#siren call

[leirastar]

new world | chapter 4

Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates Summary: A tragic accident left you unable to use your wings and, with that, claimed your father's life, leaving you in the care of your noble uncle. In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 4.7k | 20 minutes A/n: ANOTHER CHAPTER!! a cute episode and omg the ENDING! i hope i got ya'll hooked. I WILL UPLOUD AGAIN NEXT WEEK!! i'm enjoying my holidays but again i can't let you wait for too long. BTW i'm still not sure i will be uploading anything for new years as i planned bc i'm enjoying spending time with my family. BUT i am planning on creating a mood board for all of the kingdoms, so i hope i can finish that before i start my semester! i love you all, have a good day everyone! SLIGHT SPOILERS: i might or might not deprived you from yunho content, so enjoy the next 3 chapters while you are at it hihi. Warning: emotional tension, vulnerability, subtle romantic, confessions, introspection, mentions of longing and absence, mutual attraction, TEASING.

The silence lingered after his words, stretching thin between you like a drawn bowstring. The quiet was deliberate—he was waiting for something, a response, a reaction. Yet, all you could do was stare.

Yunho’s presence felt heavier than it should have, like a shadow pulling at the edges of the light. Though his smirk played at confidence, there was something else beneath the surface—a question he hadn’t spoken aloud.

Slowly, you pulled your hand from the chair, straightening your posture. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, a glimmer of something—amusement? annoyance?—flashing in his golden-brown eyes. “You doubt me so easily?”

“Easily?” You let out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound.

“A week isn’t ‘not long,’ Yunho.”

The teasing edge of your voice seemed to land somewhere between his ribcage and his heart, catching him off guard for the briefest of moments. Yunho’s smirk softened, as though he hadn’t expected you to challenge him so directly. The flicker of something—fondness, perhaps—settled in his gaze, warmer now, though he masked it quickly.

“Time moves differently for me,” he replied, almost absently, his eyes tracing your face as though committing every line and curve to memory. “But I suppose a week is long when you’re waiting.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words tightening something in your chest. There was a rhythm to this—each word, each look, a quiet pull that seemed to draw you closer, as though gravity itself was bending toward him. You weren’t sure when the air had shifted, but it was charged now, like the calm before a storm.

Before you could respond, Yunho’s gaze shifted slightly, and his posture straightened. From behind his back, he pulled out a small bouquet—a wild mix of flowers, all soft petals and bright colors that looked as though he’d plucked them fresh on his way to you. The sight caught you entirely off guard, your breath stalling as he held it out, his expression strangely unreadable.

“For you,” he said simply.

Your fingers hovered for a moment before taking the bouquet carefully, the delicate fragrance of the blooms drifting up. “You brought me flowers?”

“Should I not have?” Yunho’s voice was casual, but there was something softer behind the words, as though this gesture meant more than he was willing to say.

You looked down at the flowers, unable to hide the small smile pulling at your lips. “No, it’s… sweet. Unexpected, but sweet.”

Yunho exhaled faintly, as though relieved, before his familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good. I wasn’t sure if it would be enough to make up for my absence.”

“Well,” you said, your voice softer than you intended, unable to stop the warmth spreading through your chest.

“you’re here now.”

Yunho tilted his head slightly, studying you as if he could see more than you were saying. The corner of his mouth lifted again, but this time it was less of a smirk and more of a smile, faint and fleeting, but no less sincere.

“I am,” he said quietly. “And I’ll stay, if you’ll let me.”

The confession sat between you like a small ember, its glow refusing to die out. You found yourself holding his gaze longer than you should have, heat crawling up the back of your neck, but Yunho didn’t look away. He stood there—steady, unshaken—as though his whole world rested on the way you’d respond.

Finally, you exhaled, breaking the stillness. “Well,” you said, trying to inject a bit of lightness back into your tone, “I was just about to make lunch.”

He blinked, surprised, before his smile deepened ever so slightly. “You cook?”

“Not as well as you probably think,” you shot back, turning toward the kitchen, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you. “But you’re welcome to join me—if you’re not afraid of terrible food, that is.”

Yunho laughed softly, the sound so genuine and easy it sent warmth unfurling in your chest. “I think I’ll survive.”

The weight of his presence shifted as he followed you into the kitchen, his footsteps soft but deliberate, a quiet rhythm that somehow made the air feel heavier. He didn’t hover close—no, Yunho was careful about space, respectful and measured, as if he knew the effect his nearness could have. But still, you felt him—felt him in the way your skin tingled with awareness, as though the room had shrunk to hold only the two of you.

You moved with practiced motions, pulling ingredients from shelves and gathering utensils, but it was impossible to ignore the way his gaze lingered. It wasn’t intrusive, wasn’t sharp; instead, it was steady, tracing each movement like he was committing you to memory. There was something calming about it—like the quiet pull of the tide, gentle but impossible to resist. And yet, beneath that calm, a fluttering warmth spread through you, delicate and restless, like sparks caught in the breeze.

Your fingers fumbled over the edge of a jar, slipping just enough to make you laugh under your breath, trying to shake it off. But you felt it again, the way his attention lingered—not just watching, but noticing. Noticing the way you moved when you thought no one was paying attention, the curve of your smile when you found something amusing, the way you seemed so wholly yourself in this small, unguarded moment. It wasn’t judgment; it wasn’t expectation. It was just Yunho, quietly taking you in, and the thought sent a soft, persistent hum through your veins.

It was like yunho was memorizing you, this version of you—self-assured, capable, unguarded. And the way he watched did something to you, sent a restless warmth curling through your chest, soft and unsteady. It was as though sparks had caught on dry tinder, spreading slowly but surely, igniting something you weren’t ready to name.

It felt like standing in sunlight after a long winter—warm and slow, and maybe a little overwhelming. Or maybe it was the opposite, like the quiet of the ocean when you let it wash over you, grounding you in a way you didn’t quite know you needed.

There was an intimacy to it that made your breath hitch, like standing on the shore and feeling the tide pull at your ankles, urging you forward. Calm, quiet—but insistent.

“You’re staring,” you said finally, shooting him a glance over your shoulder. The words were teasing, but your voice sounded softer than you intended, betraying just how aware of him you really were.

Yunho didn’t flinch, didn’t try to deny it. His golden-brown eyes remained fixed on yours, steady as ever, though something flickered beneath the surface—something quieter, softer. He didn’t smile, not exactly, but the corners of his mouth tilted as if he were holding something back.

“I’m observing,” he corrected smoothly, though the playfulness in his tone didn’t hide the way his gaze softened when you looked at him. “There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” You turned back to the counter, shaking your head with a quiet laugh.

“Mm-hmm.” He moved to lean against the edge of the table, arms crossing casually over his chest. “I’m learning things about you. For example, you hum when you’re focused.”

“I do not.”

“You do,” he said with an easy certainty, the smallest of grins tugging at his lips. “It’s… endearing.”

The word hung in the air like a whispered secret, and for a moment, your hands paused. Something about the way he said it—soft, honest, with no room for teasing—left your heart stumbling over its own rhythm.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, trying to hide the way your cheeks warmed as you began chopping vegetables.

“And yet you invited me to lunch,” he countered, and when you turned back toward him, you caught that familiar gleam of mischief in his eyes.

“I must have lost my mind,” you shot back lightly, though your voice faltered under his gaze.

“Or you missed me,” Yunho added, his voice dropping just enough to make your breath hitch.

You met his gaze, the easy banter falling away for the second time that afternoon. The words sat between you, unspoken but understood.

Maybe I did.

“Well,” you said after a moment, the word escaping like a breath as you turned back to the stove, unwilling to let the moment crack open too much more. “If you’re going to stand there being smug, you might as well make yourself useful.”

“As you wish,” he replied, pushing off the counter with an exaggerated sigh, though the faint smile he wore told you he didn’t mind.

By the time lunch was ready, you realized you’d been smiling the entire time. Between the hum of simmering food and the clinking of dishes, Yunho’s occasional remarks, dry and teasing, filled the spaces where silence might have settled. It was nothing grand, but it felt comfortable, like slipping into something warm and familiar.

When you set the last dish on the table, Yunho moved with you, reaching for utensils and bowls without being asked, as though he’d already learned the flow of your kitchen. There was a shift in the air, subtle but certain—a new balance between you, as though his edges weren’t quite so sharp now, his presence not quite so heavy.

“You didn’t have to help,” you said softly, wiping your hands on a towel as you glanced over at him.

Yunho was already seated, arms crossed as he leaned back slightly in the chair, stubborn as ever. “I wasn’t about to stand around doing nothing,” he replied, his tone gruff, though his words carried an edge of something softer—unspoken, but present.

“Always so serious,” you teased, settling across from him and letting yourself meet his gaze fully for the first time since you’d sat down.

Yunho raised a brow, his expression skeptical. “You think I’m serious?”

“I know you are,” you replied, picking up your fork and shooting him a look of mock challenge. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you relax.”

“I am relaxed,” he argued stubbornly, though the slight furrow of his brow and the straightness of his posture betrayed him.

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, warm and genuine. “Relaxed people don’t sit like they’re bracing for an interrogation.”

Yunho huffed softly—not quite a sigh, but close. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure,” you said, dragging out the word with exaggerated disbelief. “The brooding stare. The stoic silence. Totally relaxed.”

Yunho’s gaze narrowed, a flicker of that familiar stubbornness returning, but this time, it didn’t carry the same weight. There was something different—the tension that usually surrounded him seemed lighter, like it wasn’t holding him in a chokehold anymore. He didn’t argue, didn’t push back immediately. Instead, his lips twitched faintly, like he was holding back something between amusement and resignation.

“Some of us aren’t so easily distracted,” he muttered, reaching for his fork at last.

“Distracted?” you repeated, tilting your head as if challenging him. “By what, exactly?”

Yunho hesitated then, his expression faltering for just a moment, as though a crack had appeared in the carefully constructed armor he always wore. It was small, almost imperceptible, but you caught it—the faint flicker of something softer, something unspoken lingering in the depths of his golden-brown eyes. He shifted his weight slightly, his fingers curling against the edge of the table as though grounding himself, yet the motion was subtle, as if he didn’t want you to notice how much the question had unsettled him.

For a beat, he held your gaze, a war playing out in the quiet space between you—his instinct to guard himself colliding with something else, something more fragile. His shoulders, usually stiff with quiet control, loosened just enough for you to see the truth: this wasn’t a question he knew how to answer easily. Yunho had spent so long keeping his thoughts locked away, his emotions buried beneath layers of steel and silence, that the idea of exposing even a fraction of them felt foreign, like treading into unfamiliar territory.

Finally, his gaze broke away, flickering to the floor, his jaw tight as though he were biting back words he couldn’t quite say. Vulnerability sat on him awkwardly, like a garment he wasn’t used to wearing—uncomfortable and heavy, despite its delicate nature. And yet, for all his reluctance, you could see something else, too—an unspoken effort, a wanting. He wanted to say more, to let you in just a little, but it was clear he hadn’t yet figured out how to make peace with it, how to lower his defenses without feeling exposed.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, a fraction less steady than before. “Nothing,” he murmured, the word clipped but carrying a weight that betrayed him. It wasn’t a dismissal, not truly—it was a placeholder, a shield thrown up just in time to keep you from seeing too much. But you weren’t fooled; that single word had layers, and though Yunho was too proud to admit it, you could see them all, thin and translucent like glass.

The silence that followed stretched longer than it should have, as if he were waiting for you to push further, to call him out on the half-truth. Instead, you let the moment settle, soft and unspoken, giving him the space he needed. You didn’t press, didn’t pry, though your gentle patience seemed to make him shift uncomfortably, as though it was easier to deal with sharp edges than with kindness.

And yet, in the stillness, you caught it—the faint, almost imperceptible way Yunho’s shoulders dropped again, the tension bleeding away just slightly. Even if he didn’t say it aloud, the quiet acceptance in your silence told him that he didn’t have to fight so hard here. That he didn’t need to armor himself with words or distance.

The moment passed like a breath, fleeting yet lingering in the spaces between you, and when Yunho finally looked up again, his eyes were softer, less guarded. He didn’t say another word, but the look he gave you spoke for him—a silent acknowledgment, a step forward, no matter how small. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to feel like something had shifted between you, the tiniest crack letting light seep through.

Your smile softened, your teasing quieting. “Well,” you said gently, “if you ever feel like saying it out loud, I’ll listen.”

The words hung in the air, and when Yunho’s gaze flicked back to meet yours, something shifted. For a long, still moment, he studied you, as if measuring how much of himself he could let you see. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t look away either, and somehow, the silence between you felt more honest than anything either of you had said all afternoon.

Finally, Yunho exhaled, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The soft promise settled between you, and though it was small, it felt like something. A step forward. A crack in the carefully constructed walls he kept up. You smiled back, breaking the moment before it could press too deeply.

“Now eat before it gets cold,” you said, lifting your fork. “I didn’t make all of this for you to just sit there and brood.”

Yunho blinked, feigning offense. “Brood? I don’t brood.”

“You do,” you shot back, grinning. “And you’re proving my point again.”

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, though the words held no real frustration. If anything, his voice carried something new—something faintly fond, though he likely wouldn’t admit it.

“And you’re predictable,” you countered lightly, reaching for your own bite.

Yunho paused, giving you one of those skeptical, narrow-eyed looks. “Don’t get used to this,” he warned, though the effect was lost when he reached for another helping of food.

“To what?” you asked, feigning innocence as you smiled behind your fork.

His gaze lingered then, steady and quiet, before he finally said, “Me staying.”

Your heart skipped, your breath catching just slightly, but you managed to keep your voice even. “Then I’ll make sure the food’s good enough to keep you around.”

Yunho didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you for a beat too long, as though trying to figure you out yet again. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer. “Fine. But don’t expect compliments.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said with a smile, turning your focus back to your plate.

And then it happened—soft and low, a quiet chuckle escaped him. It was small, almost as though he hadn’t meant for you to hear it, but it lingered in the space between you, warm and unguarded. The sound curled in your chest like an ember, steady and bright, something you knew you’d carry with you for a long time after.

Yunho didn’t touch his food right away. Instead, he leaned slightly forward, picking at the edge of his fork with idle focus. “Where did you go this morning?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet rhythm of clinking silverware.

You glanced up, caught off guard by the question. “The market,” you replied casually, reaching for a piece of bread. “It’s livelier on late mornings, and the vendors are more generous when they’re almost sold out.”

Yunho raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “You bartered.”

You smirked, shrugging. “I negotiated. It’s a skill.”

“Clearly,” he murmured, though the faint amusement in his tone softened the usual sharpness of his words. “And you go often?”

“Only when I need to,” you said, lifting your fork with an easy shrug. “Unlike you, who seems to disappear for weeks on end.”

Yunho didn’t flinch at the jab; if anything, he seemed amused by it. “I was working,” he replied smoothly, his golden-brown eyes meeting yours with quiet certainty.

“And what exactly is your work?” you asked, curiosity tugging at the corners of your mind. You’d never pressed Yunho for details before, and though he wasn’t one to share freely, something told you he might answer today.

“A diplomat,” Yunho said, taking a bite of his food and chewing thoughtfully, as though the word itself carried a certain weight.

“A messenger between kingdoms, if you will.”

“Diplomat?” you echoed, your brow lifting in surprise. “That’s… unexpected.”

His lips twitched. “You sound disappointed.”

“Not disappointed,” you admitted with a small smile.

“I didn’t think you’d have the patience for it.”

Yunho’s lips twitched as though fighting back a smile. “You’d be surprised,” he said, setting his fork down briefly to lean back in his chair. “It takes a lot of patience to listen to people argue over things that don’t matter.”

“And Where’d you disappear to this time?” you asked, taking another bite, keeping your tone casual though your curiosity lingered.

Yunho tilted his head slightly, studying you before answering. “Caius. The capital.”

“Caius?” you repeated, interest flickering in your voice. “What for?”

His smirk returned, faint but unmistakable. “Let’s just say I hastened the arrangements I had to make there… so I could see a certain beautiful girl out here in the outskirts.”

Your fork paused midair, the words sinking in with a weight they probably shouldn’t have. “That’s quite the line,” you gulp, though your voice came out softer than you intended.

“Is it?” Yunho replied, leaning back in his chair with a casual confidence that didn’t quite match the way his gaze lingered on you. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

The weight of his words settled between you, lingering like the gentle crackle of a fading fire. You looked away, focusing on the food in front of you as if it demanded your full attention, but it didn’t stop the warmth spreading across your cheeks. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence thick with something unspoken—something that made your pulse quicken in a way you didn’t quite want to name.

“So,” you began, breaking the silence as you plated food. “Where are you from? Really?”

Yunho tilted his head slightly, his fork pausing mid-air as he considered your question. “Reed,” he answered simply, his golden-brown gaze meeting yours.

“Reed?” You couldn’t hide the small, teasing smile that crept onto your face. “Ah, I understand your cold exterior now. That icy place must have frozen your personality.”

For a moment, Yunho blinked at you, his usual sharp retorts caught off guard by the jab. Then, he huffed softly, the corners of his lips twitching into something between a frown and a reluctant smile. “I don’t have a cold exterior.”

“You do,” you shot back, grinning. “All intense and serious… but it’s okay. I’ll just blame the environment.”

A faint chuckle escaped him, though his eyes didn’t lose that steady focus on you. “Careful,” he murmured, the corner of his lips quirking up. “You might find the cold isn’t so bad once you get used to it.”

“You’ll have to prove that someday,” you teased, shaking your head as you reached for your glass. “Until then, I stand by my theory.”

Yunho sighed, but there was no hiding the way his expression softened at your playful challenge. He shook his head faintly, as though exasperated, but his eyes betrayed him—warm and lingering just a beat too long.

The rest of lunch passed in that easy rhythm, filled with quiet conversation and teasing remarks that seemed to chip away at the usual Yunho—a man of sharp words and a guarded expression. He didn’t praise your cooking, true to his word, but when he went back for seconds without a word, you couldn’t help the satisfaction that curled in your chest.

“You can stop pretending you hate it,” you said finally, watching as he set his empty plate down with the same deliberate care as everything else he did.

“I never said I hated it,” he replied, his voice calm and even. “I said I wouldn’t compliment it.”

You arched a brow. “That’s the same thing.”

“It isn’t,” he countered stubbornly, though the faint flicker of amusement in his eyes betrayed him.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered for what felt like the hundredth time that day, though the words were softened by your smile.

“And you’re predictable,” he replied, though his tone held no real bite. If anything, there was something warmer in it—something more familiar, like he was settling into this version of himself, here with you.

The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward—it was charged, the air between you suddenly warmer, thicker. You couldn’t hold his gaze for long, so you returned your focus to your plate, though the food in front of you suddenly seemed far less interesting.

The rest of lunch passed in that same rhythm—an easy ebb and flow of words, teasing remarks laced with just enough sincerity to make you pause, and silences that didn’t feel empty. Yunho’s stubborn refusal to compliment your cooking stayed true, though the way he cleaned his plate and lingered in his seat told you everything you needed to know. His shoulders, once tense and sharp with unspoken words, had softened, and there was an ease to him now—a presence that wasn’t so much guarded as it was… present.

It was late afternoon by the time the kitchen had been cleaned, the dishes stacked neatly away and the air outside beginning to soften into evening. Sunlight poured lazily through the windows, golden and drowsy, streaking across the wooden floors. You’d pulled out a small pitcher of mulled refreshment—something akin to a medieval wine, spiced and warm—and paired it with a simple platter of cheeses and sliced fruit.

Yunho sat at the table again, one arm draped casually over the back of his chair, his presence quieter now, more at ease. He lifted the glass you’d set before him, turning it slightly between his fingers as though inspecting it.

“Do diplomats get to drink this well in Caius?” you asked lightly, sitting across from him and pouring yourself a glass.

“Not often,” he replied, his voice softer now, as though the long day had smoothed the edges of it. “The wine is better, but the company isn’t.”

You paused mid-sip, his words landing with a subtle weight that you didn’t miss. “Is that your way of complimenting me?”

Yunho tilted his head slightly, his golden gaze meeting yours across the table. “Would you prefer I deny it?”

The question hung there, unspoken but understood, before you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You’re terrible at this.”

“At what?” he asked, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as he finally took a sip of the drink.

“Being subtle,” you teased, though the warmth that curled through your chest suggested you didn’t really mind.

A comfortable quiet followed, the two of you sipping the spiced drink and sharing bites of cheese and fruit as the sunlight began to shift. The house felt still, cradled by the late-afternoon calm, the kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a blanket. Yunho didn’t rush to leave, though you could see the faint shift in his expression—the way his gaze drifted briefly to the door, as though preparing himself to return to wherever his duties called him next.

You set your glass down, watching him carefully. “Are you leaving soon?”

Yunho nodded faintly, though he didn’t move yet. “I should.”

Something inside you sank slightly, though you kept your voice steady. “And where to this time?”

“Reed, for now,” he said, though his eyes lingered on you, his next words softer. “But maybe not for long.”

You tilted your head, curiosity flickering in your chest. “What do you mean?”

Yunho set his glass down, his movements slow, deliberate. His gaze held yours, steady and unwavering as he spoke. “Maybe,” started, as though choosing his words carefully, “if a certain lady here doesn’t have anyone waiting for her… she might have the honor of being courted by a gentleman.”

Your breath stilled.

He didn’t smile—not fully—but there was something about the way he looked at you that made it clear he wasn’t teasing, not this time. Your heart skipped, the weight of his words landing softly but unmistakably.

“A gentleman?” you asked lightly, though your voice felt fragile.

Yunho’s gaze didn’t waver, his golden-brown eyes holding yours with something deeper—something unspoken but clear. “One who travels between Reed and Caius…but might find himself visiting these outskirts more often—

if she’ll have him.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your chest tight, your pulse fluttering like a wild thing. Yunho wasn’t smiling now; there was no teasing in his expression. He looked at you like he was waiting—for an answer, for a sign, for something to tell him that he wasn’t making a mistake in saying this aloud.

The confession was quiet, understated, but it felt like everything. You were unable to tear your gaze away, as the sunlight caught on the edges of his face, softening the sharp lines into something gentler. It wasn’t grand or sweeping—no promises or declarations—but it didn’t need to be.

The words you wanted to say caught in your throat, but finally, you managed to smile, soft and honest. “Well,” you murmured, your voice quieter than before, “that depends on the gentleman.”

Yunho’s gaze held yours a beat longer, his eyes steady and unwavering, as though he was taking in every detail, every unspoken word between you. Then, with deliberate care, he rose to his feet, his movements fluid but deliberate.

“Then I’ll have to prove myself worthy,” he said, his voice low and sure, the weight of the words lingering like a promise. “And perhaps… dote on her until she has no choice but to say yes.”

You couldn’t help the flutter in your chest, the warmth creeping up your neck as he turned toward the door, his hand brushing the handle as though he was reluctant to leave. He lingered there for just a moment, glancing back to meet your gaze one last time.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unexpected sincerity. “For the food. And the time.”

As he turned toward the door, his hand grazing the handle, you called after him softly. “Yunho.”

He paused, glancing back, waiting.

“I haven’t said no yet.”

His lips lifted just enough to let you see the faintest hint of a smile—a real one, unguarded and soft—before he nodded once and disappeared out the door, the fading sunlight catching the last glimpse of him as he left.

And when the house fell quiet again, you sat there, hands still curled around your empty glass, his words playing over in your mind like a melody you couldn’t let go of.

Already, the space he left behind felt too quiet—too big—and you wondered how long it would take before you stopped looking for him in every shadow.

Masterlist

3 | 5

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[wingedcat13]

Siren Call: 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today, it takes effort - but she does it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For today, this awkward embrace is enough.

———————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean, ‘what is it,’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minerva’s grimace is answer enough.

Alexandria sighs, “Mom.”

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

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

Minerva remains silent.

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

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

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

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

What if she has more to lose?

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

One day.

———————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———————————-

On the roof, Synovus was pacing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” Synovus agrees. “I don’t.”

————————————

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

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

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

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

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

But no one does.

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

Towards the island.

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

They call it a super-tsunami.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get me in front of it.”

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

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

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

But Minerva does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

“You fainted.” Minerva informs them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It contains you.”

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

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

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

“I don’t require thanks.”

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

“And if I don’t want it?”

“Refuse it. I will survive the disappointment.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you did intervene.”

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

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

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

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

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

Because Synovus doesn’t trust themself either.

But Synovus trusts her.

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

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

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

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

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

Minerva stops breathing.

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

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

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

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

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

——————

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

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

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

She’ll never touch the Athena costume again.

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

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

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

——————————

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

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

[darkpetal16]

Sorry, I saw you already have a post with siren gaster headcanons! Could we get some siren!Sans headcanons instead? :)

Mhmm!

Clingy.

He can give you space if you need it, but if you allow it he will always be touching you. holding hands, nuzzling you, licking you, sitting in your lap, tracing your skin, etc. This man is touch starved to such a severe degree that no amount of contact is enough to fulfill him. He constantly craves your physical validation.

When he sleeps with you, he 1.) always positions himself between you and the door 2.) is on you 3.) is in short bursts. What I mean by short bursts is that he’ll sleep for two hours, guard for one hour, then sleep another two hours. Orcas are used to constantly moving, and while his moth side has helped him “lay” for sleep, it’s an unnatural state to him. That, and he’s anxious to leave you vulnerable.

Nests.

You do not have a bedroom; you have a nest. You’ve had to move all your clothes to a separate room because the nest has engulfed the entire room. It wouldn’t be so bad, but he wrapped everything in white silk too so you can’t undo it or clean it up.

You sleep in a nest and that’s that.

It is a very good thing that it is the single comfiest place you have ever slept in your entire life. Everything has been positioned to support you in the best way, and it’s completely pitch black inside, and you know—you know—you are the safest human in the entire city when he lays beside you. You are safe, warm, and cozy. Every sleep in the nest is impeccable.

Fidgets. As mentioned above, orcas are constantly moving. After he lost his pod, he never stayed in one location for long so this only exasperated the issue. Unless being held by you, he is squirming. He’s tapping his foot, drumming his fingers, shifting his weight side to side, or outright pacing. If the weather is nice enough he’ll fly.

He hunts. If you know about his hunts and support it, great. If not and he thinks you’ll oppose it, he’ll hide it. Wings will help with this.

The EXP deeply warped his SOUL. He has a constant craving for more. Thankfully his self control is strong enough to prevent him from going feral. He can’t quit even if he wants to by this point.

So jealous. So, so jealous.

If someone makes you laugh he is beside himself with jealousy. He will immediately grab your hand, then proceed to stare at the other person to the point that they will inevitably feel uncomfortable and have to leave. He doesn’t glare, he doesn’t need to. His eye rings are already intimidating enough so all he has to do is stare blankly at them.

And if anyone touches you without your permission, you can count on them disappearing from your life by the next morning. 

Can be petty. If there is someone in your life that you like, even if he doesn’t like them, he won’t hurt them. But he will absolutely be a petty little shit. Examples include lightly sprinkling them with his moth dust to give them sneezing fits, whoopee cushions on their chair, reading ahead of a book they like and spoilering it with a deadpan expression, etc.

Likes to learn. Specifically astrology and physics. Once he obtains his citizenship, he’ll start to take college classes. He’s really good at it. He’ll either end up working in a lab with Wingding, or he’ll (surprisingly) take up a position as a university professor teaching astrophysics. It’ll depend on your own schedule and if you have kids (for example, if you have kids he’ll go the teacher route so he’ll have a more lax schedule to spend time with the children).

Avid debater in the science community. Some of his theories are award winning. Some of them are trolling. He will defend and die on the hills of his theories, and he can be so damn persuasive that people will even fall for his trolly theories. It has divided communities, while also bringing new ones together to explore different avenues because people can’t tell which is which. Only you and he know the truth.

Side note: Wings will spend an exorbitant amount of time and money to disprove Sans’ theories. Sans retaliates by disproving Wings’ theories. It is a never ending cycle.

Dates are dependent on you. He doesn’t know human courtship so it’ll be up to you to show him what you want and expect in the relationship.

Fresh fish. He catches it himself. If you’re allergic to fish then he’ll hunt birds. If you’re vegan then he’ll learn to garden. Providing food for you is important to him.

Short. So short. His monster form is hilariously tiny compared to his moth or orca form. It makes it easy to carry him around which he’s very fond of. But he expects you to let him carry you around in turn.

Happy to take you swimming or flying.

After a year of being together he’ll start to absently hum while doing menial tasks.

If you point it out to him, you’ll see a rare moment of him being shy.

PLAY HIS ROUTE IN SIREN CALL HERE

MASTERLIST

[marieandersoneq]

𝔰𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔫

[julieverne]

Me: clearly gay, quietly existing, working hard

The other queer in the company, the other side of the building: I'M BISEXUAL

Me, quietly, to myself: is this a Sapphic siren call?

Me: but I must work.

Them: Oh My God Roger, Have You Seen Women?????

Me: unless?

[bluemoonbabes]

SIREN CALL IV

<< prev

[corrupted---minds]

Fuck. It turns out the largest antique mall in the country us 35 min in the wrong direction to driving home. Over 100k square feet

It beckons me

[charlieswanismydad]

i can’t stop thinking about siren call help

[chrysanthemumdoll]

tw: death, suicidal ideation

reflective dark eyes, feast and dive.

lady light, riptide this mind.

drowned, filled these lungs.

your victim truly, pulseless carotid.

nothing more, but yours devoured.

✨️🔮✨️

the perfect mix of siren yet doe eyes unlike any other, Edwige Fenech.

[leirastar]

about me

19 | '05 | student | ENFP/ENTJ

This blog is a safe place for everyone where i will be posting my content! Please treat everyone with respect and manners in this blog. Please minors do not interact, i will provide warnings for all of my story.

links - New World Masterlist

Disclaimer: All the events written are fictional. Everything you read are a product of ©leirastar 's imagination. In no way shape or form do i think the characters personality reflect the real person. please don't hate those inspirations.

Please do not take anything written to heart, thank you.

©leirastar, all rights reserved. please do not modify, copy, use, translate, or repost my work on any platform.

[wingedcat13]

Synovus: Siren Call (2)

[Synoverse? In the year of our lord 2023? It's more likely than you think! This one is in third person, set after Villains Never Retire. No idea what I’m talking about? Check out the first of the Synovus works here! I've still yet to do it as of posting, but both episodes of Siren Call will be on Ao3 here. Happy reading!]

A week after first arriving at her parents’ house, Minerva made the journey back to her own.

It wasn’t terribly far - a half-hour drive with no traffic, maybe - from where her parents now lived, still placed near to the coast. It wasn’t actually a ‘house’ either, more of a condo built in a line to save costs. It would’ve been cheaper to live further inland, but…

She’d had enough of that.

Besides, the place wasn’t actually hers. When she’d divorced Albion and come back to the coast, she’d also quit her job. With no contacts, no friends, and no savings that weren’t tied up in litigation, she would’ve had nowhere to go in her civilian identity. She also wasn’t sure if she was going to have to deal with a super-powered ex husband knocking at all hours, which was something most renters disapproved of, as a rule.

But where Minerva had no one, Athena had a lifeline. When she and Legionnaire had done volunteer work in the past, she’d always felt it was just part of her duty. An obligation that came with having superpowers. Sometimes you put the costume on to hit something, and sometimes you put the costume on to build something. Since neither of them had been dependent on their hero identity 24/7, they’d always declined any offers of compensation.

But that didn’t mean they’d been forgotten. Shepherd Flight was a volunteer group who specialized in organizing super powered individuals for rescue and relief operations - they mostly focused on the initial crisis, but weren’t afraid of working to help rebuild things too. Minerva had gone through floodwaters and hurricanes under their direction, and also used her strength to help hold up beams for building shelters. One of her favorite memories was helping plant a garden in a refugee camp.

Shepherd Flight was also known for its discretion. Several capes worked exclusively for them, staying out of hero or villain business in the traditional sense. Some of them maintained a separation between the mask and the civilian, but others didn’t.

So Minerva had gone to them, intending to ask if she could rest on a couch in their headquarters or something while she figured out her next move. Instead, a man named ‘Sun Dog’ had checked their records, asked her a few questions, and then handed her the keys to an address. Apparently, Shepherd Flight also aided ‘capes in distress.’

Minerva had scowled, but couldn’t really argue the point.

She’d looked into it since - the space they’d given her was most frequently used for helping move displaced persons who needed to travel, or temporary housing for other members of Shepherd Flight who needed a place unaffiliated with any identity. One of the questions she’d been asked was how she felt about potentially having a house full of strange guests on little-to-no notice. Minerva had grown up dealing with the Pacific Northwest’s forest fires, and had told Sun Dog she knew exactly how fast they could go. If refugees needed a place to stay, she’d gladly vacate.

So far, that hadn’t happened, though Sun Dog had also told her that someone would stop by occasionally with groceries, to keep the place stocked. And to check in on her.

She probably should’ve told them she was fine when she was whisked off to a supervillain’s private island. She hadn’t.

So she wasn’t surprised, per se, to open the door and see a stranger in the kitchen. Startled, perhaps. But neither of them attacked each other, so that was a good start.

“Uhm.” Said the person in the kitchen, holding a spoon awkwardly poised between their mouth and a pudding cup.

“Wrong door.” Minerva said automatically, holding the keys that had unlocked the front door and the guard mechanism.

“Is it?” The stranger asked hesitantly.

Minerva sighed, “No. I… lived here for a bit. As a… guest.”

“Oh!” The stranger lit up with a smile - and a touch of phantom flame that Minerva watched cautiously. “You must be the one who went missing! Yeah, they told me you might come back - hey, I’m Wi-Fire, by the way.”

They moved forward to offer a hand, slowing their approach when Minerva instinctively leaned away. Still, it wasn’t like she needed both hands to hold her bag, and once upon a time she’d been… better, if not exactly ‘good’ at this. So she took the offered hand, clasping it rather than shaking.

“Athena.” She returned, the introduction automatic. Instead of giving herself time to think about whether that was the right name to give, she forced herself onwards, remembering there were other details she was supposed to give on greeting. “She/Her.”

Wi-Fire’s grin broadened, and they bounced a little in place. “They/them!” They returned, even more cheerfully than before. “It’s the third bedroom that’s yours, right? I haven’t touched it, since he said you might come back, but I’ve only been here for about a week. That reminds me - have you called him yet? Sun Dog? He’s super worried about you, pun unintended.”

Minerva was, abruptly, reminded of Alexandria. “… No, I haven’t called him yet. I was just here to-“

She paused. What was she here to do? Spend a few hours staring at a wall, unobserved? Get the rest of her things and go? It wasn’t exactly much, just a few extra changes of clothes, a few books. She did want to make sure the space she’d used was clean, but given how little time she’d spent here, that shouldn’t take more than an hour. Two, if she stopped to do laundry.

Minerva had paused for too long. Wi-Fire just nodded, sympathetic. “Yeah, I feel that. I’m up in the attic - the other rooms are still empty, there’s nothing wrong with them or anything, I just.” They cut off, simply ending the sentence, as though a signal had been lost between one word and the next. They shrugged.

“Yeah.” Minerva echoed, thinking of how she’d chosen the room with the best view of the ocean, even if it was just a sliver.

Wi-Fire winces, “Crap. Sorry. Forgot we’re not supposed to really, like. Fraternize. I didn’t see anything?” Their last sentence is hopeful, as though an offering they want Minerva to take.

“It’s fine.” She assures them, readjusting her grip on her bag. “If you’ve seen me, you can pass on to Sun Dog that I’m fine, right?”

For a heartbeat, she thinks she’s pulled it off, and she’ll be able to just get her things and leave. But Wi-Fire just laughs.

“I mean, sure - but you’ll have to scram if you wanna avoid him.” They scrape at the bottom of the pudding cup. “He’ll be here in like. Twenty minutes?”

—-

Minerva is not done packing in twenty minutes. Actually, she’s not done in fifteen, which is when Sun Dog actually arrives. She can hear him greeting Wi-Fire from where she’s working upstairs, meticulously folding towels to be stored in the bathroom before she leaves.

Minerva snaps the final towel free of wrinkles, places it on the pile, and goes to meet him. Better she doesn’t get cornered.

Sun Dog and Wi-Fire aren’t talking, when Minerva arrives. No, that makes it sound like they’re in a stand off, and really, it’s more that they don’t need to be. Minerva catches the end of a fistbump-into-a-shoulder check, and an exchange of smiles, before Sun Dog’s eyes flick up and see her on the stairs.

“Ah!” In civilian clothing, Sun Dog looks like a Bay Area hobbyist come north. His reaction to seeing her is surprise, but also something positive. Joy? Excitement? Delight? “M-“

“Athena!” Wi-Fire cuts in, overriding Sun Dog with their own exclamation, and avoiding accidentally learning Minerva’s real name. Not that it matters, anymore.

Minerva’s spine could be used as a flagpole. “Sun Dog.” She replies, voice cool, as though their excitement at seeing her had been an embarrassment rather than an open welcome. It isn’t on purpose. “Wi-Fire.”

She doesn’t apologize for interrupting, or claim she didn’t mean to, because there’d be no point. Instead, Minerva meets Sun Dog’s gaze, “I’m cleaning up after myself, then I’ll be out of your way.”

“You don’t have to do that-“ Sun Dog starts to assure her, then backtracks. Minerva must have looked offended. “- but we’re grateful that you’d take the time.”

He glances at Wi-Fire, who gets the hint. They give Minerva a double thumbs-up, and another near maniacal grin, and then scamper off. Minerva is distracted, briefly, by the mental image of a young Synovus, gifted with fire instead of shadows.

Terrifying.

Still, thinking of the one problem won’t rid her of the other. Minerva descends the rest of the stairs to stand even with Sun Dog, her arms folded. Her expression must’ve shown something (or maybe Sun Dog just gauged the depths of the bags under her eyes) because instead of saying anything else, Sun Dog just tilts his head towards the door.

“How about a walk?”

—-

With the ocean not far, there was plenty of beach to walk along. It was too late in the season to hope for much sun, but again, it didn’t really bother Minerva. And, with both of them in nondescript windbreakers, they seemed no more suspicious than anyone else ever did.

She wished she didn’t feel like she needed to worry about being suspicious.

They walked in silence for a while, just the sound of sand crunching beneath boots, and the ever present roar of the ocean’s movements. The wind blew in from off the coast, sharp and cold. It whipped her hair around her face, but she mostly ignored it.

Eventually, Sun Dog broke the silence. “Did you know I didn’t actually intend to go by ‘Sun Dog’?”

Minerva glanced around, as though the wind and general absence of other people wasn’t enough to ensure they weren’t overheard. Sun Dog waited.

“Then why did you?”

“Media.” He answered simply. “I wanted to name myself Parhelion. Its the… let’s call it scientific word for a Sun Dog phenomena. They thought one had a better ring to it.”

“So you’re a scientist.” Minerva kicked lightly at the sand on her next step.

“Amateur, sure. But I don’t mind admitting that the name scared the hell out of me at first.”

Minerva hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I can understand why.”

Sun Dog. In a world still recovering from the sudden disappearance of Sunhallow, any sun imagery was suddenly circumspect. It could be viewed in a hundred different lights, none of them favorable.

“I almost gave up being a hero entirely.” Sun Dog confided. “I was too scared that one day someone would show up, and tell me I was encroaching on their brand.”

Humor, but not enough to hide that neither of them speak his name. Minerva knows he’s dead - she’s seen the grave, spoken to his killer. But there is the thought that lingers. Just in case.

“Why didn’t you?” Minerva asked, staring forward at the tree line.

“Letters. One in particular, that told me he’d never be dead so long as we let him hold that much power over something so ubiquitous as the sun. They said they knew how much it must cost me, but that the world needed people like me to rebuild it, to heal over the scars.”

“And was that one from the Dalai Lama or the President.” Her voice wasn’t bitter so much as it was… dry. Humor. She’s learning how to use it again.

Sun Dog squinted into the wind. “Could’ve been either, I suppose. It was signed, but with a moniker. Eclipse.”

He glanced at her, shrugged. “I’ve never known anyone to go by that name.”

Minerva was silent for a step. Two. Then, “No. Neither have I.”

—-

They wind up stopping at a picnic table tucked just under the tree line, out of the worst of the wind. It’s one of those weather-worn gray contraptions, the kind someone placed years ago and forgot, leaving it for hikers or curious children.

They’ve talked about a few things, here and there. Sun Dog keeps offering small bits of himself, trying to draw Minerva out again, and slowly, she becomes part of the conversation. Childhood pets. Obnoxious commercial jingles that stick even after the company and product are long gone. Nothing pressing. Nothing political.

But after they’d spent a few minutes in a comfortable silence, a natural lull in the conversation, Sun Dog has pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket.

“Hope you’re not looking for poker.” Minerva said with barely a glance. “I don’t have anything to bet.”

Sun Dog laughed, “These aren’t those kind of cards. But if you’re willing, I’d like to do a reading for you. Tarot.”

“Wait.” Minerva raised her brows, leaning back slightly. “You don’t actually believe in those, do you?”

She realized, approximately half a second too late to stop herself, how offensive that likely sounded. Luckily, Sun Dog laughed again.

“You could use a tank as a baseball bat.” He said, corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile. “And have dealt with clairvoyants, shape-shifters, literal magic users - but ‘some cards’ is where you draw the line?”

Minerva ducked her head, submitting to the teasing. “Alright, you have a point. I don’t really know how they work, though.” “You don’t need to.” Sun Dog assured her. “You just need to shuffle and draw the cards. Three of them, face down, left to right. We’ll go over what they mean one by one.”

She felt, suddenly, unaccountably nervous. She managed a murmured thanks as Sun Dog handed her the deck, no longer stiff from newness, but not quite well-worn either. For a moment, she simply spread the cards in her hands, sliding them with her thumb, and studying the backs. They were larger than she remembered most playing cards being. She hoped she remembered how to shuffle correctly.

A few cuts of the deck, and a reassurance from Sun Dog that it was alright to bend them, and Minerva fanned the cards apart, couching them back together into a bridge. Another few cuts, another bridge. And the third time, to keep them balanced.

“Three off the top?” She asked. Sun Dog shrugged, “If that’s what speaks to you.” He laughed again at Minerva’s displeased expression, but nodded encouragingly. “Go on. Three cards, face down. That’s all.”

Minerva sighed. She pulled the card from the top, one from the bottom, and - fanning the cards again - slipped one from the middle at random, laying them each face down on the table in front of her.

“Good.” Sun Dog said encouragingly, accepting the rest of the deck back. “So, this is something of a ‘past, present, future’ spread. Go ahead and flip the first card.”

Minerva rolled her eyes, and moved to place her hand on it - then paused. This trepidation was unlike her. She had no reason to be nervous, because this was a pre-generated deck of cards. It held no personalized information, and could not reveal anything about her of substance, because it was a randomized card. 

That argument wasn’t holding up the way it normally would’ve. Some part of her resolve crumbled.

Well. She reasoned, If it’s in the past, I’ve already survived it once. I can do it again.

That seemed to do the trick. She flipped the card over, and was greeted with the image of someone in what she placed as quintessential peasant’s garb… carrying a bundle of sticks? The roman numeral for ten was placed above it, and the individual’s face couldn’t be seen, buried in the bundle they were carrying as they walked away from the viewer.

“The ten of wands.” Sun Dog identified. “Wands are associated with fire. They tend to be about passion, strengths, and willpower. The ten of wands in particular is a representation of burden and responsibility. It is good to be depended on - but not to be overworked.”

Minerva shifted, but said nothing. Sun Dog gave her a moment, then indicated the next card. “The next one, then?”

This one took little effort to turn - whether it was out of a desire to get it over with or simply because she’d shaken off whatever feeling she’d had earlier, Minerva didn’t know. This time, the card was upside down, and she moved to straighten it.

“No -” Sun Dog stopped her, “I mean, if you want to flip it so you can look at it, you can, but drawing them upside down actually means something. ‘Reversed’ cards invert or change the meaning.”

Minerva pursed her lips, flipping the card briefly to get a better look at it. A figure visible only from the waist up, in what appeared to be mail and plate armor. A star spangled canopy offered protection from the yellow sky, and the numeral for seven that floated just above it. The figure had a staff in one hand, and what looked like two sphinxes in front of it - the left black, the white right, each with a different expression.

“The Chariot.” She read, flicking the card back over to be upside down again.

“Another willpower card.” Sun Dog commented. “The Chariot is triumphant - you see how the sphynxes are angled in opposite directions? They should go nowhere, but the driver manages to drive the chariot onwards. Nothing that they carry is a gift. Instead, they are rewards earned.”

“But it’s reversed,” Minerva said dryly, “Meaning… that I’m currently a freeloader?”

“Or that you feel that way.” Sun Dog countered. “The cards aren’t quite so literal as we might hope, sometimes. Go ahead and flip the third card.”

“Another upside down one.” Minerva remarked, considering the angel depicted on the card. “Sorry, reversed. Temperance.”  She snorted, placing the card on the table with the others, and then shoving her hands into her pockets.

“Ah, I love the Temperance card.” Sun Dog picked it up briefly, smiling at it, before he laid it back down. “It’s a card of transitions, that one. I - is something wrong?”

Minerva hadn’t been able to hide her flinch at that one. She scowled, more angry at herself than anything - but it seemed the last few days had scraped her raw, left her open and readable. And… she did trust Sun Dog. So she forced herself to clear her throat, and spoke quietly;

“I have a daughter.”

Sun Dog made a vaguely congratulatory noise, a positive sympathy for someone speaking of their loved ones. Minerva’s hands bunched in her pockets.

“I spent most of her life convinced she was my son.” She said quietly.

“Ah.” Sun Dog leaned back, head canted so he could look up for a moment, considering. Minerva knew there was a wealth of information in that, and how she’d presented it, and the connections he could even now be drawing. But she’d refused to run from this. So she sat still, and unwavering, and waited for the judgment she deserved.

“I don’t think it means that kind of transition.” Sun Dog said finally, looking back at her again. “Not in this context, though a gender transition is a common reading of the card. My congratulations to your daughter, by the way.”

Minerva let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Then it doesn’t….” She trailed off, mind unwilling to complete the sentence.

“Doesn’t what?”

“This is the future card, isn’t it?” She said quietly, rather than elaborate immediately. “And reversed, meaning an inverse of the meaning. So if it was about - her transition, and how I pertain to it, then… I would be a roadblock to it. I wouldn’t…” She trailed off again, but Sun Dog only waited.

“... get better.” She finished lamely.

“That you’re worried about it tells me how much you care,” Sun Dog said gently, placing one hand halfway across the table. He couldn’t take hers, given she still had them clenched in her pockets, but she recognized the gesture for what it was meant to be. “But no, I don’t think that’s what the card means in this context. Temperance is the balance between remaining practical, and our dreams. Grounded reality, versus the water of our dreams.”

“So I’m… losing that balance?”

Sun Dog hummed, uncertain, “You might lose that balance, that could be an outcome.” He acknowledged. “But take the cards as they’re important to you. Water is fairly important to you, right?”

Minerva only nodded.

“Then perhaps the reversal isn’t telling you that you’re going to lose your balance. Maybe it’s telling you not to worry so much about that balance - that temperance is not, in fact, what you need to do now.” Sun Dog raised his hands, “I’m no expert. But sometimes we really do need to let loose.”

Minerva stared at the card arrangement for several more minutes. Her mind picked up on patterns, even when she didn’t mean for it to, didn’t intend to read into it. The past, hiding her face from everyone in a mask, carrying a burden she thought she was obligated to take on. The present, lost, her rules turned on their head as surely as the chariot driver was. A canopy of stars, protective shadows against a sky of light… and a being that was neither male nor female, free, offering her the opportunity to move on. 

“I’m not taking advice from a deck of cards.” She heard herself say.

Sun Dog shrugged. “Then take it as advice from me. You see something in the cards - that’s what they’re for. Reflecting what you need to see, to be able to face it.”

Minerva let out a long breath, forcing herself to relax the tension that had settled into her shoulders and spine. She looked up, meeting Sun Dog’s gaze with her own.

“How much do you know about Synovus?”

---

[It's funny - I posted the first of Synovus's story over a year ago. I added onto it, here and there, but the draft to post this was started in... September of 2022? Yet, every day, I get a notification, either through Tumblr or Ao3, that someone has found Synovus, and expressed joy about it somehow. It's... remarkable. I love you all, and thank you for reading!]

[darkpetal16]

What's sirentale sans like as a dad since that's a possible outcome? (Oh and sirentale wingding as a grandpa since he sees the MC as his child)

Hands on. He wants this so bad, so when the opportunity comes he’s desperate to be a good dad.

He’s read every book available. Listened to every podcast he can get his hands on. Taken classes on childcare and CPR.

Nest. NEST FOR THE CHILD. It is non negotiable. Baby sleeps with you both in your nest until old enough that Sans is reasonably confident they won’t die without constant supervision.

If you’re nursing, he’s got a constant streamline of snacks and water for you. If you’re using formula, he’s happy to take over feeding shifts so you can sleep.

Gets fast with diaper changes. Like, you have to wonder if there’s a world record because he’s so fast the baby doesn’t even register they’re missing pants.

Weaves a personal swaddle blanket for the baby using his own threads.

Toddler stage he’s taking them out for swimming lessons on the daily. If they’ve inherited his moth side, he’ll swap it out for flying. Exercise is an important developmental aspect and he won’t skimp out on it.

Lazy! Cuddle! Sundays! Or whichever day you also have off. It’s a day dedicated to constant snuggles in the family home. No leaving. No cooking. No chores. Just constant physical affection and play.

When the child is big enough to rough house, Sans is ready to play. Orcas love playing with their pods, and one of his favorite games is chase! If his kid shows interest in being the predator he’s happy to play dead every so often.

But the kid DOES have to work for it. He won’t give it freely.

If you have a demanding job, he’ll take a career in education so he has more free time to spend with them. If you want to stay at home / take a more freeing job then he’ll take a career in science with Wingding.

He’s on the PTA. He will fight any Karen or Chad who gets in the way of his kid’s education.

(He and Wingdings will join forces as need be in this regard. Education is very important to both of them. And Wingding lowkey loves the tea.)

Sometimes he likes to tease you about the drama. It’s cute seeing his little penguin get riled up.

“You cannot eat Billy’s Mom, Sans.”

“what if billy’s mom deserves it?”

“She’s just doing what she thinks is best for the children.”

“well what she thinks is stupid.”

You sign to Wingding for help. He shrugs and signs, “He’s not wrong.”

You give them both a look of pain.

Sans’ grin stretches. “i won’t eat her.”

“No hypnotizing either.”

“i won’t eat her.”

“Sans!”

He jokes but he won’t do anything that could jeopardize his kid’s life.

Little bit of a helicopter parent. Not in a restrictive way, but in a I need you to be honest and tell me where you are at all times way. He’s mostly supportive of whatever the kid wants to do and doesn’t care for curfews, just as long as he knows where his kid (and obviously it’s not a super dangerous area).

Although he won’t let his kid sleep over at someone else’s place. Too risky.

-

Wingding as a grandpa?

Oooooh. . . He doesn’t know how to deal with kids. He needs a lot of practice. The first time the baby cries in his arms, he is devastated.

You have to repeatedly reassure him it’s not him personally; the baby just needs to get to know him!

Wingding takes this to mean he has to visit daily to see the baby. Sans is Not Happy.

But Wingding knows the way to keep Sans at bay is through you, so he always brings your favorite treats as a bribe.

First time baby smiles at Wingding, he is struck by such overwhelming cute aggression he has to hand the baby back to you so he can excitedly sign.

If you get him a Best Grandpa mug he drinks from it daily.

At babbling stage, Wingding loves to listen to them talk. He nods along to everything they say even though he doesn’t understand a word of it.

When the child is big enough to go to school, Wingding will occasionally take them out of school as a surprise day trip to the movies.

So! Many! Books! The child will never want for books. Monthly grandpa/grandbaby trips to the bookstore.

You essentially have a permanent free babysitter whenever you and Sans need time to yourselves.

He loves them.

PLAY - IF SIREN CALL FOR SANS’ ROUTE

MASTERLIST

[gremlinwriter]

FINALLY got a chance to play siren call by @darkpetal16

Ive heard so many good things bout this and it’s a darkpetal game so you know it’s gonna be great!!!!

[noiivvern]

Just heard an animal so insane it made me turn around and start walking toward it

[himbosandhardwear]

Eddie's mid-speech, absently pulling his hair up off his sweaty neck to put up, when he sees Steve check out of the conversation, eyes drifting over his progress.

"What's up? You never seen a dude with a ponytail before?"

"Huh? No. I mean, yeah, maybe, but no, it's just..."

He gets up off his chair and, without a by-your-leave, takes Eddie's hair back down and starts carding his fingers through it. Eddie, seeing Jesus, Mary, and Joseph in that moment, says not a fucking word, just lets him do his thing.

"Huh."

"Hmm?" He manages despite the body-morphing, nerve-wracking, world-ending thing that's happening.

"I just never noticed... You've got real curls happening back here." He tugs on a strand, killing Eddie stone dead. "Not the Head & Shoulders and hot water fried stuff on top, like real, actual curls."

"Hey." He tries to drum up the right amount of offense but it's hard when his brain fled the scene thirty seconds earlier.

"Wonder if I could revive any of this," he mumbles to himself as he continues to catalog Eddie's hair situation. He's got the top half piled atop his head so he can study the 'good stuff' underneath at his leisure.

This might be the best day of Eddie's young life. Honestly, if he'd known Steve was interested in it this much, he would've pulled his hair half up years ago, showed off a little.

"Can I do a V05 hot oil treatment on you?"

"Baby, you can do whatever you want to me."

"What?"

"What?"

[bluemoonbabes]

SIREN CALL II

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