#just once over the years long tug a war thing they have going on.

[pizzazz-party]

lord noriyuki is so much like his father. an advisor will whisper in either of their fucking ears and they’ll almost instantly go “nice!” and just go along with whatever just got suggested.

pictured below: tomoe getting screwed over by both of their whims in under five minutes.

[olive-main]

Hi, hope you’re well! Saw your request for angst ideas. If you’re interested: Reader has been part of the Inner Circle for years, like an og member. Post war she watches Az fall in love with Elaine or Gwyn. She’s known they’re mates, but he’s always told her he loves her as a friend, and nobody else knows they’re mates. She watches as his relationship grows, maybe they’re having a kid or whatever, this can be all the angst you see fit. She’s finally had enough and decides to leave (either for work as an emissary or for herself). Maybe as she starts to rebuild, Az and the IC realize how much her loss impacts them. But when they go see her, she’s thriving. Ending can be whatever floats your boat, maybe she’s with Eris or thriving in Day as Lucien’s advisor, or something else all together.

To Love and Let Go

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: An unrequited love, and a one sided mating bond. What will reader do when she can no longer watch Azriel fall for another female who isn’t her?

Wc: 2.9k (gah dayum)

A/N: ok, this is the longggest fic I've written to date, but I don't hate it...and I may be persuaded to write a part two with multiple endings bcs I'm indecisive asf. Requests are still open and highly encouraged since I'm on break and have a bunch of free time, clearly.

__

The stars are mocking tonight, their gleam far too bright for the storm brewing inside you. Velaris has always been beautiful, but tonight the city feels suffocating. The laughter of your family echoes around the River House’s dining room, filling the space with warmth and joy.

You sit at the edge of the long table, wine in hand, your smile carefully in place. Cassian is in the middle of one of his stories, something about Azriel and a drunken spar decades ago. The table erupts in laughter, and you can’t help but glance at him.

Azriel sits across from you, his shoulders relaxed, his shadows soft and relaxed as they curl lazily around him. He’s laughing—quiet and rare, but enough to tug at your chest in a way you’ve never been able to stop.

Beside him, Gwyn is radiant. She laughs, bright and genuine, her hand resting on his arm as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand shifts, fingers brushing over hers in a way that’s intimate, tender. Simple. Devastating.

You lift your wine to your lips and down the rest of the glass in one burning gulp.

You’ve known for years that Azriel isn’t yours to have. When the Cauldron whispered of your bond, it hadn’t been the joyous revelation you’d dreamed of. Instead, it had been a curse.

You feel it even now—that golden thread tying your soul to his, pulling taut every time you see him. But Azriel never acknowledged it, not once. How could he when he didn't even know it existed?

“You’re my best friend,” he’d told you long ago, sitting beside you on a rooftop in Velaris, the two of you cloaked in silence and shadows. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

And you’d smiled. Smiled and tucked the truth deeper inside yourself, burying it so far down you almost convinced yourself it wasn’t real. Almost.

The conversation shifts around you, but the words blur together, distant and unimportant. You force yourself to stay, to laugh when you’re supposed to, to nod in all the right places.

Across the table, Gwyn leans closer to Azriel, whispering something in his ear. He smiles at her, that soft, secret smile you’ve seen so many times over the years. But it’s never been for you.

The ache in your chest spreads, sharp and relentless, until you can’t bear it any longer. You push your chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor.

“Everything okay?” Mor asks, her brows furrowing as she studies you.

You nod quickly, forcing a tight smile. “Just need some air.”

No one questions you, and you’re grateful for it. You slip out of the room and onto the balcony, the cool night air rushing to meet you. The stars stretch endlessly above, and for a moment, you close your eyes and pretend this life isn’t yours.

But the bond hums faintly in the back of your mind, tethering you to someone who will never feel the same way.

—

You grip the balcony railing, the cool metal grounding you as you draw in a shaky breath. The quiet should feel peaceful, but it doesn’t. Not with the sound of their laughter spilling through the open door behind you, not with the bond thrumming painfully in the back of your mind.

You’ve endured this for years. Watching Azriel laugh, fight, live, all while pretending your heart doesn’t shatter every time he smiles at someone who isn’t you. Gwyn. Elain before her, and Mor long before that. All the women who could never feel what you feel for him—but were lucky enough to have his attention anyway.

And then there’s you, his best friend. The one he trusts, confides in, leans on. Just never in the way you ache for. Even before the bond snapped, you’d been in love with the Shadowsinger. He was always the calm amongst the chaos of your family, the one you could seek refuge in.

The sound of footsteps interrupts your thoughts. You don’t need to look to know it’s him. His shadows reach you first, curling gently around your wrist, hesitant and curious. They always do that, as if they sense the things he doesn’t.

“Are you okay?” Azriel’s voice is soft, warm in a way that makes it harder to breathe.

You release the railing and turn to face him, your mask firmly in place. “I’m fine. Just needed a moment.”

His brows pull together, his hazel eyes studying you in that unrelenting way of his. “You’ve seemed… distracted tonight.”

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not distracted. Just tired, that’s all.” The lie was easy on your tongue, a lie you’ve repeated more times than you can count.

His shadows shift, curling tighter around you. “You can tell me if something’s wrong,” he says, his voice low, careful.

You want to laugh again. Wrong? Everything is wrong. Your mate is standing in front of you, looking at you with concern while his love sits inside, waiting for him. He doesn’t even feel the bond that’s been tearing you apart for years. How could you possibly tell him the truth?

“I’m fine, Az,” you say again, stepping back, putting distance between you. “Go back inside. Gwyn’s probably wondering where you are.”

Something flickers across his face, but it’s gone before you can place it. He hesitates, his shadows brushing against your hand one last time before retreating.

“All right,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t look convinced.

You watch him go, his wings casting long shadows across the balcony as he disappears into the house. The bond hums faintly, pulling at your heart even as you stand there alone.

—

A part of you wants to blame yourself for never telling him about the mating bond. It was known Azriel always longed for a mate, so much so he had made the bold claim of Elain being his mate once upon a time. Now, he's with Gwyn under that same notion. Unfortunately, your heart had wanted him to love you without the influence of the bond.

Your thoughts persist as you force your eyes shut, trying and failing to fall asleep.

Instead, you lie awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling as the weight of it all presses down on you. You’ve built your entire life around the Inner Circle, around him. And for what? To watch him build a life with someone else? To keep breaking your own heart over and over again?

No.

When dawn comes, the decision is already made.

—

“Are you sure about this?” Feyre asks, her hand resting lightly on your arm.

You stand in the foyer of the River House, your bags already packed and waiting by the door. The soft morning light filters through the windows, casting golden hues over everything. It should feel warm. Comforting. But all you feel is the ache of goodbye.

“I’m sure,” you say, and your voice doesn’t waver.

Rhysand stands a few paces away, arms crossed, his violet eyes sharp and assessing. You were like a sister to him, someone he’d protected and seen through every phase of life. “You don’t have to do this,” he says gently. “We can figure something out. If you need time off, time for yourself—”

“I need more than time, Rhys,” you interrupt, forcing a small smile to soften the blow. “I need space. A fresh start. This is the right move for me.”

You’d rehearsed this conversation a dozen times, carefully framing your departure as a professional opportunity. An emissary position in Day Court. Helion had been eager to accept your offer, praising your skills and promising a new challenge that you could sink your teeth into.

It wasn’t a lie. You would thrive in Day Court. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Feyre’s grip on your arm tightens, her lips pressing together as if she’s holding back an argument. “I just… I don’t want you to feel like you’re running away,” she says softly.

You glance past her, your eyes catching on the open archway leading to the dining room. You can feel him in there, his shadows faint even from this distance. The bond pulls, a sharp tug against your ribs.

“I’m not running away,” you tell her, even though part of you wonders if that’s exactly what this is. “I’m choosing myself for once.”

Rhys nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “If that’s what you need, then we support you. Always.”

A lump rises in your throat, but you swallow it down, turning to hug Feyre. “Thank you. For everything.”

—

Azriel watches from the shadows of the dining room as you leave. He doesn’t mean to linger there, doesn’t mean to eavesdrop—but he can’t help it.

He hears Feyre’s quiet goodbye, Rhys’s reassurances. He sees the way your shoulders straighten as you step out the door, as if you’re carrying a weight none of them can understand.

Something twists in his chest, sharp and unfamiliar.

He doesn’t understand it. You’ve left Velaris before, gone on missions and trips for weeks at a time. But this feels… different. Permanent.

For a moment, he almost steps forward, almost calls out to you. But then the door closes, and you’re gone.

—

The Day Court is a world apart from Velaris.

Here, the sun always seems to shine, casting a golden glow over Helion’s sprawling palace. It’s vibrant, full of life, and for the first time in years, you feel as though you can finally breathe.

Helion welcomes you with open arms, praising your work and throwing you headfirst into new projects. The days are busy, your nights peaceful, and slowly—very slowly—the ache in your chest begins to fade.

You make new allies and friends. Lucien, especially, becomes an unexpected source of comfort. He understands unspoken bonds, the pain of being tied to someone who doesn’t want you. For the first few weeks, most, if not all your time was spent by his side.

“You’re free now,” he tells you one evening, the two of you sitting on a balcony overlooking the Day Court gardens. His amber eyes glint in the fading sunlight. “It doesn’t feel like it yet, but it will. One day.”

You smile, a real smile, and let the words settle in your chest.

—

Back in Velaris, the Inner Circle feels the void you’ve left behind. Cassian complains loudly during training sessions about how things don’t run as smoothly without you. Mor keeps suggesting trips to Day Court, half-joking but half-serious. Even Feyre finds herself reaching for you during meetings, only to realize you’re no longer there.

And Azriel…

Azriel notices most of all.

He misses the quiet way you steadied him, the way you always seemed to know what he needed before he did. The balance you brought to the group. To him.

At first, he tells himself it’s just an adjustment. You’ll be back eventually. But as the weeks stretch into months, he begins to realize just how deeply your absence has cut into his life.

The shadow of the bond hums faintly in the back of his mind, but he doesn’t understand why.

Not yet.

—

It’s Feyre who suggests the trip.

“You’ve been working too hard,” she tells Azriel, shooting him with a look that leaves no room for argument. “We all have. A visit to Day Court will do us some good. Besides, it’s been too long since we’ve seen her.”

Azriel hesitates but eventually agrees. He tells himself it’s curiosity, that he just wants to see how you’re settling in. Since you’ve left his relationship with everyone, Gywn especially, has grown distant. He tries to find you in her, comparing the small things that shouldn’t matter—and every time it only makes his heart sink.

When they arrive, they find you in the Day Court gardens, laughing at something Lucien has said. The sunlight catches in your hair, your face glowing with a happiness Azriel hasn’t seen in years.

The gardens are breathtaking, a vibrant sprawl of golden blooms and gleaming fountains that seem to echo the brilliance of the sun overhead. But Azriel doesn’t see any of it.

His focus is entirely on you.

You look radiant, the golden hues of Day Court seeming to highlight the confidence you’ve gained in your time away.

Lucien leans closer, his expression soft yet intent, and the sight makes something dark and ugly twist in Azriel’s chest. It’s not the first time he’s seen Lucien or been jealous of the male, but this—this—feels different. He used to feel that pang of jealousy when he blindly pined for Elain, now with you it returned with a greater force.

He doesn’t understand why these feelings have suddenly spread through him. You’ve always been his friend. His anchor. But as Lucien reaches out to brush a stray hair from your face, Azriel feels like he’s watching something slip through his fingers.

“Az?” Feyre’s voice pulls him back. She’s watching him with careful eyes, her brow furrowing.

He shakes his head and straightens his posture, forcing his expression back into neutral territory. “I’m fine.” But he isn’t.

Before Feyre can press him further, Lucien notices their approach and gives a low whistle. “Well, well. Velaris sends its finest.” His tone is teasing, but there’s warmth in his amber eyes as they flick toward you.

You turn, and when your gaze lands on Azriel, your smile falters. It’s a subtle shift, but he sees it. Feels it.

“Rhysand. Feyre. Azriel,” you greet, inclining your head slightly, your voice polite but distant. As if they were strangers and not the family you chose all those centuries ago.

He hates it.

The reunion is cordial at first, filled with pleasantries and talk of work. Lucien stands close to you, his presence steady, his hand occasionally brushing yours in a way that grounds you. Azriel’s shadows stir restlessly, but he forces them into submission.

“You’ve done well here,” Feyre says warmly, her gaze sweeping over the garden. “It suits you.”

“Thank you.” Your smile is genuine, though it doesn’t quite reach Azriel. “Helion has been… generous with his trust.”

“And with his emissary’s time,” Lucien adds, grinning at you. “She’s a natural. Can’t imagine how Day Court managed before she arrived.”

The praise makes you duck your head slightly, a faint blush blooming across your cheeks. Azriel’s jaw tightens.

“Sounds like you’ve been keeping busy,” he says, his voice lower than usual.

Your eyes flick to him briefly before turning back to Lucien, but there’s something guarded in your expression. “I have. It’s been… fulfilling.”

The word stings more than it should.

—

Eventually, Feyre and Rhys drift away with Lucien, leaving you and Azriel alone amidst the golden flowers. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words.

“You’ve been… different,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, your arms folding across your chest. “Different how?”

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “Happier,” he admits.

The softness in his voice almost makes you falter, but you stand your ground. “I am,” you say simply.

His shadows curl around his feet, agitated. “You left so suddenly,” he says, his tone sharper now. “One day you were there, and the next you were… gone. No warning. No explanation.”

You raise an eyebrow, bitterness creeping into your voice. “I told you I needed space. I told all of you.” You pause for a second, staring at a cluster of white lilies. “Why does it matter now, Azriel?”

“Because I miss you,” he says, the words raw and unguarded. “We all do. But me… I—” He stops himself, jaw clenching.

You laugh softly, but it’s a hollow, bitter sound. “You miss me now? After I’ve finally started to find peace? After you’ve built a life with Gwyn?”

His shadows surge forward, brushing against your arm, but you shake them off. “Don’t do this, Azriel.”

“You’re my friend,” he says, and the words make your heart twist painfully.

You whirl to face him, your eyes blazing. “No. I was never just your friend, Azriel. I was your mate.”

The truth spills out before you can stop it, sharp and cutting. He freezes, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief.

“What?” His voice is barely a whisper.

You laugh again, a broken sound. “The Cauldron tied us together centuries ago, but you never felt it, did you? You never even noticed.”

His shadows pull back, retreating like they’ve been burned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it didn’t matter!” you snap, your voice rising. “You didn’t want me that way, Azriel. You never did. And I wasn’t about to force something on you that you didn’t feel.”

He stares at you, his usually stoic face cracking with something raw and uncertain. “I—”

But you shake your head, cutting him off. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve moved on.”

“You’ve moved on?” he echoes, his gaze flicking toward the direction Lucien went. His voice lowers, dangerous. “With him?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, though the word feels heavy. “Because he sees me, Azriel. He knows what it’s like to be unwanted. To feel second-best.”

The words are a dagger between you, and you can see the way they strike him, the way his shadows twist and writhe.

“Is that what you think?” he asks quietly, his voice breaking. “That you were second-best?”

Your throat tightens, but you refuse to back down. “I don’t think it. I know it.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The bond hums faintly in your chest, but it’s different now—fading, unraveling as you finally let go of the male who could never love you the way you deserved.

“I’m happy here,” you say softly, your voice steady. “And you… you have Gwyn. You have your life in Velaris. Let that be enough.”

Azriel doesn’t argue. He just stands there, his shadows a chaotic storm around him, as you turn and walk away.

This time, you don’t look back.

Aaannd scene XOXO ~

[tossawary]

It's funny to think about a scenario in which Luke manages to get Yoda off Dagobah and bring him back to the Rebellion. Maybe Obi-Wan left a message with R2 as a backup plan or something, so Luke got the message much earlier. Yoda is still too old and injured to fight, but he can train Luke while moving around as the Rebellion's new grandpa (and potentially reunite with characters like Ahsoka and Kanan and Cal and so on).

This AU is important to me because how it would look from an Outsider's POV:

"Uhhh, Luke," Han said. "What's that?"

"What's what?" Luke said, turning to look across the hangar bay. "Oh. That's Master Yoda. I went to Dagobah to get him, remember?"

Han studied the small, green, vaguely amphibious creature with long pointy ears and wisps of white hair, crouched underneath Luke's X-Wing and steadily eating its way though a bucket of... what the hell were those things? Eggs?

"That's your great Master Yoda?" Han said dubiously. He couldn't have helped it, so he didn't even try not to sound skeptical. "The one who's going to train you and Her Royal Highness in this... uh... penetrating life field magic?"

Those ragged brown blankets that it seemed to be wearing looked not unlike the dusty robes that Luke's old man had been shuffling around in, before getting killed back on the Death Star. Maybe.

"He's the wisest and most powerful Jedi Master alive," Luke said, like he was determined to be upbeat about it. "He's 900 years old. He said."

Han watched the creature dig around in the bucket some more, nearly sticking the entire upper half of its body inside. Its long ears wilted when it came up empty. It sat back with a loud, high-pitched harrumph and its wrinkled face scrunched up like a fruit rotting all at once.

"Yeah," Han said. "He looks it."

Luke shot him a betrayed look and Han just shrugged. He didn't have a problem with the kid and the princess finding some comfort in some hokey old religion. The kid's family had apparently been killed by troopers the day that Han had met him and Leia had watched her entire planet be destroyed, so whatever touchy-feely nonsense helped them deal with that helped.

But that didn't mean that Han wasn't going to call it like he saw it- "Uh, kid, is that your storage unit he's searching now?"

Luke groaned and put his head in his hands. "I left some ration bars in there, I think. I bet he can smell them."

This great Jedi Master was making a real mess of it. He threw one of Luke's things over his shoulder, where the tool hit R2-D2, and the small droid immediately let out a shocked series of beeps and chirps. The outraged blare when the droid traced the missile back to Yoda was even louder.

Han watched as the droid whirred briskly up to Yoda, then reached out with an extended grabber and yanked at the old Jedi's stick. Yoda shrieked in surprise. A tug-o-war started, which looked like it was going to have one or both of them falling over.

"Oh, no," Luke said.

People around the hangar bay were starting to stare. Han couldn't look away.

The droid released the wooden stick and Yoda let out a cry of triumph. Which turned into a yelp of pain, because R2-D2 had just zapped him with another extended tool, which crackled like a threat that the droid would do it again. Yoda's response was to smack the droid with his stick, repeatedly, grunting with the effort - and the loud clanging caught the attention of everyone who hadn't already been looking.

"You gonna, uh, you gonna do something about that?" Han said to the kid.

Luke sighed heavily, which definitely meant that this wasn't the first time something like this had happened. He stood up and waded into the mess, catching the stick with one hand and physically pushing the droid back with the other, ordering the old astromech and older Jedi Master to knock it off. He sounded just like a parent about to hand out some punishments.

R2-D2 beeped petulantly at Luke.

"I don't care who started it!" Luke said, his exasperation carrying. "This time or last time-! Ow!"

The great Jedi Master had just smacked Luke in the shin with that stick. Luke hopped on one foot for a few seconds, biting down on what probably would have been some nasty Huttese cursing. Yoda harrumphed again and then lurched back over towards his empty egg bucket.

R2-D2 made a sound that Han had, whether he liked it or not, already come to recognize meant: "I told you so."

"Oh, fuck off," Luke snapped.

Han threw back his head and laughed.

[reareaotaku]

If you accept what Yandere Viktor would be like, with a reader a little younger than him... I kind of comically imagine that the reader once innocently said he saw him as his father...

Note: Viktor is in love with the reader, but has not yet declared himself.

((Imagine how funny and sad it would be if the person you liked saw you as a father figure and not a future boyfriend/husband.))

You're from @yan-randomfandom blog, huh?

Tw: Suggestive/Implied NSFW

Originally, he took you under his wing as his successor, as he had no children of his own. He had years over your head, so why did it feel like you understand him? Like you knew him better than anyone in his years; Only you could understand him.

You had never had a present father figure in your life, so when Viktor took you under his wing, you were quick to take a liking to him. In fact, you adored him. His mind was well beyond his years and you admired him for it. He was everything you ever wanted and the father you never did.

So, imagine your surprise when it seemed something more was a foot... Viktor had started to act strange- Stranger than usual. He had been... well affectionate.

---

You liked Viktor's study, it reminded you so much of him. His writing and theories covered the walls and tables and it gave you motivation to do whatever you were doing. You straightened up when hearing the door open. You turned your head when hearing the door close and let out a sigh when seeing Viktor.

You smile, standing up and walking over to him. He opens his arms and encases you into a hug, squeezing you tight. You can feel him twirling your hair in between his hand and feel him humming from deep within his chest.

"I love you, Y/n."

"I love you, too, Viktor."

It was such an insignificant thing to you. You did love Viktor, but you didn't realize what you were signing yourself up for.

---

Viktor was handsome, anyone with eyes could see that, but you saw him as so much more. He was caring, compassionate, and intelligent. You sometimes wished you could be with more, but it seemed taboo, so you never pushed for anything more.

Viktor, though, was starting to lose his patience. How much longer could he play the long game and hope you pick up on his courtship? It was like a game with you. A one-sided game where the other player had no idea they were playing.

You felt like you were playing tug-a-war with your mind and heart. Your mind said it was wrong, since he was your mentor, but your heart claimed he was so much more. He was everything... But maybe you were just obsessed? Infatuated.

Viktor would never describe himself as the infatuated or even obsessed type. Though, with you, he couldn't control himself. You were perfect.

---

Viktor watched you continue to write your papers, as he leaned back in his chair. You had to feel his eyes on you, but it seemed it didn't bother you. He liked that about you; You held yourself highly, even though you were surrounded by prestigious assholes who thought they were better than you. You were better than that and you knew that. You were special.

You felt eyes on you and looked back to see Viktor. A light pink dusted your cheek, and you quickly covered your face as you looked away. It felt a little childish to hide your crush like a school teen, but you couldn't help it.

---

It was getting late. You could see the moon high in the sky and you were worried about the dangerous sidewalks. You should have been home hours ago, but now it was to late to go on bout the should haves.

You were startled when hearing the door open.

"You're still here?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess I got really sucked in."

You hear Viktor hum as his footsteps get closer. "Why don't you stay here tonight?"

"With you?" Your eyes widened and you quickly covered your mouth when the words left your mouth. Both of your faces turned a light pink and he looks away from you while rubbing the back of his neck.

"I mean... If you want too obviously."

"Of course I'd want too- I mean, you know, because it's so late..."

"Of course... Of course," He pats your shoulder in a reassuring way and you sigh, your shoulders relaxing.

---

You laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling. What were you with this man? You looked over at Viktor, wondering if he saw you as something more then a pupil. He had too... Didn't he?

You watch him stir in his sleep and you sit up, covering yourself with the blanket. He groans and rubs his head, before he too sits up. He runs a hand through his hair, before freezing when realizing he wasn't alone in the bed.

He looks over to you and his face turned a dark red. "Uh, Y/n-"

"Viktor..."

"Soo..."

There's a moment of silence, before you chuckle, causing him to look at you confused.

"You know, uh, I used to see you as like a father. I never thought we would be... something else."

"Father? Me? Seriously?"

You look over at him, feeling the awkwardness go away. "Yeah. I mean how could I not?"

"I would be a terrible father."

"But you'd be a better lover?"

"No... No, I wouldn't.

[yawnderu]

Lorelei — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part VI

1 2 3 4 5 6

Synopsis: Aware of the way his lifestyle doesn't align with your dream life and unwilling to quit his life as a soldier, Simon breaks things off with you. It isn't until a year later that he sees you again, a tiny carbon copy of him held in your arms.

Simon Riley is, like any other man who has been in the military for long enough and seen the horrors of war, a man who struggles. Struggles with feelings, actions, words, nightmares. The constant reminder that his career—the very same thing that made him grow a pair and go from a scared little boy to a proper lad—was what ultimately cut his family’s life short, weighed heavy on his shoulders, holding him down like Atlas holding the sky. 

Despite how much he tried to hide his own feelings from both you and himself, that icy gaze that seemed to be focused on nothing for hours and the lingering silence, along with the tired smiles he forced himself to give you no matter how awful his nightmares were the night before made it clear things were only getting worse.

Whatever was out there was oftentimes merciful enough to give him good dreams every once in a while, his psyche drowned in a sea of what the future could have been. A future with his family, a future with you. No matter how difficult things got in the black, buzzing mess that was his head, he saw his daughter and you like a beacon, a Star of Bethlehem during those dark, cold nights. 

The sound of stirring bed sheets is what originally wakes you up, the smell of tobacco and gunpowder that always linger on Simon’s body overwhelms your senses the longer you’re awake, slowly coming back to your senses. A groan, and more shifting from your left. 

“Simon.” Your voice is soft and even, hands feeling around the bed sheets until you find his shaking body. In the past, Simon used to sleep on the couch, refusing to go back to his apartment just so he could spend more time with you and your daughter, yet after Johnny’s death, the pain and trauma was always clear in his eyes, ending up with you offering to let him sleep in the same bed. 

Simon’s body feels extremely warm, a thin layer of sweat covering his burly frame, seeping through his clothes and into your fingers as you shake him harder, the room dimly lit with the bright moonlight peering from the window. You can see his features scrunching up, his hands balled into fists, the veins in his neck and forehead becoming more prominent as he relives what is likely yet another traumatic moment in his life. 

“Simon.” You repeat with more urgency this time, your body shifting closer to his in order to shake him firmly, watching as his eyes flew open, dilated pupils looking around the room before meeting your gaze, a mask of deception quickly taking over his visage as you see him force himself to appear more relaxed despite the fast-drumming of his pulse you can still feel beneath your fingers, his chest rising and falling, nostrils flaring as he forces himself to take a deep breath.

“Did I wake you up?” Despite how awful his nightmares were, Simon’s priority was always you. His kindness isn’t just fake sympathy, it’s the real thing. 

“No, I was reading something.” A little white lie that at the very least eased his concerns. Your hand squeezes the tense mass of muscle on his shoulder with such gentleness that he wasn’t used to, not after a year of being alone after breaking up with you. 

The corners of his lips tug up into a tight-lipped, tired smile, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows thickly, trying to hold it together for your sake. His eyes examine yours for any hints of disgust, any hints that you may have seen just how disgusting he could be during those nightmares, his mind still fragmented thanks to Roba’s torture, never seeming to heal no matter how many years go by. 

Your fingers work overtime on trying to ease the knots formed on his muscles from the strain it takes to hold it together when you’re looking at him with so much trust and concern, not an ounce of disgust in you despite how ashamed he feels. His eyes momentarily drift away from you, focusing on the baby monitor, the tiny screen displaying your sleeping daughter, the living image of innocence, serving as a soothing balm for his broken soul. 

“Bad dream?” How lucky he is, that even crushed under the weight of looming grief and enough trauma to last him several lifetimes, he has someone to care about him, to care for him. His exhausted eyes leave the baby monitor, staring up at the ceiling as he finally allows himself the chance to take in your tender touch, the genuine kindness showing through your soft massage and concern, no matter how much of a bastard he was for leaving you. 

“Yeah.” You know better than to press him about it, too familiar with him to know if he wants to talk about his issues, he will. You lean closer to him, your head now resting on his pillow and your arm draped over his stomach, your body moving on nothing but pure muscle memory from four years of dating him. 

From this short distance, you’re able to admire the man that Simon Riley truly is. His short brown hair, the thin, pale scars adorning his visage, and the wrinkles that are starting to become more prominent as he ages, war and stress making him appear older than he actually is, yet looking as handsome as ever. His rough, calloused hand goes up to hold yours, fingers intertwining with the same muscle memory your body performed. 

It has been months since Simon came back into your life, the knowledge of the fact that he now has a daughter always made him stick around, not wanting to miss a single moment from the tiny bundle of joy that seems to adore him, a brave little girl who was as spunky as her mother, and as stubborn as her father. 

“‘Bout Roba, again.” He finally admits after seconds of silence. Manuel Roba, a name you’re unfortunately familiar with. The same man who tortured Simon and his mates for months on end, allowing him to escape and to feel a sense of false security, giving him the chance to have a proper family for once with his father out of the picture, just to rip everything that held him together from his hands. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” His head shakes, signaling a no. The pads of your fingers run over his bruised knuckles in a calming fashion, tracing tiny, random patterns before his free arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest now that he’s laying on his side. There’s hesitation in his actions, yet his soul is filled with relief the moment you let go of his hand, just to circle his waist with one of your arms. 

“‘M sorry.” He’s not even sure what he’s apologizing for. There’s way too many things he needs to atone for, and he will be as patient as they come. 

“I’m sorry for leavin’. I was scared, didn’t want to mess you up.” He knows his absence did the opposite, and the idea of you giving birth without him present always shattered his soul. If only he had known about your pregnancy, he wouldn’t have broken up with you, never would have left. 

His chapped lips plant a comforting kiss on your forehead, his warm hands running up and down your back, looking to soothe you as he can hear your breath hitch, salty tears already rimming your eyes. Your face is buried against his chest, lightly feeling his fast-beating heart as he holds you even closer, his eyes fluttering shut at finally having you in his arms again. 

“I missed you.” The shakiness in your voice breaks his heart even further, his soul being ripped apart by his own selfish, awful decisions. 

“I missed you too, sweet girl.” He manages to whisper out despite the way he’s getting choked up, his arms circling your form even more when your shoulders begin to shake. Warm, salty tears bleed through his clothes as he holds you as close as possible, squeezing your frame even tighter before he’s back to rubbing your back up and down, looking into spreading the warmth emanating from his large frame. 

“So fuckin’ much.” Another gentle kiss is planted on your forehead, holding you for as long as you need— for as long as he needs, too. You both lose track of time, simply caressing and giving each other much needed comfort, bringing you back to the ways you comforted each other back when you were dating after an awful day, all the crying and warmth coming from his body eventually exhausting you, idly playing with the fabric of his black shirt. 

“Can I…” There’s clear doubt in his words, and despite the fact that his exhaustion matches yours, there’s one last thing he wants to do. You lift your head, brown eyes meeting your gaze. You could drown in those eyes— in the way they always seem so loving and kind, so gentle despite how brutal you know he can be as a soldier… and yet that’s Ghost, not Simon, you remind yourself. 

His hand comes up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, ultimately pushing himself to cup your cheek, his thumb lightly rubbing your soft, warm skin, still moistened by tears. You get the message almost instantly, yet admiring Simon when he looks so unsure of himself steals your attention for once. 

A small nod of affirmation meets his words, and Simon doesn’t waste any time, leaning down until his forehead rests against yours for a few seconds before his lips meet yours in a soft, tender kiss, the hand on your cheek caressing your skin gently, his eyes fluttering shut.

[PREVIOUS]

taglist: @skulfan1 @survivalshxt @ghostslittlegf@yaebaal @thecubanator2 @juliediets @shescabob @kenz-ee @lothiriel9 @dragonstoneshortcake @lunamoonbby @alfie2401 @perfectus-in-morte @mxtokko @cloufie @killergoddess97 @imaracoon @thepurpleaccount @silas-222 @actuallyhiswife @havoc973 @catkatchuck @preeyansha @oreo-cream @vihckg @i-feel-violated @yourdaydreamerfan @kazumiyax @1dead-bunny1 @mcntsee @kodiackwrites @boredfrenchbread @ssc7514 @flameohotpotatooo @aylitgirl @darkangel4121 @blueberrykushlovexoxo-blog

[onyourowndaisymae]

don't mind me... just thinking about the demon brothers slowly dropping the rest of their roster for you as they fall head over heels...

lucifer // mammon // levi // satan // asmo // beel (you are here) // belphie -- others coming soon, NSFW warning below, gn!reader

beelzebub, who doesn't have the capacity to get to know you in the way he should. it seems that every season of his life comes with heartbreaking turmoil, and he just has to get used to that feeling of emptiness in his stomach. first, with the celestial war, he lost lilith. now, as the exchange program began, he had to say goodbye to his twin brother for an entire year. he hopes you don't take it personally-- he just can't spare the mental or emotional energy to embrace your arrival like he should.

beelzebub, who can't thank you enough for the way you've repaired his family. he never would have suspected that you had been forming the pacts with his brothers to release belphie from the attic. a small, nervous part of him wonders if you had been nice to him just to get his pact, that you didn't mean all those things you said-- but he knows you. even if you had been lying, you did it for the right reasons. and after all, everything worked out, right? you're here, belphie's back, and the months since his twin's return have been nothing but happy. you have single-handedly stitched his patchwork family back together. beel can't find a way to show how important all you've done for his family really means, but he'll keep trying anyways.

beelzebub, who likes you a lot, actually. he's never been too keen romance. most of his interactions had been spurred on by the other party. he's been attracted to people who are kind yet self-assured, seeking him out first. all of his experiences in crushes, in romance, in bed, have all been a game of follow the leader-- not due to a lack of interest on his part, but because of trauma-ridden aloofness that caused him to focus on the things he still had. romance never topped the priority list... at least, not until it came to you. beel saw you as a member of the family for a long time, longer than he maybe should have. but there's something special about you. something about you that makes him love you differently than he does his brothers. he just wants to have you around, always, sharing meals and movies and glances across the dinner table that make his brothers squirm. he's finally found someone special in his life-- someone he's going to give romance a try for.

beelzebub, who has never been good at controlling his appetite. it hits him at the worst of times, constantly, gnawing at his insides until he can't ignore it. that was why he is stuck in this position. a hunger brews in him, all adrenaline from the latter half of the fangol game and lust, and-- fuck, he needs relief. water beats loudly against the tiles, disguising the deep growl in his throat as he tugs impatiently at his aching cock once, twice, listening hard to make sure no one else was still in the locker room. he listens until he couldn't anymore, until his hand began to move impatiently on its own, another growl rumbling in his chest before he relents and begins pleasuring himself. his mind wanders to you, on the railing of the bleachers, screaming your lungs out in support of his team, feet pounding against the metal steps as you jumped about. you were there for him, cheering for him, watching his every move. he imagines you creeping in to reward him after everyone else left, perched on your knees on the locker room floor, wide eyes watching him with so much love as you swallow his cock, plush lips wrapped around his shaft as you take him as far as you can. just the thought makes his cock throb in his hand. he didn't have long to finish himself off and head out, but his mind couldn't help but linger on the image a bit longer...

beelzebub, whose date night just got a whole lot better. the two of you had spent the evening at hell's kitchen eating your fill (or in beel's case, eating them out of stock) then coming back to the house of lamentation for a movie. but your hand began to wander during the movie-- not towards the snacks, which he offered you several times as your gaze began to wander, but to his upper thigh. your fingers creep in further, until you're brushing against the seam of his pants. he hardens at your touch, your gaze, the steady sound of your breathing next to him. he shoots you a curious look. he quietly warns you that yours fingers are touching him in a particular place-- surely you know that already? you nod. he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you onto his lap. his view of the screen may be obstructed, but it's obvious that the movie has fallen to the wayside for now. it's him that takes the initiative to guide your hips into a steady grind against his own, little gasps escaping yours lips as he watches you more intently than he ever did the screen. grinding turns to kissing and kissing turns to grabbing, his big hands grabbing at your sides, your ass, your thighs, spreading you open for him. his fingers slip past the waistline of your pants and begin to toy with your sex through your underwear. you begin to tug at his sweatpants, desperately reaching for his cock while rutting into his hand. his cock springs free-- fuck, he's massive-- and you whine for it. you tugged your pants off in a few hurried movements. he tries to warn you about needing more prep, but his words die in his throat as you whimper for it, tell him how much you need him. his eyes and mind both glaze over with lust as gathers your juices and scissors them inside of your entrance, reaching deeper and deeper as you grip his broad shoulders and moan. when you're ready, he lines you up over his cock and lets your sink onto his length. you're so tight and soft and his head is spinning. fuck. the drag of his cock through your insides makes him groan. he doesn't even realize he's pinned your back against the couch until you look up at him with wide eyes and murmur his name. he starts to pull back, but you repeat his name-- your tone is laced with lust, hands reaching for him to come closer, and he does. he hovers close enough to brush his lips against your ear and apologize. you're a strong human, right? you can handle a little roughness? his hips pull back then thrust roughly into you, making your vision blur for just a moment, before he begins a truly sinful pace. a new sort of appetite brews within him-- and you know he's never been good at resisting his gluttonous urges.

taglist for this series: @the-demonus-aunt // @scienceisfornerds // @hostilemakeover // @snow-fall1 // @kachan890 // @rphantom1 // @respitable

[hannie-dul-set]

줄다리기 / JULDARIGI — one.

SYNOPSIS. the moment you step foot into the neighborhood you’d sought to forget, you find yourself caught in a seven sided tug-of-war with the longings of the past, and the restraints of the present.

FEATURING. seventeen’s yoon jeonghan, nct’s na jaemin, txt’s choi soobin and choi beomgyu, enhypen’s park sunghoon, zb1’s shen quanrui, bnd’s han dongmin. GENRES. drama, suggestive, psychological, yandere reverse harem (yeehaw!!!), college! au, richkid! au. CHAPTER WARNINGS. swearing, arson, child abandonment, obsessive and possessive behavior, ominous vibes overall, but things are still pretty mellow at this point BWAHAHAH.

WORD COUNT. 13.6k TAGLIST. open.

NOTE. my insanity begins. this reads like a very bad soap opera-ish kdrama with all the cliches you can think of, including terrible male leads HAHHAHAHAHAHA. nothing major happens in the chapter, but a lot of teensy tiny hints are being dropped. would love to hear everyone's dissections of my collection of messed up characters. enjoy!!!

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

THERE IS AN AQUARIUM IN THE KIM HOUSEHOLD.

A large, rectangular box in the space where the hallway and living room meet, filled with rocks, driftwood, plants and a multitude of colorful fish, large and small, all drenched in a glaze of cerulean blue. One of the angelfish swims right in front of you, following the direction of your eyes as you scan it from left to right, almost knowing that you’re looking at it by how it slows down the moment it enters your field of vision— watching you in return with its blank stare.

Seeing this reminds you that your home used to have three. One in the foyer. One in the dining room. One on the second floor landing where you used to play house with your friends. You also remember that you had a koi pond in the garden, of which you’d visit every morning and had once nearly fallen into after leaning over the bridge railing too far after trying (and failing) to count the number of fishes swimming and swirling around.

But that was ten years ago. Maybe nine. Now, the only fish you count is the supply of dried pollock you keep in the store for the bugeoguk on the menu.

“Hey, it’s time to bring the deserts in. Quit spacing out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grunt, spinning your heels back into the direction of the kitchen. You pull the towel loosely hanging from your right shoulder, following the footsteps of your co-worker into the hallway. It’s funny how things can just suddenly go wrong— how you can have three aquariums and a koi pond and have it all disintegrate into thin air right before your very eyes.

You walk into the large kitchen, a cart full of sweets and cakes and pastries waiting for you to push out into the backyard dining area of the house. The warm lights lining the wraparound porch are reminding you of what you used to have. The sounds of champagne glasses and cutlery clicking and clattering feel like distant but familiar reveries that leave a bitter taste on your throat.

“Oh, I’ve been dying for something sweet.”

Wordlessly, you set the dishes from your cart onto the table, careful to not brush against the handful of people dining on the table. You’re careful. You’re so, so careful yet you can still feel the stares drilling into your skull while you keep your head down, the hushed yet audible whispers that assault your ears the moment you finish serving one person before moving onto the next. It’s more annoying than anything, really. But you can’t let that expression show through your face.

You make the mistake of locking eyes with one of the members of the dinner, however. It’s brief— no longer than three seconds. Yet three seconds was enough for him to recognize you, and for you to detect his recognition. 

There’s nothing but shock and surprise in those eyes of his.

All the deserts have been served. You retreat back into the kitchen with the now empty cart and thank the heavens that you don’t have to come back out there tonight.

“Whew. Rich people chatter way too much.” 

You laugh, looking over at Soonyoung who lets out a tired sigh the moment the kitchen doors close. “Work’s not over. Time to clean up.”

Soonyoung and you met just earlier, yet you’re already trying to trip each other over while carrying stacks of dishes to the washing station. He’s a pretty easy going guy. You two would be good friends, but your shift is nearly done. You don’t have anyone to serve here in the kitchen so you two can mess around as much as you want. “Good work today,” says your catering manager after handing you your salary. “I was unsure when I saw you walk into the kitchen today, but you seem pretty experienced with this line of work.”

You smile, blindly counting the number of bills in your hands. “I’ve been waitressing for a long time.” A hundred-fifty thousand. Right on the dot.

He mirrors your expression. “How about working with us permanently?”

“Ah, sorry. I don’t think my schedule can manage. Call me if ever you need another pair of hands to cover for you, though.”

That was the end of today’s job. One of your friends, Seungkwan, called you earlier saying that he had a part-time opportunity for you— working as a server for a catered private family dinner in Pyeongchang-dong, Westwind Crossings. It’s bound to pay well, and you weren’t wrong after earning much more than your daily wage at the diner.

You pack up your things, leaving your apron behind before sneaking off to one of the servant hallways that the head maid showed you earlier. The Kim’s don’t want to see their workers in the same space as they regularly cross, apparently. You grunt and pick up your pace, only to get caught in the mess of corners and turns. Wait, did you have to go left this time or right? Gosh, big houses are so confusing. This is just making you appreciate your cramped home in downtown Seoul even more.

Biting the bullet, you turn left, and what emerges from the other end of the hall isn’t the exit at the side of their house, but what appears to be a lounge area. It had been roughly thirty minutes since the dinner ended. A knot begins to form in your temples the moment three pairs of eyes land on yours.

Shit. This is gonna get annoying. You quickly snap your head back and start to book it, but your feet stutter at the first step.

Your name is called out. God damn it, you really didn’t want to deal with this.

“I knew it!” one of them exclaims. Kim Haera. The eldest daughter of the household and, well, an acquaintance of yours. Former acquaintance really, since the last time you’ve seen here was eight fucking years ago. “Holy shit, the rumors are true! I didn’t want to believe it, but here you are!”

You bite your tongue. You ignore her and start walking again, but you hear a pair of footsteps quickly catching up to your direction and you’re pulled back by the arm, eyes widening, now face-to-face with Kim Haera’s bright and curious eyes. There’s a smile on her face. A big one, like she can’t contain it. “Hey, don’t just run off. We haven’t seen each other in years. C’mon, let’s talk and catch up. I’m dying to know what happened to you.”

From what you can remember, Kim Haera has always been a bit of a bitch. Looks like the years failed to fix her nasty personality.

Haera tugs you out of the tunnel, inside the lounge with three people you’d prefer not be around. “Guys! Do you remember her? Stupid question, of fucking course you do, we used to be over at their place all the time.” Then she abruptly stops, causing you to stumble a little. She turns to you, a snide expression of her face, and the knot in your head tightens. “Well. That was until things went to shit with your family eight years ago, right?”

Your jaw clenches. You manage your breaths. You remember her being awful, but it was never directed to you because she always used to follow you around. To talk shit about everyone in your circle with you listening to make herself seem better than everyone else. Because it was your home that everyone used to frequent. Because it was your family that used to host these dinners, these gatherings, these whatevers.

No, you don’t envy the house you’re standing in right now. You’re just mad that you can’t say anything back because you still want the fucking catering company to give you a call in the future.

“Well, say something.”

“Noona,” a voice interrupts. You look and see it’s Kim Donghyun, Haera’s younger brother. The other kid, Lee Sanghyeok, looks like he isn’t even listening to what’s going on— which you’d have preferred over whatever the fuck Haera is doing.  “I think that’s enough.”

Haera ignores him. “Seriously, what happened to you?” she presses on, and you stifle a sigh.

“Mrs Kim disallowed any of the catering staff to enter unauthorized areas and to talk to any of the guests and members of the household,” you finally say with a tight-lipped smile. “I apologize for the intrusion. If you’d excuse me—”

“I’m not done talking to you.” 

You’re yanked back, a strain in your shoulder socket as you stifle down a swear. She looks down on the sleeve she wrinkled— the server uniform you’d been wearing all afternoon to evening, stained-white in color. She breathes out a snicker. 

“You might’ve been used to looking down on me when we were kids, but it looks like things are different now.” Your head hurts. It’s like maturity never befriended her these past ten years. “Now, tell me. Did you just choose to move after your house burnt down? Or did the Choi’s really screw you guys over?”

“Noona!”

“You just disappeared into thin air after that happened,” she remarks. “The least that you could’ve done was give me a heads up that you’re coming back to work here. I could’ve handed you a pretty handsome tip while you were serving the table.”

There’s only so much shit you can take. One more jab, and your patience might just run out. But at that moment, you hear the door to the lounge slide open. Your heart races in panic, fearing it might be one of their parents, but it isn’t.

You’re not sure if the person that just walked it would make this situation better or worse.

“Haera.”

It’s the second time you’ve made eye contact with Na Jaemin tonight. The first two times after ten years and seeing him all grown up is still a huge slap in the face. His hair is bleached, almost white, which is a surprise knowing how uptight his parents are. He called out Haera’s name, but you can tell he’s looking at you. He’s looking at you with the same expression that he wore at the dining room table earlier— shock, surprise— pleasant or otherwise and you can’t really tell, but he quickly brushes it off to the side when Haera lets out a gasp and runs up to him.

“Oppa!” she exclaims. “What are you doing here? Did you come to see me?”

Na Jaemin simply smiles. “Mr and Mrs Heo are about to make their leave. Your parents want you to see them out.” 

Seeing the disappointment in her face is almost funny. Haera lets out a groan. “Donghyun, let’s go.” And her brother scuttles along with her too, giving you a single hesitant glance before turning away. This is your cue to leave. You quickly turn again, facing the open mouth of the servant hallway just as you hear Na Jaemin’s voice echo in the room again.

“Sanghyeok, you too. Jiyeon refuses to leave until she gets to see you.”

Huh. You don’t remember seeing Heo Jiyeon at the dinner table. You want to push forward, yet again you feel a familiar stare drilling into the back of your skull, so you take a peek over your shoulder. You see Lee Sanghyeok let out a tired grunt and forces himself off the couch, muttering a thank you to Jaemin before leaving the room as well, but the latter stays. 

He’s looking at you again. You can practically see the cloud of words floating above his head as tries to come up with an appropriate thing to say. It’s not like he can ignore you at this point. He’s been looking at you too much for it to slither under your notice.

Then, after much thought, he finally comes up with something to say.

“Do you know the way out?”

You pause. That’s interesting. No re-introductions. No musings of how he didn’t expect to ever see you again. No gripe about how low you’ve plummeted since he last saw you.

“No,” you reply. He makes his first steps towards you— past you, leading you through the intricacies of the servant tunnels, and before you know it, you’re outside just in the time for the sun to set, and Na Jaemin is looking at you again like he has so many things to say, but decides to say just one thing instead.

“I’ll walk you out the subdivision.”

Once more, you pause and think. What does he want? Is he stretching his time with you to get you to say something? To dig into why you left this neighborhood and how you ended up back here ten years later as a different person, just like Kim Haera? You can’t get a read on him. You never could, not ever since you were kids and first introduced to each other. As someone you should get close to. As someone who’d be a good match for you.

He’s still the same as ever. His face is still pretty. And he still stands an arms length away from you— never too close, and never too far.

“Na Jaemin,” you start. “I can still remember the directions and streets and twists and turns of Westwind. You don’t have to. It’s fine.” You finish it off with a smile on your face, albeit somewhat forced. 

“It’s getting late,” he responds, practiced and polite, and you almost laugh. “I should at least make sure you make it your ride home.”

“Well. Alright,” you finally say, and like earlier he brushes past you, a little ahead of you, and you start walking in rhythm down the familiar streets of the neighborhood. Much to your surprise, he’s quiet. It’s been a few minutes since the Kim’s house has gone out of sight, but he hasn’t started prying yet. Then again, you don’t remember him being as much of a snob as Haera. In your memories, Na Jaemin has always been quiet and polite— smiling when he needs to, talking when he needs to. He never does anything more than necessary. 

At least to you. He’s a little different when he’s around his friends. With the Lees, who live just a block away. He smiles more with them than when he does with you. Then again, you two aren’t exactly friends nor strangers, but it isn’t fair to just call him an acquaintance.

Na Jaemin notices you drilling holes into the side of his face and stops walking. It’s payback from earlier. He’s waiting for you to talk. So you do. 

“Aren’t you gonna ask?” 

This catches him off guard. Your mouth twitches. It’s barely a smile.

“Like, oh my god, what the hell happened to you, you used to be the most privileged rich kid in the neighborhood— why are you serving tables and letting Kim Haera spit on your face?” you rattle on, taking one step and more and this time it’s you taking the lead ahead. You spin your heels, walking backwards with your hands tucked behind your back. Na Jaemin looks like he’d been exposed. You laugh and turn back to face the right side of the road. “I know you’re curious. You’ve been looking at me like you want to pick apart my brain since I first intruded into your dinner.”

“Would you answer?” he says gruffly, trying to match your pace, but he can’t quite keep up with the bounce in your step as you near the exit of the subdivision.

“If you ask nicely,” you hum. “Considering our history, I think you deserve to know. More than Kim Haera at the very least.” 

This prompts a huff from him, close to a laugh. You smile. “I remember the fire that occurred, and you and your family left the neighborhood not long after,” Na Jaemin finally starts. “I thought you’d just left while waiting for your house to get repaired, but a few weeks passed and your home was still in the same state.”

You’ve reached the outside of the neighborhood, past the toll gate, and much to your surprise, Na Jaemin is still walking with you. He’s managed to overtake your lead, headed towards the bus stop. 

“When I asked my parents about what happened, the only thing they said is that you had a stroke of bad luck and I shouldn’t concern myself with you again.” Na Jaemin turns around, stopping underneath the waiting shed outside the premises of Westwind. You remember being in this same spot with him a few times before, but the shed is smaller than you remember. Or maybe you two just grew taller. 

He’s still bad at asking for what he wants though. He’s looking at you patiently to answer his unasked question. You relent, looking up at the slowly darkening sky. 

“A stroke of bad luck seems just about right.”

Your mother comes from old money, and your father not quite. He was upper-middle class at most, and her family didn’t approve of him. They were already pressuring her to break up while they were still dating, and eloping with him didn’t elicit a great reaction. She got cut off. At the very least she kept the house you, your parents, and grandfather had formerly lived in under her name, as well as a trust fund that still ensured her a more than comfortable rest of her life. Your father didn’t slack either. He managed to build himself up with two of his friends by investing and starting a finance firm.

It didn’t take long for your family’s wealth to grow, and by the time you were born, you were already handed a silver spoon.

But things go wrong just as quickly as they go right.

Your grandfather had a gambling addiction. The only reason why you found out about it is the yelling you’d overheard from your dad’s study every week. That enough wouldn’t be enough to squander off all your wealth, but it was the first domino that caused everything to collapse. Not long after, your father got betrayed by his business partners. You didn’t know the details since you were only fourteen when it happened, but you knew well enough to understand that your picture perfect life had started to crumple.

The dinners your family hosts every week suddenly stopped. Your household had to retrench, downsizing the number of workers, maids, gardeners, cooks, drivers and you started catching the bus to and from school. 

Perhaps some of the employees that got laid off grew resentful. Their resentment came in the form of being woken up in the middle of the night by your mother. You still vividly remember every beat of the scene— the warm and arid air, the smell of something suffocating, and the unusual bursts of light pouring from the outside. From the garden. And then your mother practically dragged your small frame out of the room, down the stairs, until you finally reached outside where you saw black smoke replacing the clouds in the sky, and the sound of sirens quickly growing louder and louder by the second.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this.” You and Na Jaemin are now sitting on the bench under the shed, waiting for your bus to arrive. “I guess coming back to this neighborhood again reminded me that I’m still bitter.”

You flit your eyes up, trying to gauge Jaemin’s expression, but of course he’s still impossible to read. Is it sympathy? Pity? Derision? You have no idea.

“Haera was dying to find out how my life got royally screwed over,” you let out with a stretch. The aftermath of working for five hours is starting to hit. You’re gonna have a cold shower once you get home. “Feel free to spread the news like wildfire because I’m pretty sure the other kids want to know, too. Might as well make a novel out of it.”

The headlights of a bus come into sight. It stops briefly on the side of the road before you. Then it passes by with the hum of the engine.

“What makes you think I’m the type to gossip?” he asks. You don’t even catch a single ounce of offense from his tone.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “We never really talked much.”

Jaemin releases something short of a laugh. “That’s true.” Then a pause. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Why would you be? It’s not like it’s your or your family’s fault,” you say. “I’m pretty happy with my life right now. Got into uni with a full-ride scholarship and I just made a hundred thousand in one day. I’m pretty sure a nice and warm meal is waiting for me when I get home too.”

He hums. “Where do you study?”

“KSU,” you reply. “You? I remember you’ve been preparing for med school since elementary, so I’m guessing NCIT?”

“You seem to know your universities well,” he quips. “And I’m surprised you even know of that.”

“Of course. You were practically my de facto fiancee from when I was nine to twelve. My parents make it a habit to advertise you over dinner without fail. Everything I know about you is against my will, Jaemin.” You joke, laughing. The corners of Na Jaemin’s mouth twitches upwards too, a little flustered when his head turns down a little, and you can see the length of his eyelashes hovering above his cheeks. “To be honest, I really thought we’d end up getting married with how much our families kept pushing us together. But I guess it’s another funny swing of fate that my circumstances made sure that neither of us would fall into an arranged marriage.”

It’s official. You simply aren’t equipped to understand the makings of Na Jaemin’s head based solely on his expressions. He’s stopped looking down, eyes directed at you with a gravity that nearly overwhelms and you want to ask what? Why are you looking at me like that? What exactly do you want to know and why can’t you just say it?

Still, you keep those questions locked in your throat because another bus approaches, and the sky is now more black than orange. Maybe you shouldn’t let this one pass by.

“Anyway, thanks for walking me out and waiting with me, Jaemin,” you say as you ready to stand up, dusting your trousers and your already stained white shirt. “And thanks for, you know, being a decent fucking person.”

The bus comes closer. You take this as a signal to leave and bid this neighborhood goodbye— maybe for good this time— but right before the bus makes a screeching halt before the waiting shed, your steps stagger from the sound of Na Jaemin’s voice behind you.

“Do you miss it?” 

You pause. You look over your shoulder and see Jaemin standing underneath the shade. The streetlight nearby flickers on. It illuminates the right side of his face.

“The life you had before,” he says. “Do you want to get it back?”

Regardless, it’s still impossible to decipher his expression, to figure out what he wants and what he means.

You hear the bus pull over, the sound of the door exhausting open. You give Na Jaemin one last smile before turning around, getting on the vehicle without a reply, and he doesn’t stop you to hear one.

*

“Shhh! Your footsteps are too loud, you’re gonna wake her up!”

“Isn’t that what we’re here for? To wake her up?”

“Yeah, but that’s no fun. Let’s scare her awake.”

“Uh, no thanks? I don’t want to get punched in the face.”

“Just let her sleep, she must be tired.”

“Booo, you’re two are so lame.”

For a second, you thought your friends had managed to pry themselves into your dreams, disturbing your sleep in the most inelegant way possible. Then you realize that their voices sound a lot more vivid, a lot closer than you thought. Like they’re in the room with you right now. So when you groan and peel your eyes open— indeed, lo and behold, here they are: Jay Park, Jake Shim, and Park Sunghoon in the flesh.

Jake is frozen and hovering above you like he’d just been caught committing theft. Sunghoon is trying to pull him away from your mattress. Jay is by the doorstep, pretending like he has nothing to do with this and immediately spinning his body one-eighty the moment you meet eyes.

You squint at Jake. He flinches back. “O—oh, you’re awake, haha.” 

Sunghoon successfully shovels Jake away. “Did we wake you?” he asks, replacing the latter’s spot on the left side of your mattress. 

There’s a guilty look on his face. You make it worse when you respond with, “What do you think?” propping yourself up with your elbows because you don’t particularly enjoy being looked down on. 

“Hey, your mom gave us permission to drag you out of bed,” interjects Jake. “Get up and get ready. Today’s the opening festival. You promised you’d attend this year!”

“I promised to watch Hee perform,” you correct. “He’s not gonna be on stage until the afternoon. Let me enjoy my morning off, you home invaders.” That was your ending statement before burying yourself into your pillow again, turning your back to the boys and then you hear Jay’s footsteps finally joining in the party.

“It is the afternoon,” he informs.

You jolt. Jay is now squatting at the foot of your mattress. “Shit, really?” 

He snorts. “Go check.”

Your hands scramble for your phone that you remember you left charging on the floor nearby somewhere. Sunghoon finds it before you. He pulls it out of the socket and hands it to you, and you confirm that it is in fact the afternoon. One-thirty, to be exact. You mutter a swear. “Fuck.” You nearly trip over your blanket when you stumble out of bed, promptly banishing the three of them to the downstairs diner while you get ready.

“Mom, you should make these idiots pay for their meals.” 

That’s the first thing you announce while running down the stairs, knowing full well that those three are already helping themselves to some gukbap and kimchi, and they don’t disappoint. Jake pops his head up from the table, cheeks puffed up and beckoning you over like this isn’t your family’s own restaurant. “Come get yours, dear,” your mother calls out from the kitchen, emerging with your own bowl of rice soup, and you quickly pad over to take it from her. 

“Seriously,” you start, moving over to the table, slotting yourself into the empty seat next to Sunghoon and in front of Jay. “We can open up a new branch if you total the amount they’ve been leeching for the past two years.”

You set your meal down with a clatter. Park Sunghoon stops eating at your declaration. His spoon hovers five centimeters away from his open mouth.

“Hoon, I’m joking.” Your hand lands on his wrist. You lead the spoon into his mouth and shut his jaw. “Eat up. You look like you’ve lost weight recently.”

“I only eat well when I’m eating auntie’s food,” he retorts, muffled, and takes another spoonful for himself. Sneaky guy probably noticed that your mom was coming over to earn a few points from her. Which works, because your mom looks extra happy when she presses her hands on the edge of the table, watching the four of you eat with eyes glazed in satisfaction. Your eyes flit down to her hands— rough and calloused with a band aid and a wedding ring wrapped on the fourth finger. 

“You know, you kids are welcome here any time, right?”

It’s been three weeks since your last visit to Westwind. At the Kim’s. But Na Jaemin’s parting question seems to find its way into your mind whenever you let your thoughts drift for too long.

Do you miss it?

This bite is suddenly hard to swallow. You set your chopsticks down with a clang.

“Where’s dad?” 

Your mom looks over to you, cutting her conversation short with Jay. “Making a delivery,” she replies. A huff escapes your throat. 

“Don’t you think it’s about time we hire part-timers?”

Jake sees this as an opportunity. You can literally see his eyes sparkle. “Auntie, hire me!” The table shakes. “Ow!” You snap your head to Sunghoon, who’s feigning innocence with his meal while Jake gives him the what gives? face. 

“We can still manage the store by ourselves,” your mother argues. “And Jungwoo and Jeonghan come by sometimes to help when you’re not around.”

“You should call us if you need any extra hand, auntie,” Sunghoon says. “Our schedule is pretty lenient this semester.”

“What do you mean lenient, we have four major—”

Sunghoon also cuts Jay off with an under the table kick and a smile. You mom laughs. “I appreciate the sentiments, but you kids should focus on your studies.”

You open your mouth to retort, but she ultimately shushes you and says she needs to organize some things in the kitchen. “Hey, finish your food,” Jay scolds, pushing your bowl closer to you. You stick your tongue out and pick up your spoon again. “I think we need to head out in fifteen minutes. Jungwon texted that the field is already getting crowded.”

The four of you finish your meals. Gukbap has been your diner’s specialty ever since your mom mastered how to cook it after countless trial and errors. It wasn’t easy adjusting from having ready to eat meals the moment you sit on the dinner table to having to curate your own menu just to make a living. After the losses your family incurred, you had to scrape up whatever you had left and moved to an affordable place in downtown Seoul. Both your parents had to start working, and it was your grandfather that always greeted you the moment  you returned home from school. 

However, when he passed away, the three of you moved to a new place that’s smaller and bigger at the same time— a two-storey building that you rented out to serve as a diner downstairs and a home at the top. You exit through the fogged doors with the sound of a jingle, stopping to turn around and follow the building’s height. It’s not too tall, wedged between two other rental spaces. A hair salon on the right. A computer shop on the left.

The life you had before.

Once again, Na Jaemin’s voice echoes in your ears. 

Do you want to get it back?

You see the blur of Sunghoon’s mouth move, but you don’t hear anything. You blink. A car zooms by. A flock of birds flutter away. You clear your throat, refocusing your gaze on your friend. “Sorry, what was that?”

His eyes are fixed on you, brows slightly knitted. “Nothing.” he mumbles. “You have something on your face.”

You flinch a little when Sunghoon suddenly brings a hand to your cheekbone, eyelids blinking rapidly in surprise as his thumb and index finger brush lightly against your skin, revealing a barely visible eyelash strand when he pulls his hand away. There’s a subtle smile on his face when his gaze lingers on the stray lash before glancing at you.

“Make a wish,” he jokes. You scoff, rolling your eyes with a grin.

“Hey, put the PDA on hold. We have a bus to catch,” Jay interrupts. Sunghoon clicks his tongue in response. He flicks the lash away and stuffs his free hand into a jacket pocket, extending his other arm behind you to hook around your shoulders, and your feet skid against the ground as you bump into him.

It’s nothing that catches you off guard nor surprised. The four of you are walking to the bus stop, yet it isn’t just the four of you occupying the neighborhood. It’s early afternoon. The sidewalks and streets are busy. Park Sunghoon has the habit of pulling you as close to him as physically possible. A middle-aged man in a suit approaches from the opposite direction, you in his line of collision, and Sunghoon quickly steps to the side and pulls you closer to evade the fast approaching businessman, who was way too caught up in his call over the phone to pay you any mind. 

The gesture is impossible not to notice— Jake and Jay included, but they never say anything about it. Neither do you. Neither does Sunghoon.

Your bus arrives. All seats are taken. Any space you once had to breathe diminishes to nonexistence as you try and balance yourself amidst the standing crowd. “You okay?” Sunghoon’s voice is a mere whisper reserved for you to hear. You’re standing in front of him, arms glued to your body because you lost the opportunity to grab the handgrip before you got squeezed stuck by the rush of passengers flooding in.

“Never better,” you let out a strained laugh. Sunghoon frowns a little. The bus rattles. He presses a firm hold against your back before you could even stumble. You notice his gaze flicker into a glare, jaw clenched and pointed at the stranger near you who’s unintentionally digging his elbow into your shoulder blade. You clear your throat, catching his and the other two’s attention. “Park Jongseong, what’s the purpose of your car if you don’t even use it? We would’ve been sitting comfortably and moving faster by now. What a waste of an investment.”

That was half a joke, half not really. Your commutes to campus are always a grueling one-hour experience. Jay narrows his eyes at you, unamused. “You guys keep abusing my vehicle rights. Don’t you know how exhausting it is to drive all of you home all the time?”

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Jake jives in. You nod solemnly. Jay’s mouth hangs open. He looks at Sunghoon for backup but the poor guy is simply ignored.

“Imagine all the time and money we’d save if you were more charitable,” you continue. “Hoon, don’t you agree?”

Park Sunghoon doesn’t give you the answer you’re looking for. “Should I get a license?” he instead asks. You blink at him. He blinks back. 

“Will you drive me to campus every day?” you hum, smiling in jest. 

“I’ll take you anywhere you want,” is his answer. His gaze has softened. You hear Jake cough from next to you. Jay gives up his retaliation. The bus halts. Everyone leans to the back and you’re reminded by Sunghoon’s firm hold. He presses you into him closer if it’s even possible, if there’s even any space left between you to swallow— and if there is, you don’t see nor feel it. The only thing you feel is the heat emanating from his skin that’s seeping into yours.

A few bodies finally get down from the vehicle. You breathe. You take a step away and grab onto the now vacant handgrip closest to you. Sunghoon’s hold loosens, but his fingers still linger on the curve of your spine. It stays there until you arrive at your stop right across the street from the campus gates. From the bus windows alone, you can already see the staggering amount of people flooding inside. 

It gets worse the moment you actually step foot on campus. The first person you lock eyes with— Kim Taerae, welcoming committee since last year— hits you in the face with his business-smile, wide and tight and brimming with sweetness. “Hey, traitor. How dare you show your face here?”

The student council also asked you to be part of the committee. Of course you fucking said no. “Aren’t you gonna welcome me in?” you jab. Taerae’s smile twitches, but a group of actual freshmen walk in and he’s forced to start his welcoming protocol.

Even after getting off the bus, Park Sunghoon is no less closer. You say goodbye to Taerae and greet Seok Matthew, who’s wearing the university fox mascot (which arguably looks like a fursuit, but you digress), with a wave and a camera pointed at him, and Sunghoon maintains a steady hold on your arm as you navigate further into campus grounds.

“Later, Matthew!”

“See you around!”

Yet your path towards the field next to the courtyard keeps getting interrupted. 

Every now and again, you’re stopped by a familiar face to exchange greetings. This is why you don’t usually attend university events and festivals. On normal days, people usually stick to their class and extracurricular schedules. But on days like these, everyone is out and about. Meaning, your chances of bumping into someone you know is one in twenty. Renjun from the astronomy club passes by with a hello. Chaewon from one of your electives stops you and tells you to visit their department booth later in the evening.

“Let’s catch a meal sometime!”

Honestly, you’re used to it. Ever since you were a kid, you’ve been conditioned to deal with people and manage your web of relationships in order to seamlessly fit into the ‘elite’ social scene. Every party, every dinner, every event, you’re introduced to a new acquaintance, new same-faced adult, new person to the point where you had to dedicate an entire space inside your brain just dedicated to the faces and names you needed to keep track of.

The space was made up of rows and rows of filing cabinets, sorted according to the people most important to you, the people you may or may not meet again in the future, the people you resent. The son of the neighbors across the block. The daughter of the lawyer that you used to sit in silence with. The kid you met over vacation who always seemed to be crying. The countless adults who’d compliment you for being so well-mannered, so pleasant, so sociable even as a child. 

But at some point it gets overwhelming. And when your life turned upside down, you stopped seeing a point in maintaining all these relationships. The cabinets were left unopened, catching dust and cobwebs in that one corner in your brain. That was until a senior of yours back in high school gave you some advice. Something you’d held onto until today.

This is why you shouldn't push people away, he had once told you. Don’t you think it'd be better if you let your thoughts out instead of getting drowned by them?

And that was when the filing cabinets started to get filled again. The classmate you surprisingly shared a lot of interests with. The teacher who helped you with your college applications back in high school. The junior from high school who always kept picking fights with everyone. And the four current friends you have from your year and major, who had somehow wiggled themselves into the near barren drawer saved for the people that mean the most to you, in spite of all the space available underneath.

“Hee texted,” you announce, holding up your phone. Sunghoon nudges his face closer over your shoulder to take a peek. “There’s a delay in the program. They won’t be up for another thirty, forty minutes.” The three expectedly groan in annoyance. You are also annoyed. You could’ve slept in a bit more had you known about the delay, but you quickly swallow down any displeasure from your expression because you spot yet another familiar face amidst the crowd. One of your classmates from a general education. It’d be rude not to say hi. “Hyeju!” you call out. 

She spins around, annoyed surprise brightening into a more pleasant expression upon recognizing you. “Oh, hey! How was your break?”

“Nonexistent,” is your very eloquent reply, smiling. Hyeju laughs in sympathy. “Did you see who our prof for the semester will be? Jesus, I’m already predicting dread for the next five months of— whoa!” Suddenly, you’re nabbed and spun around and all you can see is a whir. Click, you hear while your vision is still wobbly, and when your gaze refocuses, you recognize the culprit with the camera in hand, and your forehead wrinkles. “Seonbae, what the fuck?”

Kim Mingyu lowers down his camera to reveal a widely grinning face. “Smile. I need a pretty face for the news update.”

Hyeju taps your arm to inform you she’s leaving. You look at Mingyu, arms crossed and unamused. “Where’s my appearance fee?”

“I’ll buy you coffee,” he responds, signaling to your other three friends (that you momentarily forgot about) to join in the picture as well. You relent with a sigh, beckoning them to come over. Jake hops over and asks if he’s getting coffee as well. Jay wordlessly strides over and puts up a peace sign behind your head. Sunghoon wedges himself between you and Jake and throws an arm over your shoulder. These guys are so overbearing. Mingyu counts from three with his fingers. The camera clicks. He shoots you a grin with a thumbs up. “Thanks. Love you!”

That guy is also a handful. Your sigh is heard by the three of them. “Is this why you hate attending festivals?” muses Jay.

“The woes of being a wanted woman,” you lament. Jake snorts at your woes. You elbow him in the rib.

“You’re so full of yourself.” Jay rolls his eyes, and that’s when he sees something from his peripheral. “Looks like you’ve got another friend, Miss Wanted.”

You follow his eyes and your gaze stops at an approaching Park Gunwook. His jog slows to a walk once he’s within your earshot. “Oh my god, just the person I wanted to see,” your junior starts. Well, that’s never a good conversation starter. “Seonbae, are you busy? Do you mind lending us a hand?”

Exactly as you feared. “What for?” you ask with preemptive exhaustion.

“Our booth sign,” he explains. “Kwan-hyung disappeared. He was supposed to be the one to— ack. Nevermind. Can you help? You’ve done calligraphy before, right?”

The time you take to think about Gunwook’s request coincides with the amount of time Gunwook is sweating in nervous, hopeful anticipation. He’s giving you puppy eyes, respectfulll offering up the marker with both palms open like he’s offering it up for the heavens. You sigh again and take the marker from him. “You three go look for a spot. Call me when Hee’s about to perform.”

Jake simply laughs at your misery. Jay is the only decent one enough to give you a response. “Sure, no problem.” The two already start walking, but Sunghoon is lagging behind. You give him a smile and wave off. “Sunghoon, let’s go,” Jay nudges him. He relents with a grunt and tells you not to go off on your own for too long.

Now, with three men gone, you thought you’d finally get some breathing room.

Unfortunately for you, doing a favor for one cute junior also means doing favors for all of your cute juniors. And you’ve collected many cute juniors in the three years you’ve wasted away in this university. You thought Gunwook’s sign was the end of it. “Noona!” you hear from your left, and it’s Jungwon and Sunoo trailing behind him. “Can you write ours too? Sunoo-hyung’s handwriting is so bad.”

“It’s not! What I made wasn’t even half bad!”

Why exactly are you peers making the second years and freshmen take care of the booth shit? These kids are supposed to be the ones enjoying the festival right now, for fuck’s sake. You’re in the middle of angrily scribbling onto a piece of chipboard when a classmate of yours enters your line of sight. These useless seniors. If they don’t want to work, might as well not show up, like what you’ve been doing for the past semesters.

“Noona!”

“Hold on.”

“Seonbae—”

“Your sign is on the chair over there, Gunwook.”

“Thank you, I love you, you’re the best.”

“Noona, ours too!”

“Sure, give me a second—”

“Noona.” 

“Yes?” Admittedly, you’re getting quite annoyed, but you don’t want to misdirect your attitude towards these poor kids who just got work tossed to them. “What is it?” you ask without looking up from the current sign post you’re working on— a free hugs sign for the physical education majors— hunched over on a low stool. You assume it’s just another one of the dozens of kids asking you to write a sign, but you’re surprised to feel a tug on your shirt.

You sit straight and turn around. You’re met by a face that you don’t remember seeing before. Sharp features. Dark hair. A little lengthy to the point that the framing strands touch his lashes. A mole under his eye— and the irises seem glassy. Your brows furrow. Who’s this? Is he a freshman? He doesn’t seem familiar at all.

“Noona,” he repeats. But the way he pronounces the honorific is. The soft cadence, the gentle pitch. The way the syllables roll off his tongue triggers a fuzzy sense of familiarity in you. Yet your attempt at reminiscence is ruined when you feel him grab your shoulders and jerk you forward, dropping the sign you’d been working on in the process and nearly stumbling off your seat. But you don’t. Because you’re suddenly caught in a suffocating embrace by someone you can’t quite tell if he’s a stranger or not. Your eyes widen. His frame is swallowing you whole. “It’s really you. I thought I was seeing things. It’s you. I missed you.”

“Excuse me? What are you—”

A familiar scent hits you. The ocean. The sea. A breeze on the shoreline brushing your hair off of your cheeks, and the wind of nostalgia disappears the moment the strange guy’s trembling grip starts to loosen as he pulls away, taking the scent of the sea away with him. His eyes are frantic— almost like he’s looking for something in the confused wrinkle of your expression. “Don’t you remember me?” he says. He looks like he’s about to cry. And that’s when it hits you.

“Oh— oh!” 

A distant summer when you were twelve. Before everything in your life got washed up by the waves.

On vacation you found a boy underneath a coconut tree on the far side of the rocky shore— a far too dangerous place for two children, yet you were interrupted from your seashell hunting by the sound of someone crying amidst the crashing waves. 

“Ricky! Ricky Shen! Oh my god, is it you?”

He was the boy you found that day, sobbing because he got separated from his parents during a vacation abroad. When he looked up at you with big eyes stained red by countless tears, you immediately took his hand and traversed the rocky path to take him back to your father for some help. 

It took you a while to understand his situation. You didn’t speak the same language. However, throughout his stay with you while waiting for his parents to return, you were able to teach him a few words and phrases.

“Noona.” That was one of them— spoken in the same tone he’d always used even when he was a kid. “I thought I’d never see you again.” That phrase wasn’t any of what you taught him. He’s gotten better, but isn’t…this sentiment a bit much? You’re happy to see him well and alive, but if you remember correctly, he only stayed with your family for around a week, and that doesn’t warrant such an intense reunion, so you’re a bit taken aback.

Yet you also consider that he was a kid back then— a kid who got lost in a foreign country who thought he’d never come home again. To you, it was just another week. To him, that another week stuck with him more than you could even begin to understand.

You want to ask him a bit more, like how did he end up here again, why is at your uni, how long until he has to go back—

“Seonbae!” 

—but you lose the chance when you’re interrupted by another one of your juniors. Kim Gyuvin runs up to you in a hurry. You duck down and pick up the chip board you dropped earlier. “Here’s your sign, you knucklehead,” you say, handing it over to him. Gyuvin happily takes it from you and stretches out his arms to read it.

“Oh, thank you!” he says. “But, ah, wait. Right. Someone’s looking for you. I told him to wait by our booth over there.”

“My god, who is it this time?” you grunt. No matter how life fucks you over and turns itself upside down, the amount of people that require your attention just can’t seem to decrease. The filing cabinets in your head can only take so many names. You hop off the stool, ready to leave, before remembering. “Ricky, can you wait for me here? I’ll be back in a sec.”

You start moving but your arm lags behind. You turn to see Ricky still holding onto the sleeve of your shirt, and really— he’s never changed. He might’ve gotten taller, might’ve gotten prettier, but he’s still as cute and clingy as you remember. The one week he spent at yours, the kid would tail you around like a lost kitten all the time.

“Let’s talk more later.” Smiling, you place a hand over his knuckles, and let his loose grip fall completely. He looks like he wants to say something, but he resigns by just nodding instead. “Gyub, where did you say they were?”

“At our booth! Come buy something from us while you’re at it.”

This kid thinks he can extort you. You head off to their booth and check your phone along the way, and you find a missed call and a text from Sunghoon asking where you are. HRM majors booth. Is Heeseung about to go up yet? you reply. Pocketing your phone, you hurry to your destination, squeezing through the barrage of bodies because if Hee is indeed about to perform soon, then you better hurry your ass up, else he’d get mad at you for being ‘such an unsupportive friend.’ His words. You’d rather not have anything that could be used against you.

When you reach the booth, you realize that you have no idea who exactly you’re supposed to be looking for and should’ve asked Gyuvin for a name or description or something. You look around, trying to find someone you know, but in the middle of your search, you feel something…soft drop on your head, falling over your eyes and obscuring your vision. 

The hell? You whip your head around blindly, annoyed. Then you hear a laugh. And you quickly remove the object obscuring your face to make sure that you’d just heard that correctly.

Your annoyance quickly disappears into pleasant surprise the moment you’re able to see the culprit’s face. He’s smiling pretty generously, you notice— not the held-back half smiles that he’d very also rarely display, but the kind you once called pretty and he told you to shut the fuck up with a prostesting grunt. It’s just one familiar face after another. These reunions never seem to end.

“Taesannie!” 

“Seonbae.”

You want to tease him for the rare occasion that he’s in a good mood, that he isn’t all grumpy and moody, but you want to savor this rare sight of him smiling as much as you can. You pull him in for a hug— which causes him to stiffen a little. He’s uncomfortable and you know it, and you laugh. “I haven’t seen you in ages,” you say with a wide grin, pulling back a bit. “How have you been, idiot? Have you been causing trouble again?”

“I messaged you on IG,” he says, wiggling out of your prison just enough for him to be able to hold your arms above your elbows. “Three months ago. When I got accepted to KSU. You never responded.”

Now, it’s your turn to freeze up. “Oops.” Since graduating high school, you realized you’ve never given him your number. “That’s—that’s my bad. But you know I don’t use social media.”

“I know,” Taesan huffs with a smile. He pulls down your left arm, fingers tracing down your skin until they reach your hand— the hand that removed his cap earlier and he snatches it off from you, fixing it on the top of your head again, gentler this time when he tugs down the visor, just enough for you to keep seeing his face. “That’s why I figured to just look for you myself.”

You feel a bump in your throat.

He’s so tenacious. He’s always been.

You simply laugh and shake your head. “Thanks for being so considerate to your unreliable, unthoughtful, and forgetful senior, Dongmin-ah. I’m glad you didn’t report me to Principal Lee for ghosting you.”

“He retired last year.“ Your face stiffens again. He laughs out loud. He’s been enjoying your mistakes a lot. What a handful. “Anyway, I at the very least hope you haven’t forgotten your promise, seonbae.”

“Promise?” you raise a brow. Crap, did you forget something again? Taesan’s smile disappears the moment you express your lack of remembrance. Your brows furrow, trying your best to recall, but you really don’t remember promising him anything because that’s just not something you would do often just to forget. 

“I got accepted to your university. I’m gonna start going to school with you again from now on,” he says, as if that’s enough to jog your missing memories. “Two years was a long time to wait, seonbae. I really don’t want to wait any longer.”

Your confused eyes try to trace hints from his expression. He did get accepted to KSU. He is going to uni with you now. The ID and lanyard he’s wearing is a proof of that— but so what?

So what, you try and tell yourself. But you know exactly what he’s talking about.

“Seonbae.”

Taesan looks at you expectantly. It’s difficult to meet his gaze. It’s difficult to get yourself out of this all by yourself. So when you feel the presence of someone approaching you from behind, you take the opportunity to whip your head back and see who it is. Yet rather than finding an opening, what greets you is another closed door. It’s Ricky. “Noona,” he calls out. “You said you won’t take long.”

Somehow, you’ve found yourself caught in a troublesome situation. Your balance stumbles a little. It’s Taesan tugging you back by the shoulder, fixing you closer to the ground right in front of him. “Who the hell are you?” He’s not looking at you— he’s looking right past you, straight at Ricky, who isn’t looking at him at all because the weight of the latter’s stare focused right on you is making you feel like you’re being sunk into the ground.

“Noona,” he repeats, ignoring Taesan altogether. “Let’s go look around the festival together.”

This is...very troublesome indeed. You can feel a throb on the right side of your head. The festival. Right. Has Heeseung’s performance started yet? That’s the only reason why you showed up today, anyway. 

Your attempt to pull your phone out of your pocket is blown off by a blunt pressure on your shoulder blade. You look behind to see the hostility in Taesan’s expression scrunching up even further. It’s like you're a mouse caught in between two starving cats. Good god. The only thing you can hope for right now is for someone to swoop in and get you out of here.

And that’s when you hear the sound of your name being called out.

You snap your head to the left to identify your savior. It’s Park Sunghoon with a bitter look on his face. You let out a quiet sigh of relief— but not silent enough to slip past Taesan’s notice.

His gaze flickers down at you. What? What are you going to do? Leave? the glint in his eyes seem to say. He doesn’t look very happy. Neither do the other two men within your premises, and Sunghoon calls out to you again. “Heeseung hyung is about to perform.” A hand around your wrist. Sunghoon pulls you away from Taesan with a firm tug. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, Sunghoon, give me a sec—” You pry yourself out of his hold, patting around your trousers for the marker you used earlier, and calling out Gyuvin from their booth just a few steps away for a piece of scrap paper, on which you scribble down your number. When you look up, it’s fortunate that Ricky and Taesan are still there, albeit not looking too happy. You’re pretty sure the one waiting behind you isn’t amused either with your stalling. “Hey, it was nice seeing you two kids again, but I need to go. Let’s catch up some other time, okay? Here’s my—”

You’re pulled back, the sheet with your number on it slipping past your fingers and brushing through the wind before you could finish your sentence or hand it over to either of them. 

Surprised, your head turns to Sunghoon, who’s dragging you off at an impatient pace. “Hoon,” you try calling out. He leads you into a tight crown. Your shoulders and elbows bump into people you don't know. “Hoonie, you’re grabbing me too tight, hey!”

You tear yourself away from him. You’re in the midst of a crowd in the middle of the courtyard— all jamming to the music from the front, stage lights flashing and flickering and flitting around as it starts to get dark. You look at him, brows knitted together, but bite your tongue from saying anything too rough upon seeing the expression he’s wearing.

The only way you can describe it is that he looks like he’s about to die. 

“Park Sunghoon,” you start, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer. His eyes leave you when a group of students suddenly come rushing over in the heat of the party, and he closes the space you put in between the both of you by pulling you out of the way of the incoming mob. “Who were they?” he asks. “I know you’re friends with a lot of people, but I’ve never seen those two before. Who were those two?”

Your open palms are pressed against his chest. “One of them, I picked up from the beach when I was a kid.” You use them to push yourself back once the noise from the group has already passed. “The other was a junior in high school. I think they’re both incoming freshmen this year. More importantly, where’s Heeseung? I thought he was about to perform?”

Attempting to look through the large crowd ahead of you, you stretch yourself up with the tips of your toes. “Are you close?” Sunghoon asks again, finding a spot on the small of your back to keep you balanced while you look over his shoulder.  “They acted like they were close with you.”

“I don’t know,” is your only reply. “Hey, Jake and Jay are over there! Heeseung, too! Hoon, let’s go!”

Sunghoon does not pry further. He lets himself get tugged along by you as you fight through the crowd, making it just in time to where Jay and Jake are standing before they could call either of you as Heeseung walks up the stage with a huge smile. Right. This is the only reason why you came here today. Everything else is just secondary— stored up in the back of your mind, behind all of your current priorities.

Which is why the moment Heeseung finishes, you immediately excuse yourself from the other three.

“Already?” Jake whines. “C’mon! We were planning on grabbing drinks after this.”

“You still have your shift at the laundromat, right?” Jay asks. “At least say goodbye to Hee first before leaving.”

“Tell him I’ll send him a long sappy message later!” you shout through the noise. “See you guys tomorrow!”

Before you go, you glance at Sunghoon. He wants to say something, you can tell that much. Your lungs grow heavy. All you want to do is just unload washing machines and wipe the floors and windows clean at Suds right now with your music at full volume. Sunghoon finally settles with a simple, “text us when you get to work.” This elicits a look of surprise from Jake.

��Whoa. You aren’t gonna offer to take her there?”

Sunghoon only grunt. You smile and bid them farewell, and for once, you aren’t stopped or interrupted by anyone, and your walk towards the exit gate off the campus runs smoothly along with the setting of the sun. When you take your first step on the pavement right outside university premises, your phone buzzes to a text. [seonbae. it’s taesan]. Followed by another. [what time do your classes end tomorrow? wanna grab dinner together?]

At least you know they got your note. You balance yourself on the bus ride to your part-time job as you think of a response. Tomorrow. What’s on your schedule, again? You have classes from ten to four, and your lunch break is most likely gonna be spent with the four idiots. Tomorrow’s dinner is already booked, too, and your dinner date might get sulky if you cancel on him again this time.

[Will Friday work? Sorry, I’m booked today, Taesan. But we can have a mini-celebration at the end of the week for your KSU acceptance :) what do you say?].

*

The next morning, when you come down for breakfast, you see your dad wearing a suit.

For a second, you almost completely gloss over it, greeting them a good morning as you walk over the counter for a glass of water. Then you notice he’s not wearing his bike helmet. And when you sniff your nose, you can smell the scent of musky perfume. That’s when you notice.

“Whoa,” you remark, setting your glass down onto the counter. Your mom is helping him fix up his tie. You quickly twirl open your phone to snap this gem of a photo. “What’s the occasion? I don’t recall you having any friends’ whose weddings you can attend.” 

You receive a scolding from your mom and a hearty laugh from your dad. 

“How do you know I don’t have any friends?” he responds with a smile. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s grab a taxi, I’ll drop you off at your school.”

Even though that doesn’t answer your questions about his plans for today, you neither pry nor push because you know their standard protocol for these things. If they get a catering offer for a big event, you’re the first one they tell. If the electricity bills go up or if a debtor showed up while you’re outside, you wouldn’t even know unless you dig into it, unless you ask a neighbor or a friend or find some evidence they left behind somewhere in the restaurant. 

The entire taxi ride is uncomfortable. Not in any way because of the conversation your father is attempting to strike. But because the car’s air conditioning is making your head spin and nauseous. “Why didn’t your friends come by today, by the way?”

“They were too late in fixing their schedules, so they have a 7 a.m. class today,” you snort, laughing. You sometimes wonder why they even bother coming around so often, considering your place is an hour-long commute to and from campus, and Jay never brings his fucking car around. 

Your dad makes a comment about which one of them is more your type. You hack out a cough and cover your ears to block his amused laughter out.

“Hey, I’m just asking! My only dream is to see you happily married before I die, you know.”

“Change your dream. I don’t want to be the reason if you live an unfulfilled life,” you groan, face burning up. “Hold on. I’m getting a text from Jeonghan-seonbae.”

“He’s a pretty good candidate too.”

“Stop it! Oh my god, you’re the worst.”

You quickly unlock your phone to read the message. [hey, busy bee. just texting to make you’re not canceling our plans again later 🥰🥰]. You’re pretty sure that this is a threat. How many coffees, lunches, drinks, and dinners have you ruined with him because you had a sudden deadline that day, a work opportunity that same evening. He’d always been understanding, but you never fail to feel guilty after all he’s helped you, and you can’t even give him a few hours of your time. [I’m not!!! I’ll see you at Eojetbam, promise 😞].

“You’re seeing him later, right?” your dad asks.

“Yup. He’s treating me to dinner at this fancy restaurant downtown.”

Unlike usual, your father doesn’t make a comment at your subtle bragging. There’s a look on his face that you can’t pinpoint. “That’s nice,” is all he says after a momentary pause. “Ask him to drive you home tonight.”

“There’s no way I’m doing that,” you disagree. “I still have a bit of shame left, you know.”

You reach campus, and attempt to pay half of the taxi meter but your father simply shoo’s you away. With heavy steps and defeated shoulders, you make your way inside the gate and are greeted by Yeojin, your classmate for the first class you have on your schedule, who just happens to arrive at the same time as you after grabbing a coffee from Drip across the street.

“First day of the semester and I’m already tired,” she tells you with a dejected sigh. “On more exciting news— we got new eye candy on campus. My friends from the fashion and design department told me that two cute new freshmen caught everyone’s attention during the orientation. Their building is right next to ours. God, I hope we bump into one of them today. Just the energizer I’d need.”

All you do is laugh at her news while entertaining the faintest idea that you might know who one of those two is. Last night, you’d called Taesan upon getting home to compensate for turning him down. You caught up a bit, exchanged schedules and he told you his major— fashion merchandising, which caught you by surprise. Well, considering it still falls under business, you could believe it a little better.

Anyhow, if he finds out that he’s been crowned as his department’s cute new eye candy as a title, you’re sure he’d be pretty fucking annoyed. And you intend to capitalize on that. More teasing fuel for you.

“Good morning, everyone. Let’s not waste time on introductions and head straight to our course outline.”

What a way to start the semester. You hold back a million yawns while taking some notes of Prof Yang’s overview of the syllabus. Yeojin asks if you want to hit the cafeteria for a snack in between classes. You shoot her a thumbs up and the moment Prof Yang dimisses, you’re both out the door and into the hallway.

“Hey, hurry up!” you call out to her when she stumbles over her undone shoelaces. “The guys from the phys ed department usually flood the canteen at this time, you know. They’re gonna sweep up all our portions.”

“Not on my watch, they won’t.”

You laugh as you walk ahead, your line of sight lagging behind your body because you want to watch more of her struggling to re-tie her laces as quickly as you can. This causes you to not look at where you’re going— and where you’re going is straight into the body of another person, bumping your nose in the process. “Ow!” you exclaim. “Sorry about that!”

“Noona.”

Oh. You pause, looking up to take a good look at your victim of negligence, and it is indeed Ricky Shen. “Ricky!” you greet. “Did you get home safe after the festival last night? How did you know I was here?”

He smiles as a response. You hold back the urge to squish his face between your palms, reminding yourself that he’s not a kid anymore. “I asked around. Turns out our buildings are next to each other, noona.”

That urge isn’t easily suppressed. “Wow!” you exclaim. Your hand somehow finds itself reaching for the fluff of his hair, and Ricky tips his head down in response, allowing you to press light pats on the crown of his head. “Good job. Now you won’t have to worry about getting lost anywhere anymore.” It hits you as an afterthought though— he could’ve just texted you to ask. Why bother asking someone when he could’ve asked you directly. Taesan got your number even amidst the rush, after all. Ricky must’ve too.

“Noona,” Ricky’s voice interrupts your thoughts. “My back is starting to ache a bit.” 

You flinch and snap out of it. “Oh, sorry.” You retract your hand, pulling it close to your chest. “Force of habit, I guess.” If your recollection serves you right, Ricky was very much shorter than you. He’s two years younger, and in the brief week he’d spent with you in your household, you’d been used to him looking up, trying to communicate with you the best that he can with the help of those big, sparkly eyes of his repeating, ‘Noona. Noona! Can we see the pond again? The koi pond?’

Now, you’re the one looking up at him. And a memory begins to surface.

‘Noona.’ It begins with the usual gentle timbre of his voice. ‘Can’t I just stay here with you forever?”

A laugh from Ricky stirs you back into the present. “I was just joking, I don’t really mind,” he hums, smiling. “You can touch me anywhere you want, noona.” 

Whoa, whoa, whoa— hold on. You manage a stiff smile. Whoever was his vocabulary teacher needs to get a demotion. This kid can be a bit much can he? You brush his comment off. Ricky’s gaze is as patient yet expectant as ever. “Anyhow, I’m off to the canteen with a friend of mine. Yeojin.” You point your thumb back at her. Said friend has been trying to sneak in the opportunity to insert herself into the conversation, but never got the opportunity. “Do you want to join us?”

He nods firmly. You laugh. His over the top-ness aside, Ricky can be painstakingly cute, and it’s taking everything in your power to prevent yourself from treating him the same way that you’d done before.

The cafeteria run only lasted briefly, considering you two still have a class to catch in less than fifteen minutes. After getting a vegetable wrap and Yeojin’s rice bowl, you had to bid Ricky farewell and return to your department building. On the way, right at the moment that you’d left Ricky’s earshot, Yeojin starts freaking the fuck out. “Whoa, what the fuck?! Dude, that was fashion department cutie number two! The one I mentioned earlier!” she shrieks into your ear, shaking you by the arm. “I hear he’s the son of SQR Fashion’s Chairwoman. What the hell? Why is a rich heir like him bowing his head down for your headpats and paying for our snacks?”

“Listen, I’m just as taken aback as you are.” You’ve known about Ricky’s background when his parents came back for him after his one-week missing period. “I met him once when I was like, twelve, and only bumped into him again yesterday. I’m surprised he still remembers me. He’s barely even an acquaintance.”

You’re not lying. You’re happy to see him, but it still puzzles you why Ricky is acting like this.

“How in the world would you have gotten acquainted with someone like him?!”

All you could do is smile and thank the heavens for the interruption in the form of your phone buzzing to an incoming text. It’s from your dad, asking if you’ve eaten yet, and reminding you to go home straight after your dinner with Jeonghan. Yet another display of weird behavior from a man in your life. He never usually texts you, not to mention what had happened earlier this morning. You might get some information from your mother later. You should pack some leftovers to bring home.

You receive another text. It’s a photo from Jay of Sunghoon, arms crossed and falling asleep in class. There’s drool on his face. You cackle and press save. Yeojin tugs you into the classroom. “We’re not late aren’t we?”

“No, not yet.

“Oh, hey!”

“Wow, you’re taking this class, too?”

The rest if your classes end in a flash, considering it’s only syllabus week, so you manage to get off earlier than you’d initially planned. Yeojin had already split up with you since she has other friends to meet. The four idiots are stuck here at uni until six in the evening because they screwed up their schedules for the semester, and you took a day off from your shift at 7-Eleven today because of the dinner you have scheduled.

That means, for the first time in a while, you’re all alone right now. All alone with nothing to do.

Should you pick up some hobbies? you think to yourself as you aimlessly walk through the streets of downtown to kill time. You’ve never really pondered on these things— not that you’ve ever had the privilege to. Picking up something like crocheting would only be a waste of money. It’s not like you have the time to get into a sport, either.

Your feet stop moving right in front of a bookstore. Open, the sign says. You look at the books on display through the glass. The owner smiles at you from inside. You turn your head, and your feet start moving again.

These books can be downloaded online. There’s no need to spend money on physical copies.

“Ah, my life is so boring,” you lament, continuing your mindless stroll. There’s a taiyaki cart in the corner. You buy a few pieces before making a turn, and that’s when you notice something that’s been bugging you since earlier.

When you make a turn around the block, you notice the same black car you’d been seeing since earlier make a turn as well. It’s only a hunch, but you proceed to move forward further into the street, before spinning your heels and going back into the same direction you came.

The car stops in its tracks. It attempts to make a u-turn at the intersection. 

Your hunch is correct. What the hell. You should have never made that remark about your boring life. Quickly, your eyes scan around for an alley you could disappear into, and there you find a narrow opening wedged in between a study cafe and a pharmacy. You push yourself forward before the car could finish its turn— yet the moment your soles stomp into the concealment of brick walls and dusty pavement, you hear the abrupt ringing of your name being called out.

The sound of the voice stirs a rush of nausea from the pits of your stomach. It’s familiar— yet unlike the fondness of seashores that Ricky brought with his, this voice carries the crowbar hitting the latch of all of your pent up emotions for the past decade. 

You’re greeted by the face of the man you’d used to see at every dinner, every gala. Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday emerging from your fathers now burnt down study. Every weekend when you’d come over to visit, asking how was your week with a kind, smiling expression.

“Mr Choi.”

How much more forceful reminiscing do you have to undergo this week? Quite frankly, you’re getting so fucking sick of it.

He repeats your name. The car is left on the road beside the sidewalk. He’d up and left just to talk to you in the middle of this dingy street. “Do you…have a few minutes to spare for a chat?” You bite your tongue. You turn around and ignore him, yet he knows exactly what to do to snag your attention. “I met your father earlier.”

And it clicks. It clicks so well that you can hear the sound echoing in the chambers of your brain. Your dad wore a suit for the first time in forever. His out of character texts to check on you. And here you have the person who ruined his life suddenly showing up for god knows what reason— and you know that if you ask your father, he wouldn’t tell you a single damn thing. You don’t think you can stomach it if your life gets fucked and flipped around again, right under your nose without your knowledge.

“For what?” you ask, voice firm. Mr Choi looks around first, eyes scanning the area before drawling out a hesitant response.

“Let’s…let’s talk in private.”

The next thing you know, you’re sitting in front of this bastard in the private booth of a restaurant your eyes failed to register the name of. There’s a full course meal sitting in front of you— sushi, salad, and a clear broth soup. The ice cubes are melting inside the juice. You feel sick to your stomach and a single bite might cause you to vomit on the spot.

Mr Choi has not touched his meal either. He’s finding his footing to start the conversation. “You should…you should try the soup. I’ve eaten here with my sons before. Do you remember them?” You don’t intend on making it easy for him. He clears his throat when you don’t grace him with a response. “I came looking for you and your father today because I’d like to sincerely apologize for what I’d done to you and your family, sweetheart.”

You hold back a scoff. This is ten years overdue, isn’t it?

“I was—I was blinded by my greed back then. I’m so sorry. Sihyuk had been giving me ideas that your father would eventually buy all of the company’s shares for himself and kick me out of the business, and that we needed to beat him to it before he could.” Mr Choi starts explaining, but to your ears, it’s nothing but listless prattles. “I know your father would never do that, but I was paranoid. And I assumed he’d have the capability to bring himself back on his feet anyway, but I didn’t expect things to turn for the worst when your house employees also turned their backs on you and started a fire on your property.”

“It’s all in the past, sir,” you hum, peeling off a piece of salmon from the platter, lifting it into the air before sending it straight to your tongue. It’s a hard swallow. “Besides, you wouldn’t have been able to treat me with this expensive meal if you didn’t do what you had to, right?”

You stare at him dead in the eye as he shifts uncomfortably. It’s unfortunate that you can’t snap a photo of his discomfort. Mr Choi clears his throat once more, his food still untouched, and tries to grab rein on the conversation yet again.

“I’m—I’m really sorry, sweetheart. I know nothing I could say here right now could grant my forgiveness. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make amends,” he starts. “I talked to your father earlier. I offered him a position at S&B, but he declined. Understandably so after what I’d done to him. Which is why I turned to you, instead. I thought I could maybe right my wrongs in a different way.”

“What? Are you dying soon, or something?” you scoff. “Are you trying to clean your resume for heaven before your time is up?” You catch Mr Choi’s jaw clench at your remark. What can you say? Your father is barely home from making deliveries around the clock at every house. You see your mother’s callouses every single day when she sets down the tray for your breakfast, even though you insist you can just buy something from the cafeteria on campus. And there’s this piece of shit thinking he can fix or undo everything with a sorry, with the throwing of his scraps— for the sake of his own guilty conscience.

It’s revolting. It’s pissing you the fuck off.

And yet here you are, in spite of your disgust and anger, you’re swayed by the temptation of a piece of juicy meat being dangled right in front of you.

“Can you get to the point, Mr Choi?” you say. “Do you want me to convince my father to take the offer?”

He releases a smile and a laugh. “I don’t think even you could get through to him, sweetheart.” As much as you hate to admit it, he’s right. You inherited your stubbornness from somewhere, after all. “But I don’t want to give up yet. I’m truly sorry for the consequences my actions had made. I have been made aware of your current living situation, and how you’ve been juggling multiple jobs just to ease the burden from your parents in paying the bills and your tuition.”

Your bones stiffen. You lock your attention on Mr Choi.

“You were correct when you said I just want to clear my conscience, even just a little,” he continues. “Let me pay for your tuition and offer you a place near your school to stay until you graduate.”

There’s a pulse in the air. You can hear it. You hear it clearly.

Mr Choi pulls something out of the inner pocket of his coat. He slides it down the table for you to see and receive.

“You don’t have to give an answer now.” It’s a business card. His number is on it. “But my line is always open once you’ve made up your mind, sweetheart. Please take the time to consider.”

줄다리기 / JULDARIGI. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[readychilledwine]

Lost Bonds pt 2

Summary - After the second war, an unexpected bond with Y/n Archeron, and repairing all he's lost, Tamlin is shocked with news from the very female Rhys has been protecting from him.

Warnings- cliffhanger because I liked the suspense, angst in a way, unrequited love, one sided fated mates

A/N - I'm going to apologize and ask for forgiveness now. The rest of this is written, but it was uncomfortably long. I broke it into 3 parts, so you all weren't reading a short novella.

Read part one here Pt 3

Winnowing was the stupidest form of transportation, y/n thinks she has ever used. 

She sighed as she walked through the woods she found herself in, praying silently to the void that she was still in the Night Court. 

It definitely did not smell like home, though. The sweet scent of flowers and petrichor surrounded her like a warm embrace. Welcoming her, relaxing her. Her finally clue she was lost came from looking up once more. The trees were blooming. It was late winter in Velaris. Yet here, small pink and white buds covered every tree she could see. They swayed in a soft, rain scented breeze that almost seemed to tingle her skin.

She sighed heavily, playing with the wedding ring and band resting on her left ring finger. She didn't know if Azriel would be proud or upset. She had managed to winnow herself from the Illyrian Steppes to Spring. 

Even new to the world of the fae, she knew that was not an easy thing to do. It explained her exhaustion, the small trickle of blood running down her nose. She continued walking, hoping she would find someone, anyone who may help her. 

Tamlin felt someone enter his court uninvited and shifted to head their way. All the High Lords had just received a message from Rhysand regarding her.

Azriel had evidently been training her with her new powers blooming and suddenly appearing out of nowhere. She had been practicing winnowing, and now they could not find her.

It would have been ridiculous to assume an untrained female had made her way all the way down to the seasonal courts, but after Nesta had shown her hand just a few years ago, and Elain after that, it would not have surprised any of the High Lords at this point. He continued moving closer to the border between his court and the human realm, following where the magic was alerting and then pausing. 

You stood before him, illyrian leathers clinging to every beautiful curve. He shifted with a heavy sigh. “Come. Let's get you to The Manor so Rhysand can come get you.” The look of relief washing over your features tugged at his heart. The bond had not snapped for you, but he didn't need to feel your emotions to know you were afraid and very tired. 

You took his hand, bracing yourself as he tore through the fabric of the world and landed in a garden outside of his repaired estate. “You need food,” he said casually. “We can either go inside so you can eat while you wait for him, or there's a table out here.” 

He wanted to beg you to come inside, to see what he had done, to see what your home should look like. He had imagined for years now a life with you. A life where he heard your laughter every day, where you loved him and he you.

He had rebuilt his home with that life in mind. A grand piano sat centered in a sunroom you'd both use for entertaining. A dais where two thrones sat. Rooms for future children if you want them. He rebuilt the manor with love he had buried away for you. And now he hoped you noticed it, acknowledged it even. You belonged here. You would radiate here.

Aside from showing your body, the black leathers of the Night Court did nothing for you. You needed to be in jewel tones, in light colors. He remembered your skin glowing in the gown at the High Lords meeting. He ignored the pain in his chest as he saw the ring sitting on your finger, the one that matched that dress perfectly.

Blue was a lovely color for you. The silver band was plain as if Azriel had not put much thought into the ring. It was beautiful, but his heart rebroke, knowing it should have been rose gold and diamonds sitting on that finger. 

You motioned inside, wordlessly avoiding eye contact with him. He took you to the dining room where dinner had been waiting for him and grabbed another plate and cup. 

He served you in silence. The familiarity of the situation almost mocked him. “Thank you,” your voice was so soft it had him almost shivering. It had been 6 years since the war ended, 6 years without seeing or hearing it, and it had his soul burning. He yearned for you. His perfect match. 

He nodded. “You're welcome.” He summoned a paper, writing a note to Rhysand and the other High Lords that he had found you and where you had made it to. “Rhys will probably come running, so eat quickly.”

You shook your head. “He's so busy with Nyx lately that he hardly cares what I'm up to. He will send Azriel.” His throat tightened. He'd had to see his mate with her husband. 

Your husband, who was probably worried sick, who probably had been searching as far out as he could. “Then you should definitely eat quickly. Mother knows how desperately he probably wants his wife back home.” Tamlin clocked the way your eyes grew sad, the small frown that formed.

“Yeah. I suppose.” He didn't question that sadness, allowing you whatever space you needed to process it alone.

You were so comfortable next to the male who had ruined everything for you that it was almost laughable. Tamlin, to your shock, was warm. He was being kind. He seemed to know what you needed before you even asked. You had pictured Tamlin as this monster for so long. A cruel male with a heart of stone, but his mere presence had something glowing in your chest, sending warmth through your body.  “I thought the manor was destroyed.”

Tamlin's green eyes looked towards you, spoon held halfway to his mouth. “I had a reason to fix it, along with the whole court.”

You nodded. “It's really pretty.” The walls were lined with Vining floral, marble floors dancing with natural stone veining. Soft green curtains veiled the large floor to ceiling windows. "Elain would love all the flowers. She used to make me work in the gardens with her. I miss it sometimes."

He seemed to blush at the words. “Thank you. And if you truly miss working gardens, there are plenty here that would love attention." Your lips twitched up, but you two fell back into silence.

Tamlin was unsure of what to say to his mate. A piece of parchment appeared beside him, elegant script gracing the page. “Rhys will be here in a moment with Azriel.”

You nodded before caving and asking the question that had been on your mind since you first met the male in his beast form, breaking down the door to the rundown shack you all called home. “What was the significance of killing the wolf?”

He turned to you, brows raised. “Feyre didn't tell you?” You shook your head, staring at the tea you were holding. “I was cursed by one of Hyberns former generals. In short, I had to make a mortal who hated fae enough to kill one fall in love with me in order to break her spell and free the lands. That wolf was one of my closest friends.” The last sentence was barely audible. “Feyre killing him made her the only one who could break the curse.”

As your face fell into confusion, darkness appeared in the manor, gathering in the corner like a void until Azriel and Rhysand stepped out. “Tamlin,” Rhysand greeted smoothly. You couldn't help but to laugh at the High Lord, covered in paint, hair ruffled, eyes tired. “y/n, are you okay?”

You stood nodding, and Azriel moved quickly to you, arms around your waist as he picked you up and held you close. Once he set you down, you turned to Tamlin. “Thank you for sheltering and feeding me and for the invitation to play in your gardens."

“Of course,” he and Rhysand were locked into a stare down, one Rhysand clearly had every intention of winning. “She is unharmed, Rhysand. Just tired and needing rest. You're allowing him to push too hard.” 

Rhys narrowed his eyes, looking to you then back to Tamlin before nodding. “I will consider your opinion. Let's go, y/n. Nyx was distraught when he heard you were missing.”  Any chance Tamlin may have had of convincing you to stay faded instantly. You moved to Rhysand, letting him take your hand and examine your face for any injuries. “Azriel, let's go.”

The shadowsinger nodded and spoke coldly to Tamlin. “Thank you for caring for my wife.”

Tamlin hid a scoff behind his wine and nodded. “It wasn't for your benefit, spymaster.” The two glared hard towards each other before Azriel smirked and walked towards you. 

A feeling of guilt sat in your stomach, lingering there as Rhys began to summon his magic. “Wait,” you pulled your hand away from Rhys and took a step closer to Tamlin. “I'm sorry.”

The Lord of Spring arched a brow feeling the conflict in you from the bond. “For?”

You took a heavy breath, hands shaking as you subconsciously reached for Azriel's hand. You needed his familiarity, possibly his protection. You were about to tell Tamlin something that may have made everything he had gone through feel empty, like his love for your sister had been for nothing. You took a deep breath, looking up and sending a silent prayer to the Mother.

“Feyre didn't kill the wolf," the faces of all three males dropped, the secret finally coming out and being brought to light. “I did."

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr

Lost Bonds Taglist:

@impossibelle

[idksmtms]

You Are Not One of Us (Poseidon x Norse Goddess!reader) - Part 8

Full Request

Part 7 << PART8 >> Part 9

AN: These are just getting longer and longer… Enjoy! I’m gonna try and end this at 10 parts so only two more to go! 

Summary: Everything in Percy’s life is turning upside down. First he finds out he’s a demigod and ends up at a camp for people like him. But one thing always stays the same: bullies.

Word count: 11,466

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, innuendo, age gap (even tho they are both thousands of years old), personal insecurity, insecurity about one’s parenting, absentee parents technically, abandonment issues, angst, supposed major character death (but it’s acc not), Percy believing there is something wrong with him, negative view of one’s own ADHD and dyslexia, way too heavy use of dramatic irony, any warnings associated with Percy’s adventures, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians characters. I do not claim to own any of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. (I do use some scenes from the show verbatim but I did not write the dialogue for those scenes, only the descriptions attached.) 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

Though Percy wasn’t often excited by anything related to school, he had been looking forward to the Museum trip. It was a change of scenery from the drab halls of Yancy, and it was a chance to have fun with Grover. He didn’t even mind the learning part. This mythology unit they were currently in was his favourite of anything he had learned thus far. It was interesting, exciting, and weirdly comforting, like he was connected to it somehow but not in any way that made sense yet. 

As Mr. Brunner took them around and explained some of the stories behind the statues, his mind began to wander (along with his gaze). The circular hall was a hodgepodge of statues from a variety of cultures depicting all sorts of mythological heroes, gods, and monsters. Mr. Brunner was currently parked in front of a statue of Apollo and Artemis, telling the story of how they were born, but Percy was looking to the right of it, a smaller statue carved out of wood. It was only a third of the size of the marble depiction of the twin deities, but it was just as beautiful, some argued even more so simply due to its rarity. 

The plaque boasted that it was the only statue made during the Viking period that survived the mass burning post-Christianisation. A woman was laying down in a bed of flowers, each petal around her head and body painstakingly chipped into the wood. Her dress was long and airy, flowing into the wood at the bottom of the carving. Her eyes were closed and a sword was resting on her stomach, the hilt pulled up close to her chest and gripped tightly with both her hands. The sword itself was pitch-black from the hilt to the tip and the plaque explained that the statue was once coloured. Natural paints made of fruit and vegetable pastes had most likely been used and washed or faded away over time, but the sword had been made using burnt wood so it retained its colour. Her hair was loose and billowing around her head and there were faded black stains in different places. Her hair had most likely been coloured with some type of blue paint, the restorers speculated, some paste made with a blue mineral and crushed blueberries. Though all of this was only a guess supported by stories of the goddess’s appearance. 

Percy remembered the statue from his trip to the museum with Aunt Sally when he was seven. She had stood in front of the statue for some time with a wistful smile on her face. He had tugged at her hand, asked her to tell him the story of this one, and she had ruffled his hair before bending down to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“This is the goddess of love and war, from the Vikings.” He had stuck out his tongue at that, frowning and tilting his head. 

“How is she the goddess of love and war? That doesn’t make any sense.” But Aunt Sally just smiled and shook her head. 

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you’d be surprised how similar love and war are, how much they intertwine with each other,” she answered simply, looking between him and the statue as if she could see something he couldn’t. “The stories say she was a heroine for the Vikings, their protector from the creatures they couldn’t see. At their height, they often claimed she was on the battlefield with them, that she was in each of their victories.” Percy was looking up at Sally with big, intrigued eyes, lips slightly parted as he breathed slowly. “I think she tended to lean on the love side of her duties more though,” Sally added, holding Percy’s hand a little tighter. She spoke as if she knew the goddess personally, and back then Percy honestly believed it. Aunt Sally was his entire world, she was amazing. It wouldn’t surprise him if she managed to befriend a goddess too. 

“What else?” Percy asked quietly, pressing himself to Aunt Sally’s legs and gazing up at the carving. 

“Well, she had blue hair, bright blue like the ocean.” And Percy smiled at that, whispering ‘that’s my favourite colour’ almost dazedly, enraptured with the statue and its story. “I know, I think you’d like her,” Sally whispered, closing her eyes for a moment as if she was in pain, and Percy saw her trying to wipe at them discreetly. 

“Tell me more,” he demanded, and Sally only nodded before staying silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice sounded a little clogged and she didn’t look down at Percy. 

“She was kind, and sweet, a good friend,” Sally cleared her throat, pushing some hair off her face and finally smiling down at Percy again, “at least that’s what the stories say!”

 And then she was walking again, taking him to the next statue, and the one after, reading him what the plaques said. It was on the third statue that she paused again, gently placing a hand on Percy’s back as she pointed out the name for him. 

“Perseus. That’s me,” and he smiled the innocent smile of a child, and Sally nodded enthusiastically. 

“Mhm, that’s who you were named after.” 

“Am I named after him because he’s a hero?” He asked innocently, and Sally only smirked. 

“What makes you think he was a hero?” 

“Because he killed monsters?” He scrunched up his nose as if it was obvious, but Sally only raised an eyebrow.

“What makes you think she was a monster?” 

“Aunt Sally,” he whined, pulling on her hand a little, and she just smiled, squeezing his hand in return and calling off the teasing. 

“Not everyone who looks like a hero is a hero, and not everyone who looks like a monster is a monster. You were named after him because, against all odds, he found his way to a happy ending.” She gripped both of his cheeks and pressed a long kiss to his forehead. Percy just giggled, pushing her away before grabbing her hand and moving onto the next statue. 

Percy hadn’t thought about that trip in a long time. It had been such a fun day, with blue ice cream and no homework. But he could still remember how wistful Aunt Sally seemed, as if it wasn’t the Met but a museum of her life that she was being forced to walk through. 

“...Now, on your worksheets, I want you to choose one of the subjects you see here, and describe it. Not just how it looks, but how it makes you feel. Okay? Come on.” And Mr. Brunner clapped his hands to get them all moving. 

Percy stared down at the clipboard, at the letters jumping around and shuffling themselves, and looked away almost instantly, heading to stand directly in front of the statue of Perseus profering Medusa’s head. 

“Move, nerd,” Nancy spat out as she shoved past him. Percy gripped his clipboard tightly as he almost fell back before raising his hands in the air in shock. Nancy simply jerked her head at him and he scoffed. 

“Mr. Jackson, you will learn to control yourself, do you understand me?” Percy felt his eyebrows leave his forehead. 

“Me?” He asked in surprise, pointing at his own chest as if he couldn’t quite believe Mrs. Dodds was speaking to him. 

“Do you understand me?” Her face didn’t move when she spoke, just that same stoic look of loathing that was probably there while she slept. 

“He can’t help it, Mrs. Dodds. Percy’s special,” Nancy chimed in, emphasising ‘special’ with her lips in a way that made Percy want to walk over and shove her back. 

“That’s enough.” Mr. Brunner interjected harshly, frowning as he rolled his wheelchair to Percy. “Pay them no mind. When you’re ready to hear what the gods have in store for you, they’ll tell you. I believe in you.” And he said it with such conviction, in that weird cryptic but sincere way that Aunt Sally always said that there was a bigger world out there for him. “And I believe you’ll be needing this,” he added, pulling a pen out of his coat pocket and profering it to him with a little ‘hm?’. Percy hadn’t even realised he had broken the tip of his pencil when Nancy shoved past, and he gave Mr. Brunner a pursed-lip smile as he took it from him. “Hang on to that,” Mr. Brunner gestured to the pen, “‘tis a mighty instrument.” And with a knowing and kind smile, he wheeled himself away. 

Percy looked back up to the statue of Perseus and sighed. 

A couple hours later, he sat down next to Grover by the fountain with a despondent sigh as they simultaneously unwrapped their sandwiches and switched fillings. Grover was trying to make him feel better, pointing out that there were many reasons as to why someone chose to bully someone else, but Percy just frowned and shook his head. 

“I get that Nancy probably has a mountain of unresolved issues hiding in that hair of hers, I’m just tired of her taking it out on me.” Percy sighed, putting the top piece of bread back onto the sandwich and bringing it close to his mouth. “I feel like… maybe it’s time to do something about it,” he shrugged. 

“You could make an appointment to talk to Mr. Kane! He’s really good at talking-”

“I was thinking more like shoving Nancy into a dumpster,” Percy interjected, a small mischievous smile on his face. 

“Oh.” Grover stared at him. Then he began shaking his head vigorously, “No, no, no. If there’s one thing I know about bullies, it’s that you never stand up to them.” Percy frowned. 

“That doesn’t sound right…” 

“Look, we’re not gonna be here forever. I know this place is hard for us right now, but there are better places out there.” Grover’s sincerity, his bright little smile of hope and positivity, was infectious. Percy nodded, a smile appearing involuntarily. And then a slice of cheese came flying into the side of Grover’s face, and Nancy stood there smiling, letting out a little ‘oops’. 

Percy couldn’t take it anymore. His chest was tight and the back of his throat felt like it was full of fire and he stood up, marching over to Nancy with his arms out, ready to push her into the fountain in his rage. He didn’t even touch her, not even a graze of her shoulder, and she went flying into the fountain. Like something had pulled her body from behind and dropped her into the water. 

Percy stopped short. He stared at the space in front of him that Nancy had occupied up until about a second before. His hands were tingling and something had pulled deep inside his gut, but it was gone now. He could hear Nancy spluttering and squealing like a stuck pig. And then she began to scream “Percy pushed me! He pushed me!” 

Someone asked if Nancy was ok, another person took up the cry that Percy had pushed her, and all he could do was stand there and stare between the fountain and his hands, and the feeling that somehow the water had listened to his urge and acted on his behalf. That something in the world had shifted all of a sudden, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. 

The pen Mr. Brunner had given him was vibrating in his back pocket, shaking like crazy, and he pulled it out, staring at it as it seemed to flicker in and out of focus in his palm. 

“There you are.” It felt like the voice was inside his skull, and it sounded just like Mrs. Dodds. Percy looked up, and through a gap in the crowd he could see her slowly walking toward him. She was too far away for it to have been her who spoke to him in that low tone, but the voice came again. “We’re not fools, Percy Jackson.” Percy watched her come closer, one step at a time and an almost smug tinge to that never-changing face of hers. 

“Uh, Mrs. Dodds? You ok?” He asked, brows pulled together in a frown. 

“It was only a matter of time before we found you.” Her lips weren’t moving but he could hear her so clearly, and he gulped, a hot and slimy fear snaking down his spine. Then one side of her coat began to lift up and over her head before it peeled back and unfolded into a grey-black wing. The other followed, morphing as it moved and unfolding to reveal a monstrous creature covered in leathery spikes and folds, hints of red in the crevices and over her slowly disappearing face. Her shoes had morphed into talons like bird feet, and she kept walking toward him. 

Percy felt like he couldn’t breathe, blinking over and over again, hoping whatever episode this was would end quickly. But she kept coming. One of her wings pushed a person but they simply fell forward, looking back but not seeing anything noteworthy. Percy stared at them then back to Mrs. Dodds. 

“Where is it, Half-Blood?” Her voice slithered in his mind. He began backing away, that fear coiling tighter and tighter around his spine. But the creature only walked onto the top of the water feature before spreading its wings and flying straight for him. In his rush to back away he fell flat onto the floor, hitting his head so hard it began to ring. He clutched the pen in his hand so tight he could no longer feel his fingers.The creature fell over him, crawling up so their faces were level and all he could smell was sulphur. “Where is it?” She raised one of her claws to his face and he simply clenched his eyes shut. 

But the touch never came. A golden-orange light peaked at the crease of his eyelids and something was crumbling around his hands. He creaked one eye open, then the other. Mrs. Dodds was staring down at the space between them, at the sharp, bright, line of orange that seemed to emanate from the weapon in his hands, a glowing bronze sword. Her body was crumbling into dust, and when she looked back up at him her face contorted into rage. She reared back, as if she was about to come back down for the kill, but her face disappeared into a crush of dust that floated away into the wind. The ringing in Percy’s head turned into a white light in his eyes and everything- stopped. 

As Percy walked through the hallway from the elevator to the adjoining hallway that would lead to the apartment door, he thought about the last words he had said to Mr. Brunner. “I don’t need any more stories about how special I don’t realise I am.” And he meant it. All that those stories had done was lead him to getting expelled from another school, getting betrayed by someone who he thought was his closest friend, and disappointing Aunt Sally all over again. Mr. Brunner had looked so downcast when he had said it, like Percy had personally hurt his feelings, but Percy was tired. 

He was sick of this talk of potential waiting to happen, because the truth was there wasn’t any potential. He had nothing else to give. He tried and tried and the world never seemed to try back. Even if things were alright for a while, he always ended up back here, tail between his legs wondering why he simply wasn’t good enough for anything. 

He could hear Gabe yelling already, and he tightened his grip on his bag. Eddie the handyman closed the door behind him and stood still for a second on the welcome mat. Percy could see the deep breath he took, could feel the exasperation and worn-thin patience that he experienced every minute he spent in Ugly Gabe’s presence. When Eddie turned around, he smiled sadly. 

“Oh! Hello Percy.” Eddie always smiled when he saw Percy but this time it was only a tight pursed-lip one. 

“Hey Eddie,” Percy sighed, “I’m sorry about that,” and Percy gestured to the door. Eddie looked at it then shook his head. 

“I’m walking out, you’re walking in. I should be apologising to you,” and Eddie squinted in sympathy before walking off down the hallway. 

When Percy entered the house, he was hit with the comforting smell of Aunt Sally’s many ocean-scented candles and air-fresheners, and the less comforting stink of body odour, cheap beer, and hair oil that Gabe seemed to drag into any room with him. 

Speaking of Gabe, the man was sitting in his easy-chair directly in front of the tv, legs up and laptop resting on his thighs as he cracked another beer open right as Percy entered the house. 

“Welcome home, genius!” He called, sneering at Percy as he stood in the hallway looking down at the train-wreck of a man. 

“Is Aunt Sally home from work?” Percy asked tiredly, not interested in engaging in a conversation with the greaseball. 

“Oh, is that all you got to say to me? Huh?” Gabe asked angrily, nodding his head as if Percy was proving whatever point he had concocted in his head. Percy could almost see the invisible high horse Gabe believed he sat on. “After failing out of school?” 

“I didn’t fail out of school.” Percy scrunched up his face, shaking his head a little at the stupidity. 

“Your principal called, and that’s what he said. He said you got kicked out.” Gabe moved back and forth a little as he spoke, and Percy watched the chair move rather than look at the man’s ratty little face. Then he paused for a moment, frowning as he took in the words Gabe said. 

“They called Aunt Sally’s cell. You answer Aunt Sally’s cell?” He asked angrily, turning from his place in the hallway to look at Gabe, ready to argue. 

“I answer whatever’s ringing,” Gabe argued back, shaking his head as if it was no big deal. “So what did you get kicked out for, hm?” He asked, taking a sip of his beer and looking at Percy with wide curious eyes. Percy could see the man was getting a kick out of it. 

“He said I attacked a kid on a field trip,” Percy mumbled, looking at the carpet as he scuffed at it with his shoe. Gabe raised his eyebrows and seemed to nod in surprise. He almost looked like he respected Percy in that moment, and it made Percy’s frown deepen. 

“Ok. Alright, if… but still, if you’re gonna live under my roof, you gotta live by my rules,” and Percy’s face scrunched up, turning to Gabe and shaking his head as if none of what he said made sense. 

“Your roof? Aunt Sally is the only one employed here.” 

“Excuse me?” Gabe was offended, eyebrows raising. “I have a job. What does it look like I’m doing right now?” Gabe gestured to the tv and laptop but Percy’s expression didn’t change. 

“Losing at imaginary poker,” he answered simply, gesturing at the laptop as well. 

“You would think that because you’re a child, and you don’t understand things like-”

“Where’s Aunt Sally?” He interrupted, looking down the hall. He was already tired, he didn’t need interactions with Gabe today. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know where your aunt is. I’m not Nostradamus. What are we doing Percy? Every time!” But Percy just walked away, listening to Gabe’s distant and exasperated ‘wow! Wow!’. 

As Percy walked farther into the apartment, he could hear the rain and realised the window in the other small den area was open. He could see Aunt Sally sitting on the fire escape, soaking in the rain. Her hair was damp and curling slightly, and her cardigan was becoming wet. Music was playing loudly from the corner and everything suddenly felt like it was crashing down on him all over again. His lip began to quiver and he wanted to cry. 

“Aunt Sally…” he whimpered, screwing his eyes shut as she turned back and realised he was standing there. She quickly clambered in from the window but Percy was already speaking again. “I’m really sorry. I tried this time. You know how hard I’ve been trying. But this time it really wasn’t my fault. It really wasn’t my fault.” His words trailed off as she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his head. Her hair dripped all over him and her damp shirt stuck to his face but it felt so good to be hugged, so he let her just embrace him. “I’m all wet,” he mumbled against her shoulder. 

She pulled back but kept her hands on his shoulders, tilting her head so she could properly look at his face. She cupped his face in one hand and stroked his cheek as she smiled lovingly down at him. 

“I’m sorry. I’m just really glad to see you.” She grabbed the towel on the ironing table to her right and began scrunching the ends of her hair as she spoke. “I found Gabe on the phone with the headmaster and he told me what he thinks happened with Nancy Bobofit. I told him I believed my kid, it was a real short call.” She shrugged simply, pursing her lips and clutching the towel in her hands as she looked at Percy. He was staring at the floor, head downcast, and he only offered her a small smile in response. “Hey, all that matters is that you’re here, ok?” She asked, hoping to lift his mood a little, “and that I had time to get your welcome home gift,” she sang, reaching into a tote bag on one of the chairs and pulling out a little plastic pouch of blue jelly beans. He smiled a little more this time, watching her shake it just in front of him before grabbing it and putting it into his coat pocket. 

Then Sally smiled sympathetically, crossing her arms over her stomach and waiting for Percy to look back up again before speaking. “Mr. Brunner called me too. He told me about Grover.” Percy began blinking again, feeling the tears burn the backs of his eyes and his mouth scrunched up a little. “Do you wanna talk about it?” His blinking slowed down again but he stared at the carpet a little harder, letting out a long breath. Sally straightened up a little. “Is there something else you wanna talk about?” She asked, concern dropping her voice a little lower. Percy looked up and met her eyes for a second before dropping his gaze back down. He took a deep breath in and began toying with the hem of his coat. 

“Something happened to me. Something has been happening to me. More than just my mind wandering, and it got worse, and…” he trailed off. They both listened to the rain as she waited for him to speak and he gathered his words. “I’m scared.” He looked up finally, staring straight into her eyes as he said the words. They just looked at each other for a moment, Sally’s lower lip pulled slightly into her mouth. Then she simply looked past Percy and yelled, 

“Gabe!” 

“Aunt Sally?” Percy asked, staring at her, suddenly worried she was going to tell Gabe everything he had just said, but she simply waited for Gabe to appear in the hallway. He grumbled as he got up and came down the hallway, adjusting his pants higher onto his hips and pointed back to the living room as he spoke. 

“I don’t know how anyone expects me to get any work done-” 

“Percy and I are leaving for Montauk.” 

Percy didn’t realise he had fallen asleep in the car until after he woke up from the bone-chilling nightmare. After witnessing Aunt Sally put Gabe in his place and hurriedly packing a bag for the weekend, he had simply fallen into the passenger seat and passed out when they hit the road outside the city. 

He looked to the left slowly, shifting a little further up in his seat, watching Aunt Sally hurriedly wipe tears off her cheeks when she realised he was still awake. She smiled at him, mumbling out a ‘we’re here’ as she watched him fully sit up straight. 

“On three?” He asked quietly, and she smiled, nodding as she looked ahead and began counting. On two he bolted out of the door, smiling widely as she squealed and struggled out of her seat. 

After they had settled everything into their rooms and Sally started the fire in the living room, he went to the bathroom to change his clothes and have a quick wash up before dinner. He washed his hands and splashed his face, then stood in front of the sink staring at the mirror. He couldn’t keep pushing it off anymore. He had to tell Aunt Sally about what happened and how something needed to change because nothing was right anymore. 

By the time he came back out, Aunt Sally was standing at one of the kitchen counters with a pack of marshmallows. The table hadn’t been cleared from dinner but more candles had been lit and placed around the cabin, only one or two lamps flicked on here and there. He tapped her on the opposite shoulder and smiled when she looked there then back to the other side where he stood. 

“I found the good marshmallows, the ones that don’t burn so easy.” She sounded so proud and happy, but Percy could only nod. 

“I don’t think it was ever the marshmallow’s fault that I wasn’t paying attention,” he sighed, and she paused. She put down the marshmallow she had been holding and turned to look at Percy. The serious look on his face made her fully turn and lean her hip against the counter. She waited for him to say whatever he clearly wanted to say, crossing her arms loosely.

“Aunt Sally… I need to talk to you about something.” She simply watched him for a moment, then nodded, standing up fully again and telling him to head to the couch and get cosy by the fire. They would talk there. 

Sally curled up on one end of the couch and Percy sat down on the other. He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared into the fire. “I’m used to feeling weird. I’m used to the world feeling weird to me. Like a puzzle with half the wrong pieces. I try to pay attention, I really try,” and he looked at her as he said this, his face so earnest, “but then I’m daydreaming. I can’t help it. But lately it hasn’t felt like daydreaming. It’s felt…” he paused, looking back down at his hands. “I don’t know. More real, maybe?” He took a deep breath in, and Sally averted her eyes to her lap. “And then we were at the museum, and…” 

“You saw something,” she said quietly, knowingly. He nodded, stilted and slow, but a nod nonetheless. “Something that felt real to you, but no one else could see?” Again, he nodded, lips pursed. She tilted her head down a little to look at his face, then put her hand on his back and rubbed it softly. “What did she say to you?” Sally asked apprehensively. Percy’s head snapped up to look at her, and he frowned in confusion. 

“She? How did you know it was a she?” 

Sally paused, and he could see the millions of thoughts running around behind her eyes. She leaned her head back and looked at the ceiling before clenching her eyes shut tightly, as if fighting with her lips. She pushed her lips out and shook her head, like the fight was raging and she was in pain. Then, with her eyes still closed, she asked, 

“Do you know why we come to this cabin every year?” Her head came back down but now she was the one looking into the fire and avoiding his gaze. 

“Because it’s near the septic tanks so it’s cheap,” Percy answered quickly, still bewildered and shaking his head a little as he spoke. “Aunt Sally, how do you know about the thing I saw?” 

“We come to this place every year, because this is the place I met your parents,” she spoke quickly, only turning to look at him with her face set firmly as the last words left her lips. He stared at her. 

“My parents? What do my parents have to do with this? And what do you mean ‘met them’?” 

She smiled a little, a sad little thing that said ‘there’s so much you don’t know’ then gently cupped the side of his head, pushing some of his curls back. 

“A long time ago, I met a woman, here, on the beach. She was kind, and brave, and sweet, and… noble. And she introduced me to her husband, and he was just like her. He was wise, and caring, and they loved each other like no love I had ever witnessed before. And…  ugh, look Percy, I can’t tell you about your mom, but your father? He was a god.” Sally paused, gulping then letting out a whooshing breath. She looked at Percy and he was just staring at her like her head had popped off. 

“God? Like Jesus? Like you met some woman who said she married Jesus and you believe her?” He asked, one eyebrow curling up slightly with his sceptical tone. 

“Not God, Percy,” she sighed, “a god.” She turned to sit facing him and gently held his hands in hers. “Look, Percy, the stories that I have told you, about Greek gods and monsters? About Norse mythology? They are real.” Percy began shaking his head. 

“Aunt Sally-” 

“In those stories, I have told you about how gods fight, and get married, and sometimes they have children with mortals…” 

“Aunt Sally, please, stop.” 

“How they can have demigod children…” 

“Aunt Sally!” 

“And sometimes they are known as half-bloods.” Percy paused, slowly turning his head to look at his Aunt Sally, at the desperate look on her face as if she needed him to believe her. 

“That’s what the monster called me. Aunt Sally, what’s happening?” 

“You are a half-blood.” She breathed out, eyes roaming over his face for any sign of belief. “And half-bloods are not safe in the world. Once they reach a certain age and they begin… to understand what they are, terrible forces are drawn to them, driven to harm them before they can become strong enough to fight back. That is what you have been feeling.” She gripped his shoulder tightly, shaking him just a little as if it would make him believe it any more. “It has always been a part of who you are, it was always coming,” her words were beginning to become frantic, “I just-” 

“Why are you telling me this?” He asked angrily, shaking his head and staring at her as she moved even closer to him. 

“Percy, I know this is hard to understand, but you have to believe me that this is real,” she pressed. 

“No, this is crazy, ok? I am not a god. There is something wrong with my brain.” She clenched her eyes shut, tears leaking down her cheeks and sweat collecting on her upper lip as she leaned back to look at his face, slowly shaking her head like she was flexing her neck. “I understand that I’m weird, believe me, I get it,” and she smiled in pain at that, her face saying that it hurt her that he believed that, that it simply wasn’t true, tilting her head to the side and huffing out a breath as he continued. “But I’m afraid something may be really broken now!”

“Oh, honey, no-”

“And-and now you’re telling me stories, like it’s gonna make it ok?” She pursed her lips and looked down. “Well I’m not a baby! I know there’s no such thing as monsters, I know there’s no such things as gods, and I know for certain that there is no such thing as demi-gods.” His words were final, and he only got to stare into her eyes for a moment before there was suddenly a knock at the door, and Grover was calling out for Aunt Sally. 

And it was only moments later that Grover was standing in the hallway with goat legs. 

When Grover pulled his beanie off as they drove down the highway, Percy felt for the first time that Aunt Sally had been telling the truth. The little horns poking through his curls were so… real. And then the explanation for Grover’s betrayal was so crazy that he was angry again, and this concept of ‘the Mist’ was so confusing that he felt lost all over again. 

“The sooner we get you to camp, the better of you’re…” Percy snapped his head back to look at Grover. He paused, mouth open, staring at Percy then turning to look at the back of Sally’s head. “You told him about camp, right?” 

“Not yet, no,” she answered, exasperated, and Percy just sat back in his seat and looked at her. She glanced at him, just a moment, and he frowned. 

“Camp is a sanctuary for half-bloods. A safe space where you can learn who you are and what the world is like on the other side of the Mist.” Grover leaned back a little and looked out the windshield before tapping on the shoulder of Sally’s seat. “Uh, it’s not far, actually, just a little ways past the bend up there,” and he pointed to somewhere in the rain in front of the car. But Percy didn’t look, he kept staring at his Aunt Sally and frowning. 

“Aunt Sally, what else haven’t we talked about? What else haven’t you told me?” He paused for a second, settling further into his seat. “Why can’t you tell me about my mom? What’s so dangerous that you can’t tell me about her?” 

Just as Sally opened her mouth to respond, to say anything about all the secrets that had suddenly opened up between them, the road under them shuddered, and something roared in the distance behind the car. There was a flash of light, and Percy watched as the silhouette of something huge dropped down onto the road. 

“Is that the Minotaur?!” 

In the yellow glow of the totaled car’s headlights, Percy watched as the only parent he had ever known was crushed in the hands of a monster. He watched his mother disappear in a flash, watched the woman who had tried to fill the role of a father disappear into dust. His chest filled with rage like a gallon of water being poured into a shot glass. His mind suddenly quieted, only the rush of his blood pounding in his ears. Aunt Sally’s face flashed before his eyes, glowing in the yellow lights, dripping with rain. Her hands gripping his face as she tried not to cry, biting at her lips as she pressed out the words. “You… are not not broken. You are singular. You’re a miracle. And you are my kid. Hold fast. Brave the storm.” She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs and smiled, sad yet hopeful, sweet yet resigned. “I love you.” Her watery voice. He saw her reaching for him before the crush. He uncapped the pen and watched it grow into a sword in his hands. And then he charged. 

Percy was hoping he had dreamed everything from the conversation with Aunt Sally to the creepy girl standing over his bed. But when he woke up and the first thing he saw was Grover with his little horns poking out of his head, he knew he had really killed the Minotaur, and that Aunt Sally was gone… 

Grover tried to talk to him about it, desperately wanted to talk to him about it, but he wasn’t ready. His mind was already playing everything on loop for him and he didn’t want to talk about it too. 

“Your job is done,” he told Grover, and it hurt. Because it had all been a job. Every laugh, every moment of their friendship had been a cover. And he didn’t want to talk about that either. 

As he headed for the door, Grover asked where he was going. Percy clenched his jaw and turned back to look at him, his mind set on one thing and one thing only. “It was so important I get here ‘cause my father is a god. So I’m gonna go find him.” The words were so simple but he spoke so gravely. 

“It’s not that…” Percy was already out the door, “simple.”

As Percy stepped out and onto a porch, he couldn’t help but look around in wonder. The house had been built on the banks of a beautiful lake with turquoise green water and a pebble beach. Orange kayaks and rowing boats were sitting near the treeline with people in equally orange shirts milling about around them. On his other side, a type of orangery was jutting from the house, made of pristine white-painted wood and huge panes of painted glass windows. 

Inside the orangery, a man was sitting reclined in a chair, sunglasses over his eyes and face tipped up to the ceiling. Even from the distance he was stood at, Percy could see the man was wearing an absolutely abominable Hawaiian shirt and had quite a long salt-and-pepper beard. Percy walked closer, pausing in the doorway to observe the scene. A wheelchair with a blanket draped over the seat was placed next to the man and both seats were placed around a pink marble table. The doors on each of the walls had all been thrown open and the natural light of the sun painted the window patterns on the hardwood floor. A small candle chandelier hung from the ceiling and there were even huge candelabras on the floor, flanking even bigger ornate white pots of flowers and small trees. 

“Excuse me?” Percy began quietly, “I’m Percy Jackson, I’m new here.” The man didn’t budge from his seat. He simply took a long breath in, twisted his head slightly to the left and yelled, 

“Peter Johnson is here!” 

“‘Kay. That isn’t… really my name,” Percy responded awkwardly, holding up one of his hands, “I guess I’m looking for the office? Or whoever’s in charge, so…” The man began sitting up a little and removed his sunglasses to look at Percy. A faint ‘wait, wait, wait, wait’ reached Percy’s ears and Grover came running into the room, stopping just beside Percy and quickly touching him on the arm. 

“Um, Percy,” then he gestured to the man at the table, “Mr. D, Camp Director.” Then he gestured back to Percy while looking at the man, “Mr. D, this is, uh, Percy Jackson.” 

“Yeah, Grover, I heard him the first time,” the man responded breezily, frowning at the satyr as he threw his sunglasses onto the table. 

“Yeah. But did you?” Percy added, tilting his head as he looked at Mr. D. 

“Ok,” Grover breathed out, pulling on Percy’s shoulder and turning him back so he could lean in closer. “You really don’t wanna start with this guy.”

“He’s starting with me,” Percy argued back, gesturing to Mr. D with his arm. 

“Percy, the D is for Dionysus. That’s Dionysus.” Grover urged, glancing to Mr. D then back to Percy who was squinting at him. 

“What do you mean, Dionysus? The- like the god, Dionysus?” He asked, staring at Grover. 

“Yes.” 

“No way.”

“Yes.” 

Percy looked around then simply gave Grover a little nod before they both turned back to face Mr. D who was looking up at them with a bored face. 

“Excuse me, Your Highness?” And Mr. D grimaced, shaking his head and letting out a little ’oh’ that was part exasperation, part annoyance, and part disappointment, but Percy simply continued. “I think my dad may be around here somewhere. I don’t know how to ask for him,” and Percy looked around because he didn’t have a single clue about who he was looking for or how to find him, and it all sounded kind of delusional and crazy when the thoughts became words that came out of his mouth. “I don’t-I don’t even know his name. But I think I should see him. I just…” Percy sighed, “I think I really need that right now. Can you help me?” 

Mr. D slowly sat up with a dignified smile on his face, depositing his drink on the table as he nodded. 

“Actually… I think I can.” He spoke slowly, and Percy’s eyes began to fill with hope. “Son.” He stared at Mr. D. The man was smiling in a self-satisfied way and simply watching Percy. 

“Dad?” He questioned. 

“Yes, Peter,” Mr. D answered, folding his hands in his lap. 

“It’s Percy,” he mumbled, not being able to tear his eyes away from Dionysus’s face. 

“Exactly,” the man brushed off. “Now, before we get to know each other, there’s something very important I want you to do for me, okay?” Mr. D gestured with his hands as he spoke, a grave look falling onto his face. Percy only nodded in reply, hesitant shakes of the head. Mr. D smiled and leaned back a little in his chair. 

“In the galley,” he pointed out one of the doors, “there is a bottle of 1985 Chateau Haut-Brion.” He spoke with such reverence, gesturing with pinched fingers in front of his face as a giddy look crossed his face. “Will you go fetch that for me?” Percy stood still for a moment. 

“Is that really all you have to say to me?” He asked, everything inside him suddenly agitated. 

“Hey, um, Mr. D, even if Percy was-” 

“Uh, uh, uh, bup!” Mr. D made a pinching motion in the direction of Grover’s mouth. “Grover, quiet, please. This is a nice moment, don’t ruin it. The galley is right down that path,” he pointed out the door to his right again, “grab that bottle and I’ll talk to you about whatever you want. You know, uh…” he moved his head around as he tried to come up with something, “you, uh… me, who cares?” He batted his hand around in the air and frowned. 

Just as Percy stepped toward the door, he stopped again and stared at Mr. Brunner as he came walking up the dirt path to the orangery. With a horse attached to his body. Or… the body of a horse attached to his… body. The centaur walked up to the entrance of the orangery and stood in front of Percy. Everyone was silent for a moment. 

“Percy.”

“Mr. Brunner?” He asked, staring up from the horse legs to the old-man cardigan and grey blazer. 

“Uh, Mr. Brunner’s real name is Chiron. Camp activities director, immortal trainer of heroes, he is-” 

“Grover, thank you. I’ll take it from here,” he politely interrupted, smiling at the excitable satyr who simply pursed his lips and nodded, swinging his arms back and forth. “Oh, Percy, this must be a lot for you to process,” he said kindly. 

“Oh, no. It’s-it’s fine. I mean, you’re a horse,” he gestured to Mr. Brunner’s lower body, “my father won’t talk to me unless I get him a drink.” He pointed at Mr. D who simply gulped from his can then brought it down again when he noticed they were all looking at him. Chiron looked between Mr. D and Percy, a look of surprise slowly widening his face. “Well, this all seems totally normal and reasonable.” 

“Oh, no, no, no. No,” Mr. Brunner began shaking his head, “Mr. D is not your father.” Percy and Grover simultaneously turned to look at Mr. D. He simply shrugged and held out his hand as he looked at Chiron. 

“I could be.” 

“Yes, but are you?” Chiron asked, hands holding the lapels of his blazer. 

“Why must you ruin everything?” Mr. D answered petulantly, but Chiron ignored him and turned back to Percy. 

“Mr. D knows that Zeus has forbidden him from consuming alcohol. And that demigods are able to do things for gods that gods are forbidden to do themselves,” and Mr. D sighed in the background, reaching for his can and bringing it to his lips again. “Mr. D was taking advantage of that, hm?” Percy turned to look at Mr. D with a frown and the man simply let out an ‘eh’ and shrugged. “Percy?” He turned back to Mr. Brunner - uh, Chiron - and the man smiled comfortingly down at him. “Walk with me and we’ll start again, hm?” He only shot one last look at Mr. D before walking out of the room. Grover went to follow but Chiron held up a finger. “Uh, Grover, please give us a moment.” And with an approving smile, he followed after Percy. 

Grover stumbled backward into the room then walked to the other door to watch Chiron and Percy walk along the path down to the lake. 

“This doesn’t feel right,” he murmured. 

“What, success?” Mr. D answered from behind him. “You got the boy to camp alive. Don’t overthink it.” Grover nodded a little and turned back to look at Mr. D. 

“Yeah, but it’s…” Mr. D shot him a look, head tilted forward and eyes saying, ‘really?’. Grover turned back to the door and watched the centaur and the boy walk farther and farther away. 

Percy stood in front of the rolled up sleeping bag and his backpack set on the floor of the Hermes cabin. He stared at it for a moment before getting onto his knees and opening the flap of his bag. Right at the top was the little plastic pouch of blue jelly beans Aunt Sally had given him before all the craziness had occurred and he held it gently in his hand, tears burning at the backs of his eyes all over again. He could see the happy little smile she had given him as she shook the bag in front of his face, the damp hug she had pulled him into. 

A little group of campers was gathered to his right and he could see one of them begin to approach. He sighed, a sense of despair filling his limbs with exhaustion. He couldn’t do this today. 

“Look, if you want to give me a hard time, just do it tomorrow. I can’t do anymore today,” he sighed as he got back onto his feet, looking at the boy in front of him. He had a scar on his face running down his cheek from under his eye and he simply brushed off Percy’s words. 

“Heard what happened to you on the hill. And I just… wanted to say I’m really sorry.” Percy nodded, looking away from the boy’s face. “I know what you’re going through. Believe me. Losing your mom is…” The boy gave a rueful little smile but Percy just began shaking his head. 

“Oh, she wasn’t… she wasn’t my mom.” It felt wrong to say that though, because Sally had been Percy’s mom all these years. She was the one that did everything mothers do while his real one was gods know where. “She was my aunt, Aunt Sally,” he told the kid, pursing his lips. 

“Oh,” the kid reared back a little in surprise, tilting his head in question but not choosing to ask anything further. He simply nodded then held out his hand. “I’m Luke.” Percy reached out and shook his hand. 

When Percy jumped awake, Luke was already standing near the end of his make-shift bed. He smiled at him in commiseration. 

“Intense, recurring nightmares. That’s normal here.” Percy stood up and stretched his back a little, feeling the stiffness and soreness in his muscles slowly began to dissipate. “And the daydreams, and the ADHD, and dyslexia. Demigods just process reality differently than humans do.” Then Luke smiled and gestured to the cabin. “For the first time in your life, you’re just like everyone else.” Percy squinted at Luke in question. 

“So are you also… Do you not know who your-” 

“Am I unclaimed? No. Hermes is my father.” For a moment Luke’s face was stormy but the look was gone so quickly Percy didn’t question it. “That doesn’t matter,” Luke shook off, “we’re all on the same team here.” But Percy couldn’t let it go. He frowned at Luke as petulance brewed in his expression. 

“Why is that ok? Why do they get to bring us here to just ignore some of us?” 

“Spend too much time trying to figure out why the gods do whatever it is they do, you’ll drive yourself crazy,” and the way Luke said it made Percy think he was speaking from experience. “Sooner you stop worrying about that, the sooner you can enjoy what this place actually does offer,” Luke smiled. 

“And what’s that?” 

“Glory.” 

As Luke went about explaining what exactly glory was and why in the world it was so important at Camp, Percy listened intently. He liked the way Luke spoke, the way he was so comforting and treated him like he was his little brother who he wanted to teach things to, to spend time with. 

Percy had always thought it was great with just him and Aunt Sally. They didn’t need anyone else. Even when Gabe came to live with them it didn’t feel like he was actually joining the family, just hanging around. But it felt nice to have someone treat him like a sibling would. He wouldn’t have minded having a brother if it was Luke. 

Just as they followed the curve of the path around a little grass nole in the middle of the circle of cabins, someone shoved past him, sending him into Luke’s side. He turned to look at them, a loud ‘hey!’ leaving his lips as he frowned at the girl standing just there. She only stepped forward and shoved him in the chest so hard he went straight into the dirt onto his back. She was glaring down at him, a look of annoyance and superiority on her face as Luke came to stand between them. 

“Hey. Know it off, Clarisse. It’s like his first day, come on.” Luke glanced at Percy to make sure he was alright as one of the other Hermes kids helped him up, before turning back to stare at Clarisse with a hard look in his eyes. She only smiled, a cruel smile as she gestured to Percy. 

“Wait, so this is the kid who killed the Minotaur. Is that right?” She turned to look at Percy properly and he only frowned, looking at her warily like she would shove him again. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’ll bet.” But she didn’t look impressed with what she saw. “Look, you want attention around here, dummy? You better be ready for when it comes.” Then she pressed forward like she was going to attack him and he stumbled back, but she was already walking away with a gleeful smile, the people following her laughing together as they glanced at him in all his scrawny glory. 

Percy stood there for a moment, watching her walk away. 

“Well, she seems nice,” he said sarcastically. 

“Ares kids.” Luke said it like it was all the explanation he needed but Percy just looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He shrugged, “they come by it honestly.” 

“Why don’t they mess with you?” 

“They know better,” Luke answered with a smirk, hands on his hips. 

“Luke’s the strongest swordsman at camp,” Chris chimed in. Percy looked up at him and began connecting dots in his head. 

“So, they leave you alone because ‘glory’?” Luke just nodded. “So if I get glory, Clarisse wouldn’t mess with me either?” 

“Exactly,” Luke nodded again, clapping him on the back, and Percy finally felt like he was beginning to understand how things worked around this place. 

“And people think I’m a big deal?” 

“Well, sorta, but-” Luke tilted his head to the side, a very simple gesture that said ‘I wouldn’t choose those words yet’. 

“And my dad’s got no choice but to claim me,” Percy added, finally feeling like he had a solution, but Luke just frowned a little bit. 

“You can’t force the gods to do anything.” 

“Well, yeah, but… it would make it harder for him to pretend I don’t exist, right?” It all sounded so simple when he said it like that. 

“Maybe,” Luke answered quietly, nodding in thought. 

“Well, great! Where do we start?” And Percy smiled properly for the first time since he had arrived at Camp. 

As Percy sat down at the pavilion table with Chris and Luke after a dismal afternoon, he let out a long sigh.

“Is there a Greek god of disappointment?” He asked, raising his eyebrows in exasperation, “maybe someone should ask him if he’s missing a kid.” Luke looked up in thought, squinting and tilting his head. 

“Oizys… but she’s a goddess. And her whole thing isn’t really disappointment, it’s more like failure.” Chris answered, fiddling with his fork. Percy sighed and gestured at himself. 

“Well, that works too. Maybe she’s my mom,” he shrugged, looking down at his plate. 

“We’re gonna find the thing that you’re good at. I know it.” Luke leaned forward so Percy was forced to look at him and he smiled in that soft, brotherly, way. They were quiet for a moment and Percy continued picking at his food when Luke brought his elbows to rest on the table and folded his hands under his chin. “So you don’t know either of your parents?” He asked, frowning at Percy. 

“No, my Aunt Sally raised me. At least, that’s what I’ve called her my entire life. She’s the one who told me about my dad, that he’s a god…” Percy paused, staring at the table. “She didn’t tell me anything about my mom though. I was asking her about it before… everything.” Luke nodded in understanding but Percy didn’t look up from his plate until a gong sounded throughout the pavilion and Luke sighed. 

“Our turn,” he told Percy, smirking in exasperation before grabbing his plate and standing up. 

“Our turn for what?” 

“Burnt offerings,” Luke and Chris answered simultaneously. “The gods like the smell, so it gets their attention before you say a prayer,” Luke added. Percy just stared up at them in confusion. 

“They like the smell of burnt mac & cheese?” He asked. 

“They like the smell of begging,” Chris answered, smirking sarcastically. Luke just chuckled quietly as Chris walked off with his plate. 

“You burn what you’ll miss the most. Then they know you really mean what you’re about to say, so they listen.” And Luke walked away with a shake of his head. 

But an idea was brewing in Percy’s mind and he needed his jelly beans for it. 

Percy went as deep in the woods as he wanted to risk, and built a fire in an old can he had found in the trash. Aunt Sally had taught him how to build fires on a camping trip a couple years ago and the dry sticks and leaves on the floor were perfect kindling. He stared into the little pot of flames and held tightly onto the pouch of blue jelly beans. Slowly, he picked one out of the pouch and dropped it into the flames. It began to melt and he could hear the sugar sizzling at the bottom of the can. 

“Hi, Aunt Sally. I don’t know if I’m doing this right. I hope you can hear me.” He paused, gathering his words. “I think you used to hate this. When the phone would ring the night after you left me at a new school. I’d tell you that the people are awful. That I wanted to come home.” His voice felt so heavy, and he cleared his throat but the feeling didn’t go away. “Well… the good news is… this isn’t that call.” He smiled a little. “I hope you’re sitting down, but… I think I’ve made some friends here. Like, real friends.” He stared into the fire like soon the flames would form her face. “I think they might really like me. Imagine that.” A huff-laugh left his lips and he looked away from the fire. “He isn’t here. My father, he just… didn’t show. I mean, ignoring me is one thing, but he doesn’t get to ignore you.” He clenched his jaw, face twitching in anger. “I’m gonna make him come down here. I’m gonna make him see me. I’m gonna make him see us both.” 

Percy flexed his jaw and closed his eyes. He was angry, and scared, and disappointed, and hopeful, and determined. He was going to do it. Whatever it took. And then, slowly, he picked another jelly bean out of the pouch and dropped it into the fire. He thought of someone he didn’t know, someone who could look like anyone, sound like anyone, be like anyone. 

“Hey, uh, mom?” The word felt so awkward coming out of his mouth. “Long time, no speak,” he chuckled awkwardly and winced at himself, pressing his face into his knees and rubbing his hair aggressively. “Uh, sorry. Look, I don’t really know who you are, or what you look like, or anything, so, sorry about that I guess. I mean, it’s not really my fault, ya know? 

“Anyway, I don’t even know why I’m talking to you right now. It’s not like you’ve ever been around either. But I guess with everything changing, now’s the time to try and talk to you.” Suddenly tears collected in his eyes and his hands began to shake and he turned to stare into the fire as pain filled his chest and a lump grew in his throat. 

“Where are you? Why haven’t you been here? Aunt Sally once said she thinks you’re the one sending all those birthday gifts, and-” he took a shuddering breath in, lips quivering as he tried to control the urge to sob. “Why aren’t you here to explain them all to me? Why aren’t you here to explain this entire world and tell me what I should do? Why aren’t you here to tell me who my father is, and why in the world you loved him?” Percy paused, wiping haphazardly at his nose. “Why don’t you love me?” He breathed out.

Far away, a woman sat dazed on one of the roots of Yggdrasil. You were staring into a pool of water that had collected between the roots of the tree of life, willing it to show you something, anything other than your own reflection, willing it to listen to the power you had that no longer seemed to work. Your knees hurt from pressing on the unforgiving branch but you didn’t move. The edges of your white dress were turning grey and brown with the grime and water, and your bare arms and shoulders were beginning to get cold. 

Then, as if by the very magic that was threaded into the air of Asgard, the smell of burning sugar reached your nose. It was soft, barely a hint at first, and it mixed with the smell of food colouring and gelatin being burned as well. You frowned, closing your eyes and sniffing the air. And slowly, like someone was moving one side of a pair of headphones closer then farther away from your ear, a voice began to reach you. You tried to follow it with your head, to find it and bring it closer, but it faded in and out. 

The voice was full of pain, and you felt that pain within yourself, now. It filled up your throat and made your fingertips hurt. Your eyes began to burn behind your eyelids and tears slipped past the cracks. You could hear some of the words now, “where are you…” a child’s voice, desperate. “Why aren’t you here…” through shuddering breaths and a cracking voice. A voice you would know like a song from your childhood. You smiled through the pain, the tears streaming down your face like unstoppable rivers now, dripping into the puddle before you. And suddenly the voice was clearer, coming from right in front of you, and you opened your eyes hurriedly, breathing in big gulps of air as you saw your son’s face right in front of you.

His eyes were red, big and blue just like his father’s. And you couldn’t help the little laugh that left you, a watery, relieved, sound that mingled pain and joy so perfectly. His hair was curly and blond and unkempt and you reached out, hoping you could brush your fingers through it, but your fingertips only met water and rippled the image of his face. His cheeks were wet with tears and he was almost glaring into the fire. 

“Why don’t you love me?” He whispered, and you shook your head, entire body shaking as you sobbed out, ‘no, no, that’s not true.’ Your voice crackled and your face was scrunched up as if someone was stabbing you in the chest and twisting the knife. Your very organs were in turmoil. 

“Perseus,” you whispered, reaching out to the puddle again. He looked up and then around himself, as if someone had spoken behind him, and this time when your fingers touched the water, the image dissolved with the ripples. You cried out, your hand fully immersed in the water and sat there, shaking with sobs. Then a frenzy overtook you. 

You had to find him. You had to get to your son. Something had happened, you were sure of it. If he knew how to make a sacrifice now, he had entered your world. And if he had entered your world, then something had happened. And if something had happened… He needed you now. You stood up and clambered your way back to the feast hall. No one else was there yet and you hurried past the head table where you would be expected to take your place in the evening. If everything worked out, you wouldn’t be there to hear the questions about where you had gone. 

Just as you got to the centre of the table, a raven flapped down onto the back of Odin’s throne. You paused, where you stood opposite it, watching another raven circle down then hop onto the opposite end. Another raven squawked from somewhere behind you and you turned to look for it, dread creeping up your spine. When you turned back around to look at the two ravens on the throne, you gasped and jumped back. 

Odin was sitting on his throne and watching you with pursed lips. His eyes were pained when they met yours and you stepped closer to the feast table, wanting to reach out to your father and soothe whatever ache was ailing him. 

“Where are you going?” He asked simply, watching you clench both your hands in the skirts of your dress. 

“My son, he… Father, he needs me,” your lower lip wobbled as the tears returned with your force. 

“You know you cannot go to him. For his sake, and your own,” his voice was low, a tone you had not heard before. “You would be risking his life.” “It is already at risk!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands up in the air. “Something has happened, and he is aware of the world he comes from. He has always needed me but I was too much of a coward to stay with him and risk the fight. I reasoned that he needed to be hidden,” you clenched your eyes shut at the pain of the years missed, the time lost. “But now… he has entered a world that he knows nothing about. He still doesn’t know even the extent of himself. And-and… he needs his mother.” You were resolute, clenching your hands into fists and staring at your father. 

Odin stayed silent. He watched you straighten your back and press your fists into the sides of your legs. He could feel the power you exuded, could see the little waves of sparkling particles that emanated from your skin, the raw magic only he was capable of seeing. He sighed, rubbing his forehead for a moment. Your own face seemed to draw downward as you saw the look on his face, a bone-deep sadness, a raw despair that added lines and wrinkles before your eyes. Then he looked up and directly into your eyes. Into your soul. 

“I have been protecting you from yourself, for so long,” he sighed, and you watched him slowly peel his eyepatch off and set it on his knee. His eye socket was a gaping black hole, the red scarred flesh at the edges had healed long ago and was just threads of red blood vessels under thin skin. “You have always been my favourite child,” he told you with a soft smile, and you returned it, suddenly feeling like you had only just been a little child the day before and Odin had been leading you around the halls of Asgard. “And I only do what I do, what I have already done, out of love.” You frowned, mouth parting to speak. “You would understand, I hope, the inherent need of a parent to protect their child.” 

“Father, what are you-” 

You glanced back into the socket of his eye and suddenly your limbs could no longer move. Images assaulted your mind, flashing one after the other as the sound of ravens screeching and squawking and calling hit your ears. You tried to bring your hands up to cover them but you couldn’t. Every muscle felt like it was stuck in syrup and you couldn’t even lift your fingers up let alone try and swim out of it. And then the images, your little Percy’s eyes flashing in front of your eyes. Every moment you had missed, every little word he said and every movement he made. 

You watched him wail in Sally’s arms as she desperately tried to soothe whatever was bothering him, walking around in the living room of a small apartment at one in the morning. You saw him carefully pull himself up onto his chubby toddler legs and begin precariously waddling his way to Sally as she clapped and teared up, reaching out for him and pressing kisses to his cheeks. You watched him on his first day of school, hands shaking and eyes tearing up as he tried to read what was on the paper and couldn’t get the letters to stay still. You saw his downcast face as the principal told Sally the school couldn’t support his needs. You saw him run up the dank stairwell of a school building, desperate to get to the roof and see the Pegasus before it left. You watched him lay in bed at night and whisper goodnight to a mother and father who weren’t there. And you watched him grow, and grow, and become a sassy teenage boy who was kind and loyal, even to a fault. You saw him smile happily when Grover found him and struck up a game of mythomagic cards. You smiled and laughed and cried without moving a single muscle. 

And then you saw the minotaur chase the car. You saw Sally push Percy away in the rain and begin screaming at the monster to come for her. You saw the creature pick her up, the flash of her disappearance, and a soundless scream parted your lips slightly. But nothing else moved. Not an eyelash. A constant stream of Percy’s life played before you until it disappeared in a flash. You stared at Odin, unmoving as a tear slipped from the corner of your eye and slowly tracked down your cheek. He watched its trajectory until it dripped off your jaw. You wanted to open your mouth, to scream at him to let you go. You wanted to ask why, why did he hide everything, why would he do this? You wanted to go to your son. But he just looked at you with that never-ending pain in his eyes and whispered, 

“I’m sorry.” 

A flock of ravens descended on you. Pitch black wings hit you and flapped in your face until you were lost in the flurry and didn’t know if you were awake anymore…

Taglist: @thicficbich1, @pasta-warlord, @turtleshavesoulmates, @wolfgirl294, @stanswifties, @mrsinclaire, @homanoid, @bellamysnatblida, @mooncleaver 

[vodika-vibes]

Hey Vodika!

I hope you're feeling better. I don't know if you accept requests, but I'll leave this here. Could I ask for a story with Commander Neyo? The situation would be that Neyo is eavesdropping on her S/O's conversation with her friends. He hears her friends say that she should break up with Neyo because he is a harsh, cold, uncaring clone and that she will not be happy with him. Neyo hears this and is devastated. He knows he may not be the best when it comes to feelings, but he loves his S/O. His S/O finds him and learns that Neyo overheard the conversation. That's why she wants to do everything to prove to him that she loves him and wants to be with him no matter what. 💓

Take care of yourself!

People Who Matter

Summary: Neyo overhears a conversation between his cyare and her friends after returning home from a long deployment.

Pairing: Commander Neyo x F!Reader

Word Count: 1082

Warnings: Toxic friends

A/N: Hi there! I do take requests almost constantly, even if it might take a bit for me to get to your request! I hope you like this!

Click HERE to be added to my taglist!

 Commander Neyo is an asshole.

He knows it. His men know it. His General knows it.

It’s a carefully cultivated persona that keeps his brothers from prying too much into his private life and keeps him from getting too close to men who probably won’t survive the year.

That might make him a cold person, but being raised to die in a war will do that to a man.

The one good thing in his life, the only good thing in his life, is his cyare.

So far as he’s concerned, she’s perfect in every way.

His cyare isn’t a Coruscant native. She’s from some small planet in the mid-rim and came to Coruscant for school. And, once she graduated, she just refused to return home.

He once asked why, late one evening, and she just laughed and told him that she was happy on Coruscant, happy with him, and she was not quite ready for the responsibility that came with returning home.

Neyo didn’t push at the time, and he still won’t push now, if she’s happy then that’s enough for him. Though a large part of him can’t quite understand why she’s so happy with someone like him. 

But, right now, he’s not going to question it.

Because her love for him means that he’s allowed to decompress from the war in an actual apartment, with a proper bed and an even better shower. Not to mention home-cooked meals and as many kisses as he could ever want.

Silently, Neyo keys in the code to the apartment that he half lives in, and he pauses in the doorway, just before he calls out to his cyare. He hadn’t warned her that he was returning early, wanting to surprise her, though now he feels like he should have.

Since the shoes piled at the door suggest that she has company.

He steps into the laundry room, which is right next to the front door, and tugs his armor off, setting it on the shelf that she bought for that very purpose. Then he peels off his blacks and pulls on the casual clothes that she leaves in the laundry room for this very scenario.

It’s not much, a tee shirt and dark red lounge pants, but to him, they’re more comfortable than the softest shimmersilk.

Only then does he step back into the hallway and head towards the living room. However, he stops before he opens the door.

He stops because he hears his name.

“So, the reason we invited ourselves over,” Neyo scowls at the comment and the voice. That is Nalia, his cyare’s oldest friend on Coruscant, and, in his humble opinion, the worst person in the galaxy. “We wanted to talk to you about Neyo.”

There’s no reply for a moment, and then his cyare speaks, “You want to talk about Neyo?” Her accent is thicker than it normally is, and Neyo knows without having to ask that her “friends” have been bothering her about things again.

“We do.” Another woman says. That’s Linly, another one of his cyare’s friends, though she most often plays the role of Nalia’s flying monkey. “I know that you love him.” She almost sounds concerned. Almost.

“You need to break up with him.” Nalia interrupts.

“...I beg your pardon?”

“Listen, he’s cold and mean and uncaring and he’s only using you for your body—” Nalia lists.

“You don’t know him, at all.” His cyare counters flatly, “I’m not breaking up with him.”

“Look,” Linly interjects, “He is very handsome, but if it’s his looks you want, he has millions of identical brothers—”

“Enough.”

“He’s not good for you,” Linly continues, undaunted. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Neyo winces. As much as he loathes these two women…they’re right. He doesn’t deserve his cyare. He never has. She deserves someone as amazing as she is, and that’s definitely not him. 

He grimaces and rubs the back of his neck, he shouldn’t be listening to this. This conversation isn’t for his ears. And he’s about he walk away, when his cyare replies.

“You don’t get to decide if someone deserves me or not.” Her voice is flat and unimpressed, “The only person who gets to decide that is me, and I’ve decided that Neyo is perfect for me. And now I’d like you to leave.”

“Look,” Nalia says with a sigh, “We’re not leaving until you agree to break up with him.”

Oh.

Oh, absolutely not.

Neyo decides that he’s heard enough, and he slides the panel door open and steps into the living room. Immediately, he feels bad for not interjecting earlier.

His cyare is pressed into the corner of the couch, her hands curled into fists, while her “friends” loom over her.

“She said she wants you to leave.” Neyo says flatly, throwing every ounce of “unimpressed Commander” into his countenance as he can.

“Neyo!”

His gaze flickers over to his cyare as she pushes between her friends and hurries to his side, her arms sliding around his waist and burying her face against his shoulder. Neyo doesn’t bother to stop himself from lazily rubbing her back, pleased to have her against him again.

“You can leave,” Neyo says, his tone just on this side of polite, though the death glare he’s directing at them is enough to have them scurrying out of the apartment.

He doesn’t relax until the front door slides shut, and the lock automatically clicks into place. And then he’s wholly distracted by his cyare’s arms sliding around his neck.

“Welcome home,” Her smile is soft and small, and Neyo leans in to press his forehead against hers.

“Glad to be back,” He replies, his gaze scanning her face for any signs of distress, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” She shifts and lightly rubs her nose against his, “Just annoyed.” Her arms tighten around his neck, “They’re not right, you know?”

“About?”

“You not deserving me. You deserve everything and more.”

“I don’t want everything. I just want you.” Neyo counters with a small smile. “But you know, you could do better than me.”

“Never. Not in a million years.” She corrects, shifting once more to brush her lips against his.

Neyo doesn’t let her get away with that, pulling her closer so that he’s able to kiss her properly. “You need better friends, cyare.” He mumbles against her lips.

“A problem for later,” She replies as she tugs on the collar of his shirt, “I need to welcome you home now.”

@imabeautifulbutterfly

@n0vqni

@bad4amficideas

@justiceandwar98

@Mira-Loves-Star-Wars

@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

@trixie2023

@kimiheartblade

@padawancat97

@falconfeather23435

@etod

@bb8-99

@kiss-anon

@continous-mistakes

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@cc--2224

@adriennelenoir

[cressidagrey]

Something good and right and real - Chapter 12

Summary:

Azriel had spent centuries believing that he of all people didn't deserve a mate. And if anything, the last three years had just galvinised that particular belief. And then he meets her.

The first time Oriana met Azriel, she thought that he reminded her of a skittish cat. Shy and a little bit broken. Good for him that she absolutely excelled in fixing the things around her.

Warnings:

Definitely NSFW

Notes:

I put a lot of world building into this. If you don't recognise it from canon, I probably invented. Or I forgot that canon existed.

(thanks to @firefly-graphics for the super pretty dividers!)

“Stop being mean to them,” Oriana said, her amusement pouring all the bond, all over him. 

This he loved more than he probably could say. no longer wondering what was going on in that head of hers, just immediately feeling what she was feeling. 

They could shield against the bond, even her. He had never outright asked her if she had been trained against a daemati abilities, but it was obvious in the way she handel her mental shields. If she pulled them up, he could feel nothing. 

But they weren’t up right now. Right now it was just the two of them. 

He looked up from where he had been having a staring contest with his own shadows. They took that as permission to creep back all over Oriana. 

He glared at her, lounging in their bed, sheets haphazardly thrown over her body. 

To say that both of them were a complete and utter mess…well, that was an understatement. 

Oriana had indeed been right that the whole mating business came in waves. Once they had sated themselves in each other's bodies, they could just about manage to find a bite to eat, to nap curled together for an hour or two…and then, the need rose again to a fever pitch, making it impossible for either of them to do anything else but go back to sate themselves. 

Not that he was ever going to protest about sating himself with his mate’s willing and warm body. Nothing mattered as long as he could press himself into her and her body welcomed him in, wet and warm, her moans in his ear as whatever he did pleased her. The feeling of her fluttering around him, her pleasure flooding his mind and her senses…

It was all there. All there. 

He had never loved anything more.

For a couple of days, his shadows had disappeared, had left him alone with Oriana, left him to find way after way to bring her to her peak, to have her drench his finger and his mouth in her slick…but today, they showed back up again, poised to crawl all over his mate. 

And he didn’t like it. 

“I am not being mean,” he gave back sharply but Oriana only raised a single brow at them. And then she was reaching out a hand towards his shadows, welcoming a tendril that wrapped itself around her wrist, higher and higher. 

He tried not to frown at them happily ignoring him in favour of her. 

“Don’t be jealous of your own shadows, Sweetling,” Oriana said, her voice soft. “I love them because they belong to you.” And then to his shadows, “Welcome back. I missed you.” 

He could feel their pleasure at her words and his resolve melted away. 

“You are the only person they ever tried to talk to, you know,” he said softly, waving to them, giving them his tacit approval. The darkness seemingly heaved as more and more descended onto Oriana, tugging at her hair and the sheet that covered her, making her laugh. 

“I am your mate,” she responded, losing her tug of war with his shadows and he watched as they prowled all over her naked form. “They are a part of you.”

“They are,” he agreed. That was the only reason why he even let them crawl all over his naked mate after all. “They do listen to you,” he said, still watching them, still watching Oriana playfully flap her hand at them and the shadows responded, tugging at her wrist. She was playing with them. He had seen her do that a few times, the shadows always responding. 

It was ridiculous to see the shadows that had helped him torture people and gave him advice on how to inflect the most pain, turn into puppies before his mate, playing with her fingers and tugging at her hair just because. 

He had never seen them do anything like that before. 

Become so active, so mischievous. Just because. 

“I don’t command them. I ask them,” she corrected him. 

Mistress does, the shadows agreed. 

“Why do you call her that?” Azriel asked aloud because he had always wondered where that had come from. They tended to speak to everybody with some kind of honorific. He was Master , Rhys was The High Lord , Feyre The High Lady, Cassian The General . Nesta Lady Death …Nyx was The Prince these days, while Amren got The Drake . Morrigan of couse, got The Morrigan …Lucien The Fox . Elain The Seer. 

But Oriana had always been Mistress . Never anything connected to Fire. Never anything else, like His Mate. 

She’s yours, Master. Ours, the shadows responded. We serve at her pleasure, Master.

Oh. 

Oriana shuddered at the words. He met her eyes, fire flickering brightly. 

“Go on then,” he said aloud, watching his mate. 

She swallowed. The wave of pure arousal that poured over the bond made him shudder as well. 

It was all the agreement his shadows needed as their playful grip on her solidified into something else, as they kept a grip on her that was impossible to escape. 

“Alright?” he asked, carefully, watching as the shadows sprawled her out on the bed, spread out for his viewing pleasure. He was ready to call them back in a moment’s response. But Oriana made no appearance of wanting that. 

“Never felt safer,” Oriana answered, honesty bleeding into her voice. 

Not a single bit of tension in any of her muscles. She relaxed against the hold they had on her, seemingly allowing herself to sink into it like a hot bath. Not even a thought in her head about trying to fight them, to escape them. 

It was everything…everything he had ever wanted and didn’t even know to want it. 

It was…It was everything. 

She was everything . 

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed as he finally allowed himself to pounce on her prone form, unable to escape any of his attentions until he pulled back his shadows. Completely at his mercy. 

She shuddered once more. He kissed her fiercely, her mouth immediately opening underneath his attention, her hips bucking up, until another shadow slipped between them anchoring her to the bed. 

Oriana made a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. 

“You wanted to play with them,” he pointed out reasonably, as he pressed a kiss against her forehead, then over her temple. 

“I know,” she sighed, relaxing again, even as he peppered kisses against her temple, her cheeks, and her nose, which she scrunched up in response, looking adorable for just a moment. She turned her head, arching her throat, giving him better access if he wanted it, but he ignored that, in favour of her jaw, the shell of her ear…

“I think they like you better than they like me,” he said, only half joking, finally kissing down her neck, feeling her throat move as she swallowed. 

“Well, I am nicer,” she responded, slightly breathlessly, her body flexing against the bonds and his weight. He ignored that in favour of gently biting at her skin, nothing more than the suggestion of his teeth…nothing more than that. He didn’t want to hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her. 

“I could argue that point,” he said against her skin and she snorted. 

“I am not making you half crazy with desire right now,” she told him pointedly and he felt it slip over the bond, her want to have him, completely and utterly . 

“I am always half crazy with desire for you,” he responded, kissing downward further, until he reached one full breast, heaving with her breath. Without further preamble, he sucked one rosy nipple in his mouth and she whimpered. 

Her body shuddered again, a broken-off moan and he could smell the slick that would already be dripping out of her, making her body clench with desire, making her wet and ready for him. 

Azriel looked up to see her, watching the shadows seemingly sink into her skin and her body relax under his ministrations, even when her desire was apparent. 

She wallowed in her pleasure, in his shadows. 

There were no other words for her. 

Everybody else in his life flinched away from them, not understanding them. And the unknown meant fear. They respected what they and he could do but they never…

Oriana saw them as a part of him and still separated, respected them as a separate entity and also loved them simply because they belonged to Azriel. 

She had never flinched from them, never done anything but accepted him like he was, accepted them. 

Other people saw them as instruments of torture, as bearers of horror, and everything bad in the world…and Oriana…she saw them as harbingers of pleasure. 

She twisted against their bonds and trusted them to hold her, not to bruise her, not to hurt her. She trusted them to curl around her wrist and be nothing but another bangle in her eclectic collection…she let them curl themselves around her elegant twisted updos and even sometimes, around her throat . 

Her throat, where they could kill her in seconds. And she never once hesitated about it. 

All of it with all the trust in the world that they would never do anything to bring harm to her. 

He didn’t think they ever would. 

They protected her as they always had protected him. 

Saw her as an extension of Azriel himself. And so when she shuddered through her first peak, the shadows watched, caressing against her skin and Azriel could even feel their faint, tacit approval. 

She was theirs just as much as she was his. 

And that was all he had ever wanted. 

He wrung every bit of pleasure from her as he could until she was a babbling, trembling mess that begged him to fuck her, and really, he would never say no to this. 

Never. 

Not when that meant that he could sink himself inside her, her body fluttering around him…when the shadows let go of her in favour of enveloping them both into darkness until there was only her and him and the fire of her eyes, the mingling of their breaths, the sound of gasps and broken off moans. 

Later, when the sweat had cooled down on their bodies when they had caught their breath when he could wrap himself around her, cocooned them away from the world, hold her hand in his, the shadows had disappeared again. Maybe they thought their job was done for the moment. 

“I need a bath,” Oriana said softly, fingers running through his hair. She wasn’t the only one. He did too. And the bed needed clean sheets. 

They did manage it into the bathroom, into the oversized bathtub that had been worked into the floor, and was big enough to hold at least 4 people, more if they were friendly and willing to touch each other…and then he ended up lapping up his own spend from her that still trickled out of her hole, her thighs trembling against his hands. 

It was filthy and absolutely glorious. 

After that little episode, they did actually manage to get clean. The bed got clean sheets. For the first time in days, Oriana put on clothing. Granted, it was nothing but a silky dressing gown, cobalt blue held in place by a single tie that he knew he could undo with one single tug…but it was something . 

She sat down on the edge of her bed, her hairbrush with her and started pulling it through her hair. 

It was so strangely domestic that his heart constricted. 

He had never seen her do that before. 

He had seen her hair in every which state, from braided away from her face and after hours in the forge when curls loosened from her tight updo she kept it in usually…one long braid down her back, and loose all around her, a perfect, pitch back curtain that fell over her back in waves, rippling like the ocean. 

He had seen it all. 

But he had never seen it damp, seen her brush it out, her movements gentle and thorough, doing it like she didn’t even think that he was in the same room as her. 

It was strangely personal. 

“Can I…May I?” he asked hesitantly and she turned towards him, looking at him questioningly. “Your hair,” he clarified. “May I?”

“Of course,” she agreed, handing him the brush. 

It was a beautiful thing, made out of gold, inlaid with stones glittering every which colour. He needed a moment until he saw her own initial worked into the back of it, the stylised O. 

“Did you make that?” he asked her as he started to pull it through her hair, starting at the ends. It was surprisingly meditative. He hadn’t expected that. 

“Yes, I enchanted it,” Oriana answered softly. “You can’t use a drying charm on naturally curly hair or you end up with…very big hair. This dries my hair without any hassle,” she explained. 

He was quite sure that that was one of the things that she had a patent on and still made money from. Sometimes he was in awe of how Oriana saw the world around her. Seeing problems that he had never even considered and finding a solution for them. And then acting like it was nothing special, even when he knew that there was just a handful of people that could do the same as she did. 

Putting her in a forge and letting her make nothing but bracelets and necklaces all day was a damn shame. 

“You could do so much more,” he said softly as he continued brushing her hair. “Are you…Don’t you ever get bored?” he asked her, half curious, half dreading the answer. 

“Bored of what?” she asked him, sounding curious. 

“Of all of us normal beings that run around not being half as smart as you,” he gave back, not even joking. “Of your life outside the mountain. You said you used to run experiments every day, worked on projects, invented things and enchantments…you did all of that. And nowadays you make earrings to sell.”

“I like making earrings to sell,” her voice had taken a warning tone that he had only heard her take with him once. “Just because it’s less difficult does not make it less worthwhile. And no, I do not tend to think of you as stupid.”

His hands froze at that as she continued. “I liked my job in the mountains. But the freedom I have nowadays…that’s worth more to me. I was thinking of maybe taking on the work of a few other goldsmiths to sell in the shop,” she admitted, her voice turning thoughtfully. “I have less work to sell these days with all the freelance work I take on.” Translation: All the things that she fixed for him that she never wanted money for. “I like the freelance work I do these days much more,” she quipped. 

He went back to brushing her hair, mulling over her words. 

“And you aren’t thinking of going back into the mountain?” he finally asked her, hesitantly. It was there, in the back of her mind, of what to do if Oriana decided that the mountain was where she felt most like herself. She clearly had enjoyed her stay there the last time she had gone, even with all the necklace business happening. She loved her family, she wrote them letters every week... 

“You would hate it there. No room to fly whatsoever,” Oriana quipped. Then she sighed. “No, Azriel. I’ll go there to visit my family. Nothing more, nothing less. I am quite happy here in Velaris. With you. ”

“I’ll never understand why,” he whispered softly. 

“Because I love you. And I’ll spend the rest of our lives telling you that you deserve it.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The waves of desire seemed to have settled down enough that they didn’t end up ripping each other’s clothing away again. 

Which was a good thing, because she wasn’t quite sure how much more sex her body could stand before pleasant soreness was going to turn unpleasant or even painful. And so, that evening, they got to lounge around in their bed, between fresh meats, a board of cheese and cured meat between them. 

Neither had been in the mood to cook and this was definitely easier. it also didn’t need to be warmed up so if they once again had…one of their…trysts, they could go right back at it. 

And she was ravenous. 

“I made you something,” she finally told Azriel, between bites of cheese that were being traded between them, gentle fingers offering one morsel or another to her lips. She took them all, unable to turn him away. 

“You made me something?” he asked her, sounding curious.

Oriana nodded. “I did..Tartera…they mark all the important events in their life with jewellery,” she explained. There were pieces that she wore every day, the bracelet her father had given her for her coming-of-age ceremony, a pair of earrings her mother had passed down to her…other pieces were stashed away in her jewellery box, pulled out for special occasions. Other pieces she had made herself just because she found them beautiful. But still, often she came back to the jewellery that told the story of her life.  “The birth of a child, a coming of age ceremony…a courtship, a marriage…a mating. I never gave you any. So I figured I should rectify that,” she said with a grin. 

She could see the expression on his face something close to horror, before it smoothed over. Clearly, he tried not to hurt her feelings, but the idea of wearing a gem-encrusted necklace was there in her mind. She tried not to laugh at the mental image, of Azriel draped in rubies and sapphires and diamonds and emeralds. He would look beautiful in it, of course, he would, but he would be incredibly uncomfortable with it. And that made her not even entertain the thought for much longer. 

“Have a little trust in me, Sweetling. You didn't seem like the type for diamonds,” she quipped as she rolled over to her bedside table to pull what she had made from the drawer. 

“I…I should have bought you something,” Azriel said suddenly. She freed the box, hesitating for a moment.

“You don’t need to give me something. It’s the tradition of my people, not of yours,” she corrected him softly. It wasn’t like she wouldn’t wear whatever he wanted her to wear, but she was also the first one to admit that the work of most goldsmiths that weren’t Tartera by nature was shoddy at best to her eyes. Of course she would still wear it if Azriel gave it to her, but…

“You said that you would respect me and my people as much as you respect yourself,” Azriel said quietly. “When you met my mother.”

“I did,” she agreed. 

“Then the same should also go for me,” Azriel said, his resolve tightening. “If it’s a tradition that is important to you…You need to tell me so that we can both respect it.”

She couldn’t help but reach out for him, and press another kiss against his lips. “Only if you do the same,” she bargained. “You know…you know what I really want? Instead of another wedding necklace? Or a bracelet or a ring that you buy somewhere?” she asked and he shook his head. “I want one of your shadows. With me, like they always were. A piece of you.”

She could feel the whisper-soft touch of one of them showing up again, could feel Azriel giving a wordless command to the tendril and then felt it wrap itself around her throat. 

 “You’ll have that,” he promised her, hazel eyes earnest. “As long as I am alive, you’ll have that,” he promised her. 

She kissed him again, her tongue pressing in his mouth, hands twining behind his neck. “But I still want to see you in blue gems,” Azriel said softly. 

She laughed, a grin overcoming her face. She could do that. She definitely could do that. 

“I bought some when I went home. Blue Opals. Opals are the stone of my family,” she explained. “Still, back to your present.”

She freed the bracelet from the box she had put it in and then offered it to him with a flat hand.  

“It’s a bracelet?” he asked her, picking it up to look at it. It was deceptively simple. A black band. covered in a pattern that one would only see if you really looked for it. For everybody else, it was nothing but a black band. 

“I didn’t think you would like a necklace and rings would interfere with weapons…so a bracelet,” she explained. She had thought about it for a long time. “Do you like it?” she asked him, biting back the amusement that wanted to overcome her. 

She was giddy with excitement.  

“It’s…pretty?” Azriel offered. “You made it, so of course, it’s beautiful,” he assured her. 

“You didn’t actually think that I was going to give you a bracelet that can’t do anything, did you?” Oriana said with a grin. “It’s enchanted.”

Azriel’s eyes widened at that. 

“What can it do?” he wondered. 

“Stand up,” she told him, sitting up properly, and taking the bracelet from him. He listened and held out his right arm for her. She tightened the bracelet on it. “Just…don’t freak out. It’s not going to hurt you, I swear,” she warned him, as she pushed with her magic. 

It reacted immediately. Just like she had planned it would. Just like she had tested.

It covered him with Adamantium from shin to throat, from wrist to wrist, the bracelet incorporated in the armour that grew over him like a second skin.

Covering him in black dragon scales, made out of Adamantium. Forged in the fire of the Eternal Flame. 

She had spent weeks working on it and had tried and tested multiple different versions until she had settled on this one. And now she finally got to see it on the intended recipient. 

“Oriana,” Azriel said, his voice hoarse, staring at his forearms covered in the matte black metal. 

“I know you said you can’t wear proper armour because of your wings,” she explained hurriedly.  “So I made you proper armour that will work with your wings. It’s Adamantium. It’s thin enough to be flexible, to be light enough for you to wear. It will stretch and contract with every one of your movements,” she explained and his wings stretched in response to her comment, his muscles shifting underneath the armour she had made for him. 

“It looks like dragon scales,” Azriel said, his voice hoarse, still staring at his covered arms. 

“That was my inspiration,” Oriana admitted. From a Folk’s Tale of all things. “There are protective enchantments on it,” she continued.  “My magic powered them. So if anybody will try to stab you…they’ll find themselves with a molten sword in their hand,” she said with some amusement. “Anything but a mythical weapon won’t be able to have any impact on it, I think. I didn’t test it, beyond destroying a few forged weapons though,” she admitted. “But all 5 of my swords melted away into nothing.” 

Another person who wasn’t her probably would have lost their hand as well. 

She had spent weeks working on it. Every scrap of time that she had. Once she had gotten it right to work on a small scale, she had just needed to get it to work on a bigger one. Crafting the full amour...that had taken the longest time, especially as she had needed to be so very careful with it. She had bathed it in the piece of the Eternal Flame it had given her as a final step.

And once she had done it, once she had broken open the sphere and let the fire have at her work…she could swear she had felt its approval. 

Love him, cherish him, protect him. The traditional Tartera wedding vows. 

Made into an object by her. 

She never would feel comfortable forging weapons. Not anything more than a few simple daggers, a pair of hairpins with stiletto blades hidden within. 

But protection? Protection for her mate?

Oriana would gladly forge that every day of her life. She would work on it and perfect it until nothing could happen to Azirel on her watch because she loved him. Because he was hers and she was his and she wanted him to live a long, long life with her. 

She was selfish enough that she wanted to be surrounded by his love for her, bathe in the feeling of adoration that overcame him anytime he talked to her. 

She wanted that. 

And if her skillset, if her mind that had been trained from such a young age to make things and perfect them…if all of that could help her…well, then she would do that with every fibre of her heart. 

And Azriel looked at her and she could see the love in these hazel eyes that seemingly glowed golden that evening in their bedroom as he stared at her, as she could feel the bond thrumming between them overwhelmed with feelings. 

“How?” he finally asked her. “Oriana, how ?” he wanted to know. 

She didn’t know how she had done it. 

She knew that there would never be anything else she would forge quite on that level again. She would never be able to replicate the protection she had woven into every inch of that amour. For him. For Azriel. For her mate . 

“Let’s call it a labour of love, Azriel,” she said softly. “A labour of love I won’t ever be able to replicate.” 

Not because of the amount of time she put into it. Not even because of the Eternal Flame that she had forged this into…but because she had made it for him. 

For this male. For the one that she loved more than she had ever loved anything and anybody else. 

Who looked at her and saw her, without thinking about her family or her heritage, her past or anything else. He saw her. He loved her. 

He accepted her with all her failings and all her bad habits and he still loved her. 

And that…that was a gift so precious that Oriana didn’t have the words for it. 

“I love you. I cherish you. I protect you,” she repeated once again. “With everything I was, I am and I will be.”

[sentientcave]

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Chapter 4 - Left Hand Woman

< Prev Chapter - Chapter Index - Next Chapter >

Read on AO3

Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, No Y/N, Gryphon time, A spot of magic, No one knows how to communicate, I've given up on any semblance of reader neutrality, sorry, Sweetpea is her own woman and you are just along for the ride, Farah is here now! We love Farah

~7.2k words - MDNI

Someone sends a young woman from the staff to help you dress the next morning. She’s shy and mousy-haired, and you have to ask her what her name is twice before she haltingly tells you that it’s Tiphanie. She goes entirely pink when you tell her that you think it’s a very pretty name, and that you hope you’re not pulling her away from anything more important.

“I’ve been tidyin’ your room, highness,” she says turning even pinker. “Or, um, tryin’ to. You leave things so neat there’s been nothin’ for me to be doin’.”

“I’m used to living on my own,” you explain. “I’ve been in charge of keeping my own space tidy for years now.”

“On your own?” Tiphanie asks, aghast. “But your wicked father sold you away to the giants in the mountains so they’d help him in the war, and they kept you in a cage and made you sing to them like a songbird, until Sir Ghost came flyin’ in on his gryphon and rescued you.”

Is that how they’ve explained your absence? You unwrap your hair, laughing. “Oh goodness, no. I was living in a town not all that far from here. Out in the country. Not sold off or captured by anyone.”

“Well, then what was sir Ghost gone so long for, if he wasn’t travellin’ through the wastes and fightin’ monsters lookin’ for you?” she asks, blinking at the cloud of tightly curled hair you’ve let down, like she’s not entirely sure if she should be doing something about it. “He’s been gone three years, and then he came back with you— If you’re tryin’ to put on a brave face about it, I understand, highness, but what you’re sayin’ don’t make any sense. You wouldn’t’ve stayed away so long if you was just a few towns away.”

It’s a bit funny that she’s so insistent that it makes more sense that you’d been held captive in the distant mountains than simply living your life peacefully close by, but you have to admit, it’s certainly the more compelling story. “Well, the giants made me keep my own room tidy,” you say, splitting your hair into three segments so you can braid it down your back in one thick plait. “I only had to sit in the birdcage when they were entertaining guests.”

“I knew—” she cuts herself off with a little yelp, catching sight of movement at the window.

You glance over, and it’s just Nox, landed on the balcony, shaking her wings out. “Thank you for your help, Tiphanie,” you say, smiling at her reassuringly. “I should say hello to Nox.”

She nods, wide-eyed, and gives you a wobbly curtsy as you step out to the balcony.

“Hello, my darling,” you croon to Nox, holding your arms out. She presses herself against your chest, making a strange, warbling purr as you scratch behind her tufted ears. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you yesterday, pretty girl.”

If she's offended by your negligence, she doesn’t hold a grudge. She hops backward and gently tugs at one of the loose curls around your face, cawing happily at the way it bounces back into shape when she lets go, wiggling her wings a little playfully.

“Sweetpea, we’re down ‘ere, whenever you’re ready,” Ghost calls up from the courtyard. When you look over the edge, you can see that all four of them are down there, sitting around a table you hadn’t noticed before. “Nox’ll ‘op down with you.”

“One second,” you tell Nox, giving her one last scratch under the chin before you dash back inside for the book Kyle lent you. When you return to the balcony, she kneels down enough that you can climb onto her back carefully, and straightens up once you’re settled in place. Inky black wings spread out on either side of you, and she jumps into the air, headed upwards rather than down like you expected, her strong legs landing lightly and launching off the low roof on the other side of the courtyard, wings catching the wind. Your stomach plummets on her first leap, and you grip the saddle tightly, terror closing your throat tightly against the scream that builds up inside your chest.

Wind rushes in your ears, the sound of your heartbeat the next loudest thing. You take a steadying breath and open your eyes to a picture of the castle, and the city beyond, laid out below you, towers as small as a child’s toy blocks, the river coiled around the eastern bank of the city, glittering like a serpent in the morning light. Nox’s wings are huge fully spread out, and when you twist in the saddle, you see that her back legs are stretched out behind, her big paws tilting one way or the other, adjusting her flight the way a true raven’s tail feathers would. She tips her whole body slightly to the side, starting a slow, circling descent, calling out joyfully, her rough croaks echoing eerily back to you, the sound bouncing off of the stone below. For a moment, it sounds like there’s a whole flock of gryphons, rather than just Nox.

You wonder if she’s lonely, being the only one here.

Nox settles back in the courtyard and sticks her beak in the fountain while you try to dismount. Your legs don’t fully cooperate, and you slide sideways out of the saddle, the returned grasp of gravity unkind and unrelenting. Solid arms catch you before you hit the ground, scooping you out of the air with one arm behind your back and the other under your knees.

“There you are,” John says soothingly. “You want some tea, love?”

You nod, still too frozen to insist on him putting you down. You’re not certain your legs will hold you.

“Nox, you naughty girl, you were just supposed to ‘op down! What if you’d dropped ‘er, eh? You’d be feelin’ pretty sorry about it now, wouldn’t you?” Ghost scolds the gryphon, standing next to her at the fountain, his hands on his hips. She just uses her beak to splash water at him in response, which earns her a pointed finger. “Oi! Don’t you sass me, you daft bird, she wun’t even buckled in.”

Nox deftly snatches the glove off of his hand and launches herself up to the roof, where she settles in on the tiles and pretends to gnaw on the leather, her cat’s eyes wide as saucers, tail twitching back and forth.

Kyle offers you a cup of tea and a smile that's on the shy side. You thank him, realizing a little too late that John has taken his seat with you still in his lap, his arms looped around you securely. “John,” you say sternly, twisting to look at him. “Did we not talk about this?”

“I don’t believe this was on your list of complaints, actually.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, whiskers twitching as he smiles. "Besides, you're trembling. I know I behaved terribly yesterday, but all I want is to take care of you. Are you so afraid that you'll like it?"

"That's not what I'm afraid of. I think people are getting the wrong idea about what my presence here means, and cozying up to you will not help matters." You hold the cup and saucer a little bit apart, so that the rattle of dishes doesn't draw attention to the fact that you really are shaking, and would have spilled all over yourself if the cup was filled all the way up. Not that there would be any disguising the fact from John, the way he wraps around you. "You know that this will only complicate things."

“Did someone say something to you?” John asks.

You take a sip of tea, eyes tracking Ghost as he took the last seat at the table. Typical of them to invite you to a table with only four chairs. “Tiphanie, the girl that was sent to help me this morning? She didn’t say anything outright, but it certainly sounded like she expects that I’ll be staying. And something about me being held captive by giants. And that Ghost was gone for three years? What on earth were you doing all that time?”

Ghost shrugged. “Told you already. Was keepin’ an eye on you.”

“For three years?”

“Started off just droppin’ by, but figured it’d be better to stick around. Was.” He sits back in his chair and folds his hands together. “Din’t ‘ave nothin’ better to be doin’.”

“You did, actually,” John says tiredly. “You were supposed to be the commander of my knights. Had to train Keller up for it instead.”

“An’ ‘e’s a sight better at the job than I’d’ve been,” Ghost replies. “Did you a favour, din’t I?”

“Wouldn’t’ve found Sweetpea without him either,” Kyle points out. “And Alex is much better with people than Ghost has ever been. It probably was for the best.”

You glance at Johnny, uncharacteristically quiet across the the table. He meets your eyes only for a moment, and then looks down at his hands, frowning. You're not sure if this is because of yesterday, or if something else is bothering him. He sneaks another look up, and drops his eyes again immediately when he finds you still watching him.

If it is about yesterday, you're glad that at least one of them has the decency to be ashamed of themselves. Price isn't acting the least bit concerned. His fingers are dug into the top of your thigh firmly, and his thumb keeps tapping a rhythmless pattern against your hip, distracting and wholly inappropriate. Kyle won't quite meet your eyes, but he seems hopeful that you'll let it slide and forgive him if he’s careful to make no further waves.

You'll forgive all three of them from a distance once you go home. You want your life back. You’ll do a better job of seizing that freedom this time— you think you might finally work up the nerve to talk to the blacksmith's tall apprentice, with those coal dark eyes that always soften when he looks at you. You’ve thought him handsome for a long while, despite, or perhaps because of, the scars that ripple over his skin, and now that you know that he hasn't spoken to you because of Ghost's interference, you feel hopeful that he might— Oh. Of course.

It's choking, how tight a leash these men have put on you.

“Was there something that you all needed from me?” you ask stiffly. “Or can I go?”

“You need to eat something, first off,” John says, squeezing your hip lightly. “Then down to the city to have that dress fitted, and to meet with Farah.”

“When I requested a woman to accompany me, I was anticipating a longer stay,” you point out. “I’m sure I’ll be fine without a chaperone for the rest of the day, don’t you?”

“I’d allow that, if you’ll stick close to me.” John’s voice is practically a purr, his lips too close to your ear.

You imagine tossing your cooling tea into his face, which is almost as satisfying as actually doing it would be, and freer from consequence. “I will not.”

He laughs. “Then Farah it is. You’re angry with three of us, and I don’t trust Ghost alone with you.”

“What did I do?” Ghost asked, clearly offended by the notion.

You sigh, and resign yourself to being watched. Even if this Farah person answers to John, you’ll be glad for a few moments away from these unbearably pushy men.

“We can move our little lesson to this afternoon,” Kyle offers, brown eyes hopeful. “And I’d like to join you this morning too. It’s been a while since I popped down to visit Rosie.”

“Why not head there now?” John asks. “Get a visit in, make sure things are in order, and Ghost can bring Sweetpea on Nox in a bit, if she’s up for a proper flight.”

Kyle gets up without objection. “Yes sir. I’ll see you there, Sweetpea.” His eyes linger on yours for a long moment before he turns to go.

You lean forward to set your tea on the table, and push John’s arms away roughly, taking Kyle’s abandoned seat rather than remain in John’s lap for another moment. He smiles serenely when you glare at him from your new perch, as unaffected by your ire as a mountain would be by a single drop of rain.

You regret kissing him. You hate that he’s handsome and smug and insufferable. It frustrates you to end that there’s so much of you that wants to melt under his touch, that there’s a glacial, undeniable give to your resolve. Warmth spreads through you every time he puts his hands on you, every time he gives you that cheeky grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

He gives you one of those smiles as he picks up your abandoned tea cup and sips from it, his mouth where yours had been, watching you so that you know it’s no accident. Yet more heat curls in your belly, like the press of his lips against the rim of the cup can still reach you.

Hateful man.

You feel a little better once you’re sitting in Nox’s saddle again, pretending not to notice the way both Johns stare when you shift your dress out of the way and buckle your legs into the waiting straps. And when you wrap yourself extra securely around Ghost, pressing your whole body against his back, it’s certainly not because you want either of them to feel any kind of jealousy.

This time you’re better prepared for the leap skyward, and your stomach doesn’t remain somewhere on the ground below. With Ghost to cling to, you feel safer looking down, even if it does still send a jolt through you.

The world spreads out below, distant and beautiful, like a painting with minute brushstrokes. You can even see a glimpse of green fields beyond the spread of forest, a near glimpse of home. It seems so close from here, but still far out of reach. Nox begins her descent only a moment later, and the glimpse of the far countryside dips out of view again. She didn’t have to climb so high, but you appreciate that she did, that the gryphon is so keen to show you the world from her perspective.

Simon touches the back of your hands, where they’re clasped tight around his middle, thumb running across your knuckles. Your heart aches curiously. You want to pull his mask off and see if you’re right, if he really has been living in your town as Simon the blacksmith’s quiet apprentice, if he’s the owner of the brown eyes that sparked warmth in your belly whenever he looked at you.

Maybe, if he is (and you’re nearly certain of it), he’ll come with you, when you leave once more. You’re afraid to ask such a thing, to test the weight of his oath to protect you against his loyalty to John. And John… Well, that was never going to go anywhere, no matter how much his kiss shook you to the core. There’s no sense mourning a choice you never had. He would find a queen elsewhere, and you would all be happier for it.

Just one more day. You’ll be glad to leave this behind, won’t you? It’s not as though it feels like any kind of homecoming, to return to this cursed place.

There are a few shrieks from the street below as Nox swoops down and lands on the cobblestone, onlookers ducking behind carts and into alleyways, although all of the terrified faces relax somewhat when they recognize you and Ghost, and then fear is replaced with wide-eyed excitement, whispered conversations springing up around you as you lean down to unbuckle your straps. Ghost is faster with his, and hops down to help you with the straps on your other leg while you’re still working on the first.

He lifts you clear of Nox’s saddle, and the closest shop door opens. “Princess!” Kyle’s sister, Rosie, rushes out of the shop and embraces you. She’s as pretty as Kyle is handsome, with a beaming smile that creases her face in just the same way. “Goodness, it’s been years. How have you been?”

“Well,” you say. “Life outside the city has been good to me.”

“I see that. I was so glad to see that you’d gained weight, when Kate sent your measurements. We always worried about you when you were younger. No appetite.” She pulls back and cups your face fondly. “You really are a sight for sore eyes, my lady. It will be good for the people to see you again, to know that you’re well.”

Her enthusiasm surprises you. You had always rather liked Rosie, when she worked at the castle, but you hadn’t expected a greeting like this, after so long. “I hadn’t realized— I mean, my father—”

Rosie laughs, the movement of her head making the pile of coily curls on top of her head bounce slightly. “Did you think we counted you party to your father’s crimes? No, princess. You’ve always been loved. There isn’t a soul in this city, perhaps not even in the whole of the country, who isn’t glad to know you’re safe and hale.”

Your heart twists. You had expected indifference, that no one would care one way or the other if you were here or gone. You hadn’t even considered that the people would be disappointed that you aren’t planning to stay. It’s one thing, to say you wish to leave to Price, but another to say so to Rosie, and a heavy thought indeed, knowing you’ll make a speech over it tomorrow.

“Come on, in we go,” Ghost says firmly, motioning for you and Rosie to get inside. “Keep a look out, hey Nox?” The Gryphon makes a low, gurgling sound in response and sits on her haunches beside the door.

There's a prickle of magic in the air, but perhaps it's just Kyle, the energy that crackles around him wherever he goes. He stands next to a dress form with a beautiful dark green gown hanging off of it. It's off the shoulder, with pearly beads and clusters of embroidered leaves and flowers in a pale cream colour all around the neckline and the cuffs of the sleeves, giving way to beautiful lace. You think that maybe the colour difference is too stark— You would have chosen a more subtle accent— but you politely say nothing of it. Perhaps this is what's fashionable these days. You certainly won't ask Rosie to make a serious alteration like that with less than a day of lead time. You only have to wear the dress for a few hours anyway.

Rosie and one of her assistants shoo Kyle away, and start taking the dress off the form. Ghost joins Kyle on a bench on the other side of the room, his bulky frame taking up most of the available space. Another assistant ushers you into another room and begins helping you take off your dress and settle a few extra layers of petticoats over the ones you're already wearing.

The shop bell rings, and you hear Nox make a churring sound. "Hello," a woman says, her pretty, accented voice carrying through the space without growing too loud, like she naturally knows how to command attention. "Sir Garrick, Sir Ghost. Good to see you."

"Always good to see you, Farah," Kyle says pleasantly. “It’s been too long.”

“Hardly. We never see each other when times are good, Garrick.”

“Times are good now,” Kyle replies.

“Hm.”

You twist to look behind you, thinking about going back into the other room to introduce yourself, and Rosie accidentally stabs you with a pin. “Hold still, my lady,” she chides. “We’ll just be another moment.”

Farah pushes past the curtain and stalks into the room. She’s small, even shorter than you are, but she has a hunter’s lean to her stride, and a sword strapped to her back. She’s dressed practically, leather pauldron on her left arm pieced together with her bracer with a jack chain, nearly balanced on the other arm, but without the heavier pauldron, to keep her sword arm freer. Her leather breastplate is scarred from battle, but well-maintained, and a small hand-crossbow that glitters with magic hangs from her thick belt, along with a knife and a quiver of bolts. Her hair is braided back from her strong-boned face, and although her expression is serious, thick brows drawn into straight, unimpressed lines, her dark eyes have a curious glint in them. “Princess,” she says as you turn, earning yourself another pin-prick. “I am Farah Karim. I’ve been told you have need of me.”

“John insists that I’m not safe without a sword-wielding escort,” you say wryly. “I disagree, but his knights will hardly let me out of their sight as it is.”

“Could be assassins lurking about, my lady,” Rosie says, warm brown eyes wide and worried. “We would hate to lose you so quickly, after just getting you back.”

You glance at Farah, and spot the slightest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You see what I’m dealing with?” you ask. “Everyone thinks I’m in terrible danger.”

“The danger likely comes tonight. With their envoy.”

You tip your head to the side. “No love for our neighbours, Commander?”

Farah huffs, crossing her arms and widening her stance reflexively. “No. My father’s lands are close to the border. I’ve seen the worst of them. While you were locked away in the palace, I saw villages burned, people slaughtered, foul magics leeching life from the very soil. You would be wise to be wary.”

“I suppose it’s naivete to think the peace can last.”

“No. It is hopeful. But you must project strength, or they will see that hope as weakness. Your cousin has given them leverage to oust John. So it falls to you to correct the course. We cannot fight another war amongst ourselves, or the wolves will be at our throats.” The challenge in her eyes is immistakable. Her perspective is valuable, and she offers it without pretense, as both warning an a test. Are you willing to listen? Or are you like so many others of your station, in your country and without, that only hear what they wish to hear?

“You don’t see minding me as beneath you?” you ask. “You lead a company of soldiers.”

Her lips curl into a smile. “My fighters are in good hands. Besides, I’m curious about you, princess. We might have been friends, had our paths not diverged. Perhaps we still can be.”

“I’d like that,” you admit.

Farah walks back out to speak with Ghost and Kyle while Rosie finishes marking adjustments. When you’re finally freed from the dress and get dressed again, Kyle and Ghost are both gone, and Farah is inspecting some spools of ribbon idly.

"I sent them home," she explains. "I suspect Ghost will be nearby and watching, but Gaz has gone back to his tower. He says he will be there all afternoon if you still wish to learn magic tricks from him." She wiggles her fingers vaguely, eyes creased with a smile.

"I think I should. It can't hurt to try."

"No. And it will give me a chance to go over castle wards and security."

Nodding, you bid farewell to Rosie and her assistants, and step out onto the street with Farah by your side. Nox is still waiting outside, basking in a block of sunshine. She stirs, getting up and stretching like a house cat, her feather-tufted tail lashing lazily behind her. You smile when Nox settles into her stride behind you and Farah, sticking her beak over your shoulder. You hook your fingers over the smooth black beak. “Just us girls, hey Nox?” you croon.

She churrs in response.

“The beast likes you,” Farah says approvingly. “Gryphons tend to be disagreeable, unless they’re hand-reared. Nox has famously bitten more than a few fingers.”

“Yours too?” you ask.

Farah laughs, shaking her head. “I know how to keep my hands to myself.”

“At least someone around here does,” you grouse.

“Price?” she asks, raising her thick brows. “Do you want me to speak with him?”

“I don’t think there’s much point. This will all be over soon enough.”

Farah frowns at that, her dark eyes studying you sidelong. “It doesn’t give him the right, no matter who he is to you. If he cannot behave, I will gladly remove a finger or two to remind him.”

“Really? I thought you were one of John’s people.”

“He may be the king, but I am not one of his sworn knights, nor am I a member of the army. He cannot command me, he can only ask if he wants something done,” Farah says, and there’s something in her tone that tells you that she’s had to remind John of this fact more than once. “If I am to be loyal to anyone in court, it will be you, and you alone.”

“Just like that?”

“I have a good feeling about you, princess. I think your people need you, and you will need allies of your own.”

Your stomach twists again. You’re beginning to doubt your resolution to leave. Maybe you really are needed here. Maybe you bring something vital that’s been missing for too long. Maybe things aren’t going as well as you had thought— You have to admit, your perspective is still limited, for all that you were living among ordinary citizens all this time. Your town is a prosperous one, along a good trade route, too far from any borders to face any significant dangers. There has been little strife, no awful storms, no disasters. This can’t be the case for the whole kingdom.

Maybe you should stay a few extra days, and go through the accounts and reports from the last few years, at least. If there’s something that’s been missed, you might have better eyes to find it. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, to stay on just a few days more. Especially once you’d made your speech and no one was labouring under the idea that you’d be staying forever. It would be easier to speak to people if you really were no longer a princess.

On to better things, as John had said.

Maybe there’s a place here for you. Not as a queen, but an advisor. Something to speak to John about later, perhaps. You’re sure he’d be happy for an excuse to keep you close.

But then again, maybe not. It’s a bitter thought, but his interest in you is very likely just based in your lineage, your claim to the throne. He has no need to keep you close once you’ve pledged your support to him. Better to send you away, lest you rescind that support when you have a large enough disagreement.

John is nothing if not pragmatic. You’ll be no use to him by the end of the day tomorrow.

And that’s good. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To go home, to be left alone, to take upon yourself a destiny of your own, that has nothing to do with where you’re from, and everything to do with where you’re going next?

“How did you become a mercenary?” you ask. Better to think about something other than yourself before you drive yourself mad with what-ifs and maybes.

“My father arranged a marriage for me, and I wanted to be a knight, like my brother Hadir was in training to be. It was an argument. In the end, I saw only two paths. I could do what was expected, but I knew even as a girl that would not be tolerable. I was too proud of my skills, eager to fight and defend people that needed me. So I took the second path, and left my home. I started off as a sell-sword, mostly caravan work until Hadir left his knight-master to come work with me, and the two of us started making a name.” She gives you a wry smile. “My parents were none too pleased with Hadir either. But they still speak to him.”

“You don’t talk to them at all?”

“Once in a while they send me a letter to remind me that the man who wished to marry me still hasn’t found another. That he’s still open to the match.” She rolls her eyes. “I think if he hasn’t been able to find a wife in all this time, there’s a reason for it.”

You laugh lightly. She has a good point.

By the time the two of you meander back to the palace, you do feel like you’re fast friends. Farah has a way of opening up without having to say much at all, her dark, pretty eyes sincere. Maybe it's something shared between you, not words exchanged, but who you both expected to become, how you both were raised to be something you wanted no part of. Farah is bolder than you, decisive and candle-quick, and you are a slow trickle of water, always taking the path of least resistance, but somehow you were both born of the same stuff. You understand each other.

Nox flies off when you reach the castle gates, and Farah and you split at the foot of Gaz's tower, her off to meet with the knight commander, and you to see if there's anything that you can learn. The book that Gaz had lent to you had been easy reading, especially with the annotations in his neat, scratchy writing, and the first two chapters had been more reminder of what you already knew. The third was about disrupting and dispelling magic, which seemed like it would be a useful place to start your lessons. Even if you expect that greater magics will be beyond your grasp, you can protect yourself by disrupting spells used against you.

By the time you reach the workshop door, you’re a bit warm and out of breath, the countless spiraling steps more effort than you’d like to admit, especially after a walk through the city. Why Kyle liked it was apparent just from looking at him, but you have a softer physique, and you’ve become quite unused to stairs over the years away from the castle. There are very few buildings taller than two stories back in town. You halt outside the door to catch your breath, glancing out the narrow window, through the slight warping of uneven glass panes.

“Isna right, Gaz, and even ye know it!” Soap’s heated voice seeps through the door. Kyle’s response is too low to make out, but Soap’s next words are clear. “She deserves better! Been nothin’ but kind to us.”

“She’ll get over it, Soap. You know it’s for the best.”

“The best for himself, sure, but I dinnae ken if it’s best for her.”

You sigh, torn between the impulse to eavesdrop and knowing that it’s wrong to do so. It’s not difficult to surmise that they’re talking about you. It would explain the look on Johnny’s face this morning and the feeling that things are not quite right that has been worrying at you all day. Perhaps John does intend to make you stay on in some capacity, to prop up his rule, which would be contrary to everything you’ve said you want. It wouldn’t be all that difficult to get the truth of the matter out of Soap later however— He seems uncomfortable with any level of duplicity.

The knock on the door silences the low, indecipherable sound of Kyle’s response. You rub your knuckles idly as the door opens, the tingle of magic clinging to your skin like cobwebs.

“Hello, Sweetpea.” Kyle greets you with a big smile. “I’m glad you decided to come up. Did you get through the reading I gave you?” He throws a look over his shoulder at Soap that cleary says go away.

“I did. I read through the first three chapters— I was wondering if we could focus on dispelling magic? I’m familiar enough with the bare basics, and if I’m only going to have time for one lesson, this seems like a good place to focus.” You reach out to brush Soap’s shoulder as he moves past you. “Can we talk later?”

“Of course, bonnie,��� Soap says. “I’m always at yer service.”

“If you go find Farah, she might appreciate any insights you have on castle security. I think she went to speak with the knight commander.”

“Aye, could be helpful there. Go’ a nose for these things.” He taps his nose, his grin tinged with relief that you don’t seem angry with him for yesterday. “We’ll talk later, then.”

You step into the workshop and he steps out, and Kyle closes the door between you. “Dispelling magic could be a good place to start… How are you at sensing magic? If you have a natural affinity for it we can breeze past the first half of the lesson.” He takes your hand and gently pulls you over to the circle of iridescent stone.

“I think I might— I get this prickle when there’s magic around. I can’t say I always notice it, but I haven’t always thought to pay attention.” You sit on the ground inside the circle, noticing the way the buzz of the workshop fades away once you’re fully inside it. “I’ve been paying more attention here. More magic to notice, I suppose.”

“And a new environment.” Kyle says. “It’s easy to get used to the ambient magic in familiar spaces. You’ll get more attuned to the castle the longer you stay.”

“I hope so. I get all tingly whenever we’re in a room together,” you say, laughing lightly.

He settles down across from you, close enough that his knees nearly touch yours. “You sure that’s just the magic?” he asks, flashing his pretty smile at you. “It could be something else.”

“Could it?” You give him a smile in return, but yours is sharp around the edges, reminding him to mind himself. You’ve gotten a little weary of the flirting— It’s more John’s fault than it is his, admittedly, but you’re just tired of all the attention. You don’t want to flirt, even if he is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, and even if you really do like him plenty. You just want to learn a bit of magic, and it would be nice if he could focus. “Or do you think that maybe being handsome has skewed your perspective to think that every young man and woman you meet is attracted to you?”

“Could be that,” he agrees, unperturbed. “But no matter. Lets get to work.”

He runs through some breathing exercises, half-familiar ones that you remember the old wizard making you do for hours on end. Luckily Gaz seems satisfied with your control, and moves on quickly.

He asks you to keep your eyes closed while he sketches runes in the air, asking you to identify them. “It will help you sense when someone is sending a spell your way, or using magic in your vicinity,” he explains. “Knowing what’s going on is the first step to knowing how to dispel it.”

The first rune feels warm, and tastes oddly of smoke. “Fire,” you say easily. Kyle hums with approval, and sketches a new one. It’s cool, and drips down your spine. “Water?”

“Good. This one should be a bit trickier.”

It’s not. You’re familiar with light spells, you come across them more often than almost anything else. “Light.”

He runs through a few more. Earth, ice, moon, sun, shadow, music, metal, lock, key. All components of spells, and not spells on their own, each one leaving impressions on your skin, tastes on your tongue. Kyle seems more and more impressed as he works through his list, and you’re both laughing before long, enjoying a lesson that feels more like a game. “You have a knack for this. Figures the old wizard couldn’t see your talent— I had to fight him to get him to take me seriously too.” He clicks his tongue thoughtfully. “Let’s see… We can try an actual spell now. You can open your eyes, if you like.”

You open your eyes to look at him, pleased that he thinks you’re doing well. He smiles so prettily at you that at first you don’t notice the way magic curls around you, sliding up your neck like warm hands. You’re too distracted by the way Kyle smells, cedar and spice and ink and paper, the little scar just below his cheekbone, his wide hazel eyes fringed by thick lashes, the soft curve of his lips… You’ve always thought him handsome of course, you have eyes after all, but you’ve never wanted to kiss him so badly before.

It’s a charm spell. Something harmless for you to practice shredding apart. It makes sense for him to throw something innocuous at you, but he’s misjudged how much you already like him, and the charm is throwing you well past friendly suggestibility to wanting so badly that your hands tremble.

Knowing what it is, it’s easy to see how to unravel it, but you don’t really care to. It gives you an excuse to do something you want to do anyway. You pitch onto your knees and lean forward, bracing your hands on his thighs. His sweet, forest brown eyes widen with surprise, and he catches your face between his pretty, long-fingered hands, holding you back before you can kiss him.

“Wait,” he says quickly, his voice a quiet, anxious rasp. “It’s a charm spell, Sweetpea, I didn’t mean— You don’t really want to kiss me.” His fingers curl around your neck, like he’s fighting every instinct in him to hold you away and not draw you closer.

“Yes I do,” you say. “I just want to blame it on the spell.”

“Prove it,” he says.

It’s as simple as pulling a loose thread from knitting, unraveling magic that tastes sweet as fine white sugar on your tongue. Your cheeks burn, embarrassment settling in your stomach heavily. You should probably still be angry with him, you shouldn’t be thinking about how plush his mouth looks, or about how his pretty eyes fix on yours intently, the fire that he hides so neatly behind his quick-wit and natural charm rising to the surface. But you don’t move, and neither does he.

“We probably shouldn’t,” you say softly.

“Probably not,” he agrees.

And still, neither one of you tries to move away. He wets his lips, his gaze settling on your mouth. You swallow nervously. “Kyle—”

“Hells,” he says, angling his head slightly and closing the distance, slow enough that you could pull away, but quickly enough that he won’t lose his nerve halfway. His mouth is as soft as you anticipated, lips sliding over yours slow and sweet.

You move closer, and Kyle shifts his legs to either side of your knees to give you enough room, hands sliding down to your waist. You hum against his mouth, wrapping your arms around his solid shoulders. He kisses you for a long while before his tongue slips between your lips. He licks into your mouth, moaning, and the sound is just as pretty as he is, sending honey-sweet arousal through your veins to pool deep in your belly.

It would be easy to kiss Kyle forever— He makes no demands, keeps his hands on your waist or curled around your back, toying with, but making no attempt to undo, the buttons that march up your spine. He feels safe, and you know that he won’t push you for more, the way John would. Kyle keeps himself in check, holds himself back. It makes you all the more ready to melt for him.

It’s several long moments before he pulls back, lips swollen and eyes hot and hazy like a summer afternoon. “Princess,” he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw. “I need to tell you something.”

There’s a soft chime from his desk, and John’s voice speaks into the workroom, as clear as if he were right there with you both. Kyle freezes, a hound caught with his nose somewhere it shouldn’t have been, hands tightening on your hips.

“Gaz? Is Sweetpea still with you?”

Kyle clears his throat. He looks at you so guiltily, you almost feel like you’re the one that’s done something wrong. “Um. Yes sir.”

“Good. The Lyudireki ambassador is here, and Kate too, if you’d like to speak with her before you join us, Sweetpea. I believe she’s gone to your room to wait for you.”John’s voice sounds amused. It makes Kyle nervous, if his grip is anything to go by. “Gaz, I’d like you to find Soap, and bring him to the green parlour. He can be a wolf, if he likes. It’s up to him.”

“Yes sir. We’ll be down in a minute.” The chime sounds a second time, and Kyle relaxes slightly. “Old man has terrible timing. Come on, Sweetpea. We’d better get to it.”

He stands and pulls you up along with him. "You didn't do anything wrong," you remind him gently. "I kissed you."

"No, I kissed you, Sweetpea. And it's my fault you wanted to. You wouldn't have if I hadn't charmed you." He sighed. "Price is going to—"

"Kyle, I can kiss anyone I want," you say stiffly. You resent the implication that a Price owns you, that he has any say in who you kiss or what you do.

"Well. I suppose so," he says doubtfully. "But we should go. You'll want to speak with Kate, yeah?"

Your stomach churns slightly. Kate has been notably absent for all this time, conveniently unavailable to explain. She knew. She knew everything, and didn't give you so much as a heads up. "Yes. I have some questions I'd like answered."

"Don't be too hard on her," Kyle said. "John didn't give her a choice."

"Everyone always has choices, Kyle. She should have told me what was going on."

"Would you have done things differently if she had?"

"What could be done differently? I'm not the foolish little girl everyone seems to think I am. I understand my position in all this better than anyone."

Kyle seems to have to response to that. He’s quiet all the way down the stairs, lost in his thoughts. You let him stay there.

It would be nice if everyone wasn't too afraid of what John might do or say to be honest with you. Although you do know that loyalty like he demands from his men isn't born from fear alone, or your father would never have been deposed. There’s love there too, and real trust.

Kyle leaves you at your door with a lingering kiss. You try not to blame him for the way his eyes dart down the hall before he does so, even if it makes you want to shove him away. You offer him a small smile instead, and step into your room.

Thanks for your patience everyone! I know it took me a hot minute to get this chapter out, but we're back, baby! And we're kissing Kyle about it.

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 -

Divider by CafeKitsune - Flower Divider by Saradika-Graphics

[slugmentality]

Renaissance Faire TF141 x reader

So I know of tf141 in regency and renaissance eras. But what about these guys just simply going to a good old fashioned, 21 century, Renaissance fair!!! (I did my best for gender neutral!)

TW: sexual content(mild, mdni), more just thought then actual writing. Poor editing

 800+ words

These are my first thoughts

Kyle is a nerd, full “garbs” he made more personal as he got more adult money. Majority of his(final) props are handmade but he did buy the fucking coolest custom sword that just scratched that itch. (1,500 he would have burned if he couldnt have it. Money be damned) will do a couple's “garb”, his favorite one is the high fae (gaz)/wood elf (you). His favorite solo garb is his wendigo full suit, he gets the most pictures and likes chasing/scaring people as they pass. Mostly there for the vibes and to nerd out and forget about the world for a few hours. Knows how to sew. At the end of the day, he's the best to decompress with, talking about the day and all the cool things you did together. Showering together and rubbing circulation back to any body part that might need it and then some.

Johnny is kinda easy, full kilt, but shirts come off once he gets through the gate. Has on viking war paint on his face, patchy streaks across his face. He's getting a huge viking inspired Henna tattoo on his chest, arm, shoulder? One big ass one over it all? Two people worked on it, took 45 mins, and was a little patchy in the staining, he obviously didn’t leave it alone long enough. Plays all the battle games, wins the strong man category. Braided mohawk, whether it's you or a vendor, yes. Fucking loves showing off to his pretty elf, prince/princess, or really anything you want to be. Unless you match him the most couple thing will probably be matching hair ornaments. Wants a war ax, but by year three, he gets it. He's still as horny as he is anyday, eating you out under your pretty skirt, smearing some of the paint on his face on your thighs. And with a raging boner for the majority of the day, watching you watch him, he's begging for a handjob on the way home, after winning the strong man award, he's got you in a full nelson, right in front of the full length mirror.

Johnny and his bird got Simon to go. First year he is not dressing up or buying himself anything. When his bird falls in love with the fair he's taking them to get fitting for the costume they want. Likes that everyone there is a little weird, hates how hot it is. You're going to be fanning this man like a king so he doesn't get heat stroke but get a nice shady corner at one of the shows and he finds you enjoying yourself. Year two, wore his eye paint over his eye and forehead, got a kilt from Johnny the Christmas before, black, and a thin poet shirt. Big scary dog energy and fuck does her look good. You're definitely late due to a last minute blowjob. He finds out why johnny likes kilt so much, easiest fucking access. The handiest, tugging you around more than letting you lead. Won the ax throwing. Again he's got his hand on you, if you've got a lot to your costume, hes telling you to start taking it off when you get to the car when you leave, the chemise is fine, perfect even. 

John Price goes because his partner likes going, walking in normal and walking out a changed man. He found a dragon shoulder puppet two hours in. Made a home at the hookah lounge. Fucking loves his pretty love gorgouse and happy, so its a no brainer that your his favrote part but also looks around at all the cool costumes and wants to participate with you. Is either a dragon rider or the dragon itself. Will need the most help getting ready, his makeup is slay though. Likes picking out home decor the most with you, will not admit it out loud how much he loves the dragon hoard your home is slowly becoming as each year passes. Speaking of, once you're home with all your new trinkets, he's got in bed, talking about finally having his favorite treasure back where it belongs, satisfied under him.  

They compete at the ax throwing. Simon and John are most likely to stand in line for food while you watch a show. Johnny doesn't want to be alone for that long and Kyle gets the meal and show instead of the vendors. They all fuck with the music, idk its good and they get it.

[rainydayathogwarts]

Hi! I love your writing! Can i have a Seamus Finnigan request where the reader is Harry Potter’s little sister & Harry asks Seamus to take care of her while he is away trying to solve the horcruxes? They both have strong feeling for each other and Harry knows Seamus will protect his baby sister?

Safe in his arms - Seamus Finnegan

It all started with the lingering glances between you. Despite the prison Hogwarts had turned into, teachers acting as propaganda testimonials, you'd always managed to find each other through the darkness. Harry stared across the common room from where he stood at the entrance with Ron, eyes locked on you cuddling into Seamus's side, an arm locked around his own, wide smiles on both your faces. It was obvious the two of you shared feelings for each other, staying in the common room together until ridiculous hours, aware that you wouldn't be seeing each other throughout the day due to being in different year groups.

Harry approached the two of you, your conversation quieting down when he stopped in front of you, leaning down to cup your face in his hands, pressing a kiss on your forehead. He felt your eyebrows furrow beneath his lips, and when he pulled away he met your worried gaze. "You okay?" Harry nodded, glancing at Seamus who had looked away respectfully, giving you a moment of privacy. You held each other's gaze for a long moment, the knowledge of Harry's absence the next year loud in the room, even though nothing had been said.

Your older brother liked keeping you in the dark, and no matter how furious it made you, you understood why. You'd want to protect him as much as possible if you were in his place, and by knowing as little as possible about the horcruxes and Voldemort, he was making sure of it. There was one thing he couldn't protect you from though; the dangers of staying at Hogwarts next year as a Potter in a school full of death eaters. Looking away from you, Harry patted a hand on Seamus' shoulder, grabbing the older boy's attention. "Can I speak to you mate?"

Untangling his arm from yours, Seamus followed your brother into a secluded area of the common room. Their conversation started and ended very quickly, Harry bringing Seamus into a hug, patting him on the back at the end of it. When Seamus returned to sit with you, he didn't say a word about his conversation with your brother, instead asking "Are you all packed up to go home tomorrow?"

By the end of the summer, Harry had hurriedly fled with Ron and Hermione, only leaving you with a quick hug and 'Stay safe', leaving you no option but to go back to Hogwarts for your sixth year. You, Ginny and Luna had been abnormally quiet on the train ride to Hogwarts, the absence of both you and Ginny's brothers and her boyfriend casting a shadow upon you. It was only when the doors to your compartment slammed open, and two familiar people poked their heads in that your spirits were lifted once more.

"Seamus!" You hadn't seen the boy since that last day at Hogwarts, both of you being stuck indoors due to the fear surrounding the upcoming war. He wrapped his arms around your waist and dug his face into the crook of your neck as you held him close to you by his shoulders. When you pulled away from the hug, your cheeks heating up when you realised how long you had embraced for, you greeted Neville, who now sat next to Luna. Seamus took the spot next to you, arm wrapping around your shoulders to tug you closer to him, promising himself that when the war was finally over, you'd be his. But for now, all he could think about when he looked at you were your brother's words ringing in his ears and the promise he had made.

Just keep her safe for me.

[vampykween]

Crazy idea for toxic husband simon? Lets send them to couples counselling >:]

hehe i love this idea! sorry this took so long i pondered over how to write it, but i like how it turned out! these two deserve a brief reprieve from all the angst so enjoy this little glimmer of hope <3

“i still don’t think we need to do this, love” 

“so, you’ve said. can you please just go get the kids ready to leave, im not finished getting ready.” you mentally count down from ten while leaning over the bathroom sink attempting to finish up your makeup. you know by the time you hit ten, simon will have volleyed back some comment you’re in no mood to hear. 

“’s therapy, not a fashion show. dont even get why you’re getting dolled up anyway.” he’s unbelievably predictable. 

you roll your eyes and stare pointedly in his direction. “you know if you’re trying to convince me you still love me, you should try just saying ‘wow babe you look beautiful, of course i’ll get the kids ready’.” simon squints his eyes at you as if he’s actually considering what you’re saying, huffs, and stalks off in the direction of your daughters’ room. 

~ 

maybe your husband(?) was right, this does feel stupid. you two are sitting in a far too stuffy room with plain decorations, on a too-plush couch that makes you sink further with every movement. you don't even realize the therapist is asking you something until simon places a hand on your bouncing knee, stilling it to catch your attention. your heart shouldn’t stutter at the small display of affection, but simon hadn’t touched you in so long the touch melted the icy feelings you had towards him.

the session goes far better than you had expected. you didn’t think simon would open up much, but he was a lot more willing to admit his faults than you figured he’d be. you couldn’t help but stare at him incredulously, where was this man when you two were at home? when you were begging and pleading for help with literally any and everything? a part of you starts to feel bad when simon’s revealing his feelings of depression and worthlessness, not that you’re giving him a pass for the years of transgression, but once upon a time he was your soulmate and your heartbreaks knowing he was in so much pain.

maybe you didn’t see it because you were blinded by rage, or because you were so exhausted day in and day out, you didn’t have time to think of anything other than being a mom. you both come to the realization, with the therapist’s help of course, that you were both so eager to rush into life that you never stopped to consider what that would actually look like. you wanted a baby so badly that even when things started to snowball into madness you two convinced yourselves that this was just the way it was and that it had to be worth it somehow.

as you’re both walking back to the car, you leave feeling a whole lot lighter than when you went in. sure no major hurdles were cleared. you weren’t sure when you’d be able to kiss and love on your husband again without being confronted with everything he wasn’t doing, but you two are going to take it slow and learn to listen to each other. give and take. push and pull. as you slide into the passenger seat, simon tugs gently at one of your hands and interlocks his fingers with yours.

“i know i can’t take back the past, but i’m serious about changing. i want to be better for you, for us, and for our girls.”

you’re not sure what you had expected him to say, but his words have your breath caught in your throat. you distinctly remember a time when he promised he would be good to you, and he failed. you wanted to badly to believe him now, hearing the sincerity in his voice. warring between what the angry part of you wants to say and what the hopeful part of you wants to say, you land on a simple response of “okay”

“okay?”

“yes, okay. i’m not ready to forgive you yet and i don’t know when i ever will be. but i am saying that i will try.” his eyes lock with yours and you can see the emotion brewing in them, he doesn’t offer any words back. he simply squeezes your hand three times in quick succession. i love you. maybe just maybe things will work out this time.

[adankrivervalleynearyou]

Max doesn’t think anyone will care much that he died.

His dad will just be happy to have one less mouth to feed, more money to go to his borderline alcoholism.

His friends- Jason and Kyle- might be upset about losing their quarterback. But as for missing him, as a person and not a concept, he thinks they’ll be happier. Kyle can go off and date Brenda finally, without needing his blessing. Jason... he’ll probably stop pummeling nerds and start befriending them. Like a traitor.

The nerds will most certainly be happier. Micro-Peter and Shit-Lips and what's-her-name with the headgear. They won’t have to live in fear anymore. Maybe without him they’ll get the chance to live in peace. Maybe that was the point of doing this to him.

This is what he thinks about as he walks around the Old Waylon Place those nerds left him in. He’s always believed in ghosts, ever since he was little. When his mom died, he was six and he was convinced she would come back. He imagined every little noise was his mom, whistling through the house as that long, flowery dress she wore trails behind her on the floor. He imagined the creaking of floorboards were her feet, light and dainty on the floor as she hovered through the house.

He had a dream once, when he was almost seven years old. His mother's long, flowing hair and how it might get dirty and tangled as it dragged behind her on the floor. She floated through the walls all the way to his tiny bedroom, Star Wars sheets and action figures scattered about. His mother sat on the edge of his bed as he lay there, young and lonely.

Her fingers ghosted over his face, cold and uncomforting, leaving a chill in his bones. He called out to her, reaching for the warmth his mother used to have, in the cups of tea she would give him after bad dreams as he curled into her side and tugged on her sleeve, chasing that warmth.

That warmth was nowhere to be found then, as he slept restlessly, shivering under his sheets with the taste of hot tea burning in his mouth.

He sits on the old, splintering floor of the Waylon Place, craving a cup of tea. Those nerds really just left him here. Chopped him up like this is some fucking Stephen King novel, like that clown with the bad perm. It’s not like he’s some monster. Well, yes, obviously he’s a Literal Monster, but not... a literal monster.

But as he thinks about it, he wonders- if I was some nerd, like Spankoffski or the anime kid, and there was this handsome sonofabitch pushing me around, I’d want him dead, too.

It’s not like he’s gonna do much with his life. He knows that. He just thinks, maybe, they could’ve given him a chance. The shitty thing is, he thought they were, at first. He really, really thought they put together that whole thing just to make him happy. But then he got stabbed in the back- literally- and now he’s a fucking ghost. Like his mom.