#plus two sick horses

[uracowgirlikeme]

I’m trying to get the next chapter of Say It In French done but I don’t think it’ll be uploaded in time for tomorrow night like I planned bc I’ve been going Through It™️ the last few days 🥲 just had to cry on the phone to my mum as I did night check on the farm lmaooo

I’ll see what I can do though 🫡

[ldysmfrst]

American Mate - (4)

First Case of Alpha Space

Paring: Hybrid!BTS Ot7 x Plus-sized Human FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 4 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 4,731

Work count for Story: 17,363

Genre: Hybrid Playmate Au inspired by works created by @yoongiofmine

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children. One of which is special needs, and on 3/28, they lost 75% of their vision. I have had to take time off work to accommodate many MANY doctor appointments. I started a Ko-fi if you feel the heart to donate towards helping with the medical costs of appointments, medication, and modifications to the house, which insurance doesn't cover.

Warnings: (I am not good at this, but I will try. Let me know if I missed anything!!) NOT BETA READ!! This story will have a bit of angst, fluff, smut, f/m, m/m, and m/f/m. This chapter does have Injury, Anxiety, Panic attacks, comfort, Alpha Space, and Cultural differences.

BTS HYBRID ANIMAL TYPES: Seokjin - Roan Ferret, Yoongi - Black Jaguar, Hoseok - Marten, Namjoon - Alaskan Timber Wolf, Jimin - Red Panda, Taehyung - White Southwest African Tiger, Jungkook - Flemish Giant Rabbit

AMERICAN MATE MASTER LIST / LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

Is it really that big of a deal that you got hurt? My god, you were 35 already. You have never lived a sheltered life. You have had your fair share of broken bones, twisted ankles, scrapes, and bruises. 

You are always going on adventures, riding horses, and climbing things you probably should not be climbing. Most of the external scars you bear are associated with stories that are good conversation starters when you feel like showing them. 

Things would be difficult for a while because you are undeniably right-handed. You have a few days of sick time saved up that you can use to start with. Hopefully, this will help you gain some compliance from your wayward left hand. 

Work, however, is going to be the hard part. Luckily, your work is typically done on electronics, meaning nothing has to be handwritten. Even if you tried to write left-handed, no one could read it. You would bet money doctors had better handwriting skills than your left hand did in its pinky. Dictation software to save the day!

Hearing Derek’s voice broke you out of your thoughts regarding your near future. Watching him act cautiously while interacting with the other hybrid was interesting. There is clearly a difference in how he acts with Yoongi than with Evie.

Giggling to yourself at the mention of being a mate with Derek gains the attention of both. Shaking your head, you explain, “Oh, sorry. The thought of being a mate, much less to Derek, was amusing, I guess.” 

You missed the slight frown that briefly graced both men’s faces. Derek thought you were implying he wasn’t mate-material, and Yoongi thought you believed you were not worthy of being a mate.

“Thanks, Y/n. I let you know that I am a catch despite being a Beta. Besides, this isn’t about me right now. We need to get the leadership involved with what to do moving forward. Are you okay if we bring in the others?”

“Yes, please. I need to speak with Director Johnson, fill out an incident report… um or dictate an incident report, and then get to a doctor,” you agree. Attempting to stand up, you are blocked by the golden-yellow eyes that have not stopped watching your every move.

“Mr. Min, I need to get some things done and take care of my wrist,” you say with a hint of confusion because you know he knows that you need medical attention, but he isn’t letting you.

Yoongi’s eyes narrow, and a soft growl pours through the room, causing your eyes to widen. You look over your shoulder at Derek with a ‘what-the-F-did-I-do’ expression, only to be met with a smirk.

“Y/n, I don’t think you understand what is going on. You haven’t dealt with a situation like this before. You may love hybrids, but you still have limited interactions with our culture and this dynamic.” Walking backward toward the door, Derek continues, “With the state of mind that Mr. Min is in, it might be best if a packmate of his explains.”

Derek opens the break room door to face Hoseok, Taehyung, Namjoon, and Jungkook, all staring. “Oh, Hi there.”

Then, as if someone had turned the mute off, they all started talking simultaneously. 

“Is Yoongi-hyung dropped yet?”

“그 사람 괜찮아요?”

“Why does she still smell hurt?”

“Wait, wait, wait, please,” Derek puts his hands up, motioning to stop. "I do not know Korean, for one, and for two, Mr. Min has gone into full nonverbal Alpha Space, and I am not sure he will be coming out of it anytime soon. However, one of you should go in to handle the situation, and Y/n needs to talk with Director Johnson.”

At the mention of the director, a low growl came from Taehyung, causing Derek to take a step back and lower his eyes in an automatic response to a displeased Alpha.

The scent of calming leather gently flows over the group at the door as Namjoon steps forward. His mind is still reeling a million miles a second with you being their mate and you being injured. To top it off, Yoongi is on a deep level of Alpha Space.

“Sorry about that. I can come in, but the director is busy at the moment. He is dealing with the Playmates, your corporate office, and Manager Sejin,” apologizes Namjoon as he enters the room.

He follows Derek to where his packmate and Y/n are situated at a table. Taehyung and Jungkook follow quickly, sneaking in before the door closes all the way. They both kneel respectfully behind Yoongi. Their Alphas recognize that Yoongi is currently in charge of you, and it would be unwise to display anything that could be considered a threat by approaching you too quickly.

They both need to be close to you, and their instincts to be with their newly discovered but injured mate drive their actions. Looking you over for injuries, their eyes resting on your wrist with furrowed brows and set jaws. Taehyung’s eyes change to crystal blue as his tail flickers almost in time with Yoongi’s as he slips into Alpha Space. 

“Namjoon-hyung, Miss Y/n is hurt. She needs a hospital, I think,” Jungkook says, his ears standing straight up on his head, one-pointedly focused on you and the other twitching between his Prime Alpha and the door. 

“It is not that big of an issue, Mr. Jeon, Mr. Min, and Mr. Kim.” Looking up from the trio in front of you and addressing the Prime Alpha, “Sir, I have specific protocols to follow due to company procedure. I must talk with the Director.” 

A growl from one of the men in front of you freezes your words, unsure of what you did to cause their reactions. Internally, you groan because it seems all you get from them are growls as if you vex them more than humanly possible. 

“Miss Y/n, we have already talked to Director Johnson,” Namjoon says with a look of distaste. 

“He has been informed that you are now under the care of Bangtan Pack following hybrid customs,” Namjoon says. "It would be wise to refrain from talking about him at the moment; he did not leave a good impression with the pack.”

Your brows scrunch in confusion, making the hybrids want to coo at your cute face. Clearing his throat (aka his mind), Namjoon continues, “We have more pressing matters to attend to besides paperwork.” 

“You are injured, and we have to get you to a doctor. Manager Sejin is currently contacting one of our personal physicians that we normally use while on tour to have you treated.”

“What? Why would I use your doctor? I can just go to the local clinic,” you quick question. Your scent spikes almost like a heavy perfume with anxiety with the flashbacks of your nightmare. 

“Please, I have taken up much of your time, and caused enough problems as it is. I can take care of myself. I don’t want to be a bother,” you plead.

At your words, you are surrounded by multiple growls and watched by now golden-yellow, crystal blue, and smokey gray eyes. Scooting back in the chair as if the quarter inch gained would save you, you nervously ask, “Derek, what did I do?”

“Y/n, you really don’t get it do you? For as smart as you are, sometimes you can be oblivious,” Derek scoffs teasingly. Smiling, he shakes his head, stepping back from the group and heading towards the door. “Mr. Kim, as Prime Alpha, you might want to explain what is happening and what she should be expecting. Mind you, she has been fiercely independent for the last 15 years of her life.”

“I wish you the best with her. It won’t be easy, trust me, I know. Good luck,” says Derek as he bows slightly to Namjoon once he reaches the break room door.

Looking at you again, this time with a smile filled with adoration for his best friend and what he thinks your future may hold, Derek says, “Relax and have fun.” Then he turns and leaves the room. 

As Derek leaves the room, he smiles at the remaining pack guarding the door. “Mr. Kim, Mr. Jung, and Mr. Park, I think your human does not understand what is happening.”

“Our human? So, you know?” Seokjin questions with wide, cautious eyes.

Derek looks over his shoulder at the closed break room door. His mind conjures up all the ways this could go sideways, but he focuses on all the ways this could be the best thing for you.

“At first, I thought it was just a typical Alpha reaction with him being the cause of Y/n getting injured, but his care and gentleness seemed to come from somewhere deeper. Add on the fact that your other two are fighting Alpha Space. It would be hard to miss,” says the fox hybrid with a softness.

“The other two?” someone asks.

Shaking his head, Derek looks back at the remaining three, saying, “Yes, the younger Mr. Kim and Mr. Jeon’s Alphas surfaced just before I left. Your Prime Alpha is going to try to sort things out, but he may need some back up.”

“Meanwhile, I am going to find our boss and see what needs to be done before you all run away with her,” comments Derek, leaving the pack to mull over the new information.

“Tae has never been one to control his Alpha well when one of us is hurt. I am not surprised if he slipped once near her. Kook always runs on instinct too, so it makes sense he slipped as well,” Seokjin contemplates. 

“Should we stay out here? Miss Y/n’s pack member said it would be better to go in and help Namjoon? Three of us in Alpha space with an injured mate is not going to be easy,” Hoseok adds. 

Nibbling on his lower lip, Jimin thinks of ways to handle the situation. Even though he is one of the younger packmates, keeping the pack calm is his gift. 

He just doesn’t know how to handle you yet, especially since you don’t know what you mean to the pack.

“Good, at least three of you are here, and I assume the rest have made their way into the room with Miss Y/n,” Manager Sejin says while walking up to the group. “I have spoken with Big Hit, the Director at Playmate Service Incorporated, and Dr. Blackwell. Everyone is onboard and the doctor is ready to go.”

“Relax and have fun? What does he mean by that?” You mumble as you glare at the now-closed door that one of your best friends just shut. 

He willingly left you with four Alpha male idols. 

Three of them are kneeling on the floor with non-human eyes, and the Prime Alpha, looking around the room like the way to explain what's happening is painted on the walls.

Taking a breath, you say, “Mr. Kim, Prime Alpha… Sir. Derek is right. I have no actual experience with Alphas. I can tell that there must be some kind of instinctual drive going on, and there are trigger words or actions.”

“I don’t want to cause any more trouble than I already have. What do I do to make it easier for your pack?” you question.

At your words, the kneeling Alphas gave a multitude of pleasant chirps because you may not consciously know what to do but you are still acting like a baby mate. You looked at the three of them, a little confused. They seemingly smiled and made almost the same sound as when you said that.

Okay, so they can growl and chirp. Your curiosity spikes when you think of what other animal-like sounds they can make as hybrids.

Drawing your attention back to him, Namjoon finds the words to explain what is happening, “Miss Y/n, you have done so much to help the Bangtan Pack feel welcome today.”

With a gentle smile, he continues, “So please relax, you have not caused any trouble, and we highly doubt that you will.” 

He thought, ‘At least, not in the way you seem to be thinking.’

“Alpha’s run with a higher level of instinct than your Beta pack member. As an Alpha, Yoongi-hyung instinctually feels responsible for your injury. In order to calm that instinct, a few things will most likely need to happen.” Watching you sit up with interest, he continues, “First things first, he and his Alpha need to get at least your injury treated.”

“He has to be the one to take me to get it treated?” You start to ramble with concern, “I can’t have him go with me to the clinic! There are fans and sasaengs and the media! What about your schedule? You always hear about the tight schedules Idols have and you have already spent all afternoon here over this.”

You start panicking about the hordes of people you hear about following the band around. God, the amount of bad publicity would come from catching you and THE Suga of BTS at a clinic. You can’t imagine what nonsense they would come up with?

Your scent goes into an even heavier version; it takes on an almost alcoholic aspect. The kneeling Alphas instinctually send out calming pheromones while moving closer. 

Yoongi’s tail, still wrapped around your ankle, tightens while he gently rubs the back of your injured hand, which he is cradling protectively. He wiggles forward an inch or two to ensure you realize he is still there and isn’t going anywhere.

Taehyung starts to purr softly but loud enough for you to at least hear it. His mates have always found ease in their emotions and pain with his purring, so he hopes the sound will comfort you similarly.

Jungkook, running on instinct alone, scoots up to your left side, nudges his head under your left hand, and rests on your leg. Touch and cuddling are strong hybrid traits that naturally bring peace to most, and being a bunny hybrid, Jungkook loves to share his cuddles more than the others.

The feeling of Jungkook’s head on your leg snaps you out of your thoughts and brings you back into the room. You hold still as you start to recognize similar comforting behaviors the Alphas are doing with those that Evie always does, allowing you to take a deep breath.

“Sorry. I was raised to take care of myself and not impose on others,” you softly say.

“Miss Y/n, you are not imposing. Again, Yoongi-hyung ran into you while rushing out of the room, and it's his responsibility to make amends. Actually, as a bonded pack, it is our responsibility, too,” explains Namjoon.

“The pack? Like all of you? Is this why they are all like this, with their eyes and stuff?” you question with a scrunched face.

Absent-mindedly, you run your fingers through Jungkook’s hair, softly scratching his scalp, soothing not only yourself but also the youngest Alpha. 

A soft chuckle escapes Namjoon as he watches your instinctual interactions with the youngest mate. He answers, “Yes, that is the best way to explain the eyes and stuff, as you put it.”

“Jungkook-ah and Taehyung-ah will find it easier to leave their Alpha Space since they are not the ones responsible for the injury but trying to be supportive to both of you,” informs the Prime Alpha as you nod in understanding, which he thinks is you not really understanding but just going along with it.

Hearing a knock on the door, he calls, “Who is it?”

“Namjoon-ssi, it's Manager Sejin. I have some updates and a few questions. Can I enter?” a voice calls as the door opens slightly to reveal it’s him. 

At Namjoon's nod, he enters. The door remains open as the scents in the room are constricting in their density. He is followed by the rest of the pack, who take up guarding now from inside. With the mixed emotions in the scent-filled room, the Alphas worry that it will reach other hybrids who will come to investigate.

“Did you contact everyone?” asks Namjoon.

“Big Hit and the Corporate Director are on the same page and will follow the hybrid protocol, but details must be discussed once Miss Y/n has met with the doctor,” Manager Sejin reports to the Prime Alpha.

Moving to look at you, he continues, “I contacted Dr. Blackwell, thinking you may be more comfortable with a female doctor. We have her on retainer to work with some of the female back up dancers on the tour as well as the pack.” 

He glances at the boys surrounding you closely, noting the change in their eyes; his scent changes with curiosity. He raises an eyebrow, looking at Namjoon. With a subtle nod, he confirms that something more is happening but does not move to explain.

Looking back at you, he gently smiles, “With the situation at hand, it may be best to limit other males around you until everyone is out of Alpha space. They tend to get territorial. Dr. Blackwell is on standby, ready to assess and treat you once we know where you will be.”

You look at the manager like he is missing something, or maybe you are as you question, “Why wouldn’t she just come here, or I go to her?”

“Miss Y/n, Dr. Blackwell is a traveling physician. She doesn’t have a permanent office to use but she is well respected in both the human and hybrid communities.”

“Oh, I see. Well, umm…” you look at Namjoon and ask, “What option would be best for your pack?”

Namjoon’s chest puffs slightly at your show of respect to him as the Pack Prime Alpha despite the situation and your pain level. “Not to make you uncomfortable, Miss Y/n, but I think meeting Dr. Blackwell at our Airbnb would be best,” he answers.

You take a moment to think, your hand pulsing with pain now that the adrenaline is starting to wear off. They cannot all fit in your flat. Heck, it's barely big enough for you, Evie, and Derek to hang out in; plus, it's a mess after you tore through your closet to find the right clothes for today.

If the growls were any indication, they didn’t seem to like being at PMS. Instinctually, even Derek and Evie prefer being in their dens when one of the three of you is hurt or sick. Making your decision, you look at the manager and then Namjoon. “Okay. If it is best for the pack, I will go with you to the Airbnb to see Dr. Blackwell.” 

It’s almost as if a weight is lifted out of the room, allowing the pack to take a breath. 

“Alphas Yoon, Kook, and Tae. Can you give Miss Y/n some room? We have to take her to the pack house to see a doctor,” Namjoon says with a firm voice, gaining smiles from the men kneeling on the floor. 

Jungkook stands, quickly moving and curling into the Prime Alpha, his eyes returning to their natural color. Namjoon rubs his back, scenting him lightly to show his pride in the youngest Alpha’s actions to help soothe the baby mate.

Taehyung rocks back on his heels but remains close to you as his purring stops. His body is more relaxed, but his eyes are still crystal blue, shifting between Yoongi and you in wait.

After watching the two younger Alphas move around, your attention turns to the black jaguar kneeling with expectant, questioning eyes. He still cradles your hand as if it were his most precious possession, and his tail hasn’t moved from its coil around your ankle.

You tentatively ask, “Mr. Min, if I promise that you can stay with me, will you let me go get my things, and then you can take me to your pack house?”

Yoongi’s face lights up with a gummy smile as he nods. Your breath hitches at the sight. How can the devastatingly rogue-like handsome rapper look so adorable?

He stands up, his tail unwrapping from your leg. He softly takes both of your hands while he assists you in standing. You smile and mumble a small thanks as you step forward to leave but pause, turning to Namjoon.

“Prime Alpha, do you think I can talk with Derek briefly to let him know what is happening? This way, he can talk to the direc… Boss. Talk to the boss and let him know that I am leaving for the day?” you ask, but your voice is firm as if you were telling the Prime Alpha what needs to happen without blatantly taking control of the situation.

“Yes, talking to him will be fine. He has been established as part of your familial pack and won’t be considered a threat to the pack if he comes around you now,” Namjoon answers, moving out of your way and motioning for the rest to let you pass.

Bowing slightly, “Thank you, Prime Alpha.”

Making it to your desk is apparently more complicated than one would think. 

Yoongi won’t leave your right side, while Taehyung won’t leave your left. Both act like it's code red, and someone is trying to assassinate you. Then, the rest of BTS trails behind like some kind of posse. 

You keep your head down to avoid any strange looks or glares from whomever you pass. To your relief, you find Derek waiting at your desk with his head resting on his palms and a mischievous smile. 

“I see you are taking things in stride,” glancing at your plethora of bodyguards. “Did the Prime Alpha explain everything to you?”

Speaking up from the back of the group, Namjoon answers for you: “She is aware that we are responsible for her at this time, and she will be treated by our doctor at our temporary pack house.”

You don’t miss Derek's look of concern as he tilts his head with curiosity at Namjoon. “I see, of course. You are just responsible for getting her treated. Hybrid customs and all.”

“Derek, can you please let the big boss know that I will be leaving with Bangtan Pack to seek medical care and once I have more updates, I will let you both know?” 

Glancing at Yoongi and still seeing his lovely golden-yellow eyes, you try to ignore the slight flutter in your stomach, “I don’t think it would be good for me to talk with him myself right now.”

Derek nods in response, “Manager Sejin has already given the boss a rough time frame for the near future. I suppose his managing skills came in handy. Don’t worry about us here, we will get a temp while you heal.”

Standing up, Derek passes you your purse, which Taehyung takes. You try to grab it again, but only to have a black and white tail wrap around your arm and bring it back down to your side.

“No carry. Keep safe.” Taehyung almost grunts out in a deeper-than-deep voice, which short-circuits your brain. You knew he was the deep voice of the group, but that was not his singing voice.

Glancing at Derek out of the side of your eye, you see him briefly nod and smile encouragingly while he whispers, “It’s an Alpha Space thing. Best acknowledge his help.”

“Umm… Th-tha-hank you, Alpha,” you stammer out, willing the heat creeping up your neck to stop as your words pull a boxy grin from the Tiger hybrid.

“I think that is it,” you announce to nobody in particular. You smile awkwardly at Derek as he seemingly takes you in like he has never seen you before.

“Y/n, you have been through so much. Not just today but in your life. You have always been the one to take the blame for others, working harder or longer than anyone else and caring for those who never return the favor,” he says, his eyes glance at the men surrounding you as he sees nods of understanding and looks of concern from them.

As a soft smile blooms on his face, he holds onto your good hand, “Take time for yourself and let this pack of Alphas take care of you. You deserve it more than anyone else I know.”

He pulls you into a hug. You briefly stiffen, waiting for the growling and pulling to start, but to your surprise, it doesn't. Relaxing into his hug, you take his words to heart.

A soft whisper in your ear: “You know you will always have Evie and me as your family pack, but right now, be open to the pack around you. " With one last squeeze, Derek steps back and returns to your desk. "Now, shoo! Off you go. The boss said I’ll get to man the front desk for now.”

With a nod, you wave goodbye and face the hybrids behind you. After not finding Manager Sejin and a few others missing, your eyes settle automatically on Namjoon. With a slight frown, you wait for a clue as to what to do next.

“Manager Sejin went down to get the cars. Seokjin-hyung, Hoseok-hyung, and Jimin-ah also went down because we won’t all fit in the elevator,” reassures Namjoon.

“Oh,” you feel a slight tightening in your chest after realizing you didn’t even notice they had gone.

“Miss Y/n, let's take you to get looked at,” Jungkook says while inching towards the office doors. His Alpha wanting to get you away from the hallway that leads to the offices where he knows the Playmates who hurt you are being kept.

You follow the bunny and wolf hybrid while still sandwiched between the tiger and jaguar hybrids. Walking through the halls, you gain some attention from the people you pass. You’re a mere human surrounded by some of the hottest Idols in the world right now. So why wouldn’t they?

Not willing to look up, you keep your eyes cast down to the feet in front of you as you try to avoid what you are a gazillion percent sure are looks of disgust and hate toward you. Normally, you can walk the halls without drawing attention unless Reina is around. While Reina made sure everyone noticed you in a negative way, you fail to notice the glaring looks of the Alphas surrounding you, which has silenced most of the current gossiping.

Once the elevator doors open, the tiger lets out a low growl. Glancing up, you see two fellow PMS employees quickly scamper out of the elevator and down the hall. Well, that is another embarrassing incident that you will have to deal with when you return to work.

Namjoon and Jungkook take the back corners. Looking at the men by your sides, they motion for you into the elevator next. However, when you go to stand in another corner, you are quickly ushered back into the middle with Yoongi and Taehyung in front of you. 

The tense energy calms down as the doors close. The threats in the hallway, the Playmate enemies, and the bumbling director are no longer a concern. The four Alphas relax now that they are the only ones to surround you and are taking care of you. 

Even if your trust in them starts with an injury, they know this is their chance to show you what it means to be taken care of, acknowledged as precious, and loved endlessly by the seven of them. 

As the elevator doors part, you're immediately greeted by the remaining packmates waiting for you, smiles warm and welcoming. They're surrounded by more men in black, whom you assume are bodyguards. The sheer amount of people outside the elevator is a bit intimidating.

Turning to look at you, Yoongi speaks for the first time since he entered Alpha Space, “Take home. Keep safe.”

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Taglist - CLOSED

@braveangel777 @bethanysnow @smileykiddie08 @kayways @danielle143 @nenefix-on @im-gemmy @fluffy-canada-pancakes @staytinyville @juju-227592 @levislifeline @carolinexkpop @m00njinnie @drenix004 @singukieee @avadakadabra93 @dazzlingjade @sehun096rainbow @sunshinecallie

[lethalchiralium]

Happiness Masterlist

A collection of Simon “Ghost” Riley and his daughter, Winnie, and his wife, you.

SERIES PLAYLIST | Simon’s Playlist | Your Playlist

AO3 Link!

Raindrops

It’s the first night home with his little one, and he’s trying to remember every moment.

Angel

“Can you please explain to my Captain why I am an hour late?”

Little

Ghost has somewhere to be.

Tattooed Heart

The 141 meets the mysterious Lieutenant's daughter.

You Belong With Me

It’s your 21st birthday, yet you sit in a nice restaurant in a beautiful dress and tears in your eyes - until someone comes to your rescue, like a knight on a white horse.

Dear Winter

Simon had to find a toy for Winnie, but discovers what finally pushes him over the edge to confess his love for you.

Diamond Ring

“Wear it on your hand, tell the whole world that I’m your only man.” Simon dodged death so closely that it finally snapped him from his stupor - he needed you to be in his life for the rest of time.

Wife content below!

Tonight, Tonight, Tonight

It was a long deployment, Ghost wanted nothing more than to come home and be Simon again.

A Little More

It’s Simon’s first late night and morning with his new daughter, Mellie. And you and him have an important conversation.

A Little More [2]

A simple day of mundane domesticity, life isn’t always jammed packed full of events + Simon still has a lifetime of making it up to you.

That Happy Feeling

“say hello, winnie.” “say hello, mellie.” + a text conversation with the 141 + los vaqueros!

Dramatic

Simon’s been sick for three days and has refused any medication, claiming the cold medicine you brought from your home in America is poison and he’d rather die. You are convinced that the British medicine does nothing. Only one will win.

Lover

Christmas Eve is over. With enough paper cuts to last a lifetime, you just want Simon to know how much you love him with a song.

Twice A Question, Once An Answer

Two times you asked your husband a question, and the one time he had the answer you needed.

Imagine It

It was just a nice afternoon, your husband’s brothers in arms trying to name your imaginary baby for you.

Almost

Just a doctor’s appointment to find out baby three’s gender.

Will Never Be Enough

"Simon, I need you." The Lieutenant dropped the papers he was holding, they flew across the office floor. "I'm on my way." OR, Simon comes home to find you in a puddle of blood.

Bigger Than The Whole Sky

It’s hard to get over something like this, it’s hard to feel like this. Loss is difficult. OR, your husband tries his best to comfort you, but he’s finding this new challenge difficult.

Ducks

It’s hot in England, so it’s time to pull out the plastic kiddie pool and dip toes in the frighteningly cold water. Winnie finds a new friend.

More Than I Could Ask For

Losing a baby is difficult, Simon knows that. But as he takes care of you, all he wishes for is for you to not feel the pain anymore.

All I Ask

Simon tells you why he feels ashamed, plus Mellie decides to be a comforting little baby.

A Late Night Last Minute Request

Laswell catches Simon at the supermarket, to which he brings bad news home. There's only one thing he wants - a late night last minute request.

Four

It’s cuddle time for your girls.

White Carnations

Simon spends time with Winnie before he goes, he reminisces on the time he’s had with her.

The Love You Want (NOT POSTED)

It’s late at night, it’s his last night home before he leaves and he needs you like he needs oxygen.

Fearless

With Simon's new deployment comes a surprise guest, Kate Laswell, and some very unwanted company knocks at the door.

Window to the Abbey

Winnie and Mellie are cautious of the two new operators in their house, Simon’s calling, and Mellie’s sick. To say you’re handling it with grace would be an understatement.

Dial Tone

It’s the afternoon, rain thundered against your home so you couldn’t hear the footsteps that backed you into a corner.

Drag Me Under

One moment, you’re home - the next? You’re somewhere you don’t recognize with people you don’t recognize either, holding one of your most precious valuables.

High Water

Price has to make a tough decision.

The Death of Peace of Mind

This time, you need to not pretend. Don't be scared. You know to protect everything you have, since no one is coming to save you.

Waiting Room

The ICU is the quietest area of the hospital, but Simon's as silent as a tomb.

I Will Think Of You As I Surely Drown

…

The Drabbles:

Burps

Little Letters

Christmas Closet

Melody

Mummy

Don’t Jump

Mum and Baby

Dinner Plans

Just Five Minutes With You | Interrupted

Bye Bye Beard

Be Home Soon

Halloween

Sleep Patterns

Chef Riley

The What Ifs:

Home or Hospital | Porcelain | Piece of You In The Morning

Drifting

Careful What You Wish For | 22 Years

If Simon was with you when you went into the OR.

The promise that John Price keeps. | The Locket

Comfortable (18+)

[sunflowerwinds]

make you mine | 4 | e.w

summary: when you and ellie are home alone, you tend to ellie’s wounds (again) and things get a lot more heated than you expected. hailee comes home in a rage when she finds out the truth about you and her bestfriend.

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

contains: sister’s best-friend!ellie, fluff, established relationship, mature content — smut including fingering (r!receiving), strap-on (r!receiving), sibling angst (that is resolved quickly)

word count: 4.8K

a/n: long ass last part for you guys. you deserve it, my loves. <3

FREE PALESTINE | DAILY CLICK | DO NOT BUY TLOU2 REMASTERED

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR

The next two weeks were a blur of smitten kisses, secret touches, and sneaking around. You had to make up lies about hanging out and sleeping over at Dina’s when in reality, you were either in Ellie’s bed as she explained how she needed to nail these new kickflips and going on little dates around the town.

Vincent asked Hailee just yesterday if he could be her boyfriend. She had ecstatically said ‘yes’ and she’s been attached to the hip with him since.

You’ve never seen her take to someone so quickly other than… Well, Ellie. You had been making yourself some chicken salad for lunch when you heard a knock at the door. You set the fork down on a napkin right next to the bowl of your lunch and march to the front door.

As soon as you open the door, you smile at the expected guest.

“Hi, baby,” Ellie steps into the house, shutting the door behind her.

“Hi,” you breathe out with a giddy grin. “What have you been up to?”

She shrugged her shoulders before snapping her fingers and pointing at you. Her eyes were shamelessly trailing up and down your frame.

“I fell this morning and scrapped the fuck out of my side,” Ellie explained as she easily rests her palms on your hips.

You were wearing a sundress, surprisingly enough to yourself. Skirts and dresses were something that were a hit or miss for you but due to the heat today, you felt this particular sundress was the best option. It was a bohemian red and white floral mini-dress. Plus, Ellie couldn't keep her hands off of you.

Like she could pounce on you at any moment.

“Els, why didn’t you tell me anything earlier?” You frown as you look at her face.

You also notice a slight scrape under her chin. You shake your head and cup both sides of her soft and warm face, tilting it back ever so slightly.

“And your jaw? Fuck, Ellie,” you continue to shake your head as you run your thumb over the slight bruising.

“I’m okay. I just need my favorite nurse to help me out,” Ellie’s grin was wide and giddy as she squeezed your sides.

You playfully roll your eyes as you motion for her to follow you to the bathroom. Ellie reluctantly released her grasp on you to trail behind you like a love-sick puppy, her hands just ghosting yours that were clasped behind your back. Once the two of you entered the bathroom, you got all the supplies you needed for Ellie’s injuries.

“Alright, take off your shirt,” you motioned to the few layers she had on.

Ellie removed her brown flannel that had the sleeves ripped off, setting it down on the sink’s marble counter. You stop your movements as Ellie tugs off her black wife-pleaser to reveal her sports bra and the scraped skin on her toned hips, now only left in her baggy gray jeans. The sight of her toned body always throws you off guard. She always helped Joel with the little farm that they have in the backyard of his house; carrying around hay barrels for the few horses and pales of eggs from the chickens.

They were not as light as they looked.

She winces slightly as she adjusts her hips to face you, a bit of blood still seeping from the injuries. You kneeled in front of her to get a closer look at how deep and severe the cuts were. Ellie raised her brows but kept her comments to herself.

“Els, baby, that’s— fuck, I mean did someone push you?” You can’t help but wince as you dab the injuries with a cotton pad doused in hydrogen peroxide.

Ellie’s hips jerked as she glanced down at you.

“No, I tried landing a fucking double heel flip but got stuck on a piece of shit bar. I hit my jaw and slid on the concrete.” Ellie explained, sucking in a deep breath as she couldn't handle seeing you down on your knees anymore.

You heard the sharp suck-in from above you and you apologized softly, thinking it was because Ellie was in pain. You leaned forward to place a feather-soft kiss on her upper abdomen, standing up on your feet. The feeling of your lips grazing her skin nearly made Ellie’s knees give out.

“Do you want anything to eat? Are you hungry?” You hum as you cup the sides of her face, your thumbs tracing her jaw. “I was just making some chicken salad so if you want some of that, let me know.”

Ellie blinked at you before breathing out: “What are you doing?”

Your brows furrow, tilting your head.

“What do you mean?”

You knew exactly what Ellie was referring to. You’ve realized more than anything that Ellie is very easy to tease. Not to be a cocky bitch but she was obsessed with you. Ellie licked her lips, letting out a soft chuckle.

“You’re a fucking tease, you know that?” Ellie shook her head as her hands gripped your hips tightly.

“Are you gonna do something about it?” You hum, leaning in carefully testing the waters.

Ellie moved one of her hands up your side to then trace your bottom lip with the pad of her rough thumb. You instinctively took her thumb into your mouth, biting at the joint. You swore you could see something shift in Ellie’s eyes when your tongue swiped over the skin and sucked it gently. Ellie whispered a curse before removing her finger to cup the back of your neck, pulling you into a hungry kiss.

You gasp at the feeling, your panties dampen at her strong grip on your body. Your hands trail down from her shoulder to the waistband of her boxers-briefs that were peeking out from her jeans, being mindful of her small injuries.

Ellie moaned softly against your lips, pulling away for a moment so that she could get a good look at you.

You were panting softly, pupils blown and one of the straps to your dress falling off your shoulder.

Fuck, she could take a photo of you right now; Keep it in her wallet to show off how perfect her girl is.

“Before I let you do what you want, let me patch you up and put the chicken salad away,” you breathe out, rushing to take a huge band-aid that you had gotten after Ellie’s first incident.

“This feels familiar,” Ellie cheekily remarked as if she was reading your mind.

You let out a smitten chuckle as you leaned in to peck her lips three times exactly before spreading an ointment over her marks. Ellie’s toned stomach rose and fell rapidly, her eyes hungrily and impatiently trailing all over your body. Her hands were flexed at her hands, forcing her urges back to grab you and fuck you from behind, letting the sound of your soft and desperate moans send shivers down her spine.

“Do what you need to do, babe. Meet me back here in three minutes, yeah?” Ellie raised her brows as she cupped your jaw, tilting your chin up a little.

You nod at her words as that should give you plenty of time to get the chicken salad in the fridge and to take off your panties to make things easier. Ellie smiled at you with nothing but admiration and want, placing a sensual kiss on your lips as she jerked her head toward the bathroom door.

Oh, right. The chicken salad.

“Three minutes?” You question one last time, brushing back your flyaway hairs.

“Three minutes, gorgeous,” Ellie smirked.

You mutter it to yourself as you make your way out of the bathroom. Ellie was hot on your tail to give your ass a nice smack through the skirt portion of the dress, biting her lip when you simply turned your head to blush adorably at her. She made her way to the living room, rummaging through her plain black Converse backpack she had set down next to the couch.

The small time frame was a lot harder than you were expecting. Mostly because you’ve never realized how you can’t tell how long a minute is if you’re not counting down every second. You couldn't count down because your mind was clouded with Ellie.

Her shameless desire to have her hands on you, the sweet pet names she’d give you, and the way you thrived off of her compliments.

You shook your head as once you'd neatly packed away the delicacy in the fridge, you sprinted to your room to shimmy the borderline granny panties off of your lower half. You toss them in your laundry hamper and scurry back to the bathroom.

Ellie was leaning against the sink, arms crossed in front of her chest. The position made her biceps pop deliciously.

“Come here,” Ellie tilts her to you as you lean against the door, locking it smoothly.

You inch over to her with a shy smile, eyes glazed over with desire. Ellie reached forward to tug your hips forward towards her.

“Do you trust me?” Ellie questioned as her thumbs caressed your hips.

“Yeah, of course, Els,” you nod, your fingers twitching with anticipation.

Ellie tilted her head towards the sink’s countertop, a mischievous smirk on her pale pink lips.

“Hop up on there, baby,” Ellie placed a gentle kiss on your cheek, patting your ass over the dress.

You chuckled and did as she instructed, scooting back to get more comfortable. Ellie’s hands immediately found your plush hips and thighs, squeezing and loving the feeling of your skin in her palms.

“I know this isn’t, like, insanely romantic but can I… fuck you? I bought a strap, too, if you want to do that.” Ellie hesitantly asked, eyes patient for whatever you were going to respond with.

“Ellie,” you deadpanned, eyebrows raising in disbelief. “Do you know how badly I’ve wanted you to fuck me? I just want you. You can fuck me another time in bed with roses and shit.”

Ellie snorted at your words but felt more at ease like she wasn’t taking advantage or pushing you to do something you didn't want to do yet.

“I didn’t want to rush things with you but… god, if you could feel how wet I am right now.” You were visibly flushed and bothered by your infuriating arousal.

Ellie’s eyes widened for a moment, her own freckled cheeks igniting a flame. She needed to feel you. To make sure you were telling the truth, of course.

“Can I?” Ellie pants, rolling the ends of the skirt of your dress between her middle finger and thumb.

You whisper a confirmation, watching her intently as she begins to push the skirt up your legs. Your skin grew hot as Ellie’s blunt fingernails grazed the skin of your thighs. Ellie, to her surprise, didn’t feel any sort of restricting cloth once she got to your hips under the dress.

“You really are a minx, Jesus,” Ellie breathed out a smitten laugh, gripping at the skin once more.

“Baby, please. Touch me.” You grab at her tattooed wrist, inching it just above your pubic bone.

Ellie let out a curse under her breath at your begging. It was an even sweeter sound than she could ever imagine. She takes her free hand to grip your hips and tug you just an inch closer to the edge of the counter. You let out a soft sigh at the feeling of being manhandled by your girlfriend.

Without wasting any more time, Ellie drags her middle finger through your drenched folds. You lean your back against the cool mirror, a shiver running down your spine as she teases at your clit.

“Fuck, you weren't kidding. Are you always this wet when I tease you, hmm?” Ellie leaned forward to nose at your jaw, placing a wet kiss on the skin.

You nod, eyes shut as she slowly inserts her middle finger into you. The sound was obscene but neither you nor Ellie could get enough.

“You’re so pretty, Els. I can’t help it,” you sit up and off the mirror to change the angle a bit.

Ellie released a faint moan at your confession, silently scolding herself for keeping you from feeling good. Pretty, she thought. She gets wet from just seeing me.

“I’m gonna go slow right now, okay? Tell me if you want it faster,” Ellie placed a kiss on your cheek. “Harder,” another to your clavicle. “More fingers,” one more to just over the top of your left boob. “You tell me, okay?”

Have you said anything yet? You think so but you force yourself to whimper a soft ‘okay’. You already felt yourself drifting off into a state of bliss.

Ellie nods, feeling satisfied enough with your verbal answer. She slips her ring finger next to the middle, eyes watching you for any reaction. Your face was scrunched up in pleasure as Ellie’s forearm began to pump in and out of you. You gasp at the feeling, reaching forward to hold yourself steady on her flushed shoulders. Your hips grinned down on her fingers, heavy pants leaving your mouth.

Ellie used her free hand to tug down the front of your dress, your tits spilling out. She couldn't believe how fucking perfect you were in every way. She leaned down ever so slightly to kiss around your nipple as she continued to pump her fingers in and out, matching her pace to your whines and moans.

You caress the back of Ellie’s half-up half-down hairstyle as you watch her take your right nipple into her mouth. Your hips jerk as Ellie’s tongue swirls the bud in her mouth and her hand that wasn’t fingering you swiped over the left.

“Just like that, baby,” Ellie muttered against your tit, sucking on it and kissing over the full skin. “Keep moving those pretty hips.

You clench down on her at the praise as Ellie knowingly smiles against your chest. Cocky tease, you think to yourself. You grab her neck with both hands to pull her back up to your lips, hungrily kissing her like you couldn't bear without it.

Ellie pants into your mouth, teeth hitting yours for a moment as she is just as eager for you. Feeling overwhelmed by the sensation of Ellie’s fingers in you and her deep and sensual kisses, a tightening feeling settled in your lower abdomen.

“Els, faster. Please faster,” you whine against her swollen lips, a soft moan following.

Ellie didn’t have to be told twice, speeding up her arm. Her eyes hungrily watched as your mouth dropped in pleasure, the sound of your moans growing louder as she repeatedly hit your g-spot. Her arm was on fire but seeing you so pretty like this was the only thing keeping her going.

“That’s it, baby. Doin’ so perfect. My pretty girl,” Ellie praised you, kissing down your neck and nibbling on the skin.

You grab at her back as she does so, back arching to feel the pleasure all up your spine. Ellie started rubbing at your clit to get you to cum even faster. Your moans were becoming borderline pornographic as you came all over her two fingers.

“Oh my god, fuck. Shit! Ellie,” you whine as Ellie’s fingers are still moving, letting you ride out your orgasm. Your hand flung to her wrist as she smiled right in your face at your stuttering hips.

“There you go, pretty girl,” she placed soft kisses on your sweaty hairline through her sweet words.

A shiver runs down your body, goosebumps rising to your skin as Ellie carefully takes her fingers out of you. She sucks in a deep breath at the sight of her fingers dripping with your cum.

“Are you, uh, feeling okay? Do you need anything?” Ellie stared at your flushed face and chest, admiring how beautiful you looked coming down from your orgasm.

“I’m good, Els,” you reply softly, panting softly with a cocky smirk. You lean close to brush your lips over hers. “I just need you to fuck me, baby.”

Ellie’s eyes glance down at her baggy jeans then up at you again. Her eyebrows raise at your swollen lips.

“With the—“

“Mhmm. Can you please?” You chuckle at how flustered Ellie is getting now.

“Yeah, yeah, I can do that, baby.”

Ellie is about to reach for the button to her pants but you beat her to it, eyes never leaving hers. Ellie used this opportunity to kiss you with passion, tongue swiping over your bottom lip.

Your eyebrows shot up at the feeling of the silicone dildo and at the size of it.

“Jesus, Ellie, are you trying to reach my lungs with this?” You dramatize with a soft chuckle, just grazing your lips over hers.

“It’s only six inches!” Ellie teases before cocking her head to the side, “Or is that too big for you?”

You roll your eyes at her words before taking the stiff dildo out of the zipper. Ellie glanced down before gripping your plush thighs to tug you closer to the edge of the sink. You couldn’t get enough of Ellie’s strong and rough grip on you.

“Okay, pretty girl, you let me know if it hurts. Just want to make sure you feel good,” Ellie wrapped her lengthy fingers around the base of it.

The freckled girl lined the tip of her makeshift dick. She made sure to leave a loving kiss and a gentle whisper to let you know that she was going to be pushing in now. You inhale as you feel your walls slowly stretch from Ellie’s dick.

You whimper unknowingly to yourself, trying to relax so that Ellie could push herself all the way in. Ellie whispers sweet praises in your ear, her thumbs massaging your hips to ease the stretch.

“How’s that feel, baby?” Ellie asked gently.

“Full but good. So fucking good,” you chuckle through a moan, your hands cupping Ellie’s face.

Your middle finger traces over the scar in her eyebrow and the beautiful constellation of freckles all over her face. Her cheeks were hot to the touch, pupils blown from arousal. Her eyes soften at your gentle touch.

She looked almost angelic. Scratch almost. She did look angelic.

Ellie nodded at your confirmation, her hips slowly dragging in and out. You lift your right leg up and rest your calf on her hip to switch up the angle. Ellie placed her hand on the muscle of your calf, encouraging the new angle.

“Fuck, Ellie,” you whisper as Ellie picks up her pace.

Ellie’s own moans and whines were faint but you took them in like you needed them. The sound of them was driving you insane, the obscene sound of her hips slapping against yours. Your hands were clawing at her back as you were grinding your hips as much as you could.

Sweat was forming at the base of your neck and spine. Your lower abdomen was on fire and you were sure Ellie’s was even worse. You could see her abs tightening more and more with every deep thrust. You ran your fingers over her bandage and the ridges of her ribs, wishing she could be deeper and deeper in you.

Ellie sucked in a deep breath at the feeling of your fingers on her skin.

“Look at me, angel,” Ellie whispers. Angel. That’s a new one.

Your hooded eyes drifted from her body to her face. Her smile beamed at your fucked out face. Her hand rested just under your jaw to pull you into a messy kiss.

“You look so pretty like this,” she groans against your lips.

You preen at the praise and let out a whine that you knew sounded so pathetic. You couldn't care less as your girlfriend was fucking you so hard that you swore you were going to squirt.

Your hands were slipping into the back of her head and tangling up into her short auburn hair. Ellie shivered at the slight tug as she dove in to shamelessly suck a hickey onto your neck. You panted as the air in the enclosed bathroom space was getting hotter and hotter as the seconds passed by.

The feeling of the thick dildo hitting at your g-spot causes pornographic moans to leave your mouth. A familiar tightening feeling settled into your abdomen.

“Ellie, I’m gonna cum, please” you whisper, trying not to be as loud as your moans.

“Cum for me, baby. Doing so good for me,” Ellie pecked your hot and sweat-dried cheek.

As you were about to cum, you heard the front door slam shut. Both of your movements froze at the sound of your sister's angry voice echoing through the house.

“What the actual fuck?” Hailee shouted that you swore had rattled the framed photos in the restroom.

You muttered curses as you ushered Ellie to pull out of you, trying to make minimal noise as well. It hurt like a bitch but you had to make yourself look somewhat decent. Ellie shuffled to release you from her grasp. You tug the skirt of your dress back down your thighs and hurry to wipe the smudged mascara from underneath your eyes.

Hailee calls for you again to which you look at Ellie with a panicked expression.

“Stay in here. Don’t say a thing and keep quiet.” You beg her, making sure to peck her lips once to show her you didn’t mean to be bossy or mean.

Ellie nods and gives you a tight-lipped smile. You tug the bathroom door open, wiping over your mouth once as you whip your head around to find your sister.

“Hails?” You call out.

Seconds later, you hear footsteps come from the area of your bedroom. Hailee stands in front of you and damn it, she looks more pissed than the time she failed her driver’s test.

The first time.

Her hands were on her hips and her chest was heaving up and down in anger.

“I’m gonna ask you something and if you lie to me, I will punch you straight in your fucking teeth,” Hailee spoke at an eerily calm volume.

“Okay…?” You reply, entirely confused by her angered state.

“Are you and Ellie together?” She blurts out, eyes wide in anticipation. “Fuck buddies, dating, whatever you two are just… can you tell me yes or no?”

What.

How did she find out? Who told her? Not Jesse, no. Dina? No, no, no definitely not.

Who fucking told her?

“Hails,” you start, shutting your eyes as you step closer to her.

“Oh my fucking god. It’s true. Are you fucking kidding me?” Hailee grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and hit you upside the with it.

You let out a gasp and looked at her in disbelief. Is she 12?

“Can you not hit me so we can just talk about it? Please, Hails.”

She hit you again upside the other side of your head. You huff out an annoyed sigh, rubbing at your temple. You open your mouth to say something snarky when you hear a muffled clatter from the bathroom.

Hailee’s eyes dart in the direction of the bathroom when she hears a soft mutter. Her eyes widen as she lets out a scoff and marches over to the door. You try to call after her but she jerks open the door to reveal a hunch over Ellie picking up the supplies you had forgotten to put away.

Her body tenses as she slowly stands upright, making eye contact with your sister.

“Hailee,” Ellie begins but your sister is quick to throw the pillow at Ellie's head.

Ellie merely scrunched up her face in embarrassment, clearing her throat and scratching behind her ear. You notice her nose scrunch up before she groans out, shaking her head.

“Were you two getting it on when I came home?” Hailee’s voice was laced with disgust.

The silence from you and Ellie told her everything she needed to know. You picked at your nails nervously, making eye contact with Ellie from behind your sister's figure.

“You,” she pointed at Ellie and turned to you with a scowl on her face, “and you are sick. The both of you. How long have you two been lying to me about this… thing you have going on?”

“A month.” Ellie carefully sighs out.

You suck in a deep breath as the two of you wait patiently for Hailee’s reaction. She was frighteningly still as she stared at Ellie who was anxiously fiddling with the bracelet you had gifted her a while back.

“How long were you going to keep this from me? Hmm?” Hailee whipped her head to stare at you now.

You froze at her angry glare but somehow managed to answer.

“Hails, I don’t know exactly when but we knew you would… Well, do this.”

“What? Freak out? Be dramatic?” Hailee lists off as she folded her arms in front of her ribbed tank top. “I’m sorry that I’m ‘being dramatic’ that my best friend since 6th grade and my sister have been lying to me about their secret relationship. I had to find out when Bella told me today that she was happy for you and Ellie.”

You shut your eyes and rub at your temple at Hailee’s tempered words.

“She saw you guys out on a date and kissing and holding hands and shit.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence between the three of you. No one knew what to say next. You felt guilt settle in your chest.

“Hailee,” Ellie began, which caused your sister to flinch and take a step back from her. “Hails, we never wanted to hurt you, okay? I… really like her. I’ve liked her since we were in junior high but always pushed those feelings away because of you. You’re my best friend and I didn’t want to risk my friendship with you. Look, I’m sorry that we lied to you and kept it a secret. We wanted to make sure that this would work.”

“Does it?” You speak up softly, looking at Ellie with nothing but admiration in your eyes.

Ellie’s eyes softened in your direction, a shy smile on her lips now. “Yeah, it does.”

Hailee kept looking between you two like she was contemplating on what to say. Whether she should blow up or come to an understanding.

“God, this is gonna be every day now, isn’t it?” Hailee groaned and covered her face with her hand.

“You’re not—“ You began with furrowed brows.

“— Mad? Yeah, I definitely am but,” Hailee sucked in a deep breath. “You two mean a lot to me and you make each other happy. I will not pick between you two if you break up though.”

Ellie smiled at Hailee then flickered her eyes over to you.

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair,” you nod as you blush under Ellie’s gaze.

“Alright, I’m gonna go to my room because you two are blatantly eye-fucking each other,” Hailee grimaced and leaned over to Ellie to hug her. She whispers in Ellie’s ear laced with a sickenly sweet tone. “You hurt her and I will break every single skateboard in your room, Williams.”

Ellie’s eyes widen before she pats Hailee’s back with a tinge of fear.

“Yeah, love you, Hails.”

“Love you, Els.” Hailee grinned as she turned to you and threw a punch to your shoulder once.

You gasp at the sudden force and just nod.

“Okay, yeah. Are you done?” You rub over the skin and glare at her.

Hailee hummed in thought before shrugging her shoulders.

“For now. I’ll leave you guys alone to… talk. Just talk, okay? I’m home now.” Hailee warned you and Ellie before scurrying off to the bedroom upstairs.

You and Ellie wait until you hear the bedroom door click closed before you burst into soft giggles. Ellie walked over to you to capture your lips into a gentle kiss.

“Fuck, that was single-handedly one of the most embarrassing conversations I’ve ever had.” You murmur onto her lips, cupping her face.

“Yeah, but,” Ellie pulled away to wrap her fingers around your wrists. “I’m kind of glad. It was sort of killing me not being able to tell people.”

Your eyes soften at her confession, rubbing your thumb over her warm cheeks.

“Me too, honestly. I would’ve preferred for us to just tell her but it's out now. We’re…?”

As you trailed off, you realized you and Ellie never had that conversation. The rhythm and pace of your relationship was so perfect you didn’t even think about the ‘label’ talk.

“Girlfriends?” Ellie questioned, tilting her head to the side.

You beam and nod to confirm: “Girlfriends sounds more than good.”

Ellie began to cover your face in gentle kisses, feeling like she was on a permanent high. Giddy laughter left your lips and Ellie decided she right there and then that she wanted to make you laugh like that forever. To make you hers.

She’d do whatever it takes to keep you this happy.

tag-list: @elliezlils11utt @seraphicsentences @alesbianperson @21slurp-blog @vqxen @mikellie @boobdrug @macaroni676 @elliesprettygirl @plutolovesyouu @cinnamonmilf @sc0ttstre3ted

[sw3etnena]

WHEN YOU SEE.

Part 2.

★SUMMARY: When Sukuna finally intervenes.

☆WARNINGS: Bullying, mention of weight loss, vomiting, distress, plus size reader

Bullying can seem like something harmless, something people twist, jokes that shouldn't make you cry are a fucking lie.

Geto and Gojo don't realize what they've done, not until you return to school two weeks later, dark circles under your eyes, noticeable weight loss.

— Looks like someone decided to go on a diet. — Gojo chuckles as he approaches, noticing the way you freeze, not by his presence, but by his words.

— Who knows, maybe her ex will come back, yeah? — Geto continues, passing his step around her shoulders, as if they were friends.

You bite your lips, looking at the floor as you try to hold back the tears, and your breakfast, which suddenly seems to churn in your stomach.

— She's quiet today. — Gojo notices, a smile as he takes off his sunglasses, the same eyes that made you fall in love with him before it all started.

— Stay away from her, or I swear I'll beat you up right here.

And suddenly, you can see the white horse and the golden armor, Ryomen Sukuna appears, with a team jacket, a toothpick between his teeth.

— Just think if it isn't the gifted boy. — Geto laughs as he moves away from you, who can finally relax his body, even if just a little.

— Don't provoke me, Geto, and leave her alone.

It must be some kind of joke, right? There's no way Ryomen Sukuna, the captain of the basketball team, is defending you.

Either way, you can't pay attention to the conversation, as your breakfast threatens to come out of your mouth, you quickly run towards the girls' bathroom, ignoring the curious looks of the three boys, and those of all the other students.

You don't know how long you stay in the bathroom, vomiting your guts, when you come out, there are no more students in the hallways, no one but Sukuna, who is leaning against the wall, staring at the ceiling until he notices you.

— Are you okay? — He asks, his voice, although it seems cold, carries concern, which makes you frown.

— You guys really haven't gotten tired of this sick game, have you? — You explode, feeling angry tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. — You guys are so fucking tiresome! I really can't stand you guys anymore, do I have to die for you guys to stop?!

Sukuna doesn't say anything, eyebrows arched as he listens, I suddenly shift to a response.

— Anyway, do anything else, and I swear I'll call the police, or I'll make your life hell myself.

The pink-haired one doesn't say anything, just watches you walk away with your fragile body. He can't stop feeling guilty for never helping you, how hurt were you?

Your steps are quick, before you realize you are entering the classroom, interrupting the teacher's speech by opening the door angrily.

And it's like the universe hates you, because the next thing out of your teacher's mouth is:

— Since you've just arrived, S/n, you'll be in a trio with Satoru and Suguru.

"Fuck you" You think

[aliferous-ly]

A ghost haunted season 10. Certainly not a malicious one, if a bit mischievous - and one had to keep a careful eye out to catch him.

Jevin heard him first, deep underground. He was hunting iron, early in the season, and he was having the worst luck. He even looked up where iron should be, to make sure the updates hadn't changed anything! Alas, the iron evaded him. Jevin might have to resort to begging and then jump straight to a farm.

And he kept hearing these crackly, faint snickers. At first he thought he'd been on a voice channel accidentally, but, no, his comm wasn't connected. Then, just to make sure, he disconnected it entirely - but the laughter prevailed. Jevin chalked it up to too many sleepless nights, and went to find an overachieving hermit already building an iron farm.

Stress heard him next, but as someone who heard murmuring monsters on a good day, she didn't give it a second thought. Clear as day she heard an, "oh, bugger." She thought, you and me both, monster, before going along with her day.

Then it was Xisuma, though he didn't hear anyone, he saw. It was a mere glimmer out of the corner of his eye. White hair, stout, pickaxe slung lovingly over a shoulder. When he looked back there was nothing. He resolved to run diagnostics on his helmet, because something was clearly haywire.

And in Joel's defense, he was both exhausted and brand new to hermitcraft. It wasn't like people had nametags on, they were a group of friends! So when an old man grumbled by, lost as could be within the shopping district, Joel furrowed his brows but ultimately was too tired to ruminate. He overheard the man saying something about shroomlights and called out, "Tango has the permit, but he doesn't have a shop up yet!"

The man startled, muttered something about "permits?" before scuttling off like a spooked horse. Joel shrugged. It was called hermitcraft, after all. There had to be loads of people he hadn't met yet.

Small instances added up. Scar fell asleep making a tree, hidden amongst the branches, and was spooked awake by the sound of a player dying. But when he checked his comm, nothing showed up. A dream, he thought uneasily.

I just need sleep, Tango thought.

Wow, someone's wearing a sick costume, Skizz thought. Too bad I'm too busy to go chat right now!

Who's messing with my hourglass now? Doc thought. Only, there wasn't anyone else on the server at the time. Probably an armor stand prank.

It all came to head when Hypno stumbled across his fifth stripmine in one mining session. He rolled his eyes, because of course Wels had created tunnels beneath Hypno's place just to be a nuisance. Except when he pointed it out to Wels, who was on call with Hypno but was busy caving, Wels expressed confusion.

"I've only made one or two strip mines. And they're not near you," Wels said.

Hypno saw a wisp of white hair turning a corner. "Haha, very funny, Wels. Come on out."

"I'm not joking?" Wels said in confusion. In the same beat he got the achievement for sneaking successfully past a shrieker for the first time and Hypno was far too high up to be near an ancient city.

"Maybe it's someone else?" Hypno murmured, checking who was online. Grian and Joel, who were having their own shenanigans blowing up the comms (it involved TNT, so the blowing up was quite literal). Impulse had just left. Etho, who could be a contender if Hypno didn't know he'd fallen asleep at the post office three hours ago. Plus, what sort of prank would this be, from Etho?

He explored the endless strip mines and got so lost that he had to dig his way up. When he mentioned the strangeness to Keralis, the man lit up and exclaimed that he'd found the same thing, how weird was that, huh?

Hypno investigated. If there was a bug in the world he'd need to know.

"You know, it might not be a bug," Cleo said meaningfully. They fidgeted with a tear in their clothes.

"What else would it be?" Hypno asked, mystified.

"Maybe it's a player. You know. Someone we never removed from the whitelist."

Cleo raised an eyebrow. It wasn't in their nature to beat around the bush, but at the same time they didn't want to act crass. Not for this.

Tentative realization trickled through Hypno. He nodded and abruptly left, unsure how to feel.

The information spread slowly through the rest of the server. Joe took to leaving boxes of torches and iron pickaxes about, and every so often would have to refill them. He didn't ask, but everyone swore they hadn't been stealing. Who would need an iron pickaxe at this point, anyway?

One night, Cub let off a slew of fireworks that were spherical and solid green. He heard a faint chuckle on the breeze, and raised a drink in quiet salute.

So, yes. A ghost haunted season 10. But ghost haunting had such a negative connotation, didn't it? The hermits, if they spoke about him at all, much preferred to call him the True Hermit who never left.

[divinesolas]

i love the benji stuff you write 🫶🏼🫶🏼 could you do a fic with a very delicate reader, she doesn’t handle blood well and loved animals, total opposite of ben

a.n: had this sitting in my paused queue for weeks im so sorry 😭😭 tyrell!reader, ur so sweet thank you and i hope you enjoy this 🫶🫶

perm benjicot taglist (open !)

@lyssaluvs @yeolsbubbles s @lenasvoid @at-a-rax-i-a a @poppyflower-22 @helpyourself-9 @kiraflowersworld @randomgurl2326 @valdezthg @mysticmusicinkpop @tiredsleepyhead @secretf1lms @hardkiddonut @downbadforpsychoticmen n @smh-anon @shootinqstars101 @stlzking @helo1281917 @earth4angels @flowerprincezz @kitkat1sstuff @charvsz @majoso12 @beautifulsweetschaos @waystarkia @xxxkat3xxx @kezibear @scrumptiousloser @stark-head @sluttysnowangel666

You stroke the mane of the horse as you try to ignore the sounds of people cheering and swords clashing. your family had provided the horses for the jousting tourney and you dreaded every second of it. You loved each and every single on of these horses and you doubt all of them will walk away from today unharmed.

you choke back a gag as a heavily injured horse gets dragged through the barn and your heart aches at the sight. you hear some more voices behind you and you turn to see a knight dressed up and one of the guards, “this ones yours.” the horse you’re stroking takes a step back and you tug at its reins to keep her in check. the guard walks away as soon as the boy next to him nods and the two of you look at each other. unlike most of the other men that you’ve met today he does not look as confident as he should. he gulps as he looks back and forth between the horse and you.

“are you alright?” he coughs into the fist of his hand and nods, “of course! yes i mean um yes yes i am.” he straightens up, “my name is benjicot blackwood, its nice to meet you.” you smile at him, hes been the first person to even so much as speak to you today despite meeting too many lords for your liking. “y/n tyrell, pleasure.” his eyes widen and he lets out a shaky laugh, “like daughter of the lady tyrell?” you giggle at his nerves and continue to stroke at the horses mane, “is there another tyrell i am unaware of?” he quickly shakes his head, “no no i just did not think i would get to meet you, and that you would be here of all places.”

it certainly was odd, the only daughter of the lady of house tyrell was standing in the stables in dirt covered clothes tending the the horses. you pout slightly, “i do not like this whole thing. the horses get hurt the men get hurt. who wins?” benjicot nods as he kicks some of the dirt under his feet. “so you stay here instead?” “the sight of blood makes me sick, so its better i stay here, plus i need to make sure my horses are okay.”

“theyre your horses?” “my house provides these events with the horses, i hate it. not all of them come back alive like sally and daisy.” he walks towards the horse and stroke her lightly on the nose, “does this one have a name?” “star.” he looks you in the eyes and you ignore the way your heart jumps. “well i promise you i vow to keep star as safe as possible and she will return to you safe and sound.”

you grab his hand and his face turns red, “you’re the kindest man ive ever met ser blackwood.” he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck and grins at you, “you’re too kind my lady and please, ben is just fine.” you two are startled by the sounds of yelling and you realize its bens time to go out. you help him into the horse and give the horse one last kiss on the nose as you look up at ben.

“you should come out and watch my match my lady.” you tilt your head at him, “whatever for?” “so i may ask for your favor my lady.” you flush at his words and look down at the ground. “i will go watch only your match i suppose.” ben rides off with a final smile and he cant drop the grin on his face even as he walks out onto the field as he’s called.

many are shocked to see you him ask your for your favor and even more are shocked when you get it to him. you ignore the whispers of the people around you as you press a kiss against your favor before tossing it to him. he is certain he wins his match not because of his excessive training or experience but because of your favor in his pocket.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

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

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

── SWORD OF THE SAINT

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

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Word Count: 18.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Michael,” she breathed out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s right,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does that mean?” the guard said.

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

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

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

“Certainly not,” the guard said.

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

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

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

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

“Michael,” the guard said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you said miserably. “Father.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What have you come here in search of?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it important to you?” he said.

“It’s a courtesy,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I knew that already,” he said.

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

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

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

“What a beautiful scene,” he said. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Who indeed?” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you light them?” you said.

“They were already lit,” he said.

“Hm,” you said. “It wasn’t me.”

“Naturally,” he said.

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

“What will you do about it?” he said.

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

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

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

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

“Ah,” he said. 

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

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

“Was your mother a moth?” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There is still time?” he said.

“We can hope,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were awake?” you said.

“Yes,” he said. 

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

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

“Because of their uncanny strength?” you tried.

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

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

“I assume you want me to ask what you mean by that,” he said.

“It’s not that I want it,” you said, swiveling eagerly so that you could face him. He snorted, not offering you the same dignity, the gold of the altar reflecting on his cheekbones. “But I’ll tell you if you’d like!”

“I wouldn’t,” he said. You waited, but he did not budge. The sword was at his side, his one hand placed over it, so instead of telling him any stories, you bent so that you could inspect the weapon.

“Where did you get this, anyways?” you said. “It’s of a make I don’t recognize.”

“And you are well-acquainted with every blacksmith in the entire kingdom, I expect?” he said.

“The ones of note, yes,” you said. “The ones with the talent to make something so fine. Don’t you remember whose daughter I am? I was loved by knights long before my father laid eyes upon me. They taught me a little.”

“What use does a princess have for smithing?” he said, though he did not make any moves to pull the sword away, allowing you to inspect it. You dared not touch it, lest he yank it back, but it seemed the lingering of your eyes was permissible, so you were unabashed in allowing them to rest upon the gleaming metal.

“Not much,” you said. “But a knight has very many uses for the matter.”

“You are no knight,” he said with a sneer. 

“Of course not,” you said. Now that you were closer, you saw that the centers of the roses blooming on the hilt were sapphire, and what you had thought was rust had a different shade to it, something dried and burgundy that you could not identify. “But they were. The ways of the sword were all that they knew, so I was raised on such tales instead of the more typical stories.”

A gust of wind blew through the windows, and you shuddered, tucking your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. Kaiser gripped his sword tighter, the veins of his hand standing out blue and angry, but otherwise he did not react.

“One blacksmith brands his work with a bull,” you said. “Another with a dog, and a third with laurels. Many and many things, yet the rose has no place on the list. It’s too sacred. Nobody would dare carve Michael’s symbol into a mere mortal weapon. Who are we, anyways? To compare ourselves to someone who does such grand things?”

“You said grand,” he noted. “Not great.”

“Great implies an antonym,” you said. “But I don’t think such concept really exist to him and those of that kind — good and bad and all. There are different scales, different evils, but the ways in which the angels impact our lives can only be grand or minute. It’s unfair to assign morality to it.”

“Yet if these acts, whether grand or minute, change your life for the better, or alternately for the worse, then can you not judge them to be either good or bad?” he said.

“I can, and indeed many do, but they are not my concern. I speak only of Michael, and I maintain that it is impossible for him to turn that judgment unto himself,” you said. “You know, my mother saw him right before she died. Everyone thought it was a stroke of good fortune. He’s a healer, so he must’ve been there to heal her — yet they forgot, in their desperate hope, that he also comes to escort us to our final resting places. As he had come for my mother.”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s true.”

“Well,” you said. “That’s it, then. Is he evil for taking my mother? Can I liken him to a villain for what he did? I would like to. It would be easier…if there was someone to blame, then it would be easier. I wish I could hate someone for it, but I cannot. There is no one. Michael did not take her to hurt me; that is just what he does. I can point my finger at that ceiling and curse him, but what good will it do? It won’t change his nature.”

Kaiser was silent. You must’ve bored him, and you wished you could disappear into the floor, melt into a mosaic, and freeze in place before he could mock you.

“Angels are above humans,” he said after a while.

“Everyone knows that,” you said.

“So how can humans do something that an angel cannot?” he said. “How is it possible?”

“I suppose it’s not unique to them,” you said. “Asking an angel to understand a person is like asking you or I to empathize with a dormouse. The best we can do is impartiality; it’s the same for them, I’d say.”

“Dormice?” he said. “I don’t think it’s the same at all.”

“No?” you said. “I’m not that learned. I don’t take offense. There’s as many theories about these obscurities as there are stars in the sky; I pass the time by coming up with more by the day, for I have little else to do when I am not here, but of course they would not hold under examination. I’m hardly a priest.”

There was another gale, this one howling and accompanied by your horse huffing anxiously outside. You doubted it was anything more than an oncoming squall, and ordinarily you’d wait for it to pass, but you did not want to leave the mare alone in the rain, so reluctantly you stood, dipping your head at Kaiser in the politest farewell you could muster.

“Wait,” he said when you reached the door, his voice still a dull, quiet monotone that you had to strain to properly listen to. “Next time.”

“Next time?” you said.

“Tell me the story of your birth,” he said, and then he was glowering at you again, demanding and haughty and piercing all in turn. “I will understand you.”

“Who said you won’t?” you said rhetorically. “Farewell for now. Please be safe in returning to your quarters.”

Your mare pranced the entire way back to the stables, her ears pricked towards the sky, her tail held high and the whites of her eyes showing. You tangled your fingers in her mane, the coming storm seeping through the fabric of your cloak as you urged her forward, hardly making it to the stable before it began to pour, ducking under the stone lip of the roof and holding onto her reins with sweat-slicked hands, trembling from the relief of the near-miss and leaning against her muscular neck to regain your bearings.

At the end of that week, you were met with a visitor — the youngest and dearest of your uncles, who loved you as if you were his own eldest daughter. He had set out from his own manor as soon as he had heard the news, and such was his haste that even now, the grit of his travels lined his clothes and features, but that did not dampen his jovial spirit any.

“You must rest, uncle!” you said, wincing as he regaled you with a story about the strange twins he had met while riding to the manor, with faces like crocodiles and mouths that only spoke lies, right up until he cut their tongues out, after which they could no longer speak at all.

“My, my, how you fret! Lovely niece, you are more and more like your mother every day,” your uncle said. “You must be so proud of her.”

This was accompanied by a good-natured punch to your father’s arm; anyone else would’ve been reprimanded, but at his brother’s antics, your father could only roll his eyes and cuff him on the ear, just as good-natured and half-heartedly.

“I don’t think it’s possible for a man to be prouder,” he said.

“Thank you, father,” you said, curtseying before brandishing an irreverent finger at your uncle. “But really, I insist! Let me take you to your chambers. You have come so far — surely you are weary.”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it…” he said.

“There will be plenty of time for your stories tomorrow over breakfast,” you assured him, taking the stairs slowly, so that he did not overexert himself. “I am sure you have many more.”

“Of course,” he said. “Though not all of them are as lively.”

“Is there cause for alarm?” you said. Your uncle turned away guiltily. Slipping the key to his chambers into the lock and rotating it, you waited. “You must tell me if there is.”

“I don’t want to cause undue stress,” he said. “Especially after everything with your mother.”

“You have already said it. Better to be done with the affair and tell me the whole of things; it’ll only stress me further if you leave me to conjure scenarios of my own in my mind, so there is no avoiding it now,” you said.

“Come in with me, then,” he said, following after you into the chambers where his luggage was already waiting. You sat on the edge of the bed, allowing him to collapse into the desk chair, his head in his hands. “The queen.”

“No,” you said, praying it was paranoia that forced your thoughts down the ugliest of paths. “No, you don’t mean—”

“She has taken ill,” he said. “Her condition is deteriorating at the same rate your mother’s did. My brother the king is…not optimistic. She has been secluded in an attempt to contain the affliction, though of course we do not know how long she has been sick and how much longer she has been contagious. The entire royal family, barring you, your father, and I — if we stay away from the palace, that is — could succumb before the flowers next bloom.”

“Only the three of us will be left?” you said. Your uncle nodded.

“It seems that even in death, your mother is looking out for you,” he said. Something scratched at the back of your throat, and despite how you tried to swallow it back, it only clawed its way up, coalescing into a small whimper. Your uncle’s face softened, returning ten years of youth to it. “Don’t be afraid. We are safe here. As safe as can be.”

“How does it matter?” you said. “If everyone else is gone, how does it matter?”

To this, your uncle had no response, so he only gave you a pitying look and bade you to return to your room, promising you both would meet again and discuss it in the morning, when your father could join you. Whether he would’ve held true to that oath or not, you didn’t know, because as soon as you heard the murmuring of the servants awakening, you threw on a pair of house-slippers and fled the manor, running as fast as you could to the chapel where you knew Kaiser would be waiting.

In the watery light of dawn, he was almost ghostly, ephemeral like smoke or a wraith, the blue of his hair iridescent, the gold closer to a soft cream. Today he was far from the candles, sitting on one of the benches again, his back to you. You panted from the exertion of your earlier pace, but he did not move, did not try to assist you or even greet you.

“There was a prophecy,” you coughed out, flopping onto the closest bench, lying on it with your feet hanging off of the ends. “About my mother. It said that my father’s blood would spell her death.”

Kaiser did not say anything, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t listening, or at least that was what you assured yourself with. He must’ve heard you. He must’ve known.

“My uncles commanded him to take a second wife. The prophecy must’ve referred to their progeny, and indeed every heir they attempted to conceive died in her womb before it could kill her in turn, further proving the point. My father refused, however. He wouldn’t do that to her. If he could not have a child with her, then he would not have one at all,” you said. “I’m sure you know where this is going.”

“They prayed,” he said. “In turn, they were gifted with a child.”

“And my mother did not die,” you said. “That’s why people say I’ve been agreeable for my entire life. I did not fuss, either. I was good, or so I’ve been told. The best of my cousins by far. At the time of my birth, my father was away on some campaign for my uncle the king, so he did not even hear of it for many months, and he could not return for many more. It’s why I was raised by knights and nuns.”

“And why you spout theories and smithing as if you were born to them,” he said.

“That as well. Anyways, the nuns always praised me for defying that prophecy,” you said. “For saving my mother from a certain death. Do you understand?”

“Prophecies are hardly ever so straightforward,” he said. “You can divine one million meanings from them, but it is the million-and-first which will come true. It’s foolhardy and presumptuous for one to claim they understand the truth behind the future. You can only know it once it has come to pass.”

“Yes,” you said. “I don’t disagree.”

“Perhaps it was still your father’s blood that led to your mother’s demise,” he said.

“How? She fell to the plague,” you said.

“It ended with the plague,” he said. “What did it begin with?”

“Snakes,” you said. “No, before that. A flood.”

“And before that?” he said, condescending as anything. It would’ve been infuriating if it was not so at home with his severe countenance.

“There was nothing before that,” you said. 

“If that’s what you think,” he said. “Anyways, is that what you came to tell me?”

“The queen is ill,” you said, gripping the back of the bench and using it to push yourself to a sitting position, swinging your legs down so that your feet were planted on the ground again. “They think it is the same disease which ruined my mother. It’s likely that the entire royal family will be lost — except my youngest uncle, my father, and myself, for all of us fled before the outbreak could reach the castle and have not yet shown any symptoms of the plague.”

“Maybe they deserve it,” he said, with no small amount of contempt. You trained your eyes on the ground, unsure of how you could even fathom saying something, and in your mother’s own chapel, as well. Surely you would be judged for it, but for some reason you thought that you owed honesty to Kaiser.

“Maybe they do,” you said. “Likely they do. But they are — they are still my family. I don’t want them to die.”

His sword caught the sun, and for a moment the maroon on the blade seemed to writhe and drip, coming alive in the light and only stilling when clouds passed across the windows once more. Kaiser’s shoulders still did not face you, but he tilted his head so that he could regard you as he spoke.

“You think they deserve it,” he said, phrasing it as a statement of fact instead of a question.

“I don’t know,” you said. “They must. We all must. These disasters are likely a form of punishment, though I know not what we are being punished for.”

“There is cruelty in this kingdom,” Kaiser said, his voice so cold that it caused a nervous tremor to shoot through you. “And it takes its purest shape in the L/Ns. That must be why they are facing the worst of it.”

You wished you could disagree with him. You wanted to. You wanted to tell him that your father and your uncles and your ten cousins were kind and good, but neither could you lie. Neither could you reassure him of a falsehood, when the both of you knew that had it been anyone else in your family who had found him in the chapel, he would’ve lost his head by now.

“They are cruel,” you said. “I know it. But I cannot bring myself to hate them, not when they love me.”

“It does not absolve them,” he said.

“It does not,” you said heavily. “And I suppose it does not absolve me, either.”

This time, he stood, hefting his sword and pacing in the same frantic way that a leashed dog might. He did not try to brandish the sword, allowing it to drag along at his side, but neither did he let it go. You watched him until you were dizzy from the repetitive nature of his path, and then you covered your eyes and listened to the thud of his boots against the ground.

“You are more like your mother and the queen,” he said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you said. “Is it because I am a woman? I have cousin-sisters as well, however, and they are as L/N as me.”

“No, it is not that,” he said. “You have been dragged into the sins of the L/Ns against your will, and now you must reap their consequences alongside them. Whether or not you have earned them is irrelevant at this point; you will receive them.”

“It’s already begun,” you said. “My mother — my mother — and who else? They will all be gone, and my father and uncle aren’t so young, which means I shall soon be alone. What will I do then?”

Kaiser was a servant, so by all rights such things were beyond him, but never once had he spoken to you with the deference that his station implied. You didn’t think he knew what it meant to bow his head and comply blindly, so you waited for him to respond, to bestow some small wisdom hidden in the biting jaws of his blasé attitude.

“You won’t be alone,” he said.

“You don’t know that,” you said.

“I do,” he said, as if it were an undeniable truth, written in the foundations of the world. You had never been the type to feel comforted by platitudes, but something about the way it sounded coming from him made your heart swell. “Y/N L/N, you will never be alone. That I am sure of.”

“Do you guarantee it?” you said. “Even though it’s impossible, do you swear?”

“I do,” he said. It was the kindest thing he had ever said to you, so you smiled slightly, although there was no amiability in his tone.

“Then I will believe you,” you said. 

“Believe me or don’t,” he said. “Your feelings will not affect that outcome.”

“Hm,” you said. “Well, thank you for reassuring me.”

“That isn’t why I said that,” he said. 

“But you managed it anyways,” you said. “I need to go, though. I did not dress to be outside, and it’s a bit cool today, isn’t it?”

“No,” he said, a peculiar lilt to his voice. “No, Y/N. I don’t think that it is.”

With your uncle there, it was harder to find time to visit the chapel. Where once Kaiser had been the only one to occupy your time and thus your thoughts, the only one with enough of a mystery to his being that even the bleakest of your grief could be warded off by it, now your uncle was there to distract you, with his stories and his tricks and his gifts. Never one for religion, just like your father, he laughed when you suggested visiting the chapel, and often by the time you were freed of his company, you were far too exhausted to even think about leaving your chambers, let alone the manor.

He was a whirlwind of a man, your youngest uncle, a tempestuous person whose sword was as ready as his smile. Quick to anger and slow to forgive, he had been the spear of your father’s campaign, slicing through the villages they conquered in the name of the king with brutal, clinical efficiency. You were the only person who had never been subject to his wrath, for you were the youngest and mildest of your ten cousins, and thus cherished by the rest of your family in a way that the others were not.

“Have you finished enough of those to go in the woods with me? There’s a place I’m thinking of going hunting, but I’d like your guidance before I do so,” your uncle said one morning, when the sun shone and the sky was as blue as if it were made of ceramic. You were sitting across from him in the parlor, embroidering handkerchiefs with your family’s sigil, folding them and placing them on the table for your father’s use. Your father himself was out for the day, checking on one of his vassal’s progress in the early harvest, which was likely why your uncle was asking you for assistance instead of him.

“It’s only something to while away the hours,” you said, tying off the end of the thin thread in a perfect, imperceptible knot, shaking out the newly completed handkerchief and then setting it with the rest. “I can go whenever you’d like.”

“I’ll send word to the stablehands to tack our horses, then,” your uncle said. “Have you gone to the river’s shore before?”

“Once or twice,” you said.

“If there’s anywhere to find deer, it’ll be there. What do you say about venison for supper by the weekend?” he said.

“Father will be pleased,” you said. The youngest of his brothers and yet the most talented when it came to hunting, your uncle was known in your family for his aptitude at picking out the rarest of game. Your father always told you that if there was anything resembling an afterlife, he would spend it all eating whatever your uncle brought home, and you had no doubt that he would be delighted to return from his trip and find a freshly-slain stag waiting for him.

In order to reach the river, you had to ride through endless swathes of green — some were tilled and tended, but the majority of those fields were wild, home to nothing but rabbits and robins, both of whom fled upon hearing the clip of your horses’ hoofbeats. At first the cleared paths were wide enough for you and your uncle to ride side by side, but eventually they grew narrower, the tall grass scratching at your legs, pollen leaving yellow streaks on your horses’ haunches, and so you were forced to ride in front, for your mare was as sure-footed as your uncle’s charger was flighty and spooky.

“Be careful,” your uncle said as you pushed her forward, kicking her when she pinned her ears at your uncle’s stallion. “The grounds in these fields are always treacherous. Snakes make their homes amongst the grasses and hide the entrances; even one misplaced footfall can be disastrous.”

“Ah, she is good,” you said. “I trust her to know where her feet are better than I would.”

“Smart girl,” your uncle said. “You must get it from your uncle.”

You swatted away a horsefly before it could land on your leg. It was gray and fat and lazy, but you knew that its bite burnt like a bee-sting, so you steered your horse away from it the slightest bit, in the hopes that it would dissuade any further pursuit.

“Of course,” you said. “Though more than smart, I trust that my father’s men have trained her well, in these very fields.”

“Do they come here often, then?” he said. “We won’t be able to find anything if there are many people passing by.”

“Not that I know of. This section of the riverbank is reserved for our family’s use. Nobody would dare come up this way unless they were on my father’s orders, and my father rarely issues such commands,” you said.

“Good,” your uncle said, relaxing in his saddle, taking his bow off of his shoulder and holding an arrow in his right hand. “If we are very quiet, then we may find something today.”

“So soon?” you said.

“Why not?” he said. “We must be silent, however, lest we frighten everything in a few leagues’ radius away.”

Soon, the only thing that could be heard was the whine of the crickets in the grass that your horses disturbed. It was a high sound, shrill and thin like a flute, insistent in the way of begging, and if your uncle had not been there, you would’ve covered your ears to muffle it.

You couldn’t tell how long you wandered along the riverbanks for, but eventually, there was a faint rustling in the brush. You and your uncle locked eyes, and then you reined your mare to a stop, allowing him to trot forwards, eyes locked on the place where the noise had arisen from, his bow held at the ready, a single arrow in place — because a single arrow was all he would need. Your uncle had never once let fly an arrow which did not then make a home in its target, and you doubted he would begin to do so any time soon.

Another minute passed before the rustling grew louder and something burst from the copse of saplings, crashing through the tightly interwoven branches. You gasped when you saw that it was not a deer or any other such game but a boy, his hair dark and long over his eyes, his shoulders narrow and bony, more like perfect, sickening corners with skin draped over them than anything.

“Please,” he said, dropping to his knees, gazing up at you, his pupils like black pinpricks in the expanse of his blank eyes. “I didn’t — I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t — I got lost, but I didn’t mean to end up here! I was only waiting for you to pass through so that I could return home.”

“So you knew that what you were doing was wrong. Expressly forbidden by the prince,” your uncle said. 

“Uncle, it was clearly a mistake,” you said uneasily. 

“Mistakes are made when one does not have knowledge,” your uncle said. “This was not a mistake, nor was it an accident.”

“I was looking for rabbits,” the boy pleaded. “My sister likes them.”

“So you were hunting on the prince’s land?” your uncle said.

“No!” the boy said. “No, she — we don’t eat them, she likes to pet them, she’s still young and our mother is sick so I thought I would find one for her but there aren’t any near our house, so I began to wander, and I don’t know how but I ended up here — please, I didn’t mean to! I didn’t!”

“It’s alright,” you said, loosening your foot from your right stirrup and preparing to dismount. “Where is your home? We can escort you—”

“Stay on your horse,” your uncle said to you. You froze, unaccustomed to hearing him speak in such a way. “You. Boy. You admit your guilt? You have trespassed?”

“Yes — no — I don’t—” the boy stammered. His lips were bluing at the edges, you saw, and you realized he, and likely his mother who he had spoken of, was cursed with the plague, which choked his mind and judgment as well as it did his throat and heart.

“He is unwell, uncle,” you said quietly. “Let him go home.”

The boy was not long for this world, and wasting the precious time he had remaining with this pointless interrogation caused a pit to form in your stomach and a glacial feeling to crawl down your back and shoulders, the kind which could not be chased away even by the strongest of fires.

“Crimes cannot go unpunished,” your uncle said. “If we let him go, then we will have to let the next go, and the next after that. Where do you draw the line?”

“Here,” you said. “That is where I draw it. We both know that he is closer to my mother than to us at this point. Forgive him this time. He will not return, I am sure of it.”

“I won’t,” the boy said, voice cracking. “Your royal highnesses, I won’t.”

“Tell me where you live,” you said. “Not far, surely?”

“Just over the hill,” the boy said, staggering to his feet. “The house with the hyacinths in front of it.”

“I will take you there,” you promised him.

“You will do no such thing,” your uncle said. “Y/N L/N. If you ever wish to be the lady of an estate, then you must learn how to punish those who disobey your rule.”

“Don’t!” you said, but you were too late, far too late. Already, the arrow was cutting through the air and piercing through the boy’s heart. He fell in the way a leaf might, silent and crumpling and brittle, a motionless heap staining the earth with his blood. You screamed, or at least you tried to, but there was not enough air in your lungs, and you could not inhale or exhale without the ringing in your ears climbing into a pounding sensation.

“Where are you going?” your uncle said as you tugged on your mare’s left rein, turning her around, away from the still body and your uncle’s stark figure. “Y/N! Wait!”

Tightening your calves, you cued her into a gallop, taking off along the riverbank, water spraying into the air wherever her feet fell. Dimly you were aware of your uncle shouting after you, and then he, too, was galloping in your pursuit, but his stallion was recalcitrant, rearing and gnashing at the bit with every step, slowing their progress immensely and allowing you to fly out of their sight.

Turning into the fields that swept towards the manor, you paid no heed to your uncle’s earlier warnings, pushing the horse faster instead of slowing as you should’ve, your surroundings blurring into nothing more than smears of viridian and mustard in your peripheral vision. You had to reach him before your uncle did. You had to, you had to, you had to —

Abruptly, your horse skidded to a stop, scrambling for purchase in the ground and snorting nervously. You were thrown up her neck but did not fall, sitting back and scanning the area for what might’ve spooked her. In the beginning you did not see it, but then there was a soft hiss from the ground that caused her to dance backwards uncertainly, and you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood.

“You are meant to be gone,” you said to the viper, which was baring its fangs at you, its dark tongue flicking out periodically to taste the air before it. Your words bordered on hysterical as you shifted in your saddle, eyeing its coiling body with equal parts fear and disdain. “Your kind vanished! Why are you back? Do you mean to torment me?” 

The serpent did not move to strike, but neither did it shift out of the way, its slit-pupil eyes never blinking, its white teeth like pearls against the roof of its black mouth. You looked around, but there was no other path as clearly demarcated as the one you were on, and you dared not risk going into the grasses where thousands more of the snake’s brethren could be lying in wait.

Behind you, you could once more hear your uncle calling your name, and you knew that the precious few seconds you had gained on him would come to naught if you continued to dither about. When all was said and done, there was only one thing you could do, so apologizing to your horse, you squeezed her onwards. She lurched forwards with a start, her tail swishing, her movements jerky as she inched towards the snake, which grew eerily still at your approach.

Death was supposed to be a mystery or a surprise, but for some reason, as your horse took that final step forwards, you were excruciatingly aware that the next few moments would likely be your last. The snake would dart up, as quick as a whip, and it would latch onto your leg, slaying you instantaneously. What a swift revenge it would be, that your uncle had killed that boy and now he would be met with your own body, pierced through with snake venom as that child had been skewered upon his arrow!

You could’ve done a great number of things in those final seconds, but your mother’s final words came to you, and you found yourself mulling them over. He is here, she had said. Right in front of you. Don’t you see him? He is so beautiful. As beautiful as the paintings. Michael himself had appeared for her, but then who was by your side? Who would accompany you after your death? 

There was a flash of movement in the corner of your eye, something azure and fluttering — a butterfly, surely, or some small bird frightened by the commotion. It was unimportant in the end; what mattered most was the color, which was so reminiscent of the person you had set out for that it broke you from your daze, heartening you enough to sit up and raise your chin, facing the snake with enough courage that even your horse ceased to shy away from it. Instead, she let out a squeal which sounded like a trumpet, and then she leapt into the air, bucking upon the landing and galloping away from the viper at such a speed that white lather frothed on her neck and streaked down her shoulders.

You reached the chapel in a time that should not have been possible, and even before you had pulled the mare to a stop, you were leaping off, your fingers clumsy as you tied her to the first fence post you saw. Your legs protested as you took the stairs two at a time, but you paid them no heed. You could not allow them to fail you, not when your uncle’s strides were twice the length of yours.

“Kaiser!” you called out when you entered the chapel. He was standing by the altar, a shower of sparks falling from the flint in his hands onto the charred cloth placed on the table, and instead of greeting you, he blew on the smoldering edge. A flame blossomed to life, and he used it to light a new candle, smothering the cloth under his boot once the fire had been transferred. “Kaiser, you must leave at once.”

“Why should I do that?” he said. “Who are you to dismiss in such a way?”

“It’s not me,” you said. “My uncle is furious, and if he finds you — if he finds you here, then he’ll cut you down, and not even that sword of yours will be enough to stop him.”

“Your uncle and his moods have little to do with me,” Kaiser said. “His tantrums are meaningless.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” you said. 

“Don’t I?” he said.

“He just killed a boy for trespassing,” you said. “I couldn’t even stop him. It was the most I could do to return in time to warn you before he came here to pray for that child’s life.”

“You disobeyed your uncle and ran from him for the sole purpose of…warning me?” he said.

“Yes, but it will be meaningless if you don’t hearken to my words,” you said. 

“Why is that?” he said.

“Enough with your riddles and your questions!” you snapped. “Are you incapable of taking anything seriously? You will die!”

“Answer this one and I’ll oblige your inane demands,” he said.

“Being with you is the only time I do not fear or mourn,” you said, your nails carving crescents into your palms as your gaze switched rapidly between him and the door. “My mother…my family…the plague and the vipers and the floods…I can forget about them all when I speak to you. If you are gone, then I will have no one. So please, please run. I cannot bear the thought of your blood being shed as well.”

Kaiser looked at you, and then, inexplicably, he laughed. It was a sound so lovely that it grated on your nerves, like a bell ringing too close to your ears. “Your uncle is not a man who could ever shed my blood, and he’d have to have an inordinately high opinion of himself to think he could.”

“You said you would oblige me,” you said, having half-expected such an arrogant response from him but finding that you were vexed by it anyways. “It doesn’t matter what you think of him. You must go, and only return once he has left this place.”

The door slammed open. You spun, drawing your cloak tighter around your shoulders and standing as straight as you could, dismay spiking in your stomach when your uncle walked in. The two of you had spent too long discussing, your explanation had been too lengthy, you had remained frightened of the snake for more time than you should’ve — at the end of the day, the reason didn’t matter as much as the result, which was that your uncle was here and Kaiser was still standing behind you.

“Y/N,” your uncle said, coming down the aisle, his stride light and elegant, the picture of a gentleman. You took a step back, reaching your hand out behind you to prevent Kaiser from saying something callous and damning, as he was wont to do.

“It’s not what you think,” you said. “Uncle, it’s not — please don’t —”

Yet when your uncle reached the altar, he did not draw his sword, nor did he command Kaiser to kneel before him. He only gave you a puzzled look, directing his attention to the candles burning behind your back.

“You played with your life just to come and light the candles a little earlier?” he said.

“What?” you said. 

“I know it must’ve been upsetting to see, but rules need to be upheld, or else they cease to be rules and turn into mere suggestions,” your uncle said, patting you on the head. 

“Aren’t you angry?” you said in trepidation.

“With you? No, of course not,” he said. “It was the same way for me, the first time I witnessed my father performing an execution. You’ll grow out of it.”

“Er, okay,” you said, too bewildered now to even comprehend his words. What was Kaiser’s magic, that he had escaped your uncle’s stern reproach and careless sword, which had felled countless men?

“Will you stay with me while I pray?” your uncle said. It was the only time he ever changed his mind about religion — after every life he took, he pleaded for forgiveness, as if that could be enough to exonerate him. You weren’t sure if it would be or not, but it didn’t really matter what you thought — it was the only way he had, you were quite sure, to go on. To continue living despite everything he had done.

“No,” you said. “Come — ah, what?”

You had turned to beckon Kaiser, but when you did, you realized that he was gone, vanished without a trace, though you had not heard or seen him leave. Your uncle gave you another strange look before returning to one of the benches and bowing his head, leaving you to wonder if Kaiser had ever even been there in the first place.

The stablehands were confused when you brought your drained mare back to them and demanded they ready another horse for you, and it was only worsened when you commanded them to also bring you one of the rabbits that were raised for their meat. Yet they could not argue with the princess, so they did as you said, bringing you the smallest of your father’s mounts and placing a young rabbit in your arms once you were in the saddle.

You could not tell whether you or the rabbit quivered more — the rabbit from confusion and fear, you from fatigue and the temperature, which had dropped rapidly since you and your uncle had set out in the mid-morning.

Taking a longer route so that you avoided the fields where you had seen the serpent, you trotted towards the riverbank, cradling the rabbit to your heart in the hopes that its warmth would transfer to you. Halting by where the boy’s body still lay, undisturbed and almost peaceful, you set the rabbit atop a tree branch so that it could not escape, and then you jumped off of your horse and crouched so that you could lift the boy onto your saddle. Draping him over it with every bit of strength you could summon, you took the rabbit back in one arm and used the other to lead the horse after you as you trudged towards the direction of the village, mud soaking into your boots and flecking the hems of your clothing.

You crossed the hill at a snail’s pace until you reached a small stone house with purple hyacinths littering the courtyard and a brown goat grazing on the scrubby grass, and then you knocked on the door and stood there until a man opened it. He was tall, his face lined and burnt from the sun, trenches like crow-feet digging into the corner of his eyes, his clothes patched and mended by inexperienced hands many times over. He squinted at you, like he was trying to recognize you, but eventually he gave up and cocked his head at you instead.

“On what business have you come knocking, miss?” he said.

“Your son,” you said. He rolled his eyes affectionately.

“Ah, that rascal. I hope he was not bothering you?” he said. You tried to swallow back the lump in your throat and found that it was impossible, so you stroked the ears of the rabbit and squeezed out a response anyways.

“He’s dead,” you said. “No. He was killed.”

“Pardon?” the man said. “Killed? On what — on what account?”

“On a whim,” you said, a tear splashing onto the rabbit’s back, turning the gray of its fur into a color like tar. “If there were a better explanation, I’d give it to you, sir, but the truth is there isn’t one.”

The man stared at you in disbelief, and you tightened your grip on the horse’s reins, waiting for him to say something. Yet he was silent, staring and staring as if by doing so he could turn your words to lies.

“I brought him back for you,” you whispered, the words digging into your windpipe as they went. “I brought him back.”

The man made a small nose which seemed to come from deep within him, guttural and low and keening, and then he fell to the floor.

“Please say it isn’t so,” he wept, pressing his forehead to your feet. “Lady, lady, say this is some cruel prank and go. His mother is sick already; you cannot say I will lose them both in such short succession. Say you are lying to me.”

“I can’t,” you said, your lower lip wobbling and your vision blurring. “Sir, I cannot do that.”

He wrapped his arms around your ankles and bawled like a child, folded over your boots as he cried and cried. You were motionless, wishing that there was something you could do but knowing that it would all be meaningless — just like Kaiser could not bring your mother back, so, too, were you incapable of resurrecting this man’s son, who had been put down at the hands of your own uncle.

“Thank you,” he said after some time had passed, standing and wiping his face, taking your horse’s reins from you. “I will see to it that he is taken care of. Might I have your name? So that I can repay you?”

“No repayment is necessary,” you said. “Please refrain; I’ve done nothing worthy of repayment. I only ask that you tell me if you have a daughter.”

“Yes,” the man sniffed. “Yes, she’s inside, sitting with her mother. Do you require her?”

“Only to give her a gift,” you said. “And then I shall take your leave.”

The man nodded at you, and you swept inside, brushing past him before he could exit the house and relive his grief anew upon seeing his son’s body in the flesh. You had been there the first time; the second time, you thought, should be something private, belonging to him and him alone.

Sitting by a fire and covered in straw was the wretched woman that could only be the boy’s mother. She appeared worse than your own mother ever had, even in the hours before her death, and her chest rattled with every breath. Squatted by her side was a girl, likely half your age and hardly even a third of your weight, her hair lank and heavy around her shoulders, her cheeks flushed a pink that promised the plague had not clawed into her body yet.

“Hello,” you said. The mother did not move, but the girl looked up at you in a manner reminiscent of a puppy or a foal, a certain naïveté to her features, which resembled her brother’s so much that for a moment you were breathless.

“Hello,” she said. Her voice was a brittle murmur, and her lips barely moved when she spoke, but her eyes shimmered with a slight curiosity, widening when you knelt before her. “Who are you?”

“Your brother sent this for you,” you said, avoiding her question and handing the rabbit to her. She inhaled in delight, taking it from you swiftly and burying her nose in the fur around its neck before beaming at you.

“Really, he did? He always called me foolish when I told him I wanted a rabbit! Said that rabbits are wild creatures and only fairies can catch them,” she said, kissing the rabbit atop its ears. “Are you a fairy, miss? You have to be, right?”

“Certainly, I am not,” you said, kneeling on the stone of the floor and placing your hand against her cheek, which burned with the heat of the fire she was tending. “Dear girl, please remember that it was not a fairy who brought this rabbit to you — it was your brother, who loves you more than anything.”

She still did not know about any of it. She did not know that her brother was dead and her mother was all but. She only saw the object of her desires encircled in her arms, so she was, at least for now, happy, and you could not bear to steal that happiness from her, not when you knew that you how fleeting it was.

“Okay,” she said gravely. “I’ll remember it well. Mama, look! It’s a rabbit. You like rabbits, Mama, so please wake up and look at it.”

“Your mother is resting,” you said when she bent to shake her mother awake. “You should not bother her.”

“She’s always resting,” the girl said. “And if she speaks, it’s only to say that she’s cold.”

“Is that what the straw is for?” you said. Even if she wasn’t sick, you’d have agreed with the woman; you, too, found it to be growing colder out than it ever had in the past, but she had been cursed with the plague, and so it must have been tenfold worse for her than it ever could be for you. 

“Yes, it’s the best we have,” she said. “My brother, father, and I share the blanket because we don’t sleep near the fire, and so we only have straw left to warm her. I think I’m going to start working soon as well, and hopefully then I’ll be able to buy the best blanket in the world for her.”

There would be nowhere that would hire her in time for her to give her mother a blanket, except as a burial shroud, so you undid the clasp of your cloak and draped it over the woman’s body. She did not acknowledge you, but you saw her shoulders fall into an exhale, and you knew it was her form of thanks. The girl gazed at you in wonder, her eyes settling on the gooseflesh which pimpled your upper arms without the protection of the cloak, and then she returned her attention to her mother, whose expression was a degree less distraught with the added shield you had provided.

“Not now, and not for some years to come, but when you are old enough, come to the L/N manor,” you said. “You will find work there.”

Outside of the house, her father was digging, and on the ground beside him was a heap of canvas that no doubt disguised her brother. The girl followed you towards your horse, lips pursuing as you used a nearby tree stump to remount.

“How? It’s impossible to be employed there. All my family’s tried, but they’re ever-full,” she said.

“They will admit you, as long as you bring that cloak with you,” you said. “And if you tell them that Princess Y/N sent you.”

Her lips parted in awe, and the rabbit’s nose twitched as you smiled at her, as kindly as you could. In a few hours, she might despise you — after all, you had been the one to bring her brother back, and even if she never learnt of the role you had played in his death, she might resent you for that fact alone — but for now, you were someone she admired, the princess who had come from the manor and left her with a cloak and a rabbit and a promise.

Without your cloak, it was brutally cold, and you soon grew more preoccupied with trying to warm yourself in some way than with guiding the horse home. And although it was tamer than the rest, your current mount still belonged to your father in the end — it was not of the same reliable temperament as your own mare, who would’ve doggedly brought you back to the stables. As you slumped further and further into the saddle, your vision swimming, the horse only halted in the middle of the field you had somehow ended up in, unsure of what to do without a rider’s direction.

“You are a surprising person, Y/N L/N,” a soft voice said, and then someone was prying the reins out of your hands and taking them over your horse’s head. You would’ve been frightened, but though your eyesight was blurred, you knew who it was as soon as he spoke. “Foolish and surprising in turn.”

“Kaiser,” you said. “How are you here? Where did you go earlier? I thought my uncle might find you, but you weren’t there…”

“Don’t concern yourself with such trivial matters. They are beyond your understanding,” he said, clicking his tongue to encourage the horse forward. “I came here for you because earlier, you came for me, no matter how unnecessary it may have been. That’s all that matters.”

“Aren’t you cold?” you said, leaning forwards, collapsing against the horse’s crest, too tired to hold yourself up properly. “I’m cold.”

“I know,” he said. “You’ve been cold for a while, haven’t you?”

“I suppose so,” you said. For a moment, there was silence, and when he finally spoke again, his tone was tinged with melancholy.

“I wish that you were more like your father,” he said.

“Hm,” you said drowsily. “Why?”

“I want to condemn you,” he said. “Curse you. Rebuke you. Damn you.”

“And you cannot?” you said.

“I can,” he said. “All too easily.”

“Then?” you said.

“Then nothing,” he said. “It’s only that it makes me feel strange when it shouldn’t.”

“Strange,” you said. “What a vague word.”

“I cannot explain it further,” he said. “So don’t ask me to.”

“I see,” you said, though really you didn’t — you only did not want to upset him when he was the only savior you had. “Wait, Kaiser, you must know — there is a viper, one of the ones from the flood, it’s in the fields and it might yet strike. I am not sure if it is the only one of its kind, as well.”

“No vipers will dare cross my path,” he said, a laugh trickling into the cadence of his speech. “Not while I have this sword at my side.”

“Even now, you have it?” you said, your eyes closed against the light. 

“Yes,” he said. “I cannot sheathe it yet.”

“What does that mean?” you said.

“It is meaningless,” he said. “You ought to be silent, lest you waste what meager amounts of energy your body has managed to retain thus far.”

You weren’t sure how much longer the two of you walked for, but suddenly you were by the stables and there was a clamor and you were falling off the horse’s shoulder, into the arms of one of the stablehands. He was speaking in a panicked rush, commanding someone to fetch your uncle and another to send word to your father before asking you something, his voice harsh and breathy, nothing at all like Kaiser’s needle-precise words. You would’ve answered, but the slight rocking motions of his gait were enough to lull you into a sleep before you could even understand what his question was in the first place.

The stablehand must’ve carried you to your room, for when you awoke, you were in your bed and the sun had set. Your father sat at your desk, a lamp lighting the letters he was writing. Wrinkling your nose and then wiggling your fingers and toes to regain some feeling in them, you yawned, sitting up with a rustle of the sheets.

“Father,” you said, your mouth cottony from sleep. “You’ve returned?”

“Y/N?” your father said, dropping his quill and jumping to his feet, racing over to your side and catching your hand in between his own, holding it to his forehead. “Oh, Y/N, you must swear never to do something so idiotic again. I was so frightened — I thought — I thought you might never wake again.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Why would you go riding without dressing for the weather?” he said. “And without at least asking for someone to accompany you?”

“I’m sorry, father. I wasn’t thinking,” you said again, because you knew without a shadow of a doubt that you could not tell him the truth behind your escapade, or he might find some way to penalize the family who had not been at fault and had already lost so much.

“You’re lucky that that horse was so intelligent,” he said.

“What do you mean?” you said.

“It managed to find its way back to the stables even with you all but unconscious on its back,” he said.

“No, someone led me home,” you said. “A servant.”

Your father furrowed his brow. “Ah, what do you mean? There was no one.”

“There was, I’m sure of it!” you said.

“Nobody saw anyone leading you back, daughter,” he said. “You must’ve been having visions from delirium. It’s not uncommon for those who have been so compromised.”

“Visions,” you said. “I suppose there is that explanation.”

“Setting that aside, how do you feel now?” he said.

“Much improved,” you said.

“A night’s rest will do you well,” he said. “We can speak again in the morning, yes?”

“Yes, that sounds appealing,” you said. “Goodnight, father.”

Oftentimes he, like the rest of his siblings, had a somber and unyielding expression upon his angular face, but never when he looked at you — because when he laid eyes upon you, he was no longer the prince of the kingdom. He was only your father, the man who had half-created you and loved you more than he had ever loved anything or anyone, excepting, of course, your mother.

Maybe it was because you had slept half of the day away, but the next morning, you were awake even before the sun. You lay in your bed for a moment, willing sleep to take you once more, but when it became evident that it had fled from your grasp for good, you pushed your blankets to the side and stood on shaky legs, finding comfort in the consistency of readying yourself for the day.

You had none of your usual composure when you entered the chapel. The moment you saw Kaiser standing with his hands laced together and his face tilted towards the sun, your heart skipped an irrational beat, and then you picked your way towards where he stood, careful not to slip on the precious stones of the floor, which today seemed to be more treacherous than usual.

When you reached his side, you were not sure of what to say, so you opted for the truth, however blunt. “I dreamt of you yesterday.”

“I’m flattered,” he said, in that same amused way he said everything, his every word a private joke you could never be in on. 

“You saved me,” you continued. “If it hadn’t been for you, I would’ve died.”

“You wouldn’t have died regardless,” he said dismissively. At first, you raised your eyebrows, because how was it that he always said such things with such conviction that you could not help but believe in them? Who was he to inspire such faith in you? Then, before you could lose your nerve, you embraced him, your arms around his neck and fingers dangling in the space between his shoulder blades, his thrumming heartbeat reverberating through your bones like a hymn.

Many seconds passed wherein he was motionless, a being made from stone, before, slowly, hesitantly, he pulled you even closer to him, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other arm wrapping around your waist so that you did not crumble. He was hot like a hearth, his skin blazing with the kind of warmth you had not felt in so long that tears sprang to your eyes.

“You saved me,” you insisted, weeping in earnest, wishing that there was some way you could stay by his side forever and then wondering where such a desire could even have sprung from. “Even if you were only a vision conjured by my mind, I know that I would never have made it home were it anyone else I saw. Had it been anyone but you, I would’ve been lost until the end.”

“Enough wailing,” he said, but it was devoid of the typical thorniness. “Y/N L/N. Stop it.”

“I cannot,” you said. 

“Pathetic girl,” he said; however, for the first time, you detected a hint of wavering in his voice. “Pathetic, idiotic girl. If only there were a way I could un-know you. If only it were possible for me to forget you entirely.”

“Don’t,” you said. “Please don’t.”

“I won’t,” he said. “If I were capable of it, I would’ve done so long ago, but as I haven’t, it can only mean that I never will.”

Somehow, you returned to the manor before anyone could raise an alarm at your second disappearance. Joining your father and uncle at the table for breakfast, avoiding your uncle’s greeting and sitting next to your father, you realized that it was not a miracle that you had escaped notice; rather, it was that everyone was supremely concerned with the letter your father was scanning, storms swirling in his eyes as he read it over.

“They’re summoning us,” he said, a second later. “Oh, Y/N, you’re here. Good.”

“Who is?” you said.

“My brother the king,” he said. “There’s been a prophecy. Very soon — in two weeks or even less — the queen will be dead.”

All of you set off at once, your father and uncle riding ahead, leaving you to cocoon yourself in a nest of furs atop the cushioned bench of the carriage. The guard from before, the handsome one with the hair like fox-hide, was requisitioned to accompany you, and so he sat across from you instead of riding in the company of your father and his retainers. You were the one who had asked for him specifically; he was kind and familiar to you, so in such a terrifying moment, you preferred his stalwart nature to any other’s.

“Tell me again,” you said, your voice muffled by the squirrel pelt wrapped around your neck and chin. “What did that prophet see?”

The guard did not know any more than you did, but in the monotony of the carriage ride, there were few other things you could occupy yourself with besides the obsessive question-and-answer game that you played with him. He was happy to follow along, or, if he was not happy, then at least he did as you asked without much complaint.

“Three things,” the guard said, holding up his right hand, the white calluses standing out against the pink of his palms. “Firstly, an eagle fell from its nest and broke its wings.”

“A clear omen against the L/Ns,” you said. “Eagles represent royalty, so for one to fall and lose its ability to fly in such a way…”

“Yes,” the guard agreed. “Secondly, upon reading the entrails of a sow, it was determined that the eagle was referencing a woman in particular.”

“And if it is a woman, then it could only be the queen,” you said.

“Correct, your highness,” he said. He could not see it, but you smiled at him — just barely, for you had not had enough to drink during your journey, so your lips were cracking from dehydration, and you did not rest well anymore, so you were constantly weary. “And finally, they consulted the mirrors, whereupon they saw death from disease tarnishing the pureness of the silver.”

“So they combined the symbols and divined that she would perish from the illness which has plagued her, as it once did my mother,” you said. “I wonder if it is worse or better to be aware that your death is approaching.”

“I suppose she must have known already, don’t you think?” he said. “In the moments before her death, your mother saw the angel Michael. I am sure the queen has had such a visitor as well.”

“Perhaps,” you said. “Though then again, I doubt that he would make appearances so frequently.”

“If he came to escort your mother, then would he not come for the queen? Forgive me for being candid, but it’s true that the queen’s station is far loftier than mother’s was,” he said.

“It’s alright. You’re not wrong, but even then,” you said, and then you sighed, sinking deeper into the plushness of your blankets. “Well, I don’t know. The affairs of angels are beyond you and I.”

“That’s true,” he said. You screwed your eyes shut, colorful spots painting the blackness behind your eyelids, the world spinning peculiarly, in a manner which was unrelated to the swaying of the carriage wheels.

“I think I will sleep now, sir,” you said. “If you do not mind very much.”

“I am only here to do as you command, your highness,” he said. “If you wish to sleep, then by all means, please sleep. I will wake you if anything happens.”

The journey to the castle was longer for you than it was for the riders, who could take narrower paths and cut across fallen trees and flooded bridges that the carriage needed to circumvent. By the time you reached, there was already a procession underway, and as the guard helped you towards the church, holding onto your hand and shoulders so that you could walk, you had to be wary of the spectators to the parade, who were shoving one another so that they could have the best possible view.

“They’re praying. For the queen’s health, and for the end of the plague,” you said, coughing hard enough that your chest ached from it, covering your mouth with your hand in shame, for you had been coughing more and more frequently as of late.

When you removed your hand, you noticed that there was something wet and wine-colored speckling it, and right when you were about to reach an understanding you should’ve come to long ago, a man’s shoulder rammed into your side, knocking you off-balance. Only your guard’s quick reflexes were enough to catch you, and he picked you up before such an accident could be repeated, taking care to push the man away rougher than he really needed to when he passed.

“Are you alright?” he said.

“Yes,” you said, half in a daze, the image of your stained hand imprinted in your mind. “Can you hear what they are saying, sir? Are they begging for forgiveness?”

“They are,” he said. “They’re repenting in the hopes that there will be mercy.”

“It’s late for that,” you said. “For me, anyways. But maybe the rest of you can still be saved.”

“What do you mean by that?” he said. Without you to slow the guard down, the two of you covered ground at twice the earlier speed, and you reached the steps of the church before the throngs of worshippers could. You saw them coming, the gathered masses of people, with the king and your father and the queen at the forefront of it all, and then you coughed again, because until you had seen that blood you hadn’t comprehended it, but now you did. “Why don’t you include yourself amongst our ranks, princess?”

“What is your name, sir?” you said.

“Kunigami, your royal highness,” he said. “Are you quite alright?”

“Kunigami,” you said, clenching the fabric of his tunic in your fists. “Kunigami, it’s not cold out today, is it?”

“No,” he said. “No, princess, it’s not. It’s mild and lovely.”

“It hasn’t been,” you said, and then you were crying, because you were afraid. You were more afraid then you ever had been, and you only had this bewildered boy to comfort you — and what slim comfort he provided! He, who was meant to be your staunchest defender but could never defend you from this. “It hasn’t been cold in many months, has it?”

“No,” he said. “Actually, it’s been rather warm. This year marks the warmest summer we’ve had since the time of the last king, or so I’m told.”

“The warmest summer?” you said. “I see now. I see. Oh, oh, Kunigami, you must go and fetch my father at once.”

“You are confounding me, your highness,” he said. “What is the matter?”

“Please bring my father,” you said. “Please, I don’t — I don’t want to be alone when it happens.”

Your poor father — some higher power had decided he deserved this. Your father, who was cruel, who killed and conquered, who was the horrible prince of the kingdom. Your father, who had already lost your mother. Your father, who would soon lose you.

“I don’t understand even now what you mean,” Kunigami said, setting you on the steps and straightening his shirt. “But I will do as you say. Wait here.”

He charged down the stairs, cutting through the crowds effortlessly with his imposing presence. You watched him go before turning back to the church, marveling at the building, the white pillars and the silvery dome which shone in the sky like a daytime moon. Statues of angels and muses lined the roof, and across the facade, there were words engraved. You could hardly read them, but you knew by heart what was written: On this mountain, I shall build my home, and thereupon I will give you the keys with which to reach me.

You didn’t know when your legs buckled, but they must’ve, for suddenly you were lying prone on the stairs, the stone freezing against your face, and although it was hardly the place for it, you found your tucking your fists under your forehead, exhaling and thinking of how sublime it would be to drift off now, drift off and not wake up for many hours or days…

“Y/N L/N.” The voice was the same, but there was something else behind it. Never had he spoken with such strength and such sadness in combination; his typical apathy had been chased away entirely, replaced with a fond if not distant pity. “I told you that you would not be alone. Did I not?”

Hands like embers held your face carefully, thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he tugged your jaw up so that you could look at him. You hardly had the strength to lift your head — how had you not known that it was coming? How had you ignored the symptoms of your own condition? Was it that you did not want to know it and so you refused to recognize the simple fact which had been looming over you for months now? But ignoring it did not make it go away. Ignoring it did not make it false. Ignoring it did not change the truth of the matter: that you were dying, that you had been dying for a long time now.

“Kaiser,” you said. He appeared different, though you could not place it; there was something hazy and golden about him, but regardless you were assured that it was him and no other. 

“Some know me by that name,” he said. “Most do not.”

“What do you mean?” you said.

“Michael!” It was your father who was screaming the name, and when you shifted, you realized he was doing his best to run towards you, though your uncles held him back, shock reflecting in their faces as your father bawled. “Michael, divine lord, don’t take her, too. Anybody else, be it the queen, my brothers — even me! Kill me, kill the entire kingdom if you must, but leave Y/N. Spare her, and I will repent! I will change my ways, and I will force the others to change as well. Spare her and I will do whatever you ask — but please, please spare her.”

“You should’ve come to this conclusion longer ago,” Kaiser said, and though he spoke at a regular volume, his voice rang through the square like he had shouted. “The time for begging is long gone. The plague will continue until all of you are dead. By my sword, I swear—”

“Michael,” you said. He was silent immediately, and you fought to keep your eyes open. Noticing your lowering your eyelashes against the sun, he reflexively spread his wings to cover you in shade, allowing you to admire him in full for the first time. “Has it been you all along?”

“Yes,” he said, a soft breeze running through his feathers and ruffling his hair. “Yes, it has been.”

“My mother was right,” you said. “You really are as beautiful as the paintings. Though, you were right as well. There is nothing resembling serenity in your expression.”

To your surprise, he chuckled, though there was a distinct tinge of sorrow behind it, so that it was as similar to a sob as it was to a laugh. Something moist splashed onto your face, and at first you thought he, too, was crying, but then you realized it came from his sword, which he brandished even now. Blood, that was what it was, the source of those sanguine stains which were now animated and lively, weeping down the length of the blade and dripping onto the white marble beneath his feet.

“Of course there is not,” he said. “When there is so much injustice in this world, how can I ever be serene?”

“You brought this plague upon us,” you said. “And the snakes, and the flood.”

“I did,” he said. “It was divine will. In the face of it, even I am powerless.”

“By your sword,” you said. “Is that why you hold it before you always?”

“How intelligent you are,” he said. “Oh, if only it were not you.”

“But you can stop it,” you said. “If you deem us worthy of being saved, you can prevent anyone else from dying.”

“Not you,” he said. “It’s too late. Even if I do that, I cannot save you. Not this time.”

“That’s alright,” you said. “You needn’t save me again. Once was enough. I’ve not done anything to be deserving of a second time.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You are the only one who I want to save. If you are lost, then there is nobody worthy of surviving. What have any of the rest ever proved to me? What goodness have they ever shown? What virtue or introspection? They are all brutes, and so they have earned it.”

“I cannot say whether that is true or not,” you said. “I don’t know about anyone else. But if even one other person like me exists and your inaction kills them, too, then will you ever be forgiven?”

“I am an angel,” he said. “I seek no forgiveness. I have not done anything to necessitate it.”

“I will not forgive you,” you said. 

“What does it mean?” he said. “What will any of it mean once you are gone?”

Your father had fallen to ground, repeating every prayer he had ever been taught, and even your uncle the king, who was typically stolid in the face of adversity, who had not placed a foot wrong the entire time he had thought his wife was the one prophesied to die, had tears shimmering in his eyes.

“Forgive them,” you said, and then, to your surprise, Michael, or Kaiser, or whichever name you called him, for it was irrelevant when they were all in reference to this singularly grand being — was dropping to his knees and tenderly taking your head so that it could rest on his lap. “As I will forgive you, forgive them. Please.”

Nobody even breathed. Every single body in the kingdom was stationary; the rabbits, the dormice, the people and the snakes, all of them waited to see what he would do. For a moment, it was nothing, and after that he merely hunched over and pressed his lips to your temple, his wings arcing to cover your body from any who might dare to glance at it.

“Very well, then,” he said. “I cannot save you, Y/N L/N, so this time, without riddles nor fuss, I will oblige you.”

A small smile graced his face, albeit an anguished one more characteristic of men than of angels, and as one blazing hand grew hotter and hotter against your rapidly-cooling cheek, he raised his sword in the air; then, for the first time since the plague had begun, he sheathed it.

[itsphoenix0724]

If it hasn’t been requested can you do Azriel with peony, perhaps a masquerade where he meets someone of another courts nobility (perhaps she’s been hidden away) the mating bond snaps and he goes on a quest to learn who she is?

Peony (Azriel x Reader)

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.2k

❀° Event Masterlist ❀°

A/N: Hello! Thank you so much for participating in my writing event! I'm really sorry it took so long to write I was very sick, but I hope everyone thinks it was worth the wait! I apologize if it's not the best it was written mostly in a fever-filled haze. Keep a look out for more stuff soon, and thank you all so much for your patience <3

You absolutely despised balls. Although, this was officially the first ball you’d actually been allowed to attend. You loved your court and your people wholeheartedly, but some of its traditions were ludicrously outdated. 

As tradition, you weren’t allowed into society until you were seventy-five. So until now, you had not been allowed at any court relations, balls, or celebrations. Being a Lady in the Spring Court wasn’t always the most exciting life. 

Applying one final coat of stain to your lips, you looked over yourself in the mirror. You had chosen a flowy gown in Spring’s signature pink, with falling petals cascading down the dress, and jewel-encrusted flowers had been woven through your hair. You hear a small rasping as you turn and look to see your brother standing in the doorway. 

“You look beautiful.” Tamlin steps into the room. He holds a small box in his hands and sends you a smile that you can see in the mirror. “It’s alright if you’re nervous.” You glare at your brother as he moves closer lifting a beautiful necklace out of the box in his hands. As Tamlin clasps the jewels around your neck, you move your hair out of the way. 

“I’m not nervous.” you admonish, Tamlin tips his head even though you can tell he doesn’t believe you.  The necklace is made of heavy pink sapphires, and you recognize it as one of the pieces from your mother's collection. You whip your head around at your brother who is still giving you a knowing look at your recollection. 

“She would’ve wanted you to have it, plus it matches your dress.” You laugh even though your eyes shine at the mention of your mother. Tamiln holds you at arm's length and looks over you once. “Be brave. Stay close to Luicen tonight. He’ll be here to pick you up shortly” He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and leaves the room. 

You secure the mask on your face and wait for Lucien to knock on your door. He arrives a few moments later dressed for the ball with a fox mask on his face and a matching grin on his lips. 

“Well, well, what do we have here? I truly believe I’m in the wrong room. The Lady of Spring is usually covered in mud and smells like a horse,” he looks around as if he’s lost and you can see him barely containing a laugh. Still, he offers you an arm and you take it, but not before smacking him on the shoulder. 

Lucien escorts you down to the ballroom and all of a sudden the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You catch sight of all the faelights in the room barely flickering for a second. Your companion doesn’t seem to sense anything, so you allow the courtier to continue to escort you into the ballroom. 

The first thing you notice is the sheer amount of people packed into the room. 

You’ve never been in a room with this many people before.

Lucien must notice the way your feet seem stuck to the floor. It’s almost like you’ve stepped into quicksand, the more you try to move forward the more you remain rooted to the floor. He waits patiently, rubbing soothing circles into the crook of your arm until you’re ready to advance further. 

“You can do this,” Lucien murmurs as you collect yourself before nodding and allowing him to lead you into the room. Two of the servants throw the doors into the ballroom open, and the sound hits you in the chest like a lightning strike. The notes of pianos and strings ricochet off of the opulent walls of the ballroom, and your heart matches the pace of the music. 

You want nothing more at that moment than to dance. 

Lucien, the good friend he is, senses your desire and takes you for a turn around the dance floor. Sweeping you into the thrall of the party, you and Lucien dance the night away. 

Although, you’ve had the most peculiar feeling all night. 

Something is watching you. Something is following you. You can sense it. A strange cold drift almost haunts you all night. It’s not a particularly bad thing. A tug on your wrist to avoid bumping into a waiter, an ever so slight lift of your skirts so you don’t trip on the dance floor, and a cool brush against the back of your neck when you get too hot. 

You think you can almost see it every once in a while, but all it is is a faint flickering of darkness that you chalk up to a trick of the candlelight. 

Eventually, you feel the flush start to creep up your cheeks and the heaving in your chest tells you that you need air before you collapse. You excuse yourself from Lucien and escape the ballroom to get some air outside. 

The strange feeling even seems to encourage this, almost tugging you into the starlit expanse of the gardens.

Away from the light, you can see it now, the dark tendril of smoke that’s been with you all night. It curls around your wrist like a snake and when you reach your other hand out to touch it leans into your touch like a cat. 

However, a moment later, it snaps away from you racing into the garden’s maze. 

You run after it, sprinting into the darkness to follow the shadow as it winds its way through the maze of hedges. It seems to have a clear destination in mind, never once stopping to consider a direction.

You’re out of breath and somewhere along the way you’ve abandoned your shoes to match the relentless pace, but you’re determined to see this through. 

It rounds one more corner when you see him standing in the maze’s center. 

When you crash into the middle his head snaps up to look at you. You’re panting, barefoot, and the bottom of your dress is completely caked with mud. You look after the shadow who curls around the man’s ear in a way that resembles whispering. From behind the black mask the male wears hazel eyes meet yours. Under the intensity of his gaze, you feel like you’ve been cornered by an apex predator. As the rest of the garden is blanketed in total darkness, more shadows rush around your feet. The male steps forward, heavy boots dragging on the gravel. They’re so at odds with the dress shoes the males of the Spring Court usually prefer. You’re entranced by the hand that reaches out to grab your own. 

He draws your hand to his lips and presses a warm kiss to the back of your knuckles. Heat rushes up the back of your spine, and that’s when you feel the golden thread snap into your soul. The male stumbles back from you, green-gold eyes widening in shock, as you feel a burst of shock from low in your chest. 

It is even more confusing when you realize the shock doesn’t even belong to you- it belongs to him. 

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, when you hear a call of your name followed by heavy footsteps. Just as Lucien and Tamlin round the corner to the center of the maze the male in front of you, your mate, has disappeared into the darkness. Dissolved like he wasn’t even standing there in the first place. 

“Sister! There you are,” Tamlin stands in front of you and grabs you by the shoulders shaking you back into your body. “Why are you out here? What happened to your dress? It's covered in mud!” He searches your eyes for an answer you’re in too much shock to give. 

“We found your shoes in the garden,” Lucien adds looking unimpressed at your bare feet. “I know you don’t quite have a grasp on ball etiquette yet, but running around barefoot usually isn't in the realm of appropriate.” 

“I was following a shadow! It led me here and there was a male-he disappeared right before you got here, and he-” You rub the place in your chest, the golden string still buzzing with life. The only proof that this wasn’t some figment of your imagination. Lucien and Tamlin exchange a look with each other before both of their heads turn to you. 

“Sister, there’s no one here. Perhaps you’ve caught a chill, or maybe all the excitement is overwhelming you. Let's get you to bed,” Tamlin loops your arm through his as he attempts to lead you back inside. 

“Tamlin, I am not crazy!” You plant your feet on the ground resisting the pull of your brother. 

“No”, Lucien adds holding up your shoes in one hand, “You’re just chasing shadows barefoot through the garden and talking to disappearing men.” Tamlin shoots Lucien a pointed look as he continues to lead you back to the manor. 

“Come on, we’re going inside.” with one final pull you follow your brother, knowing he won’t even listen to you until morning. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Azriel lands on the floor of Rhys’s office feeling like he’s been stabbed.

His shadows are going wild, writhing over every surface in the office screaming at him to go back to spring to get you. He doesn’t hear Rhys calling his name, doesn’t feel him until Rhys is on the floor in front of him shaking Azriel out of his daze. 

“Az, brother, are you alright? What happened in Spring?” It was supposed to be a routine visit, check to see what Tamlin was up to, and get back to the Night Court before dawn. His only rule was that he couldn’t be seen. He didn’t expect to find his mate in that garden.

He can’t even speak, the shock stealing away his voice as he reaches a hand out to Rhys collapsing the obsidian walls in his mind to let his brother in. 

“Rhys you have to help me find her.” His voice sounds grated. Something keeps tugging around his heart, pulling him back towards you. He doesn’t even know your name just that he needs to be near you again.

Rhys nods, looking over the memory again, trying to find any sort of clue as to who you were. Azriel tugs on the bond in his chest, trying to reassure himself that this was real.  

“I’ve seen that necklace somewhere before, let's check the library” Rhys helps his brother to his feet winnowing them into the winding library. “We’ll find her Az I promise.” He claps his brother on the shoulder as he begins his search. 

Rhys and Az spent the rest of the night pouring over tomes and tomes of jewels spanning across the entirety of Prythian. They found a mention of the necklace in the Summer Court, the entire court known for the beautiful gems it produces. They eventually found out it was a gift from Summer to be passed down to the Lady of Spring which only left them in more confusion. 

“Spring doesn’t have a Lady anymore.” Azriel’s frustration only grew. The longer he was away from you the more insane he felt. He always thought the myth about the need you felt for a mate was exaggerated, but now he knows it wasn’t a lie.  The only thing he can think of now is being near you again. 

Rhys wracks his brain for anything that could help his brother find his mate when he remembers his visits to Spring as a boy.

He recalls then, flashes of a girl hiding in the stairways of the Spring Manor, always trying to listen into the meetings between his father and Tamlin’s. He always saw you in the stables, tending gently to the horses. He assumed you were a child of one of the servants but what if…

“Azriel, I think there might be a Lady in the Spring Court.” He reaches out his hand to his brother to let him see the memories, and Azriel knows it’s you instantly, can feel the bond singing in his chest at the sight of you even in memory. “And I think I know where you can find her.” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’re brushing the mane of your favorite horse, trying to ignore the call in your chest pulling you elsewhere, when you feel the brush of cold against your cheek. Your head snaps up, looking around you to find the source. You see the shadow coiling in the top corner of the barn before it shoots off again. Just like last time you play into its game of chase following the snaking path back into the maze. You keep up much better in your riding boots instead of your bare feet skidding on the gravel path. You find the male at the center again, this time both of you unmasked, taking each other in under the light of day. 

“Hi,” it’s the only thing you manage to choke out your soul begging to go to him. You suddenly feel insecure in your muddy boots and loose tunic, but the male is looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

He dips his head offering you a small smile. 

“Hello, my name is Azriel.”

[liesandmischeif]

Safe and sound

Loki x reader

Masterlist

Notes: So I just got back from Guatemala when I wrote this... I live in the UK. The 7hr jet lag is a killer, especially when I had to go to work two days later. Anyways, enjoy!

Warnings: nilt. Pure fluff!!

You trundle through the door, luggage in tow. It had been an exhausting few weeks, the mission was successful, but you had been awake now for 28 hours because of the long day of travelling. As much as you tried to sleep on the plane, the turbulence kept shaking you awake. Even so, you were home now.  

No sooner had you stepped in the door and dumped your bags in the hallway, your boyfriend appeared in the hallway, bounding up to you and wrapping you in his embrace. You hugged him back and nuzzled your head in his neck, his black curls tickling your face. You had missed him so much. Your best friend, your lover, your soulmate. Your Loki.  

“Missed you” you mumbled into his neck.  

“And I you, my darling” came the reply. “3 weeks is far too long to be separated from you. I wanted to see you the moment you came back, but Stark refused to lend me any of his automobiles. I’m sorry I couldn’t come and get you, my love.” 

“s’okay,” you said “I just got a cab.” 

He looked down at you, bringing his hand up to your face and went to kiss you. “Don’t,” you say “I’m all sweaty and gross. I need a shower and a toothbrush.” 

He smiled “Allow me, sweetheart.” He led you to the bathroom, where there was an enormous bubble bath waiting for you. He’d ran it the perfect temperature, and must’ve bought you some new shampoo because you were running out when you left. “Thank you, my love.” you said, kissing him on the cheek.  

“Anything for you.” he said “Get in and I'll make you some food. Are you hungry?” 

“Starving.” you replied, stripping off and sinking in the tub.  

Loki left to go to the kitchen while you relished in the bath, letting all the muck, sweat and stress fall away. You were halfway to the land of nod when Loki re-appears, holding a towel and some clean PJ’s. Seeing you all drowsy, he drained the bath and helped you get out the tub. He dried you off himself, pressing little pecks to your skin whenever he felt like it, then handed you the clothes so you could dress yourself while he went and set the table.  

He’d made spaghetti and meatballs. You had been teaching him how to cook since being a prince with foreign food had left a lot to be desired when it came to earth food. You'd taught him this months ago- it was the dish most often reverted to in these situations, because he wasn’t yet very talented when it came to cooking salmonella free food, but this had a pretty decent success rate. Plus, you loved it- it reminded you of your childhood and it was a filling meal. You sat there and hoovered up every scrap in five minutes, beating Loki to finish the dish, which was impressive because that man ate like a horse.  

You went to go and put the plates in the dishwasher but he stopped you, told you that he’d handle it and to go and sit down. You didn’t protest; you were far too tired to do more than sit there. Once he’d finished, he turned and scooped you up off the chair, then tucked you up in bed with him, wrapping you both up under the covers. The two of you lay side by side, with his arms wrapped around you, and him pressing little kisses to your forehead.  

“I’m glad your home safe my love.” He said. “I was worried sick.”  

“M’okay Loki.” you mumble. He really is too cozy for his own good.  

You feel him smile against your forehead. “Sleep now angel, you can tell me all about it when you wake.” 

“’Kay.” you say “Love you.” 

“Love you too darling.” 

[seiya234]

For a few years, even after they opened the Library, Stan still ran a carnival of extremely dubious legality on the grounds of the Shack. The return on investment, Stan always said, was worth the lawn getting torn up and stupider than normal questions.

Mabel wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth because in those weird growing pain years, between moving back and graduating high school, those were some of her favorite times and memories.

Maybe because it was something that was unequivocally hers. Dipper would come out, and Stan would let him con some rubes, little baby demon training wheels-

(though Dipper got big mad when she called it “little baby demon training wheels”)

-but it wasn’t anything that Dipper particularly looked forward to. It just wasn’t his thing, which was fine!

Because it was very much MABEL’S thing. And considering her life, it was nice to have a thing that was just Her Thing.

Stan wouldn’t let her have free rein of the fair- she still had to pay for her food and tickets. But the end of the world, plus all the unpaid labor she did at the Library, had made him a little soft, and she got a 50 percent discount, which was all she needed to eat herself sick on cotton candy and hot dogs, followed by barfing after riding the ferris wheel ten times in a row.

There was something incredibly magical about the very fact that there was a festival set up in her back yard! If she could go back in time and tell Little Mabel that, Little Mabel would literally explode. There were also probably like, other things Mabel should tell Little Mabel but two episodes had convinced her that time travel was nothing to mess with.

No but it was magical, to see trucks roll up and unload the pieces of rides onto the lawn, the RVs pulling out of sight behind the Shack and Stan greeting carnies he had known for almost forty or fifty years. Jon showed Mabel how to put together the Ferris Wheel and let Mabel operate construction equipment with five minutes of training. She learned how to make cotton candy, how to beat the rigged games, and from Stan’s ex-girlfriend Allison, how to read Tarot…. which half was just reading people.

The night before it began, when everything had finally been put up, she laid in the warm grass, smelt the hot summer air, and marveled at the cliffs that towered over the Shack and the little carnival.

She also kissed like, a LOT of guys, gals and non-binary pals in the Tunnel of Love and Corndogs, which was always a nice bonus.

(to be honest, Stan always just barely broke even on the carnival. but it was worth it to see Mabel smile like a loon for three to four days)

[gingersnaptaff]

Comprehensive list of couples that need therapy - Mabinogion edition:

1. Rhiannon and Pwyll - Famously stupid dude marries famously smart woman. Nothing bad happens. (Oh, ur son's mysteriously disappeared, and ur wife's maids say ur wife ATE HIM?! Punish ur wife for seven years, make her become a horse, and give people rides like an uber. Don't think twice about this.) 6/10. I think couples therapy would probably help. At the very least Pwyll might fuckin think about things.

2. Branwen and Matholwch - Um, well, their marriage causes a war. And Matholwch is an ASS. I don't think couples therapy would've saved them. I think Branwen should've been allowed to fuckin deck him. 9/10

3. Brân and the Pair Dadeni. Um, the couple that slays together stays together. WAIT! NO, NOT LIKE THAT! WKDKDKF (The Pair Dadeni got blown up. They cannot have couples therapy.) 0/10

4. Manawydan and Rhiannon - They Do Not need couples therapy. They are very well-adjusted. Manawydan makes shoes, and Rhiannon just chills. They talk a lot. Rhiannon calls Manawydan a bad bud to Pryderi, though so there is that. In his defence, Pryderi was stuck to a golden bowl at the time and unable to speak. 4/10

5. Cigfa and Pryderi - Both idiots whom I love. Both snooty. Pryderi takes offence to shoemaking, and Cigfa takes offence to farming—match made in heaven. 0/10

6. Gwydion and Gilfaethwy - They fucked. They're brothers and they fucked. Their uncle made them become animals and they fucked. I think they just need therapy, never mind couples therapy. 100/10

7. Blodeuwedd and Lleu - Woman made out of flowers marries man who doesn't pay attention to her. Woman kills man. Man becomes eagle, and woman becomes owl. It's a tale as old as time. Yes, they NEED couples therapy. 1000/10

8. Arthur and Gwenhwyfar - Honestly, they kinda need it. There's no Lancelot, but Arthur is still an idiot. Plus, he has a list of worldly possessions that are super important to him, and his wife is like seventh. 5/10

9. Cai and Bedwyr - They do not need couples therapy. They just need naps because they're tired of dealing with Arthur's shit. 0/10

10. Peredur and Angharad - Manic pixie dream boy and exasperated golden-handed woman. They're also cousins? 6/10

11. Geraint and Enid - These two need therapy. Geraint so he can stop being an abusive sick and Enid because she's spent so long putting up with Geraint's dickishness. 10/10

12. Owain and Luned (and, by extension, the Lady of the Well) - Do they need therapy? Not they just need to work out their misunderstandings. Still, therapy would kinda benefit them. 4/10

13. Macsen and Elen - Roman Emperor who saw pretty lady in dream. He needs therapy. 7/10

14. Gwenhwyfar and Edern ap Nudd - MY GOD, THEY NEED THERAPY! Edern sending a dwarf to whip Gwen's lady? Edern whipping Geraint? Insulting the woman who is sometimes seen to be his lover? BRUH, 10/10

15. Gwyn ap Nudd and Creiddylad - Ehudjfjfjf Gwyn tries to kidnap Creiddylad and then is forced to fight for her. He kills a man in the battle that Creiddylad's fiancé wages to get her back and then makes the son of the man EAT HIS HEART?!?!? (Gwyn still has a cute dog, though) A million out of 10.

16. Dylan ail Don and the waves - 0/10. Dylan is in his lane. Moisturised. Flourishing. (Just don't do an Uncle Gofannon and smash his head in with a hammer.)

(This is supposed to be funny. Pls don't yell at me.)

[usedtobecooler]

series

virgin!eddie | part i // ii // iii // iiii // v // vi | smut | x reader | 13.9k

oneshots

i get off | smut | x reader | 1.4k

hysteria | smut | x reader | 3.2k

she's got the look | smut | x plus size!reader | 2.1k

don't you want me baby | smut | x plus size!reader | 2.3k

living dead girl (kas!eddie) | smut/noncon | x reader | 3.7k

knocking on heavens door | smut | x reader | 1.7k

lay your hands on me | smut | x reader | 3.9k

the sex is good | smut | x reader | 3.7k

'what're you wearing?' | smut/phone sex | x reader | 2k

'you're cute when you beg' | smut | x reader | 1.5k

'you wanna get cucked by steve?' | smut | eddie + steve x reader | 2.1k

two for the price of one | smut | eddie + steve x reader | 1.3k

'you want some help with that?' | smut | eddie + steve x reader | 2.8k

this must be the place | smut | eddie + steve x reader | 8.6k

like a secret in your throat | smut | eddie x steve | 1.1k

isn't that so sad | angst/mental health | eddie x steve | 1.9k

blurbs

'go on, what else would i like?' | smut | x reader | 1k

'are you that easy for me?' | smut | x reader | 1.7k

'those are gonna be hard to cover up' | smut | x reader | 1.1k

'i bet i could make you squirt' | smut | x reader | 1.1k

'same time tomorrow?' | smut | x reader | 1.1k

'you'll take what i give you' | BULLY!EDDIE smut | x reader | 1.6k

'dunno, eddie. i feel funny.' | BULLY!EDDIE smut/piss kink | x reader | 1.1k

'sorry? too little too late.' | BULLY!EDDIE smut/dubcon | x reader | 1.1k

'i need to see you cum.' | VIRGIN!EDDIE smut | x reader | 1k

grower not a shower | smut | x reader | 1k

eddie & steve dp | smut | eddie + steve x reader | 1.5k

virgin!eddie watching porn | smut/phone sex | x reader | 1.2k

rockstar!eddie signing your tits | smut | x reader | 1.2k

drabbles

'who's the desperate idiot now?' | smut | x reader | 672 words

'tell me, was he as good as me?' | smut/dubcon | x reader | 1k

save a horse, ride a cowboy | smut | x reader | 503 words

'your perfect little nose' | smut | x reader | 248 words

'fucking hate you, munson' | smut | x reader | 557 words

'you think bad girls deserve to cum?' | smut | x reader | 866 words

'shit sweetheart, didn't see you there.' | smut | eddie + steve x reader | 730 words

'so desperate you couldn't wait, huh?' | smut | x reader | 495 words

‘s’not all gonna fit is it?’ | smut | x reader | 945 words

'oh shit, sorry, m'gonna-' | smut | x reader | 246 words

eddie fucks fat girls | smut | x reader | 362 words

eddie 'minuteman' munson | smut | x reader | 200 words

edging eddie until he cries | smut | x reader | 847 words

perv!eddie likes to make you squirt | smut | x reader | 246 words

modern day!eddie + reddit | fluff | x reader | 449 words

eddie + sick reader | fluff | x reader | 537 words

'i never thought you could hurt me like this' | angst | x reader | 630 words

'here comes the airplane' | fluff | x reader | 266 words

'i was gonna knock your socks off' | fluff | x reader | 461 words

eddie and your daughter | fluff | x reader | 383 words

eddie finds out you're pregnant | angst | x reader | 659 words

updated january 14th '24

[uncleclam]

Ken x gn!reader / he wants to marry you so bad

Word count: 728

Rating: sfw

This stupid doll…

CAN'T STOP PROPOSING

Whatever is going on in his tiny little plastic brain, you never expect THIS to happen. He must have been watching way too much Netflix, you know cause when you check the watch history, he basically clicked all romance drama possible, ALL. This is concerning, a drop of sweat formed on your forehead as you see he also watched all princess movies on Disney plus, too. Is this why he keeps bringing that up? That he believed in ‘happily ever after’? Because that sounds like something ‘the Mattel dictionary’ totally would have.

It wasn’t you’re not ready, well, a part of you is definitely not ready, or something anti-marriage of you, because you have definitely thought about it, dreamed of it even, but the reality of having a lifelong commitment is something chased you away—-

Not in a bad way, but definitely not in KEN’s way.

Ken is your cute, clumsy, curious, sometimes annoying roommate. He is still learning about the real world, everything is new to him and he’s so eager to try all of them. You tried to provide the best for him, he’s your favorite doll after all, he has been there with you since you can remember(In a toy form, naked)! You treat him almost like a pet now, you love him of course! Just not in that way…

I want to live with you forever! I want to be your forever partner!

His voice echoes in your brain, it was so innocent and charming actually, his big blue eyes were like shining diamonds, begging you the same way he begged for an ice-cream, you almost said yes out of instinct. Time felt frozen to you, your eyes widened, lungs stopped working. Ken blinked and waited for your response.

‘What did you just say, Ken?’ You asked, wanting to reconfirm.

‘I want to marry you!’

‘Uhh…’ You paused, looking away slightly.

‘Can i?’ He sounded so enthusiastic, like always.

‘I'm afraid we cannot…’ You finally gathered the sentence and spoke it out, sighed, and petted Ken’s hand that had been on your shoulder.

‘Is it something expensive again? Like a double decker bus or a horse?’ Ken tilted his head, he was genuinely asking. He had asked you so many prices on different stuff, especially the stuff he wanted.

‘Not exactly, but-‘ you shuttered.

‘Then why can’t we get married?’ He asked again.

‘Because it needs promises, and promises are not easy.’ You explained, felt like describing the concept of algebra to a toddler. Ken actually paused and started thinking for a while.

———

For the first few days, he seemed upset and confused after you rejected him. The concept of marriage he googled is simply not that easy, you tried to explain to him but he didn’t say anything. You heard him sobbing on the sofa that night. After a week, he’s back to normal classic Ken again, but whenever he opens his mouth, it’s about marrying you.

‘What do you want for lunch?’

‘A wedding dress on you!’

Or

‘Ken, will you pass me the sugar?’

‘I, Ken, take you to be my forever lover, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.’

A dramatic pause

‘I do.’ He vowed as he passed the sugar.

———

This has been 3 weeks now, about the marrying you thing, and he has no signs of giving that up. You wished you were a barbie so you wouldn’t have to care so much—- He even bought two of those Ring Pop where you can suck the candy while it stays on your finger. The candy itself is comically big. A red, cherry flavored for you, and a green, lime flavored for himself. He jogged his way to you, gently held your right hand up and pushed the ring down to the base of your third finger.

‘This doesn’t mean we are officially married—‘

‘I know.’ He looked up and smiled, putting on his own ring and licked on the sweetened crystal. Then He jogged away to look at other stuff while humming the wedding theme song.

He hasn’t taken off the finished plastic ring ever since, and so do you too.

[puripurin]

— There was something you could never understand even after spending a two years in this world. The first thing you experienced was when you were suddenly aware that you were in another world, was someone trying to kill you after they accused you of stealing their beloved.

All you had done was look around in the area you were dropped in, which was an allyway, before a man tripped on some rubbish before falling on you, to which their "yandere" screeched in horror before trying to rip out your windpipe.

By some miracle, someone had saved you both by shooting them in the head, and that was how you got introduced to AFHD, Assassins For Hire by Darlings. It was just a hitman agency created by various darlings who got sick and tired of yanderes breaking into their homes and killing several of their friends.

You and the man, named Cain, had almost immediately joined and started your training, and after you both finished, you rose through the ranks at lightning speed with Cain and you being nicknamed "Killer Duo", which admittedly made you flustered. But you can say that your quick rise up the ranks created this situation.

"Are you done with that blasted monolog?" The man said curtly. You huffed and rolled your eyes before continuing.

This man was the--

"Okay, that's enough. I'm done with your shenanigans because I know you're going to just complain." The man shook his head before speaking once more. "Now, as I was trying you say earlier, I don't want you to be in the organization anymore because these delicate fingers are to be welding daggers and guns, ratger they should be wrapped around my hard cock—"

"WHATTTT—"

Srry for not posting the laziness was kicking innnnn, plus im starting to get into sewing because getting shit over seas is expensive and my style of clothes (lolita), it EXPENSIVE. All the shit i want is all in USD which i want 2 kill myself because the exchange rates are crazy, like "oh you want a $341 ball jointed doll base?" TOO BAD 2.3K IN MY CURRENCY >>>:((((((

Anyways enough ranting im tired like a horse. 😮‍💨😫

Edit: tags.

[mindless-existence1]

Rottmnt Brothers Sick Fics

This is the second part in the Rottmnt Sick Fic serise. Leo was done first, find it on my masterlist, enjoy.

REQUESTS OPEN PLS SEND! REQUESTS OPEN FOR FLUFF AND KINKTOBER AS WELL!

Authors note: I understand that there's 7 stages of the flu in cannon rottmnt but for fic purposes that doesn't exist. This is slightly aged up so then it works out reader has their own apartment. Also this is for my boo boo bear hope you enjoy😚😚😚😚

When your boyfriend came over for your movie date you didn't think something would be wrong. But the second you opened the door and were meet with a sneezing and coughing terrapin you knew he wasn't ok. "Hey hun."

He greets you with a sweet voice that is groggy and slurred. "What's wrong babe?" Worry is evident in your voice while you help him into your apartment. "Oh nothing don't worry about it, Raph's fine."

He stumbles a bit going through the door and you just barely are able to hold him up. "Are you sick?" The question is slightly rhetorical since you already know the answer. Raph goes into a coughing fit, he nods his head while his face is in his elbow.

"Think I got it from pops." Your mind goes back to a few days ago when Splinter had gotten the flu. You knew how hard it had hit your boyfriends father-having first hand experience since you helped the brothers out- so you just hoped it was better for Raph.

"You didn't have to come today, you should be resting and taking medicine." Your worry is evident in every word. Raph just shakes his head, "Raph is fine, it's just a little flu nothing serious. Didn't want to miss our movie date."

You sigh, leading him towards your living room to lay him on the couch. "I would understand if we had to cancel." Your tone is soft as you lay him onto your couch that barley fits him. He sneezes into his elbow and sniffles.

"I dont like canceling plans plus I wanted to see you." He seems to be on the verge of sleep, just barely keeping himself from drifting now that he's laying down. You walk towards your kitchen that connects to the living room, "Do you want tea or anything to eat?"

He seems to think for a minute before shaking his head, "You don't have to take care of me, Raph's fine. Let's just pick a movie." He reaches for some napkins and loudly blows his nose while you go to your cupboard.

"I want to take care of you because you're sick. Now do you want tea? I also have a can or chicken noodle that you should have. It'll make you feel better." You start to grab the ingredients you need. Raphs coughs make you turn.

"Honey I swear I'm fine, can we please just start a movie?" Raphs actions defy his words. He slumps back into the couch and clears his scratchy throat.

"We can watch something when I get over there, after I make soup and tea." You cut him off before he can object. "And before you complain I'm hungry too so this isn't just for you."

Your voice is stern while you start the stove and find a pot and kettle. "Y/n?" Raphs voice is horse and quiet. "Yeah?" You don't turn to answer as you drop in two cans of chicken noodle soup.

"Thank you for helping me, Raph loves you." Your heart melts at the loving words. You can hear how exhausted he sounds, always having to take care of his brothers means always being tired. He never let himself be the one getting taken care of.

"I love you to." You hear him shuffle on the couch. After a few minutes of heating up the soup and tea water you prepare to give it to Raph. Two bowls get filled with steaming soup along with two mugs of tea.

It takes two trips to get everything to your coffee table. You notice how Raph seems to be sleeping peacefully on his side covered in a large blanket. After finding his favorite Jupiter Jim movie you decide to wake him up before his meal gets cold.

With a kiss on his forehead and a slight shake of his shoulders you wake up the large terrapin. He slowly pushes himself into a sitting position so he can eat easily.

You reach for the remote across the table and turn on the movie. As the opening credits role you say, "I'm guessing you haven't had any medicine."

You speak in-between bites of hot soup (pun intended). He shakes his head. "No, took some before coming over." He takes a sip of tea. "Didn't want to get you sick." He mumbles before shoving the spoon into his mouth.

You smile but don't say anything since the first scene of your movie starts to play. Half way through you finish your soup and rest your head onto Raphs large spiky shoulder.

You are careful not to hurt yourself on his sharp scales. You feel Raph flinch when he feels your head touch him, he slowly starts to relax. He has always been hesitant when it comes to physical touch. Always conscious of his larger size.

After a few minutes you start to fall asleep, once your breathing evens out Raph looks down towards you. He can feel himself slowly drifting so he carefully- very carefully- moves around the couch so you are laying ontop of him.

Soon you both are cuddling eachother to sleep, Raph can feel himself feeling better already. With one last look down towards you, Raph lulls into a deep slumber with you tightly in his arms.