calm:

“Then I will dream the thaw for you.”

A promise, quiet and vast. A spell cast in syllables.

“Mortals will dream of blossoms. Of warm winds. Of golden light that clings to skin and wakes the soul. They will dream of spring so vividly, so achingly, that the world will be unable to resist its call.”

She almost turned away — not in rejection, but as if to shield herself. To hide whatever rose in her throat. She wanted to offer him something — not forgiveness, not warmth, not yet — but something like belief.

Could she trust this? Would he hold her if it all collapsed? Would he soothe her aches or punish her again?

And just then — the breeze shifted.

Not cold. Not harsh.

But scented.

______________________

Lilac, myrrh, smoke, rosehips and a sweeter perfume, intoxicating, refreshing, intense.

She didn’t even need to look.

A battalion of sisters, commanded by The Queen of Summer herself, Happiness, looking over them.

She was draped in honey-colored silk and jewels that shimmered like laughter, she walked as if the world applauded each step. She always made an entrance — late, radiant, deliberate.

“My, my,” she said, surveying the scene with raised brows and a wicked smile. “Is this our Spring Queen? Or a shepherdess from a pastoral tragedy?”

Love felt her throat tighten. Happiness had always shone like sunlight — beautiful, beloved. But it was a brightness that burned, especially when turned on her.

“We’ve been waiting nearly half an hour! Is this the new dress rehearsal? Muddy hems, tangled curls and flushed cheeks?” Pride’s voice came, rich and honeyed with contempt. If Love was conscious about her state, feet covered in moss and mud, sleeves wrinkled from carrying children.

It was way worse under her sister's judgment.

Love straightened instinctively, smoothing her cotton dress to conceal her corset and crossing her arms. But Pride and Honesty’s sharp eyes and even sharper tongues missed nothing. They exchanged knowing smiles — if smiles could speak, Love was certain she could hear the unspoken thoughts flickering between them: “Playing the innocent, tempting peasant, are we?” — “Could Dream truly be as naive as a lovestruck stable boy?” — “Indeed.” They would all agree.

Honesty, trailing dark silk and wearing a smirk sharp enough to cut the air, offered a brief curtsy. “My dear brother-in-law, what an unexpected pleasure to see you,” she murmured, her tone deliberately cool. “I confess, I could never have imagined you might be so…”

“Unexpectedly domestic,” Happiness finished smoothly, eyeing Morpheus up and down with a glint of mischief.

Morpheus remained unmoved, as ever — unreadable and still. Yet Love could feel the subtle thinning of the air around him. Not with anger, but with restraint. He would need it, facing her sisters’ sharp tongues, their polished pleasantries concealing barbed wit. Pride and Honesty together were like a hive of vipers.

With a slight bow — both courtly and cold — he greeted, “Ladies.”

Pride rolled her eyes with a faint scoff. Happiness, her velveteen voice dripping with mock sincerity, continued, “We watched from the terrace. Though, one might think the terrace was doing its best to avoid us.”

Love glanced at Morpheus. Was this true? Did he not want his sisters to see them? Or see her? Did he shield her from their inevitable judgment? She only wished he would be a bit more effective.

Honesty pretended to brush dust from her bouffant sleeve, her tone thoughtfully casual. “Dream of the Endless, on his knees, conjuring fairy tales for children. You do have a remarkable talent for appearing sincere, my dearest brother-in-law.”

“We were nearly moved to tears,” Happiness added, placing a hand dramatically over her heart, though her expression betrayed nothing but disdain. Happiness and Love were almost like twins — their hair and eyes differing in color, but their faces and figures much alike. Where Love’s dark curls were thick as oak branches, Happiness’s tresses were long, sun-kissed, and flowed almost to her knees. Where Love had green eyes framed by thick dark lashes and skin as pale as lily petals, Happiness’s eyes were the blue of a clear summer sky, with golden lashes and sunlit skin.

Yet where Love carried gentleness and compassion, Happiness bore cunning and decisiveness. If, centuries ago, Happiness had chosen to pursue Morpheus, it would not have been a trap for two but a long, strategic design made by Happiness. She was as relentless as the summer sun at its peak, intoxicating and overwhelming.

That would be the villain Morpheus thought Love was for all these years.

But Happiness had no taste for men who spoke in riddles or lived in illusions. She preferred the calloused hands and sun-baked skin of rustic honesty. Any day, she would choose a blunt, even rude man over one who moped about like a forlorn cat.

“But we did not,” Honesty interjected, her smirk sparkling like cold steel. “Forgive us, dear brother, if we remain unmoved. Children and tender hearts often mistake illusions for promises.” Her eyes settle in Love with a warning and a correction, turning back to Dream “We, however, are old hags with cold hearts.”

Melancholy, silent as her name, took Love’s arm gently. Her voice was like mourning lace, trailing soft and sorrowful. The long grey-blue veil she wore fluttered in the breeze, framing her ghostly pale features. Her disdain for Morpheus was so complete, she barely acknowledged him.

“Come, dear Love,” she said softly. “You have a season to awaken and rituals to uphold. Unless, of course, you intend to summon spring like a milkmaid pulling flowers from the moist dreams of soldiers at war.”

Melancholy began to pull Love away from the children and Morpheus, but before she could lead her toward the waiting sisters, Love planted her feet firmly and met her husband’s gaze.

“I should go,” she said quietly.

Morpheus nodded once. “You should.”

Yet neither moved, even with Melancholy’s gentle but persistent tug.

Then he stepped closer, while her sisters watched like hawks, their eyes sharp and unyielding. Not close enough to touch, but close enough for Love to feel that familiar pull—the terrible gravity between them they both pretended to ignore.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured.

She didn’t ask which part.

Instead, her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, “And if I fail?”

He tilted his head, his voice softer than the breeze stirring the garden leaves. “Then you did, but you will rise—and I will dream the thaw, until you feel it again.”

She swallowed hard; her throat ached with unshed words.

“Careful,” she managed a smile. “If they hear more of that, they’ll accuse you of the greatest crime: tenderness.”

He gave no smile. But the space between them shifted—not warmer, not colder—just... closer.

“Eoster.” Melancholy tugged her arm once more. She would not let her sister say another word.

“Let them,” Morpheus said, before Love was drawn away, swallowed by the furious ocean of colorful skirts his sisters-in-law made.

“And brother,” Pride called out with a sly smile, “Since you’re so taken with domesticity, might you be kind enough to guide our nannies in rounding up our little brats? I dare say they’re in desperate need of a bath.”

“Or an exorcism,” added Happiness, clutching Pride’s arm as she giggled over their terribly pampered little angels.

With a sharp snap, Pride opened her fan and turned her back on Dream of the Endless, issuing commands in his own realm as if he were but a humble servant.

Barely the sister turned dragging Love away, an army of old women, in Victorian uniform, with long black skirts and white appron, walked down the hill, trying to prepare themselves to catch their little lords and ladies, who despised baths as they were liquid poison.

The barbs from his sisters-in-law struck deep, yet Morpheus maintained his posture, the faintest flicker of restraint in his otherwise unreadable gaze. He had been expecting their sharp tongues, but it was never quite easy.

If only these weren’t his sisters-in-law.

@secretdreamlandmentality @littlemoistcarrot @lokigirlszendaya @notyourwildestdream @roxytheimmortal @your-favorite-god @damnitmaddie

[dunmeshistash]

G'day, I hope you are doing well.

Ever since I finished the story of Dungeon Meshi (all supplementary material included) I've been writing down bullet points on characters in addition to in-depth synopses as a way to tidy up my rather busy mind. To this end I've also greatly enjoyed reading other folks' interpretations of particular characters, as it gives me further insight into aspects of that character I may have glossed over.

However, there's one character I'm struggling to write a cohesive synopsis about, that being none other than 'miss enigma' herself, Falin Touden. I get that her whole shtick is that she's kind of a mystery, but I find myself drawing a lot of blanks when it comes to her as a character, and while I have nailed down some important bullet points, there are a lot of different interpretations on her, all of which starkly contrast one another. Though perhaps it's just the wording. Hard to say.

It could very well be that I'm being too dense i.e. perceiving "Falin is willing to risk killing others to save her friends." and "Falin, in the heat of the moment, when faced with certain death, was willing to face the prospect of harming potential passersby in a final Hail Mary to get her friends to safety." as entirely different observations. I have a hard time with those kinds of things.

With this being a hub for all sorts of observations, interpretations and cool trivia, I was wondering if you'd perhaps be willing to share how you yourself perceive Falin as a character, so I can compare notes and perhaps gain a more proper understanding of her as a character as a result. I know this question is very broad and kind of vague, but if you could spare the time I'd be most grateful.

Other than that, I wish you an excellent day.

Hello!!! I love Falin!!!!!

She *is* a mystery, we mostly know Falin through the perception other characters have of her instead of a direct deep look onto who she is, which I find very interesting. I think the best post I've seen about her (which as usual I can't remember where edit: someone linked it thank uu) I think called her perceived altruism/love "selfish" and I've been thinking about that ever since.

In that sense the way she cares so much about the comfort of people around her might be a way to keep *her own* comfort because she doesn't want to see other people suffer.

This girly died and came back to life from bones and the first thoughts she has is that she caused trouble for her loved ones

She probably has felt this way since she was a child, "because of her" that her family was torn apart "because of her" that Laios left, her mom was sick, her father had to send her away. (wasn't actually her fault but she might think it is)

I imagine ever since then Falin has done her best to not cause trouble and to make the people she loves happy, everything we know about her and the things she was doing was always for the people she loved, that's why I enjoy the post canon comic where Toshiro asks her hand in marriage again so much. The first time she considers accepting just because "might as well" while for the second time she finally wants to live for herself.

I think Falin herself has lost who she "really is" by trying to accommodate everyone around her and that's probably part of why we ourselves don't really know her, so much so that the most cynical character is uncomfortable around her (probably cause he notices Falin is "hiding" something)

I think Falin is quite the melancholic character to be honest, someone who has lost herself in self sacrifice and who is only now learning how to live for herself doing what she wants.

Both the teleportation scene and the bit about healing show "cracks" in the selfless front she puts out tbh. By context I don't think what she did was only due to "desperation of the moment" she says out loud "Even if I end up hurting others I want you and my brother to live on". She weighted out how much suffering she might cause and decided she wanted to save them anyway, and I'm sure in that calculation she knew that they would suffer because of her sacrifice too.

Falin is saving them for herself, I'm not great with words so this is all over the place and maybe sounds a little negative about Falin but the thing is, you cannot live your life for other people, you can't sacrifice yourself for other people's happiness, you shouldn't erase your own presence so others are happier and I think Falin is starting to learn that by the end.

I'd probably keep rambling without getting anywhere and missing a lot of more meaningful moments but I'll stop here, if anyone has recs for Falin analysis please share!

[cozy-the-overlord]

Gotta love medical gaslighting

[absensia]

okay coming off that quiz result, it's clicking for me just now that char doesn't realize just how bright she is because she doesn't see her own brightness. this is something only perceived from the outside looking in/on and so, from her own perspective, she has no idea that she is considered bright, never mind just how bright. the force of her energy and drive, the glow of her friendliness and zest for life, the searing heat of her curiosity and action - first mindset. instead, she thinks people find her off - putting, annoying, and / or dangerous for other ( probably also valid ) reasons, but never would she consider this. . . moreover, she loves the daytime and thinks of brightness as a generally good thing, so why would that be her?