#tales of miss fortune

[aurelion-solar]

Bewitching Miss Fortune - Unreleased Summoner Icon by Wild Blue Studios

[miraculous-magicalconnections]

"Chat Blanc, Miss Fortune, I am Monarque!"

Aka my Chat Blanc and Miss Fortune Redesign

While I don't know if Chat Noir or Ladybug will ever be Akumatized in my rewrite, I decided to redesign them with my versions of the heroes so uh, here there are!

Chat Blanc and Miss Fortune both stay pretty true to their original counterparts, I still changed a few things (besides making their designs match my Chat Noir and Ladybug redesigns)

Chat Blanc, just like Chat Noir, has heterochromia, with one green eye and one blue just swapped just like how the rest of his green has been swapped for blue and black has become white

Miss Fortune loses the sleeves and legs, instead being all black with red-orange spots and that's because I based her new color off the Asian Lady Beetle's! Because while they resemble ladybug's, they aren't actually ladybugs and I wanted that to be apparent in the design

[blood-starved-beast]

hmm Tales of Runeterra, while not Arcane obviously, has a similar enough style that if Riot manages to go to other regions, this would be how the characters look

[fictionadventurer]

imaginary book: “The Ruined Idylls of Calomar”, low fantasy (quite obscure, authorship disputed; philologists suspect the first draft was written in a Celtic or Semitic language in the late 19th or early 20th century.)

The Ruined Idylls of Calomar by A.E. Mann

This haunting work of fantasy claims to be the journals of an unnamed scholar living in exile after the fall of the hidden lands of Calomar. Once a thriving, peaceful, highly civilized culture, its glory was brought low by the pride, greed, and wrath of kings, scholars, explorers and warriors who fought for glory, power, and honor, until its final destruction by a dark, nameless weapon left only a scant handful of survivors to escape and tell the tale. In haunting language, the narrator writes of Calomar's glory and intrigue, its final fall, and his irresistible yet doomed attempts to return to his lost homeland and learn what, if anything, has survived.

[mxdotpng]

You’ve mentioned Tear a few times recently (mostly in relation to missed potential, which. Mood), so I was wondering if there was anything in particular you’d be willing to talk about

oh there is so much about tear i could talk about. i think she is one of my favorite of the protagonists in the game because of how she matches luke so much -- she is like if luke had turned out differently. i can perfectly see a version of herself that succumbs to anger and bitterness over trying to become a perfect soldier. she has had so much taken away and has been put into a place where she can only be so much. just like luke. the person that understands her the most in the world, and the person she understands most in the world, is her enemy, and he has to die. which, like i said earlier, parallels luke and asch. a lot. her understanding of her own life versus thousands is so special... like, i think that scene of her crying after the doctor told her she was going to die is her best scene. it says so much about her. and then later when she switches places with luke - becoming the person who watches someone slowly die rather than being them. her kindness and understanding are so important and integral to her character that they mean so much.

but then i also think they didn't use her as much as they should have. van was her brother and the person that raised her. he was the only family she had. if anyone should have understood why luke had looked up to him so much it would have been tear. if anyone could understand luke's hesitance to kill van it would have been her. she has seen the exact same things he had after all -- the kindness and the pride and the love. they were not a lie, no matter how much van wanted it to look like it was. i really do love the differences between tear and natalia -- how tear was ready to kill van, but natalia was not ready to kill largo. but i really think they should have shown us tear getting to that part, much like how they showed luke coming to terms with wanting to live, even though he has to die.

i wish we got to see more of her and guy, being one of the only people left from hod. after guy had seen and fought mary, and after she had died. with tear talking to him about how she could understand -- if she had to see her dead mother and fight against her, how she wouldnt be able to stand it. i wish we got to see more of her and natalia, like i said earlier, because they are in such similar positions they need that comfort in each other.

i liked what we saw with her and legretta, but - and while this isnt technically about tear - legretta not showing anything towards tear in response felt so insulting and it felt so meaningless. there was no point in setting up those scenes with tear and legretta if there would be no conclusion to it.

i wish we got to see more of her sillier sides. i love that she's afraid of ghosts. every time she thought of mieu as cute was something so special. these tiny moments where she acts like an actual teenage girl and not a soldier. i wish we got to see her mourn over the fact she is a soldier- or someone else mention it in her stead.

even then i still love her so much. i don't know why i've been thinking about her so much recently but she's a constant in my mind right now.

[velvetures]

Got Me Snoring

A/N: One of my favorite things inspired by all the Ghost/König cosplayer TikToks using that one, song audio. Summary: Ghost admits getting head is boring. Reader isn't happy with that idea and goes about changing his mind. T/W: NS/FW 18+ Only, blowjobs, deepthroating, size kink if you squint, spit?, cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and it's been a long ass time since I've written full-on smut.

“All I’m sayin’ is that if she calls again, I’m not about to answer.” Soap’s voice carried from the living space of the hotel room to the kitchenette where you stood microwaving some rice from a convenience store down the street.

After-mission talk always leads to the most strange conversations. Maybe the adrenaline or the high of getting almost killed got everyone in a talking mood. However as the Captain slid behind you to go grab more ice outside in the hallway, you couldn’t help but shoot him a questioning look. They’d been talking about their previous accomplishments and failures in the bedroom for nearly twenty minutes, and thankfully they’d not roped you into the ridiculous conversation but with the Captain leaving out of the room, it drew their eyesight right to you standing patiently for your instant rice to finish cooking.

“What about you, huh?” Gaz was the one to poke a little. “Have any horror stories from the bedroom?” His eyebrows raised in mischievous curiosity as all three men sat staring at you with great intent.

“I’ve faked it plenty of times.” You reply offhandedly, waving a hand at them and going back to staring at the small plastic cup rotating around in the microwave.

You overheard the men pass through the moment of silence with low laughs, most noticeably, Ghost. Who’d apparently found something very funny and decided to grace everyone with the sound of deep and resounding chuckles. With a gloved hand, you take out your food and rejoin them in the room, finding a spot on the corner of one of the beds and crossing your legs to hold the bowl while you watch and listen to more of their recounted stories.

Soap complained more about the one night he’d met up with one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, and drank himself into oblivion to try and ease his nerves. The only problem was, that when he finally had enough liquid courage to make a move, he couldn’t get it up. Even watching him recount the tale now, you could see his embarrassment. You couldn’t imagine just how beautiful that woman had to be for Soap to give himself whiskey-dick so bad that to this day he regretted the memory and undoubtedly wished he could take it back. Gaz got pressured into retelling the story of the woman he met in Russia just for you since you’d never heard it; Detailing just how she’d been absolutely obsessed with him right from the get-go.

She couldn’t stop fawning over his accent and just how downright good-looking he was. Gaz on the other hand felt very embarrassed and never really tried to take things further on that trip. Fortunately for him, on a trip back a few months later for pleasure, he ran into the woman again and this time around she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Soap and Ghost laughed, poking fun at how utterly exhausted Garrick was when he met up with them in London. His shit-eating grin was more than enough for them to surmise that his little Russian vixen had taken him for a hell of a ride.

Then there was Ghost.

He didn’t have much to say in the way of his own successes, but did share one or two small comparisons with the other two as they kept pulling out detail after detail about the many people they’d met over the years and how they either felt they’d left their mark… or totally fucking missed it. All of it came to a very interesting topic that you suddenly became very interested in when Ghost uttered one single statement that left your mouth hanging open and staring at him almost in disbelief.

“I don’t like someone blowin’ my cock,” his voice sounded flat. Totally unbothered and nearly sleeping at the idea. “Never cared much for it when half doesn’t fit.”

You couldn’t help but insert yourself into the conversation after a long hour or so of sitting like a viewer at a movie. “Wait a second… You mean to tell me you don’t like getting head because you're too big?” The gasp in your tone was obvious, and even Soap and Gaz looked at him a little strangely as if they didn’t truly believe the idea either. It gave you a bit more reassurance in your belief that almost all men enjoyed it. Sure, there was the odd chance that Ghost just didn’t like it at all, but you really wanted to hear his explanation if he’d give you one.

The Lieutenant turned to look at you and nodded stiffly. “Yeah, ‘bout always puts me to sleep.”

It was at this point you felt the slightest urge to tell him he’d never had someone give him a legitimately good blowjob before. But before you could even say something to the contrary, a thought crossed your mind. Ghost didn’t seem like the kind of man who attracted ill-experienced women. Especially when he had already proven throughout the evening that his previous encounters were much more interesting and expansive than even that of yourself. Something a bit… jealous rose inside of you at the thought.

Imagining your Lieutenant laying on his back and hardly making any sort of sound while someone pulls out every single trick in their arsenal to make a blowjob somewhat entertaining or arousing. You didn’t necessarily profess yourself to have a crush on Ghost, due to just how grey the line between operators and anything felt when you spent so much time together under high-stress environments. There was bound to be some level of emotional attachment that devolved past… professional. And for whatever it was, knowing that Ghost had such a bad opinion on the receiving end of pleasure became a challenge you wanted to overcome.

About that time, Price returned with half-melted ice and a half-smoked cigar hanging between his lips.

“Finished talking about chasin’ tail yet?” He grumbled, walking past the group of you still sitting around each other like a bunch of kids getting caught staying up late by Dad at a sleepover. “Wanna go to fuckin’ sleep.”

He dropped the ice bucket down on the dresser with a little thud before settling himself down on the pull-out couch with his hat covering his eyes and both arms resting behind his head with that cigar still puffing smoke rings into the air. Ghost was the first to stand up, making his way out of the hotel room without as much as a comment about when he’d be back or where he was going. Your eyes trailed over his shoulders tapering into a slim waist before giving way again to thick and muscular thighs enhanced by all of gear still strapped to his body. His kit did leave a lot to the imagination. And god did your mind start to wander as both Soap and Gaz began winding down, settling themselves down to sleep for the night or at least lay somewhere quietly so the Captain didn’t lose any more of his patience and kick someone out or force them to pay for their own room. Not nearly tired enough with all of the questions and thoughts about Ghost now floating through your mind, you didn’t care the least bit about laying down or pretending not to care about the fact of the matter and headed out of the hotel room after the Lieutenant as Soap turned out the final lamp in the corner of the room.

The air was a bit cold outside without your jacket, breath materializing in front of you in light wisps of fog with every exhale as you looked down both ends of the hallway hoping to see some sign of where Ghost might’ve gone to. Down on the far left side, a larger cloud of smoke blew past the breezeway entrance and you knew right away that Ghost would be at the end of it. And when your eyes peeked around the corner, you weren’t the least bit surprised to see him with a shoulder resting up against the wall; his back to you with enough of his mask pulled up so that he could smoke a cigarette. The sweet vanilla and cherry smell hit you like a wall, reminding you that Ghost preferred rolling his own cigarettes and used pipe tobacco instead of buying packs of anything else.

Leaves no trace behind… He’d explained without prompting one night after noticing that you’d been watching him.

“Followin’ me now?” His voice heavy with smoke and unhindered by his mask landed directly on you, not even needing to turn around to know you were the one tailing after him.

“Couldn’t let you freeze to death alone.” You reply with a little smile, taking it as your chance to go ahead and walk -slowly- over to him giving him the privacy to smoke without needing to fuss with keeping his face covered.

By standing just at his back leaning against the wall, he knew right where you were, and it put the weight of conversation on him for the moment. He gave you a gruff sort of sound and took another drag off his cigarette before turning just far enough to offer it to you. You take it from his gloved fingers carefully, licking your lips a little in slight nervousness. This wasn’t the first time he’d offered you a hit, but it was the first time you’d ever actually taken him up on it. Seeing the damp rolling paper on the end made you shiver a little; Hopefully, the cold weather would be a good enough excuse to keep him from recognizing your sudden anxiety around him. Wrapping your lips around it and inhaling, you’re a little more than guilty for noticing the taste of Ghost instead of the vanilla and cherry. With a quick glance to your side, you saw his mask was pulled back down over his mouth and his dark eyes were focused right on you as you blew the smoke out of your mouth and back in through your nose. Attempting to hand it back, he just shakes his head.

“You didn’t come out here to be cold,” He finally broke the silence. “What’d you really want from me?”

No matter how long you spent around Ghost, you never got used to just how miserably direct Ghost could be. Like nothing was truly surprising to him or worth being the least bit delicate over. Even if it concerned someone -like yourself- at least attempting to be a little more discretionary. Yet you sighed and took another drag before tossing the rest of it down on the concrete, putting out the ember with the toe of your boot.

“Were you lying earlier?” Your question falls a little short of confident, giving Ghost the impression right away that you were nervous. For a split second, you thought you saw the phantom of a smile under the cover of his mask before it was quickly hidden back under late-night shadow and white paint. Ghost put his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and gave a sigh, making more fog swirl around and through the woven material around his mouth. Another thought of what his mouth looked like flashed through your failing mind.

“Why would it matter?”

You licked at your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to word this without sounding desperate or downright shameless in front of your commanding officer… you shouldn't be thinking about doing this in the first place. So many more bad outcomes could come of this than the one good one. Even then, it was risky. Leaving you a bit dazed and staring at Ghost.

“Asked you a question. I’m expectin’ an answer.” He pressed forward, a slight swagger in his hips as he got closer to you, resting a hand on the wall and tilting his head a little to the side. Damn near mocking you for being so much smaller and easily intimidated. You look down at your boots for a moment, deciding to just put your money where your mouth is and take the hit no matter the outcome.

“If you weren’t lying…” You look up, internally screaming at how heavy his eyes look down on you. “I’d like to try and change your mind.”

A deep chuckle comes from the Lieutenant in response followed by his heavy hand resting on your shoulder, almost totally engulfing it.

“You’re jokin’,” His voice lowered with humor that made you almost shrivel up and die inside. “Why would I let you do that?” You give a frustrated sigh and take a step back away from Ghost. Mentally and physically distancing yourself from the slight Ghost had given you by accident or otherwise.

“Never mind.” You give a short nod and turn on your heel to head back to the hotel room and find somewhere to curl up on the floor or in a bed with someone and try to sleep off your damaged ego.

Yet five steps away from Ghost, you’re stopped short with his arm snaked around your waist tightly and his mouth resting against your ear with a heavy and hot breath fanning against your neck. His palm spreads over your stomach and squeezes almost aggressively at the soft flesh under your shirt. Tall and wide, Ghost yanks your back flush to his chest as a silent threat.

“Don’t fuckin’ walk away from me,” His low growl makes you shiver. “I’m not finished with ya.”

In an instant, you’re spun around and hauled aggressively with your back against the nearest wall with Ghost’s chest holding you from fighting back. His legs limit your ability to try and escape out from under his arms, and while one hand is flat against your chest, the other restricts both your wrists above your head. Breath evacuates your lungs with the sudden shock of your back against the wall, but your eyes are locked on Ghost’s as he glares at you harshly through the wavering mist of his breath in the cold air.

“Now I’ve got you pacified…” His smirk was clear in tone, outright mocking you by pressing those massive thighs tighter against yours. “Let’s continue shall we?” The gloved hand pressed against your heaving chest slides up to grasp firmly at your chin and jerk it up to look him in the eyes.

“Why don’t you be a good little thing and tell me why you think you could change my mind, and maybe… I won’t punish you for talkin’ shit to your superior officer.” He spat loudly, his face less than an inch from yours, eyes flaming with aggression.

“Sorry Lieutenant…” You mutter stiffly through the struggle of his hand against your jaw. “Thought I could do better.” You add a lot weaker, averting your eyes as far from Ghost as you can.

“What was that?” He made dark fun of you, terribly obvious, and downright happy with himself. “Say it again.”

You squirm in his grasp, only to get your wrists slid up higher on the wall and a thigh shoved between your own to lift your feet almost totally off the ground. Toes tapping the ground, Ghost holds you totally of his own power without the slightest effort needed to keep you held right where he wanted you to be.

“Thought I could do better.” You repeat yourself louder, and more clearly, feeling utterly stupid for enduring such pathetic treatment. Only you knew it was your fault for letting such a pipe dream of an idea come to reality by prodding Ghost about his sex life so confidently. The masked man hummed lowly, tilting his head as he inspected your face lighted only by a small sliver of moonlight creeping around the corner of the hallway.

“Better, huh?” Ghost chuckles darkly, this thumb tracing over the bottom curve of your lip carefully. “That’s a lot of confidence for someone so small.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Size has nothing to do with it.”

Ghost barks laughter, grumbling something under his breath before dropping his hand away from your jaw and releasing one of your hands to press against his groin. You can’t miss his meaning from the massive erection pressing back against your hand and twitching impatiently when your Lieutenant squeezes your hand around it tighter. A growl escapes his throat and he looks up at you with almost evil eyes.

“Still think size doesn’t matter, little one?” He questions, one eyebrow raising above the hemline of his mask.

Your mouth falls open in shock. Not only because of the sheer girth of Ghost’s cock pulsing in your hand but realizing that he was actually taking your proposal seriously no matter how aggressive his mockery of you was. It shouldn’t have been so damn surprising when taking into account just how large of a man Ghost is. Surely everything would be proportionate, and his erection was proof of it.

Your face is enough to make Ghost chuckle. “That’s what I thought…”

It’s enough of a dismissal that thaws your speechlessness and throws you right back into the present with enough of the guts to speak up for your own desires.

“I can do it,” You blurt breathlessly, fingers tracing along the curve of Ghost’s dick and earning a lusty growl from him. “I can make it good. I’ll make it fit.” You nod your head feverishly in an attempt to keep your chance open. Ghost’s eyes widen at your desperation and his cock twitches hard in your palm with the sound of your shallow breaths and pleading eyes.

“You want it, huh?” He questions, mask moving like he’s grinning under it.

“Then get on your fuckin’ knees.”

The moment his hands release you, you feel yourself sliding down the wall until your knees make a bruising thud against the concrete floor in front of Ghost. Your hands holding on his thighs without the slightest care that you were standing in the middle of a hotel breezeway where anyone could see you. A weight settled in your lower stomach with the idea of anyone coming out of their room and witnessing such a sight.

“My belt.” Ghost instructs a bit pinched, looking down at you with his chin almost touching his chest.

You’re frantic yet shaking as your hands slide up his thighs and begin pulling his belt loose, hearing that metallic clink as you pull the two sides apart with a watering mouth. No instruction is necessary for you to know where to go next, and as you unbutton his cargo pants, your free hand palms his cock as you pull down just enough of his waistband to expose him but not make him cold. Ghost’s hands help just a little, settling extra material where he prefers it, almost patiently holding up his own hoodie and t-shirt out of your way as you slid your hands under his boxers.

“Fuck…” Ghost mutters quietly, tensing when your fingers wrap around his base and free him from his underwear.

Your thumb smears over his swollen head soft enough to not make him jerk away with sensitivity, and you lick your lips at just how wet his cock already is from sheer anticipation. Hell, you were turned on too, practically dripping in your underwear at the sight of Ghost with nothing but a perfect dick exposed and ready for your mouth. The first lick is a teasing one. Flattening it over his head just because you couldn’t wait to taste him, gathering up his arousal, and making it a point to swallow with your eyes locked right on Ghost’s. You're certain it’s enough to affect him just by the way he grunts and rests both of his hands against the wall behind you to steady himself.

When your lips wrap around his tip and slide down towards his base slowly, you hollow your lips and suck hard. Almost mimicking drinking through a straw with both hands wrapped around his thick base to restrict blood flow, adding to his sensitivity. You feel his feet flex in his boots next to your thighs and another low grunt. It spurs you forward, sinking down further and massaging your tongue on the underside before raising back up to lick at his frenulum and repeating the process with quiet whines each time he’s unable to hold back some sound.

“Shit-” He hisses after no more than a couple of minutes, jerking his hips back away from you and moving your hands out of the way so he could tighten his own fist around his cock with a heaving chest.

He stays like that for a few moments, undoubtedly trying to stave off the pleasure you’d been giving before his eyes meet yours again and they’re downright hungry and raging with fury that you’d brought him so close without any extra fancy moves or those fake moans that porn always showed. With one quick movement, he stepped closer and tilted your head back until it gently rested against the wall behind you, his cock smearing your own spit and his arousal over your open and awaiting mouth.

“You look pretty like this…” He muttered, rubbing his length over your face and tapping it teasingly against your mouth. “You hungry for more?” You’re sticking out your tongue and nodding right away, earning you a tense chuckle and the feeling of Ghost’s dick sliding into your mouth while his hand cushions the back of your head from the wall.

“Let me feed it to ya,” He grunts. “Shove my fat cock in your mouth and fuck your throat..” He adds with a feral sort of sound mixing with an ever-thickening accent.

You moan around his length, feeling your jaw muscles begin to start aching when your nose just barely grazes his pubic bone and his tip touches the back of your throat. He’s thick enough to qualify as the largest you’ve ever experienced, but you’re not the slightest bit concerned about whether he’ll be able to fit. You know he’ll make it fit if nothing else.

And him utterly pounding your throat sounded so hot that you tried pushing further down on his shaft yourself. Eager to feel Ghost as deep in you as possible. Ghost obliges you, and rocks his hips forward slowly, easing his thick head past that ring of pressure at the back of your throat and cursing under his breath when a wet, gurgling sound vibrates around his shaft as you begin swallowing around him.

“Bloody, fuucckk yes…” His groans punch through the quiet air, far louder than he should be risking in such a public space. But he’s only getting started with this experience as your nose presses against his pubic bone, and his hand flattens against the wall.

“So tight… doggin’ me right where anyone can see.”

It’s the thought that had you so eager, and right away you felt just how much it turned Ghost on too. Because the second he said it, he pulled back just a fraction and pushed himself back down your throat, beginning tight and quick thrusts that made your eyes roll back. He kept a furious pace, growling and holding tight to the back of your head until you tapped at the back of his thigh a few times, and he pulled out with a loud grunt, giving you a moment to breathe. You panted, seeing a thick web of spit connecting your mouth and his tip before watching it break and drip down your shirt.

You’re about to tell Ghost… something. But you instantly lose thought of it when he’s bent down with his mask rucked up just far enough to smash his mouth to yours, shoving his tongue in your mouth and practically eating you from the inside out. You can still taste the salty edge of his skin, and it’s almost heady to have his mouth mingling with yours and sharing his arousal between soft moans and heavy breaths. The kiss is long and feverish, but not near long enough before he’s standing back up and stroking his fist up and down his cock right in front of you like an unreal kind of dream somehow coming to life.

“Please.” You mutter a bit hoarse from the rough treatment of your throat, totally unsure of what you really want most. Between his mouth, words, and dick there’s so much more than just one you desired, but at least one of them needed to be delivered to you to attempt satisfaction.

“Open up, little one…” Ghost whispers face re-masked already, and it makes you whine pathetically, having naively believed he’d allow you just one glimpse at the mouth you’d just tasted. “Need to have more of you.” You’re totally happy to resign by leaning your head back against the wall with your tongue wetting your lips in the cold air.

Ghost starts painfully slow, holding your head on both sides of your jaw and teasing his head against your tongue and the textured roof of your mouth; indiscernible words falling from his mouth and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. You would’ve thought it was nothing more than your Lieutenant just taking his pleasure as offered. But the way his thumbs brushed over your cheeks and his fingers would occasionally rub over the stretched muscles in your jaw gave you the feeling that he was well aware of what you were surrendering to him. As well as how thankful he was to have you on your knees, and looking so fucking angelic swallowing and spitting on his dick like a dirty little whore.

“Let me - Wanna…” His rising breaths and steady strokes begin to falter the longer he thrusts inside your mouth, meticulously avoiding forcing himself deeper in disappointment; resulting in your whining and muffled complaints and pleasure. Had his hands not been purposefully holding you back to prolong the session, Ghost probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.

“P-patience…” His stammer made your chest clench in satisfaction. “Don’t - don’t wanna finish in your mouth…”. That breathy comment nearly struck you stiff as concrete.

You couldn’t believe that after this entire ordeal, Ghost was actually trying to end a blowjob without you finishing it the way you honestly believed it should always end. With you swallowing every last fucking drop that the Lieutenant gave you; wearing a goddamn smile bigger than anyone has ever seen. If he hadn’t been lying and head never impressed him, there wasn’t a chance in Hell you were going to let him finish anywhere that wasn’t down your throat. In a split second, you were shaking your head no and pulling back off his cock with a slight gasp.

“No, finish.” It’s the most demanding and certain you’ve sounded all night. “Finish in my mouth, Ghost.”

His eyes say it all.

They’re wide with his pupils blown at impressive dimensions and his thick eyelashes flutter as his shocked expression forces him to blink over and over again to make sense of you. Mouth and chin covered in spit, on your knees, and literally begging him to come in your mouth.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking filthy…” He mutters aloud, watching intently as you slide back down over him one more time and begin doing what you wanted to from the very beginning.

Bring Ghost to his knees.

It’s a moment before you have him cursing and holding onto the wall with both hands again as you push deeper and deeper until you're teasing the tip of your nose against him yet again. Unwilling to let him pull you off this time or prolong this. Deserving this release was the bare minimum. Not only did you want to provide him ultimate pleasure where no one else had, but you enjoyed every single bit of it. You needed this as much -if not more- than Ghost.

Heavy and twitching in your mouth, Ghost was teetering on the edge of his orgasm with stuttering hips and one hand sliding down to rest on your head. Not pushing this time, just laying at the crown like your movements were too much to feel with only one part of his body. Short pants were cut short by unintelligible words and strained attempts to say what you already knew.

As if giving your final approval of the idea Ghost had found unacceptable, you push him as deep as you could one final time; Hearing his loud shout echo down the breezeway as both of his hands grabbed harshly onto the sides of your head. Pumping stream after stream of his hot release down your throat you moaned deeply, feeling him gently rock his hips against your face as he rode down his high on shaky legs. You gagged a little as he pulled out, feeling your throat begin to burn in an unfamiliar way that had never followed you sharing a moment like this with another man. Only one look at Ghost’s cock right in front of your face was more than enough to reassure you he’d just been the one who gave you enough of a delicious stretch to feel for days to come.

Your eyes met his and a small little shy smile crossed your sore lips, contrasting the absolutely deplorable -and punishable- act you’d ever committed with a superior officer. Wordlessly Ghost tucked himself back into his underwear and neglected to button his pants back up before dropping to a knee right in front of you and pulling up his mask again to brush his lips against yours.

“Want to taste,” He whispered ever-so-softly, hands holding your head gently.

“Need to taste me inside your mouth.” He added, licking your lips before closing the distance between you for a second time. This kiss was still intense. Ghost controlling the pace and just how much dominance you had, which nearly came to zero when he licked into your mouth, groaning shamelessly. He could taste his release coating your mouth as he utterly overwhelmed you with kisses, licks, bites, and more moans that fell like honey on your ears.

You were the first to pull back for a gasp of air you’d gone full minutes without, feeling your own mouth and body beginning to feel a little weak with exhaustion not typical of a well-conditioned soldier like yourself. Your Lieutenant took note right away and rested his head against yours reassuringly, his nose touching yours.

“You’re too cold to be out here like this.” He whispered, pulling your cheek affectionately and wrapping the other arm around you. “Not gonna let you freeze after that.” He chuckled a bit sluggishly, kissing you again long and chaste.

He pulled his mask back down and gave very little effort to pick you up off your knees and into his arms without question or hesitation. Leaving you feeling like a treasured prize he’d won and refused to let out of his sight for more than a moment. Safe and protected, you couldn’t care one bit about the cold nipping through your thin clothes and resting your head against Ghost’s shoulder as he carried you back to the hotel room the 141 had already retired for the night in.

Expertly avoiding Soap and Gaz laying on couch cushions on the floor and covered with extra bedsheets, sliding around Price’s bed without bumping it, all while carrying you Ghost sat you down on the edge of the bed he’d been keen to claim as his own right when you’d arrived. You were nearly asleep just sitting there when he unlaced your boots enough to tug them off, pulled your shirt off over your head, and replaced it with one of his hoodies. Finally, he takes off your pants and nods for you to move up to the top of the bed, acting just as he would normally. But as he climbed into the bed next to you and tugged you back against him tightly, you realized you’d gotten a lot more than you bargained for.

Sure you might’ve changed Ghost’s mind about getting head… but you weren’t finished yet. Because Ghost was curling his arm around your waist and burying his masked face in between your shoulder blades like cuddling with you at night was the usual way of things. His fingers innocently traced the waistband of your underwear, and he radiated body heat that melted away the fringe sensations of cold on your body easily.

“I’ve made a decision,” He whispers very quietly so as not to wake the others. And you wiggle back a little closer to him, nodding your head as a silent acknowledgment for him to go on. Expecting him to say that you did -in fact- change his mind about getting blown.

“You’re mine now.”

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated

[ivy-elle]

Winter in Snezhnaya

Scaramouche x gn Reader

Scenario: You accompanied him to Snezhnaya, but much to Scaramouche's dismay, a certain ginger harbinger has come along as well. And the familiarity between him and you is testing Scaramouche's last nerves.

The Zapolyarny Palace towers behind you in all its imposing might, radiating glory and power. Somewhere within its walls, Scaramouche is trapped in yet another assembly with the other harbingers, while you are out here, walking along the edge of the winter forest.

Though you’ve accompanied Scara down to Snezhnaya and are a welcomed guest in the Tsaritsa’s palace during your stay, you find yourself turning restless rather quickly.

It’s obviously cold as shit up here, and darkness falls early, but as you stroll along the icy path, the moonlight reflects off the snow, making your surroundings shimmer like something straight out of a fairy tale.

Suddenly, a fox approaches you, showing no signs of fear or reserve. That’s another curious thing you’ve noticed around here, just how unusually amiable the animals are.

You rummage through the pockets of your coat, pulling out some nuts you’ve been carrying for that exact reason. You toss them into the snow in front of the fox.

The snow crunches as you kneel down to watch the animal feed on its newfound food in delight. Like it is used being fed in this city and knows exactly where to get what it wants.

“You’re going to spoil the wildlife if you keep on feeding every stray you come across!”

At the sound of his voice, you rise back from the ground, turning to see Scaramouche approaching. He stops a few feet in front of you, hands stuffed into his winter coat, the harbinger sigil prominently displayed.

“You’re already done for today?” You ask, giving him a subtle once-over.

Scaramouche crosses his arms and clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Fortunately, that was the last assembly for a while. One more day with these morons, and I promise, heads will be rolling.”

His eyes shift to the fox on the ground before they settle back on you. He raises an eyebrow. “Are you really so keen on catching a cold for the sake of some mutt?”

“It’s a fox, first of all,” you defend both yourself and the animal, unfazed by his demeanor. “And second, don’t pretend like you weren’t making eyes at that stray cat on our balcony last night.”

He scoffs, disdain evident on his face. “Yeah, of course. Seems like the cold ist really getting to your head.”

Not feeling particularly defeatist today, you decide to drop the subject (because you know exactly what you saw) and change the topic. “When will we go back home, then?”

But before Scara even opens his mouth, another jolly voice joins you. “Home already? What a shame!”

You can practically feel Scaramouche's whole demeanor dropping with irritation, rivaling the frigid temperatures. “Someone, have mercy on me,” he mutters darkly under his breath as Childe approaches you both.

Childe is wearing a suspiciously wide grin on his face as he deliberately ignores Scaramouche and puts his entire attention on you instead. “You should stay a few more days and enjoy Her Majesty’s hospitality to the fullest. I promise, you’ll love it.”

Scara’s jaw tightens at the familiarity between the both of you and if he weren’t bundled in his coat, you would be able to see a pulsing vein on his neck. “Shouldn't you be busy mopping the Tsarita’s ballroom or something, Childe?”

The 11th harbinger shoots him a grin. “Why, and miss all the fun of bidding you guys goodbye? You wound me.”

Then the ginger’s focus shifts back to you, making Scramouche’s eyebrow successfully twitch. “Truly, y/n, your absence will be felt not only by the hungry animals around here but I too will miss your lovely presence. What a joy it is to witness you making our balladeer here hot and bothered in a way I’m not quite used to seeing.”

You frown, but amusement twinkles in your eyes nevertheless, being used to his antics. “Thanks, Childe. It was very nice to see Snezhnaya for myself.”

“You’re welcome here anytime, my dear.” Childe chuckles, placing a friendly hand on your shoulder, but that’s when whatever little patience Scaramouche had left drains away for good. He steps in between you, his gaze deadly and fixed. “Touch them again, and I’ll end you.”

A bold, delighted laugh escapes Childe, clearly aware of the effect his words and actions have on his comrade. He lifts his hands in defeat. “Ahh, finally! I’d love a good fight with you, my friend.”

Scaramouche lets out a dry chuckle, but there’s no humor in his eyes. His fingers twitch, ready for some action. “It’s on then. I’ve been waiting for this day for long enough.”

Meanwhile, you have to suppress a groan. This has been going on all week, them breathing down each other’s neck the whole bloody time. How do these people even get any work done with the way they hate each other’s guts?

You step to the side, Scara’s eyes immediately following you. But you put on a mock-serious face, clasping your hands together. “What a fabulous idea, boys! We can finally settle this like the big grown adults we are, right? You do that - but if you’ll excuse me, I'm heading back to my warm, comfy bed.”

“Don’t you worry.” Childe laughs, amusement dancing in his eyes. “We’re just messing around, isn’t that right, Scaramouche?”

A cold smile spreads across your lover’s face as he regards Childe with a deadly look. “No, please, go on. Keep testing me. See how far it gets you.”

“Now, don’t sound so detesting; I might start to think you don’t like me.”

“Sucks to be you, then, doesn’t it.”

Childe responds to that with nothing more than a shit-eating grin. He turns to you, his face smug, and you can basically feel the headache forming.

“Write to me, alright? And keep me updated on what Mr. Sunshine over here is up to. I barely get to see him these days.” He begins to step back towards the city entrance, but not without shooting you one last wink. “Too occupied with his honeymoon phase, huh?”

“I’m gonna murder you.”

You gently grab Scara’s hand, in an attempt to ground him - or to stop him from causing the Tsaritsa to lose yet another Harbinger.

And he does stay by your side. His fingers soothingly tracing along your wrist before slipping between your own. He turns to you, his anger still radiating from him, but upon seeing your amused look, he scoffs and looks away.

“You’re in way over your head.”

“Am I?” You muse. “Or is someone a bit possessive because of Childe as of now?”

He locks eyes with you, daring you to continue.

“What? Now i can’t tease you after having to suffer through your constant bickering with each other our entire time here?”

“We weren’t-” he starts, but clearly thinks better of it and sighs, a hand running through his hair in annoyance.

“You were saying something about a bed?”

“Mhm. Want to share?”

“You better.”

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated

[bratzkoo]

Merging Arrangments | wonwoo pt. 1

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: chaebol heir! wonwoo x chaebol heiress!/ nurse! reader Genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut Rating: PG-15 to NC-17 Word count: 4k~ Warnings/note: for my Anna, my beautiful nurse. Happy birthday!

Everything marked with [M] have mature scenes and should not be read by minors.

summary: Jeon Wonwoo's been smitten with you for years, as the two of you enter an arranged marriage, he hopes you'll feel the same.

Arrange marriage! au

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys , @gyubakeries , @tokitosun , @gaslysainz , @armycarat2612

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The Grand Hyatt Seoul stood majestically against the backdrop of Namsan Mountain, its glass facade reflecting the late afternoon sun. Today, the luxurious hotel buzzed with an energy beyond its usual five-star opulence. It was playing host to the wedding of the year—the union of Jeon Group and Kit Medical Group through their heirs, Jeon Wonwoo and Y/N Kit.

In the grand ballroom, staff members scurried about like well-dressed ants, making last-minute adjustments to flower arrangements and place settings. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over tables draped in silk, each centerpiece a small fortune of exotic blooms. The air hummed with anticipation and barely concealed gossip.

"I heard it was arranged just two months ago," a waiter whispered to his colleague as they adjusted the champagne flutes at the head table.

The other waiter nodded knowingly. "Chaebol marriages," he replied with a hint of cynicism. "Always about business, never about love."

"Shh!" hissed a nearby supervisor. "Less talking, more working. The guests will be arriving soon."

Outside, a fleet of black luxury cars began to arrive, disgorging a who's who of Korean high society. Cameras flashed as celebrities, business tycoons, and politicians made their way into the hotel, their designer outfits and dazzling jewelry a clear display of wealth and status.

---

In a luxurious suite upstairs, Y/N Kit sat before a gilded mirror, her reflection a picture of bridal perfection—and internal turmoil. Her raven hair was swept up in an intricate updo, adorned with tiny diamond-encrusted pins that caught the light with every slight movement. The wedding dress, a custom Vera Wang creation, hugged her figure before flowing out in a cascade of delicate lace and silk. Yet, her eyes, usually bright and determined, now held a hint of uncertainty, a stark contrast to the flawless makeup that adorned her face.

"Miss Y/N, you look absolutely stunning," her makeup artist gushed, stepping back to admire her work. "Like a princess from a fairy tale."

Y/N managed a weak smile, the effort evident. "Thank you," she murmured, her gaze fixed on her reflection, as if trying to recognize the woman staring back at her.

As the artist packed up her supplies, Y/N's mind drifted to two months ago, the day that had set this all in motion...

Y/N had just finished a grueling shift at the hospital, her scrubs rumpled and her hair in a messy ponytail. She'd been looking forward to a quiet evening at home, maybe catching up on some medical journals. Instead, she found her parents waiting in the living room, their faces a mix of excitement and stern determination."An arranged marriage?" Y/N had exclaimed, staring at her parents in disbelief. The words felt foreign on her tongue, like something out of a historical drama rather than her real life. "But I barely know Jeon Wonwoo!"

Her father's eyes had been steely, unyielding. "This union will secure the future of both our companies. It's your duty, Y/N. The merger with Jeon Group will allow us to expand our medical services, to help more people."

"But my nursing career—" Y/N had started, her voice trailing off as she saw the dismissive look in her mother's eyes.

"You can do charity work as a chaebol wife," her mother had interjected smoothly, reaching out to pat Y/N's hand. "It's time you left this nurse phase behind. Think of all the good you can do with the resources of both families at your disposal."

Y/N had felt the walls closing in, her carefully laid plans crumbling around her. "Don't I get a say in this?" she had asked, hating how small her voice sounded.

Her father's expression had softened slightly. "Sometimes, Y/N, we must put aside our personal desires for the greater good. This is one of those times."

A knock at the door jolted Y/N back to the present. She blinked rapidly, banishing the memory and the tears that threatened to form. The door opened to reveal her parents, her father resplendent in a bespoke tuxedo, her mother glittering with diamonds that probably cost more than most people's houses.

"Oh, darling," her mother cooed, gliding into the room with practiced grace. "You look perfect. Like a true Kit heiress."

Her father nodded approvingly, his eyes sweeping over Y/N with a businessman's attention to detail. "Remember, Y/N," he said, his voice gentle but firm, "smile for the cameras. This wedding is about more than just you and Wonwoo. It's about the future of both our families, and the thousands of people who rely on our companies."

Y/N felt her chest tighten at his words, the weight of expectation settling on her shoulders like a heavy cloak. She managed a nod, not trusting her voice to remain steady if she spoke.

As her parents left, murmuring about greeting guests, Y/N allowed herself a moment of vulnerability. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to center herself. The quiet was short-lived, however, as the door burst open again, admitting her best friends, Alexys and Ela.

"Wow, unnie!" Ela exclaimed, her eyes wide with admiration. "You look like a princess from a manhwa!"

Alexys whistled low, circling Y/N with an exaggerated appraising look. "A very expensive princess. I think your veil costs more than my apartment. Actually, probably more than my entire apartment building."

Despite herself, Y/N felt a laugh bubble up. "Alexys, behave!" she admonished, but there was no heat in her words.

"What?" Alexys grinned, striking a pose that was likely meant to be model-esque but came off more comical. "I'm just saying, if you need someone to carry that train, I volunteer as tribute. I could use a workout, and that dress looks heavy enough to count as weightlifting."

As they laughed, Y/N felt some of her tension ease. These were her people, the ones who knew her as just Y/N, not the Kit heiress or the future Mrs. Jeon. But as quickly as it had come, the moment of levity passed, and doubt crept back in, darkening her expression.

"I don't know if I can do this," Y/N confessed quietly, sinking onto a nearby chaise lounge. "It's all happening so fast. Two months ago, I was focused on my nursing career, on making a difference. And now..."

Ela sat beside her, squeezing her hand supportively. "You're the strongest person I know, Y/N. You'll get through this, and you'll find a way to make a difference, no matter what."

Alexys nodded, her face uncharacteristically serious as she knelt in front of Y/N. "And we'll be right here with you, every step of the way. Although," she added, a mischievous glint returning to her eye, "if you want to make a run for it, I've got a getaway car and a foolproof plan involving two wigs, a llama, and a hot air balloon."

Despite herself, Y/N giggled, the absurd image lightening her mood. "I think I'll pass on the llama plan. But thank you, both of you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Probably be a lot more stressed and a lot less entertained," Alexys quipped, standing up and smoothing out her bridesmaid dress. "Now, let's get you married, shall we? I've got a bet going with one of the groomsmen on whether I can catch the bouquet while doing a backflip."

As they prepared to leave the room, Y/N took one last look in the mirror. The woman looking back at her was a bride, yes, but she was also still Y/N. With her friends by her side, maybe she could face whatever came next.

---

In another suite, Jeon Wonwoo adjusted his bowtie for the thousandth time, his normally steady hands betraying his nerves. The sleek lines of his custom-tailored tuxedo accentuated his tall, lean frame, but it was his eyes that drew attention—dark, intelligent, and currently filled with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

"You'll wear it out if you keep fiddling," Mingyu, his best friend and best man, commented from where he lounged on a nearby chair. Despite his relaxed posture, Mingyu cut an impressive figure in his own tuxedo, his easy smile a stark contrast to Wonwoo's tense expression.

Wonwoo sighed, dropping his hands and turning to face his friend. "I just want everything to be perfect. This day... it means more than anyone realizes."

Mingyu's expression softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You've been in love with her for years, haven't you? Y/N, I mean."

Wonwoo's silence was answer enough. His mind drifted to a charity gala five years ago, the first time he had truly seen Y/N Kit...

The ballroom had been crowded, full of Seoul's elite in expensive gowns and tuxedos. Wonwoo, then a university student being groomed to take over Jeon Group, had been making the rounds with his father, shaking hands and making small talk. That's when he had spotted her—Y/N Kit, still in high school, her eyes alight with passion as she spoke to a group of doctors.

"I want to be a nurse," she had been saying, her voice clear and determined. "Not just to follow in my family's footsteps, but to make a real difference. To be there for people when they're at their most vulnerable, to help them heal."

Wonwoo had found himself drawing closer, captivated by her enthusiasm, her compassion, her determination. In a room full of people discussing profit margins and market shares, she had been a breath of fresh air, talking about saving lives and making a difference.

That was the moment Wonwoo had fallen in love, though it had taken him some time to realize it.

"She doesn't know," Wonwoo said quietly, coming back to the present. "About my feelings, I mean. How could she? We've barely interacted outside of formal events."

Mingyu stood, clapping a hand on Wonwoo's shoulder. "Maybe this is your chance to show her, then. You're not just the Jeon heir, Wonwoo. You're a good man, with a lot to offer. Let her see that side of you."

A sharp knock interrupted them, causing both men to straighten instinctively. Wonwoo's parents entered, his father's eyes immediately zeroing in on Wonwoo's slightly askew bowtie.

"Fix that," he said brusquely, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The merger papers will be signed right after the ceremony. Everything must be perfect. The future of Jeon Group depends on this union."

Wonwoo nodded stiffly, adjusting his bowtie with practiced ease. "Yes, father. I understand the importance of today."

His mother, softer but no less focused on appearances, stepped forward to smooth an invisible wrinkle from his lapel. "You look handsome, Wonwoo-ya. Y/N Kit is a lucky girl."

As his parents left, likely to check on some other aspect of the wedding preparations, Mingyu let out a low whistle. "And I thought my parents were intense. Is it always like this?"

Wonwoo managed a weak smile, a hint of his usual dry humor showing through. "Welcome to the chaebol life, Mingyu-ya. All glamour and no pressure, right?"

Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, if anyone can handle it, it's you. Just remember, behind all this..." he gestured vaguely at the opulent room and their formal attire, "you're still Wonwoo. The guy who stays up too late reading, who can't function without his morning coffee, and who once tried to adopt every stray cat in the neighborhood."

Wonwoo felt some of his tension ease at Mingyu's words. "Thanks, Mingyu. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Probably be a lot more stressed and a lot less handsome," Mingyu quipped, echoing Wonwoo's earlier smile. "Now, let's get you married, shall we? I've got a best man speech to deliver, and I promise only minimal embarrassment."

As they prepared to leave the room, Wonwoo took one last look in the mirror. The man looking back at him was the Jeon heir, yes, but he was also still Wonwoo. With his best friend by his side and hope in his heart, maybe he could make this arranged marriage into something real.

---

The wedding ceremony was a blur of camera flashes and murmured vows. The hotel's grand ballroom had been transformed into a floral wonderland, with thousands of white roses and lilies creating an enchanted atmosphere. Soft classical music played as guests took their seats, a mix of Korea's business elite, celebrities, and politicians all eager to witness the union of two powerful families.

A hush fell over the crowd as the wedding march began. All eyes turned to the back of the room, where Y/N appeared, a vision in white. She walked down the aisle with measured steps, her arm linked with her father's. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, her expression a carefully composed mask of bridal serenity.

In the front row, Alexys gave Y/N a subtle thumbs up, while Ela dabbed at her eyes with a delicate handkerchief. A few rows back, Choi Seung-cheol watched, his hands clenched tightly in his lap, his heart breaking with each step Y/N took towards another man.

At the altar, Wonwoo's breath caught as he saw Y/N. She was breathtakingly beautiful, the embodiment of grace and elegance. But it was the flash of vulnerability in her eyes, visible only for a moment as she took her place beside him, that made his heart ache. He wanted nothing more than to take her hand and tell her everything would be alright, that they could face this new chapter together.

The officiant began the ceremony, his words about love and commitment ringing with a hint of irony given the arranged nature of the marriage. As they exchanged rings, Y/N's hand trembled slightly. Wonwoo gave her fingers a gentle, reassuring squeeze. For a moment, their eyes met, and something passed between them—a flicker of understanding, perhaps even a spark of connection.

"I, Jeon Wonwoo, take you, Y/N Kit, to be my lawfully wedded wife," Wonwoo said, his voice steady and clear, infused with a warmth that surprised even him.

"I, Y/N Kit, take you, Jeon Wonwoo, to be my lawfully wedded husband," Y/N replied, her voice softer but no less resolute.

Then the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, and the moment was gone, swept away in a tide of applause and camera flashes.

---

The reception was a whirlwind of congratulations, speeches, and thinly veiled business discussions. Y/N and Wonwoo moved through it all in a daze, playing their parts perfectly—the blushing bride and the proud groom, the perfect chaebol couple.

During their first dance, Wonwoo leaned in close, the scent of Y/N's perfume filling his senses. "Are you okay?" he murmured, genuine concern in his voice.

Y/N plastered on a smile for the cameras, her eyes scanning the room even as she replied. "I'm fine," she said, her voice barely audible over the swelling music. "This is what's expected of us, isn't it? To play our parts."

Before Wonwoo could respond, to tell her that it didn't have to be just an act, the dance ended and they were once again swept into the crowd of well-wishers and business associates.

As Y/N made her rounds, graciously accepting congratulations and deflecting questions about future heirs with practiced ease, she found herself face to face with Seung-cheol. For a moment, neither spoke, the air between them thick with unspoken words and missed opportunities.

"You look beautiful," Seung-cheol finally said, his voice rough with emotion. He looked dashing in his suit, a far cry from the casual attire she was used to seeing him in at the hospital.

"Seung-cheol, I—" Y/N began, not sure what she wanted to say but feeling the need to say something.

"Congratulations," he cut her off, unable to meet her eyes. "I hope you'll be very happy." The words sounded hollow, a social nicety that did nothing to bridge the chasm that had opened between them.

He walked away before Y/N could respond, leaving her staring after him, a mix of regret and longing on her face. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine a different world, one where she had followed her heart instead of her duty. But the moment passed, reality reasserting itself in the form of another well-wisher approaching to offer congratulations.

From across the room, Wonwoo watched the interaction between Y/N and Seung-cheol, his heart sinking. The look on Y/N's face as she watched Seung-cheol walk away spoke volumes. Wonwoo turned away, trying to quell the surge of jealousy and disappointment, only to nearly collide with Alexys.

"Whoa there, Mr. Chaebol," she said, steadying herself with a hand on his arm. "No need to sweep me off my feet. Save that for your bride." Her eyes twinkled with mischief, a stark contrast to the formal atmosphere around them.

Wonwoo blinked, taken aback by her casual tone. In his world of rigid formality, Alexys was like a breath of fresh air. "I'm sorry, I—"

Alexys waved him off. "No worries. I'm Alexys, by the way. Y/N's friend and designated baby girl." She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. "Between you and me, I think this party could use a little livening up. What do you say we spike the punch? I've got a flask of soju in my purse."

Despite himself, Wonwoo found a smile tugging at his lips. "I don't think that would be appropriate," he said, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

Alexys sighed dramatically. "You're right, of course. Guess I'll have to settle for embarrassing Y/N with my dance moves instead. Fair warning: I've been practicing my 'Gangnam Style'. It's not pretty, but it's enthusiastic."

As she sashayed away, hips swaying exaggeratedly, Wonwoo felt some of his tension ease. If these were Y/N's friends, maybe there was hope for them yet. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a place in this vibrant, genuine world so different from the one he'd grown up in.

The rest of the reception passed in a blur of faces and formalities. Mingyu gave a heartfelt best man speech, carefully skirting around any mention of his own secret marriage while still managing to both embarrass and honor Wonwoo. 

"I've known Wonwoo since we were kids," Mingyu said, his voice carrying across the hushed ballroom. "And I can say without a doubt that he's the most loyal, caring, and intelligent person I know. Y/N," he turned to address the bride directly, "you're not just gaining a husband today. You're gaining a partner who will stand by you, support your dreams, and probably bore you with random historical facts."

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd, and Wonwoo felt a surge of gratitude for his friend. Beside him, he felt Y/N relax slightly, a small, genuine smile playing on her lips.

As the evening wore on, business associates cornered both sets of parents, eager to discuss the implications of this new alliance. Talks of mergers, stock prices, and market expansions filled the air, a constant reminder of the true nature of this union.

Ela and Mingyu exchanged secret glances across the room, their own hidden marriage a sharp contrast to the spectacle around them. At one point, they managed to steal a moment together near the dessert table.

"How are you holding up?" Ela asked, her voice low.

Mingyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's harder than I thought, watching my best friend go through this. Knowing what we have..." he trailed off, his eyes conveying what he couldn't say aloud.

Ela squeezed his hand briefly. "I know. But we have to trust that they'll find their way, just like we did."

Their moment was interrupted by Alexys, who appeared with a plate piled high with desserts. "Don't mind me," she said, noticing their startled expressions. "Just here for the cake. Carry on with your secret rendezvous."

Ela rolled her eyes fondly. "Very subtle, Alexys."

"Subtlety is overrated," Alexys replied around a mouthful of cake. "Unlike this dessert. Seriously, you two should try this before the chaebol vultures descend and devour everything."

Finally, as the evening wound down, Y/N and Wonwoo found themselves alone for a moment on a balcony overlooking the Seoul skyline. The city stretched out before them, a glittering tapestry of lights and possibilities.

"It's beautiful," Y/N murmured, gazing out at the city lights. For a moment, she allowed herself to drop the perfect bride facade, her shoulders sagging slightly with exhaustion.

Wonwoo looked at her, illuminated by the soft glow of the lanterns. The fatigue evident in the line of her shoulders, the wistfulness in her eyes as she looked out at the city – it all made her seem more real, more human than the porcelain doll she'd appeared as all day. "Yes, it is," he agreed softly, though his eyes never left her face.

Y/N turned to him, and for a moment, the masks slipped away entirely. They were just two people, thrust into an impossible situation, trying to make the best of it. The vulnerability in Y/N's eyes matched the uncertainty Wonwoo felt.

"Wonwoo, I—" Y/N began, her voice hesitant.

"Y/N, dear!" her mother's voice cut through the moment like a knife. "It's time to leave for your honeymoon. The car is waiting."

The spell broken, Y/N and Wonwoo shared a rueful look before making their way back inside. They said their goodbyes, accepted final congratulations, and made their way to the waiting car.

As they settled into the backseat of the luxury vehicle, a heavy silence fell between them. The partition between them and the driver offered a semblance of privacy, but neither seemed to know what to say now that they were truly alone.

From the steps of the hotel, Seung-cheol watched the car pull away, his heart heavy. He'd come to the wedding hoping for... what? A last-minute confession? A dramatic objection? Now, watching the taillights disappear into the Seoul traffic, he felt the finality of the situation settle over him like a weight.

Ela and Mingyu stood together, their hands brushing but not quite holding in deference to the watchful eyes around them. Their own secret weighed on them as they watched their friends drive off into an uncertain future.

Alexys stood with her arm around Ela, for once without a quip. "They'll be okay, right?" she asked, her usual bravado absent.

Ela leaned into her friend's embrace. "I hope so," she said softly. "I really hope so."

The parents watched with satisfaction, already planning their next moves. Mergers to finalize, press releases to craft, the future of their empires to secure.

As the car merged into the Seoul traffic, Y/N and Wonwoo sat side by side, not touching, each lost in their own thoughts. The future stretched out before them, uncertain and daunting. The weight of expectations, of duty, of their own conflicted feelings – it all seemed overwhelming in the quiet of the car.

But as the city lights blurred past the windows, something shifted. Almost imperceptibly, Y/N's hand moved closer to Wonwoo's on the leather seat between them. And after a moment's hesitation, he took it, giving it a gentle squeeze.

They didn't look at each other. They didn't speak. But in that small gesture lay the tiniest seed of hope for Wonwoo – a hope that maybe, just maybe, they could face this uncertain future together. That perhaps, in time, duty could become desire, and an arranged marriage could become something real.

As the car wound its way through the streets of Seoul, taking them towards their honeymoon and the beginning of their life together, that small point of contact between them seemed to hold all the possibility in the world.

[to-the-stars8]

The Waynes' Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/ Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3

Plus One

Galas were exactly what you expected. It was a room full of rich, middle-aged people talking about the latest upper-class gossip with the most divine food. It would usually make anyone not from the dazzling world of the Gotham elite shiver and shake. 

Fortunately, you weren’t just anyone. You were the nanny for Bruce Wayne.

The week before, Mr. Wayne had informed you that you would be attending the gala with him. At first, you were thrilled and honored to be invited along, but the dream of catching a rich man was cut short when Mr. Wayne added you would be watching Dick and Cassandra. Luckily, you loved the two kids like they were your own, so it caused you little grief. 

“What about the other kids?” You had asked. 

Bruce spared you a passive glance as he tended to some papers in front of him. “I have a rule that the kids can’t join a gala before age ten. And, please, don’t try to bring the younger ones. The kids already understand this rule. In any case, they don’t want to go half of the time.”

You scoffed, telling Mr. Wayne that you weren’t planning on bringing the rest of the kids despite that being exactly the case. Luckily, he had taken some measurements to dissuade you from doing so, i.e. promising you more days off. 

The younger kids moaned and groaned about not going when they heard that you were going to be there, and Mr. Wayne was only able to soothe them over with a promise to Disney World during spring break. Then, the day came for the gala and the only ones ready were Mr. Wayne and you. 

“Sir,” Alfred had said, coming into the foyer where you and Bruce had been waiting for Cassandra and Dick. “Master Dick and Miss Cassandra have changed their minds about the gala.”

“What?” Bruce said, going to call them down before you stopped him. 

“You said it yourself, Mr. Wayne, half the time the kids don’t want to go.” You started to take your coat off in anticipation of having to stay with the children.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked. 

“Someone has to watch the kids,” You said, going to hand your coat to Alfred, but he didn’t take it. 

Alfred spoke pointedly to his charge. “Master Bruce, I can take care of the children, I did it before and I don’t mind doing it again.”

“I…” Bruce began, pausing to look at you before nodding. “I mean, you’re already dressed and I’m out a plus one. Plus two, actually.”

You grinned, shrugging your coat back on as you followed him out the door. 

And that’s how you ended up sitting with the Gotham elite telling another one of your long, intriguing tales. Bruce, looking at you from across the room, was surprised at how well you managed to acclimate yourself to the setting. Usually, when new folks entered the closed-off upper class of Gotham it was like throwing a person in a starving lion’s den. Somehow, you had managed to befriend the lion. 

Bruce was too busy watching you to see Harvey saunter up to him, eyes switching between his friend and you. Harv could understand why his friend was staring. You were beautiful, sitting there so poised in a perfect-fitting blue dress as you charmed your way with the small crowd around you. 

With a small smile, he finally addressed Bruce, “Something caught your eye?” 

Bruce didn’t seem surprised by Harvey’s sudden appearance. “Not exactly. I’m more impressed by just how well she’s doing, and that she’s not embarrassing me.”

“That’s a little harsh,” Harvey admitted.

Bruce shrugged, trying to be dismissive. “I’m her boss. I don’t think I’m meant to be too nice.”

“She watches your kids, so I’d be careful.” 

Bruce chuckled and shook his head, eyes going back to you. The longer Harvey watched his friend, he could see the wheels turning in his head. There was something Bruce didn’t want to admit, but it was stuck there behind his eyes. 

Harvey, always the one to create his own amusement where it wasn’t provided, leaned in to ask, “So, is it okay if I ask her to dance?”

“I don’t care, Harvey,” Bruce said, eyes not leaving you. 

“Then, would you care if I asked her out?” 

Harvey finally got his friend’s attention. “I’m not her father, so you don’t need my permission.”

“Oh,” He said, thinking about how risque his next words would be but decided to damn it all. “So, I can take her home tonight, too?”

“Don’t be a pig, Harv,” Bruce mumbled before throwing back the rest of his wine. When the waiter passed, he quickly replaced it with another. 

Harvey took that as his cue to go over to you. Upon his approach, your eyes trained on him like he would be your next target for whatever you had planned. Excusing yourself, you stood up and met him halfway. Harv couldn’t say exactly why but suddenly found himself flustered. 

You held out your hand expectantly, and coyly said, “I believe you were going to ask me to dance.”

Speechless, all Harvey could do was take your hand and smile.

—

Bruce tried to watch passively, but he just didn’t like the way Harvey was using you. He might have had some qualms about your behavior, but no lady deserved to be treated like a piece of meat. Alfred had raised him better than that. 

He thought about going in to cut in, and the only thing that stopped him was the flock of women that suddenly came to him. They were all asking about you, the ‘odd’ woman who had arrived on his arm of all people. Bruce attempted to not be offended on your behalf. He only half listened as they talked at him, asking asinine questions like what it was like to be so rich and if he really did date a princess for a solid week. He did, but it wasn’t a short-term relationship he wanted to delve into when you were only twenty feet away from being sized up for the taking.

It was a little while later when Bruce looked up again to find you and Harvey missing from the dance floor. Worried that you might have fallen for the devilish suave lawyer trick Harvey tended to put on, he tore himself from the group.

Bruce stopped to ask a waiter if he had seen you leave with a man in a navy suit. “I think I saw the lady go out the side service door.”

Okay, he thought, this was a bit more concerning. Following the waiter’s directions, after tipping him a hefty hundred, he did manage to find you again. You were huddled up on yourself against the evening chill with your phone pressed up against your ear. 

“What did I tell you two about pulling hair,” You said, tone stiff with passive irritation, as you slowly paced in a circle. “You’ll go bald. So, listen to Alfred and go to bed. If I come home to you all awake no Disney.”

You turned to see Bruce standing there and pointed to the phone, mouthing that it was the kids. With a few exchanges of light threats followed by some sweet soothing did you finally end the call. 

“Kids, am I right?” You huffed, hands on your hips. “What’re you out here for, anyway? Last I saw you, you were entertaining some ladies.”

Bruce leaned against the wall, reaching into his suit pocket for a pack of cigarettes, and said, “Didn’t think it would be appropriate if you stepped out with Harvey.”

“Him, hah!” You snickered, holding your hand out for a cigarette. “I had him pegged right from the moment he was crossing the dance floor that he wasn’t thinking with the right head. Guess it was a bad idea for me to accept his offer for a date, but oh well.”

Before Bruce could reach for a lighter you were already pulling one from your little handbag. You lit your cigarette before stepping close to light his. He told himself the cigarette was taking his breath away and not the smell of your perfume. 

“What was that phone call about,” Bruce asked, wanting to fill his mind with something other than you. 

You blew out some smoke, smiling as you explained, “I decided to check on the kids, and, it turns out, Tim and Jason have some sort of beef going on.”

“I think Jason didn’t like it all too much when I brought Tim home—made him feel like a replacement.” Bruce was smiling a little despite how sad the story sounded. “We’re working it out.” 

“I couldn’t tell,” You sarcastically remarked, side-eyeing him. It was easy for Bruce to say they were ‘working it out’ because you did all the work. You drew in another puff before looking at the cigarette in your hand again. “Hey, what’re you doin’ carrying these around? You seem too tight-laced to smoke.”

“What’re you doing asking so many questions,” Bruce meant to say playfully, but it sounded too defensive. Before you could rebuff, he added, “I took them away from Dickie.”

You gasped. “No.”

Bruce was grinning now, thinking about it. Alfred had caught Dick and Jason smoking behind the garage one day, and, boy, did they get the lecture of a lifetime. He had forgotten about the pack, having thrown it into the glove box of his car, until he ran into a particularly rough night at a gala. Now, he’d gone through most of the pack. 

You shook your head. “That boy is something else.”

“I know,” Bruce said. “I love him to bits. All of them.”

“I know,” You said quietly, looking up at Bruce through those long lashes. 

Damnit, you were beautiful. Shaking his head, Bruce threw the last bit of his cigarette to the ground before offering you his hand. 

“Let’s go back in, hm? If we’re out here too long they’ll assume I have you hiked up against the wall.”

You rolled your eyes and said cheekily, “A girl can dream.”

Bruce snickered as he tried the door, but it didn’t budge. 

Damn, he realized he’d just locked the two of you out of his own gala.

[nonsensology]

F is for Flippy (and a fuming furious Fliq) frantically fleeing from fanatic fans at a fall forest festival.

While I was feeling nostalgic over favorite childhood books, I was suddenly in the mood to make an alphabet illustration. Here you'll also find "Flounder fishing for French fries" and "Fix-It Felix fixing a fondue fountain for some foxes and a ferret".

I counted over 60 different F words and things represented here (although I could have also missed some). This includes technicalities like "face", "fur", "finger", "fabric", and "fast". Can you spot them all?

F (character from Mike Salcedo series)

fabric

face

fairy

fairy tale

fall (autumn)

fan (device)

fan (person)

fan art

fanatic

fangs

farm

fast

Felix, Fix-It

fern

ferret

festival

film

film reel

fingers

Finland

firefighter

firefly

firework

first (place)

fish

fishing (verb)

fishing pole / fishing rod

five (both Roman and Arabic)

fix(ing)

flag

flamingo

flee(ing)

Flerovium

Flippy

Fliq(py)

floaty

florist

Flounder

flower

fondue

food

foot / feet

football

footprint

footstool

forest

forget-me-not

fork

fortune teller

fossil

fountain

four

fourteen

fox

foxglove

France / French

Frankenstein's monster

frantic(ally)

fries

frog

fruit

fuming

fur

furious

furniture

[brittle-doughie]

Well since you missed it, I’m gonna tell you my ask again and I hope you actually see it this time. Again, it’s a long one so it might need to be split up into multiple parts. (It also contains cannibalism so CW) Here’s an Idea for a Y/N Cookie Run fic. Y/N is a viscous, cannibalistic cookie with a sadistic, psychotic, and murderous, yet also elegant, (they not like an animal), personality. They are based of the Bloody Mary cocktail (but their name is, like, Tomato Juice Cookie because alcohol isn’t allowed to be mentioned in the word of Cookie run) and their design motif is based of of the Bloody Mary urban legend with a hint of evil spirits and vampirism. They are extremely strong in both physical strength and magic, so powerful that even the ancient cookies and Cookies of Darkness are at least somewhat intimidated by them, and are able to brainwash other cookies with their magic into becoming cannibals just like them (although a bit more brutal and messy because it entertains Y/N) and do their bidding. Y/N often likes to play with (aka torcher) their “food” before preparing and eating it.

Y/N part of the juice bar gang (which they have also hypnotized). They live in a huge, luxurious, yet somewhat decrepit old mansion, which they lure other cookies into before they torcher and consume them. Y/N’s other hobbies include painting and cooking (which is how they “prepare” their victims, they are quite sophisticated).

They used to be a witch (called Mary, of course) who ate children even after said act was considered taboo in the witch community. They were eventually were executed for their crimes via beheading. Before they died, they used their magic to come back as a cookie were they decided that “if I’m only allowed to feed on cookies and not human children, so be it😏”

I know it’s pretty long, you’ll probably have to split it into multiple parts. I hope you actually notice this one this time.

this ask was inspired by multiple Cookie Run cannibalism fanfics.

Tale of the Mansion

There lives a tale of a lonesome cookie, living in the hallways of the abandoned, yet glorious mansion on the hill. They say that on certain nights, you’ll hear the humming of this cookie on one of their nightly strolls, it is advised that you do not listen intently or you might find yourself being drawn to it.

The victim will feel their legs moving on their own before they realized, no hope to stop it now. Their mind will be entranced from this cookie’s elegant humming, a tune that non can resist. Fortunately for this cookie, this is what exactly they wanted to happen. It never hurts to have a companion on your walks, right?

Yet the legend tales that any cookie that follows this humming are not expected to return. Many cookies in the village keep their doors and windows closed for this reason, it wasn’t rare for this mysterious cookie to walk into town as an alternate path in their nightly stroll.

“Y/N Cookie (or Tomato Juice Cookie)…” was all one victim muttered before they followed them one night, this is all the village knew of their mysterious, yet terrifying visitor.

Maybe you do make it. You get to see the mansion in all of its pristine glory, the floors and tables looking freshly cleaned despite being abandoned for a long time. This cookie will ask you to sit and help yourself to the prepared food made for any visitors of their mansion. Do not worry if any of the food has an..odd texture to it, that’s just your mind letting you know that you’re quite hungry!

Do enjoy a refreshment from one of the mansion staff, Sparkling Cookie. He serves you a glass of sparkling refreshment as he leaned close to pour it into the cup, showing something…off with his eyes. They look…empty, don’t you think?

But don’t dwell on that for too long, it’s time for the entertainment as your host snaps their fingers and out comes Mint Choco Cookie playing a tune on their violin, it helps to calm your nerves from any sort of suspicious feeling! Just enough for you to not notice his empty eyes too…

Still anxious? Have no worry. The mansion’s green thumb, Herb Cookie, is here to help with that by smelling his plants! Doesn’t the fresh smell of recently planted greens help to settle you down? Good, because he won’t stop until you are! There’s nothing to worry about, you’re in the care of such a generous and wonderful host! They promise there’s nothing to be afraid of!

You excuse yourself to the restroom, which is directed to you down the hall. You slowly make your way over, getting unnerved by any small sound the mansion made.

A door creaking catches your eye, an ominous red light pouring out of the crack….

You’re tempted to go in, curiosity mixed with fear as you slowly poked your head into the room, it looked like a simple bedroom…curiosity eats at you and you enter the room fully….

You’ll come to regret it seconds later….

The paintings were the first thing you noticed. They painted many different cookies, some with normal expressions like a smile or a resting face. Others…painted more fearful and pained expressions, their heads looked like they were…removed from their bodies….It may have been the room light, but you swore the paintings dripped a little from their frames, as if it was…strawberry jam…

The numerous items like a spellbook, a witch hat, pitchforks, even a sort of..bathtub with a…substance nearly at the top.

The large painting above the painting. It was not a cookie featured in it, but rather…a witch. They oddly bared a resemblance to your host from earlier…

“Looks like another found out, huh? You really should’ve just went to do your business.”

You jump at the shockingly casual voice from behind you. Leaning at the doorway was Vampire Cookie, as he gently tip his glass of juice around and around.

“Y/N Cookie doesn’t like cookies that poke their eyes where they don’t belong. Good for them, just means dinner is server sooner then later…”

Vampire Cookie opens his eyes, revealing the same empty look as the others. You now could see Herb, Sparkling, and Mint Choco at the doorway too, their pinprick white irises creepily glowing in the dark. You step back away from them, asking what Vampire meant by that….

“You’ll see…or rather what you’ll don’t see..

You suddenly felt a sharp jab to your neck. A voice from behind you calls.

“A shame it had to end this way for you. I promise your dough won’t go to waste. Enjoy your rest here, because you won’t be waking up anytime soon…”

Your vision fades to black as you collapse, the many eyes at the doorway looking at you as the world plunged to darkness….

….

….

Another missing cookie reported in the village.

All the residents could do was honor their memory with a burial without a body and warn others with the tale of the mansion on the hill.

Whatever you do, do not listen to the humming to the forest or in the village late at night. For it will be a night that will never dawn for you…

[throwaway-yandere]

𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 [Yandere!Dottore/Reader]

a/n: this fic is 100% dedicated to @leftdestiny-posts and they would know just how much they had inspired me in this fic once they finished reading it HAHAHAHAH. P.S.: the classical songs mentioned are actual songs. Yes, the title is half a joke. Here's the spotify playlist if you're curious.

Unreliable Synopsis: You cannot remember your past, but your doctor has been with you every step of the way— and he's more than willing to spend some time with you outside the hospital. Still... did you always have pure white hair?

CW: yandere themes, light body horror, manipulation, its dottore, c'mon LOL.

Concert II "Tristezza Di Fine Anno", performed by the Morespoke Philharmonic with their conductor, Lady Columbina, began nearly an hour ago. And you had the fortune of hearing their songs for yourself.

The well-dressed crowd filled the seats, behaving in what was appropriate for their high station. It was fully booked. The music overwhelmingly masked anyone's breaths, if they had one to start with. Her program can be felt deep in the audience's bones. Rattling them in each sforzando before it lulls down through the sound of her handpicked musicians— with Lady Columbina as the lonesome soloist when the moment calls for it.

"This piece, Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, is not Columbina's own making, she had failed to mention that," your company hummed. "This was by another composer who hid behind the name Safed. They were a self-fulling prophecy. Do you wish to know what they said about this piece?"

You said nothing as Zandik— Lord Dottore— stroked your unnaturally "white" hair.

"They said that nobody understood the piece and that they wish they could conduct the first performance five centuries after their death."

Zandik smiled.

"What say you? Do you think those words are true?"

Your company was a tall and thin man with artificially pale-ish skin and wavy blue hair. His eyes were reportedly bloodshot crimson, although you had not received proof of that in this lifetime. But, you were drawn to his deep ocean-like colors, and that was enough to keep you mildly complacent to his strange remarks.

Zandik is surprisingly a considerate man, but he must've brought you with him for a reason. He told you himself that the reason he brought you out of your prison-like hospital room was a mere experiment on his behalf. Paradigm-shifting consequences of his strange social experiments with you are likely to occur, and he cares not for its ethical debates. He won't ask for rhetorics; these to him are tangible outcomes and no questions will be entertained.

All except his.

"I think… "

The composition had a serene, slightly asymmetrical feel to it. You were certain this was Lady Columbina's creative liberties at play. Something about it did not capture its true authenticities. The show purported to narrate three stories: the first concerned a judge who had to find a loved one guilty; the second concerned a prince who drove their beloved into despair; and the final was a tale of a knight who disregarded his obligation to defend a loved one.

But it felt incomplete. As if there was a missing piece— a secret fourth act hiding between the notes and stage.

"A person can't completely mourn for something they would never experience," you told him. "But even so, if I were Safed, I'd feel like my effort would've been a waste."

His eyes remained trained on your hair as you spoke. Zandik seems to dislike it. Unlike his cells mixed with engineered nanomaterials, yours are uniquely… "natural". His hair has a color intensity, whereas yours was the presence of every color— as physics explained it.

"Something they would never experience…" Zandik repeated, tasting the words on his tongue— a smirk etched on his face as though it tasted like bitter irony.

You continued.

"I have a hunch that Safed put everything they worked hard on all their pieces because Lady Columbina wouldn't have performed it otherwise. Since all the songs on the concert's program are marketed as underappreciated compositions, I would… um… infer that they also questioned their works and ultimately themselves if it all had worth in the end. Hopeless for the lack of attention, they probably thought there's more hope if they lived in another generation."

You wanted to say, though you're not sure where this negativity came from, that they probably despised how their well-crafted works were ignored and their sloppy yet significantly more popular compositions angered them.

But you're not Safed. You don't want to put words in their mouth.

".... Hmm, an acceptable hypothesis— a decent one, even," whatever monotonous response Zandik wished to convey, his voice betrayed his grand satisfaction. "Yet I won't give you any confirmation."

"I know."

Zandik laughed.

"The next piece is Norn's Adagio for Strings Op. 11, before the closing Symphony No. 6, better known as Pathétique Symphony, in B Minor Op. 74."

You tilted your head innocently. "Pathetic?"

"Another piece by Safed. It's a Fontaine-translated title. It's originally named pateticheskaya, which meant passionate or emotional, not at all pitiable."

He crossed his arms, insulted as though he was the one who came up with the original title.

"Roughly half a millennium past, the masses attributed Safed's demise to the strains of their final composition, the so-called Pathétique, a mere nine days preceding their exit from this mortal coil. The prevailing narrative spouts a tale of a tragic surrender to the clutches of undiagnosed clinical depression. I find such simplicity in analysis rather pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?"

You took a while to process his inquiry before hesitantly nodding.

"I… I think so."

Zandik smiled.

It's hard to tell if it's genuine, especially when such a protruding mask hides his eyes. Should its existence vanish, you aren't certain you'd see a soul within his pupils either.

"Safed hated this piece, believing it should be cast aside and forgotten. They were living in the woodlands when they wrote it— and when they decided to live with their benefactor, it was suddenly difficult to tear them away from their work."

You nodded to cue that you were still listening.

"They have an incredibly deep connection with their works. One might say they see in tunes rather than color."

You nodded again.

"Your inclination towards a perpetual affirmation of propositions, presumably to veil any potential lacunae in your cognitive purview, does not escape me. It is, if I may be so bold, your agreement that conceals your specter of unfamiliarity, right?"

You rarely understand a word he says when he is in this passionate state. You just nod as if you knew.

"Adorable," Zandik chuckled.

His voice was chillingly low yet… comforting. 

"Your sincerity constitutes an enchanting facet of your comportment."

He had to be teasing you.

"Although…" Zandik grabbed a few locks of your hair as though it was slimy and unpleasant— quickly retracting them with a disapproving tilt. "You could stand to utilize more (h/c) hair dyes. How is it conceivable that it has returned to white yet again?"

You opened your mouth but Zandik raised a finger.

"No. I am the scholar here. Do not answer."

You giggled. "Understood, Doctor."

He grinned, inadvertently showing off his pointed canines.

"What a good test subject you are, my dear (Y/n)."

Whether good was a subjective or objective assessment or not was up to interpretation.

The mid-concert intermission began, allowing Lady Columbina's pressured musicians a 20-minute sigh of relief. Zandik ushered you to the back where the Lady Harbinger reposed on a white sofa, her cheek brushing a visibly soft and cloud-like pillow. The bright backstage lighting made her seem ethereal.

She looked like heaven, but Zandik would argue that "(Y/n)" is the true epitome of the word.

"Greetings. As expected, you'd initiate conversation at the earliest convenience." She cooed. "You look younger today, Doctor."

"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment, Columbina." Zandik scoffed. "How many times will we rehearse this canned script until it is a learned lesson?"

"Perhaps it shall end on the day you refrain yourself from recreating… perspectives."

"Since my encounter with the Dendro Archon, I have not revisited that notion."

Columbina's gentle smile dropped coldly. "You know that your segments are not what I am referring to."

You looked back and forth between the two. Each of them was a distinctively unique person and it's a challenge to take your eyes away from the other.

Hence, when you felt Lady Columbina's eyes on you, you shook and straightened yourself before bowing stiffly.

"G-Greetings, Lady Columbina!!!"

Her gentle smile resurfaced.

"Greetings to you as well, dear Safed."

You blinked.

Dottore clicked his tongue, and Columbina laughed softly.

"Apologies, I meant to say (Y/n)— that is the name you go by in this era of humanity, right?"

You'd rightfully claim that between the three of you, you were the most human. Zandik has his clones, Columbina's origins are of strict secrecy, and you are a mere amnesiac patient. But the way she addressed you was sounding awful like stripping you away with that sense of humane identity.

"Yes? I guess?"

Columbina delightedly buzzed in your reply. "(Y/n)— truly a lovely name. That must mean that you're very healthy! It warms my heart to hear that name again. The other ones had terribly dull names, but if the Doctor had given you this title, then it must mean his research is finally drawing to a close."

Her remarks made little sense. You know little about yourself and trust only the Doctor's judgment. Should you trust her words, then it must mean (Y/n) isn't your real name…

But… that doesn't seem right either. 

"Not quite, the name deserves no celebration," Dottore replied happily. "I merely ran out of translations. Bianco, Wit, Bái— what else is there? Ancient Natlan?"

"Scientists truly make for terrible poets— Why not try Inazuman?" Columbina offered.

Those words must have had a heavy weight to them because Zandik pondered for much longer than expected.

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind," Zandik muttered. "Although it is preferable it does not have to reach that point."

"May I ask why did you bring them here?" Columbina asked.

"It's a bit of an unconventional experiment, but I've been exploring how to elicit positive associations with certain stimuli. Exposing them to music as I accompany them should cause them to associate the emotional response it elicits with being around me." Dottore hummed. "It would be asinine to put them in a chaotic yet controlled environment such as a theme park. While a racing heart may be effective, I shouldn't risk a (Y/n)'s well-being by subjecting them to roller coasters."

"Are you sure you're not the scared one?" You asked cheekily. Zandik rolled his eyes.

She shook her head.

"What a roundabout way of saying you're taking them out on a concert date…"

Columbina looked at you once more.

"Oh, but (Y/n), you appear unwell, my dear…" she pointed at stage left. "Why don't you fix yourself up in the nearest restroom?"

Dottore raised an eyebrow, which made you want to decline Columbina.

"I'm r-really okay, Lady Colum—"

"I insist."

Columbina smiled wider. Her laced mask cast a gloomy shade on her visage.

You had no other choice.

"O… Okay."

The halls that led to the restroom were mostly empty. Perhaps it was due to Lady Columbina's performance that made them patiently await the next song.

But there was one young man you encountered along the way. He had blonde half-way braided hair and purple-ish eyes. You paid him no mind as he circled a small rectangular paper, likely the concert's ticket, between his fingers. However, within a second, that paper vanished.

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously, wondering if your eyes played tricks. He laughed, noting your attention.

"Ah! Sorry," he cheerfully gestured a small wave. "Didn't mean to practice in public."

The blonde man approached you with a smile.

"You're #9805, right?"

Immediately, you both got on the wrong foot.

Your nose scrunched, "I prefer (Y/n)."

The man flinched. "Oh, yikes! I'm not making the best first impression— nice to meet you (Y/n)! I have something for you."

You thought he was handing you his concert ticket for a moment but when you took a good look, it was a grayscale brochure.

And a white tulip…

"Um…"

"Needless to say, I'm something of a—"

"Trickster?"

"Magician, but an astute guess nonetheless!" He laughed sheepishly. "I was waiting for you, I thought you wouldn't go to the restroom."

So, did Lady Columbina plan this?

You caressed the binding and skimmed through the pages. "What's this for?"

"Father said you might be interested in its contents," the young man said. "That's all."

You blinked.

"... Are you saying you missed out most of the concert just to hand me this?"

He laughed awkwardly again. "My dear sister says I have a habit of missing a hint of romanticism when it counts, so I guess today's just one of those moments."

"Did you not like the music?" You scoffed, temper rising.

"Did you hate the composition? Did you not understand the e-emotion behind the chords? Don't you understand just how d-disrespectful that was?!"

"Woah, woah, I didn't say any of that." His eyes widened.

He didn't expect your voice to crack.

"I'm so sorry if you're offended— are you one of the original composers?"

…

You took a deep breath.

… Why were you mad?

… Why did it feel like those songs mean more to you than meets the eye?

"Sorry, I just…" You shook your head. "I guess I'm not feeling well. Oh, no, I'm so SO sorry…"

An unknown part of you thrived to hear him praise the music. That same part pitied the composer who worked day and night to perfect their piece. It's an ugly voice, but it was sincere.

… What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly lash out? What was going on?

"Oh, well there's no need to be sorry then." The blonde man took his hat off and bowed.

"Farewell, Mx. (Y/n)!" He grinned. "The greatest magician in all Teyvat will take his leave. Thank you for your time!"

With the sway of his dark cape, he disappeared.

You entered the restroom to wash your face. It didn't do much to soothe your nerves. The lingering dread for your strange emotional mood swing remained.

To distract yourself, you read through the article.

The Enigmatic Legacy of Composer Safed

In the annals of musical history, few figures emerge as enigmatic and hauntingly captivating as the orchestral composer, Safed. Born five centuries ago amidst the ancient woodlands of Sumeru, this ethereal musician seemingly materialized from Vanarama with no familial relations.

Huh… So it's about the one who wrote the previous compositions earlier.

No wonder that blonde man asked if you were one of the composers. He was being a smartass.

A Fiery Finale: The Pathétique Symphony

Legend has it that in their final act of emotional expression, Safed penned the "Pathétique Symphony," a composition so emotionally charged that, overwhelmed with disdain for their creation, they purportedly set ablaze their woodland home. Seeking solace and escape, Safed accepted the benevolent offer of a city-dwelling benefactor.

…

…

Safed… burned down their house?

No…

No, that's not how you remembered that.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

That's not what happened. "Safed" didn't burn their house down.

Suddenly, you stilled. Your thoughts ran wild, but your inner rationale tried to force them to a halt. This peak in anxiety did not make sense.

… Why would an amnesiac like you know what happened?

A Swansong: Il Dottore's Beneficence

Their benefactor, now celebrated as our Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore, welcomed Safed into the city's heart. It was here that the truth unfolded: Safed had been grappling with hearing loss for years, an affliction that fueled their artistic brilliance yet cloaked them in a muffled world. They were unaware of their disability, yet thrived in their field.

…

…

Wait…

Before you began to read the final paragraph in Safed's brochure, you hurriedly went back to Dottore and the composer's vintage photographed portraits.

After seeing their face, you dropped the brochure in the restroom's sink.

You saw their face.

You saw YOUR face and Zandik's.

But not quite. That was you, but at the same time, it wasn't. Zandik looked stiff in those photos with "you", likely a product of the time since Kamera photography was used only in rare formalities that required a bit of dress up. But the "you" you saw was sickly way beyond the formal costumes. They had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, but yours were all white. 

White…

Safed… That's the Sumeru translation for white, isn't it?

Bianco, Wit, Bái— they're all translations for "white", aren't they? And if Dottore and Columbina's earlier conversations were to go by, the one after you would be named Shiro.

…

The one… after you?

"Tut tut."

You trembled at the familiar sound.

You slowly turned your head around and there he was, leaning against the restroom door.

"You were in the restroom for too long. It appears my suspicions were not unfounded."

Without waiting for a response, he approached with large strides. His gloved hands seized your stressed shoulders. The grip tightened harshly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of your mouth, and your anxiety heightened. He angrily bared his sharp teeth as he watched it stain his gloves.

And yet Zandik looks…

Sad.

And distressed.

He pressed his earpiece.

"Test Subject #9805 exhibits troubling symptoms. Hematemesis suggests a severe physiological response. Persistent manifestations of albinism in ocular and follicular pigmentation indicate underlying deformities. Immediate isolation is warranted for the researcher and subject's well-being."

His hand was cold. Skin imbued with silver nanomaterials after several operations, reminiscent of the age-old philosophical question: "Is it still the same ship if you gradually replace all of its parts?" 

Then Zandik did something unexpected.

He dropped his hold and you prepared yourself by shutting your eyes as he swung his arm.

To hug you.

"I'm sorry, I have failed you again, (Y/n)," Zandik muttered. "I should not have raised my expectations."

"W… What? Why are you putting me in isolation?" You asked, rattled. "What have I done?! I just— I didn't do anything wrong! What did I—"

He shifted, dragging your arm to hug him back as though you were a little girl's doll. Zandik rested his head on your shoulder, shaking slightly.

"In your innocence, no fault lies. I thought I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and met unfulfilled expectations" Zandik gritted his teeth, voice somber. "Despite centuries of refinement, it appears that I still have room for improvement in perfecting the process… I was right. This deserves no celebration."

The doctor laughed sadly.

"When will I ever be proven wrong?" He asked himself as he wiped the blood off the corner of your lips.

He pulled away, pecking your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

Those were not the words you expected from his mouth, and yet you heard it more than once. I'm sorry. It does not fit his character, nor does the tender yet cold hug he had given prior.

You're scared. You're terrified. You know what was bound to come. You know what awaits you. White walls. Silence. Separation.

Solitary.

Far from a choice. Far from negotiable.

There's no amnesty.

And yet, the words flowed from you naturally.

"... I forgive you."

You have no idea why you said what you said. There's no certainty that you believed your own words. Zandik's lip twitched downward.

"You should not," Zandik croaked. "Why? Why must you always forgive and accept my selfishness? Do you derive satisfaction in seeing me in this state?!"

You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped abruptly as he grabbed your hair.

Zandik had always favored you compared to other patients. You know this very well. He's an evil man and the list of actions he had done that had harmed you in the name of science is at least two pages long upon your awakening. Yet, you were sure he liked you enough for he told you of his new exciting experiments. He scolded you when you left his research institute for fresh air. And he would hold your hand whenever you dreaded those thick injections.

You just didn't know he had it in him to fold from his intimidating facade just to kiss you like a desperate man. 

Breathless under his control, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and cold, and he took you in gently as though he'd break you. Zandik, as strange as it was, still seemed to prioritize your comfort over his needs. Normally, this tension would've made him so short-tempered. But this will be your last interaction. The doctor tasted your blood in his mouth, and he was nauseous at the thought of hurting you more. But he stopped. Even though he wishes to force all his pent-up desires onto you. Even though he wanted to love you thoroughly that you'd forget your name again.

Zandik whimpered quietly as he pulled away— sounding like a dog that would not sleep that night. What was left in between was a thin disappearing line of saliva and blood that quickly broke off.

The doctor should be happy he finally got to have a proper date with you after 9805 failed attempts. 

But he's not content.

He was about to lean in for the second time but stopped himself. Selfish. To think he nearly saw you two finally walking down the aisle. Why was he always so selfish when it came to you? But those rhetorics mattered not in your head.

You were silenced. You were held.

You were loved.

"No." Zandik breathed in, laughing humorlessly. "No— I am the scholar here. Don't answer."

And you will be disposed of.

"Take them away." He spoke to his men calmly. They had entered long enough to witness what he had done. The men did not hesitate to grab you, thinking Dottore thought you no more than a mere toy.

But calm was deceptive. It does not convey the distress that chokes him.

Maybe…

Maybe in the 9806's trial… he'll have you as he always wanted.

The Fatuus that escorted you in was gentle. A silent guide. The expression on her face was clear that she wanted to extend her apologies as well but mustn't.

You already have a white tulip in hand.

Arlecchino already sended her regards in advance.

When she opened the door by tapping a card against the lock, she bowed her head. You let yourself enter without a fight. The room was pure white with the rest of the furniture matching the drapes. But Dottore didn't just provide the necessities. There were books, sketch pads, and other recreational materials.

As you were about to approach the center, something was off on both sides.

You looked to your left.

Two clear mirrors divided your room from the others. There's a sign on the left wall. Code #4135.

You stood, shocked, grieving at the sight of your predecessor. They were a mirror of you but with a different name— and an even worse state.

One had made a slight sound coming off their skin— rotting slightly. There's a tube connected to their mouth and you could see yourself— you could see them dripping. They had your face. Their hair and eyes were white. The nose was gone, leaving a gaping hole. Their neck was cricked back at an unnatural angle. You don't know if they're still breathing. They're still bleeding. They must've bitten off their tongue.

There's a lone white blanket that covers the rest of them.

You think they might be dead.

You think "you" might've died more than once.

THUD!

You jolted at the sound coming from the wall behind you. Upon seeing their body, you froze.

Code #032.

They were but a head. You wish you could only focus on that aspect, but you looked lower and your hair raised. They cannot feel the same, for they were almost only a spine left. The rest of them were their skeletal frame, guided by thin lines one can barely call flesh.

Their head banged against the mirror. The thought that the sound was what made you flinch earlier made you unwell.

They seem to be telling you something. Their breath fogged up the glass and their thinned white hair splayed across your view. Their mouth said something urgently you couldn't comprehend because their tongue was paper-like in size.

#032 was shaking. Their pain grew vivid in every movement that the room was starting to spin. You sensed their turmoil.

They looked like death.

You all looked like death itself, both the pretty and ugly ends of it.

"Don't." You whispered, begging as you knelt to their level. "You don't have to speak."

You laughed deprecatingly.

"We're not the scholar here. He is."

In every syllable, you saw the outline of their esophagus strain. The nerves were blueish purple. The little skin they have left on their cheeks is sunken. Their lips were gnawed, likely as a response to the pain they'd gone through previously. Fists of bone tapped against the glass, and you quivered, imagining their pain.

You were not afraid of them. You only mourned their anguish. In fact, you feel at ease to be in the presence of yourself from the past.

It reminded you of what "Safed" had allegedly spoken years ago.

Nobody understood the pieces you made and you wished you could conduct the first performance five centuries after your first death.

And now, here you are.

Seeing two "people" who do understand you.

And they share your face.

"Pathetically", the only one that can understand you is yourself.

You're all flies trapped in a web that the predator refuses to wrap and consume out of pity. Compared to the others, you looked fine.

But your lungs were blistering.

Despite their deathly ill and mutilated bodies, you were the one bound to die soon enough.

His experiments worked.

You love him.

You love Zandik.

And how tragic it was that the person who learned how to love him was doomed to perish.

In your last minutes, you recalled something vital:

As an outsider, your body was not meant for this world, but after encountering the woodland creatures and Zandik, it became tremendously difficult to part ways with it.

You coughed up yet again with a gentle smile on your face. Maybe you're not dying…

Maybe you're just returning home, for every atom in your multiple bodies was once part of the galaxy.

You are (Y/n) (L/n).

And you were not from Teyvat.

Much like the rest of the descenders, you have a quirk about you that sets you apart from the norm. For the travelers the world reveres today, it was their distinct determination and questionable age that was remarkable. Yours slightly titters to an inhuman level.

You can "clone" yourself.

Zandik and the "original" you wouldn't phrase it in that manner, but it's the easiest way to describe your talents.

"So, it is cloning." Zandik paused. "Mind letting me in on the science behind the process?"

He was an ordinary student when you both met. Far from a doctor, but at least he was a registered scholar in the Akademiya. Zandik didn't have an eloquent tongue as he does in the present, yet his curiosity burned all the same.

Which is why, back then, you thought his questions were cute.

Not dangerous.

"It's not that I can make copies of myself without consequences," you humored with a grin. "I'm just making… fragments of myself. Segments, if you prefer to call it that. It's a common ability for the people back in my world. None of us do it excessively— especially since we're kind of an invasive species." 

Zandik raised an eyebrow, "is that a commendable trait?"

"My kind says so. Whether good is a subjective or objective assessment or not is up to interpretation." You answered noncommittedly. "I don't think that's right. Our soul splits apart until we're just… empty. We lose some memories in the process."

"But functioning?"

"In a sense, yeah, but we lose a part of ourselves like memories and well, hair color, I guess." You nodded. "Why are you so curious?"

"Since you have rejected my confession, I want to try my hand at seducing a copy of yours instead," Zandik said. You couldn't tell whether he was joking with his naturally piercing red eyes. "Until then, you are not allowed to asexually reproduce without my authorization. Understood?"

You laughed. Unaware of his arsonist crimes, you willingly indulged his words.

"I owe you my ears, so it's only right that I'll listen to your commands, Zandik."

"Good." Zandik grinned, shark-like.

"What a good test subject you are, (Y/n)."

Centuries later, that closing sentence will continue to remain true.

Since then, his life has changed. Multiplied, even. Upon studying your genetic makeup, he found ways to duplicate himself as well. Despite his feats in science, Zandik remained unhappy.

Deep down, all the Harbingers pity the Doctor who cannot save his most loved one. That includes both Columbina and Arlecchino.

No one protests even when harmful orders are given; everything appears fine until the symptoms are felt. Because the organism— the astral descender— has no nerves or voice, he continues to assume that the patient is not in pain.

The patient needs peace but because they are not to speak, they remain silent, and the need persists.

The patient wants to eat and breathe fresh air, but because such desires might hurt the feelings of the doctor who thinks he has done everything needed, the patient remains quiet, contemplating desires out of fear of reprimand.

The original (Y/n) (L/n) suffers in silence. In a white room only accessible by a man who continues to nurse his unrequited love: Zandik.

No one else can enter this room.

He won't allow it. Only he can be obsessed with you.

The thought of you haunts him like a smiling reflection upon window panes— like a gift of a Trojan horse with nothing but your echoing laughter and hospital monitor beeps inside. Your thin limbs were marching clock hands with rusted gears that miraculously function till the end of time.

What is immortality for if every day was a death loop?

It is such a lonely concept…

You ought to be thankful that he's willing to be your eternal company.

"I endeavored to elicit a reciprocation of my sentiments from the latest subject. Regrettably, their discovery of my antecedent experiments transpired prematurely. Nevertheless, as asserted several times, it remains but a temporal inevitability until an iteration of yourself succumbs to having an interest towards me." Dottore hummed.

He held your feet.

He held Test Subject #01's feet.

If you spoke up, he would've bragged about how he was right. How people do love your songs. But no one knows if you can't or won't answer him. This one-sided conversation is the punishment for his hubris.

He took out a sharp knife and cut off one of your toes. You no longer feel any pain as you bleed into his hands. What a kind man the doctor is, for he blocked all your pain receptors years ago. It's a good thing you regenerate quickly.

That's what he loved and hated about you.

You only gave and gave.

But you never ran out of soul. You never ran your heart fully dry— and that left you ill. Zandik could never let you go.

You're already a part of him.

Hence, he must not make clones of exaggerated memories. He wanted your perfect yet healthy replica.

Praise be the white corpuscles extracted from your veins which had brought him new life. You were the reason for his research. You were the breath that gave his segments life. You were his muse, much like he was yours.

"Fear not, (Y/n)," he reassured with a measured tone. "Upon my mastery of the arts, I intend to reinstate your autonomy and awareness. Perhaps then, you shall find the organic inclination to reciprocate affection toward me by the 9806's trial. Until then…"

In other words, give him more time and he'll reinvent love.

He leaned his forehead against yours.

"I'm so, so sorry."

And ultimately, he'll reinvent YOU.

"Can I have another piece of your scalp?"

"No."

"Do you not understand the weight of this research or must I expound on it further in another three-hour presentation?"

"Alternatively, you could start by saying that you're sorry," you raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not over the fact you randomly cut a piece of my ear when I was asleep, doctor. You know, I heard from the aranaras that white tulips are given to someone when they ask for forgiveness."

Zandik smirked.

"Regrettably, it seems that such an occurrence is unlikely to transpire. Do not expect such words and gifts from me."

You smiled.

"We'll see, we'll see."

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist for the last two): @average-yandere-enjoyer @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl

[thekingofwinterblog]

My Hero Academia - How NOT to do an Open Ending

In 2022, the American animated series Amphibia ended with an open ending that left all of it's ships up in the air, and the question of where the main characters would go from there up to the reader.

That might be a rather weird way to open an essay about how My Hero Academia failed, but the reason I do so, is to illustrate a point.

Namely that there is a way to do what Hori tried to do with MHA right.

Amphibia ending has the main human trio of that series reuinte after a long timeskip, with all 3 of them having found their passion in life and built careers for themselves, and while there are some suggestions that Sasha and Anne are a bit closer than what might be apparant on screen, it ultimately left the situation of their romantic relationship at this point, and from there on, up in the air withouth confirming or denying anything, beyond the fact that they for whatever reason drifted apart in highschool, but have come back together again at this point in time.

It left you with enough pieces to figure out the specifics, and how you can understand how things got from one point to another, while still giving all the characters a satisfying payoff, continued the shows themes, had no real plot holes, and wheter you ship any of the characters in question or not, it didnt ultimately matter for the quality of the ending.

The fun part about an open ending is that there is room to speculate, so long as it manages to balance all of the above.

A story does not HAVE to end on the main characters hooking up. it does not have to end with tying every single character up in a relationship and showcasing the beginning of the next generation. It does not have to have a definite ending that gives all the answers to be good.

That is one way to end a story, but it's not the only one.

There certainly are stories that NEED to end like that to be good, stories with a greater mystery, or revenge tales, or who's entire story was about one, specific romantic relationship are shit endings if they ultimately end on an open ending withouth answers.

within the context of MHA, Hori managed to weave this balance very well with it's villains.

The story of the Todoroki family in particular has all the definite endings, and tells us where all the players ends up... but it also leaves the possibility, and question of wheter or not dabi ultimately managed to make peace with his family or not up in the air.

This is a good, satisfying, tragic ending.

Spinner and compress both end up in jail for the rest of their lives, but Spinner resolves to write a book, that for better or worse will tell the league's version of the story. It's not AS good an ending as the above, but it still works just fine.

Clearly Hori CAN write a good open ending that still gives closure.

Which is why it's so baffling that MHA 430, ends up doing EVERYTHING WRONG as far as an open ending possibly could.

It has no closure, it has plot holes aplenty, it manages to leave the question of will they or wont they unanswered, not by being ambigious, but by telling us, in the most unintentionally agressive manner possible that it did NOT happen, and most damningly of all, it shits all over the Story's themes.

MHA ends with the cast all grown up in an "and the adventure Continues!" ending, similar to justice league Unlimited.

That's not a BAD way to end it... The problem is EVERYTHING ELSE in this chapter.

Because we learn WAY too much in this chapter. the gaps in the timeskip is filled... but not in a good way. instead in an infuriating manner that pisses you off if you actually starts to break it down.

Let's start with Izuku being forgotten.

So i have seen some people try to shut down criticism about the fact that Izuku didnt win fortune or fame, by noting that from the thematic point, being a hero was NEVER about that from Izuku's point of view.

And that is true... but this argument misses the bigger and more obvious problem.

The story REFUSES to tackle this from that angle.

As many have pointed out, this is a BAD outcome ending for Izuku.

He returned to being quirkless, he had to settle for a job that wasn't being a hero, he has been mostly forgotten after his one big highlight, and his friends have effectively begun to move on.

And he does not care.

At all.

Hell, a 14 year old izuku who for one brief moment gave up on his dreams to chase a more realistic future, has more genuine and mixed emotion and mixed feelings in one shot, than Izuku has about actually living through a much more bittersweet scenario.

Hell, the one moment Izuku has when he looks genuinely down in this chapter, is when Aizawa admonishes him for not being strict enough with his students.

Basically the premise here is sound. Izuku ended up in a bad personal ending to set up the return to actual heroics at the end of the chapter... And that could have worked if it committed to that.

If he was portrayed as actually having regrets about his lot in life. you know, the same thing All Might's ENTIRE STORYLINE was built around!

MHA has ALWAYS been a human story that confronted the fact that people had regrets, and problems, and they need to be honest about them to deal with them.

To not bottle everything up inside and pretend the problems arent there.

For the story to end, with Izuku doing EXACTLY THAT is a slap in the face that goes EVERYTHING this story has preached about how you need to communicate with the people around you. the entire point of chapter 429, the CHAPTER RIGHT BEFORE THIS ONE!

Then of course there is the whole "Everyone Growing apart" thing too.

Now, it's not as bad as the early translation made it seem, but the point still stands that despite the entire chapter right before the end then emphasises how everyone went their separate ways.

This chapter COULD have shown us moments where Izuku is still in contact with the rest of his class, but it does not. instead it emphasises how distant he is becoming from the rest of his former friend group. He is the lone one out, the one guy who seemingly is no longer in regular contact with the rest.

The reason for that, is that Hori wanted to make the moment where he returns to the fold that much more impactfull... but it does not work, because it basically tells us that none of the class was able, or willing to make the personal sacrifice to keep in regular touch with him during those 5 years.

But FAR more egrigiously, and spitting in the face of the Theme of actually communicating and talking with the people you care about, is HOW Izuku gets back into the game.

Apparently they spent the last 5 years pooling their money to finance a high tech suit for him to fight crime in.

And i get it. I get what Hori WANTED to do with this. He wanted to show "See, Class 1-A didnt forget Izuku after all, they still love him!".

Thats the intended message.

But the problem is, it does not work. and in fact, not only does it NOT work, but it completely goes against EVERYTHING that the story has been trying to preach for the entire 10 years of it's run.

The rest of class A never told Izuku about this. ever. Why? apparently because they wanted it to be a surprise. So they just let him go on with his life for 5 years, all while none of them really bothered to keep in regular contact with him.

There is... so much wrong with that.

But before going over the way it just hammers in the point that actually talking with the people you love isnt important after all, let's go over how this entire stupid plan could have backfired SO badly on the part of class A. Hell, it kinda did actually, if not quite as spectacularily as it could have.

What if Izuku had gotten married and moved overseas during this period? What if he had gotten married in Japan, but his entire family dynamic and plans had revolved around the fact he had a job that did not require moving around much and so got to spend a lot of time at home? Hell, even within the context of what actually Happened, U.A is still going to find itself suddenly short of one teacher who his classes relies upon, if he actually wants to go pro for real.

There are so many ways this stupid 5 year scheme of secrecy could have backfired, and it does not take a genuis to be able to see them.

basically the entire class planned out Izuku's life ahead of him withouth telling him anything about it, withouth giving him the context or preparation for how to plan his future with it in mind, and how none of them seemingly cared about how this might upend his actual personal life.

And thats just the logistical issues.

Morally speaking, this just repeatedly hammers in how this final chapters just completely abandons the themes of how you need to actually work, talk and discuss your personal matters and feelings with the people around you.

1-A did none of that.

They let their relationships with Izuku cool, when they didnt have to, seemingly with the idea that it didnt matter in the end because he'd join them anew as a hero later anyway, and they could catch up then.

Which leads me to discussing the one, actual ship who's ending actually DID matter from a storytelling perspective.

Izuku and Ochako.

Now i have seen so many bad takes across the web from the people who are happy this did not happen, or argue that it does not matter.

But the brutal truth is, it does.

And the reason it does, is not because Izuku HAD to end up with Uraraka, or even that they had to be together in the final moment of the series.

It's because one of the longest running stories of this manga had NO ENDING, NO RESOLUTION, and rather than that, it wants to suggest it might still happen anyway... Despite unintentionally KILLING IT in the most infuriating way possible.

Out of all of the cast, it is Uraraka's character who is butchered by this stupid 5 year plan, to the point it even taints her entire new character direction at the end.

Uraraka ends the story having reformed the Quirk system for people growing up, helping those with difficult quirks get past mental problems... But just all the rest of her class, she chose to neglect her relationship with Izuku under the seeming thought process that she could patch it up later... Or that she could finally confess her feelings.

I'll let Shigaraki speak for my feelings on this way of thinking.

"You heroes hurt your own families just to help strangers. You heroes pretend to be society's guardians. For generations, you pretended not to see those you couldn't protect and swept their pain under the rug. It's tainted everything you built. That means your system's rotten from the inside with maggots crawling out. It all builds up little by little over time."

The intended message of MHA is a refution of this... but in this final chapter, Shigaraki's words ring true, at least as far as class A is concerned.

As they became Heroes, they neglected the one amongst them who needed the most support and instead went off to, as shigaraki put it, Help Strangers.

They pretended that Izuku's situation in the moment did not matter, because in the long haul it would all be worth it.

And just like their predeccessors, it taints everything they do.

But Uraraka most of all. If you ignore the romance angle, she has started a massive program to help strangers in need... while also neglecting and frankly mistreating someone she loves and cares about her who needed her support in his weakest period.

If you do take Romance into account, it gets even WORSE, because then you have to accept that Uraraka ultimately rejected the message that she preached with Toga, the thing that got the blonde girl to turn coat for her.

She in the end did not manage to live a life where she actually was able to do what she wanted to do, and instead remained the exact same wishywashy girl who refused to actually be open about her feelings.

Instead, she, in her final shot of the series, is in the exact same spot she was back then. A girl who would forever pine after Izuku, but never be able to open up about it.

Which would be a bad enough way to end her character on... But then when you take into account that she also participated in the 5 year plan, and there is nothing to suggest she kept in touch with him more than the rest, just makes it so much worse.

I have said before that with this ending, Uraraka's love story was an objective waste of time, and i stand by that.

Hori didnt have to end the series with Izuku and Urarak married, engaged or obviously in a relationship, but by refused to actually make it happen, and lumping Uraraka in with the entire rest of the class, he instead did something way worse.

He made it abundantly clear that regardless of what Uraraka's feelings on the matter, the relationship to Izuku was not something special. She was NOT his Hero in the moment when he actually needed one.

Neither as a friend, or as a love interest.

Her actions tainted everything else.

And of course, there is the big plot hole of this chapter.

The single biggest, and most obvious hole that is just gaping through it, that for this story to work you have to completely ignore.

Namely that 1. All Might is one of the richest peoples in the world. Class A should not have had to actually fund Izuku's suit. All Might could, and SHOULD have done that all on his own. and 2. That this tech EXISTED 8 YEARS AGO!!!!

All Might's armored suit made him one of the most powerfull figures in this entire series.

Sure it was a bit experimental, but it WORKED! it was not some unstable prototype that coudl explode at any moment, it would have worked just fine as an actual permanent power up!

For this entire stupid 5 years of Sidelines Izuku to work, you have to just PRETEND this massive hole does not exist.

And it's not a small hole that you can justify that the characters didnt think about it. It's there, and it's MASSIVE.

The only reason it's not talked about as much as all the rest is that while this is the big Material problem of this chapter, everything else is so much worse because it attacks, destroys, and taints pretty much every theme MHA had over the course of it's long run.

---Edit---

Apparently there is a throw away line in the Trivia section of Volume 39 that All Might apparently spent almost his entire fortune on his Mech suit.

Meaning that while this isn't quite the plothole I assumed it was, it IS still TERRIBLY communicated within the story itself why All Might didn't just fund Izuku's suit themselves.

---

The themes that more than anything else was what set it apart from every other battle manga that ever existed. The Human themes of actually talking to the people around you that made MHA a special story, far more than it's superhuman battles ever did.

That is why so many people are pissed off about it.

It's also why MHA is such a textbook example of how NOT to do an open ended story.

Hori could have kept the details about Izuku's life, be it his personal or proffesional life incredibly vague, beyond the basics... but he choose not to, and instead peeled back the curtain... but rather than showcasing depth, it just made the whole thing fall apart by giving us the specific details that we did not need, and which pretty much tainted the entire ending down to it's core... All completely unintentionally.

He didnt have to show that Izuku had NO specific remaining bonds with any single members Class A that were still more important to him than the rest.

But he did.

He didnt have to go out of his way to show that Izuku was completely forgotten by society at large.

But he did, and subsequentially did not actually choose to explore that.

He didnt have to show us deep, long, internal monologues from izuku's perspective where he is cartoonishly at ease with his lot in life.

But he did.

He was too specific and detailed about the things he NEEDED to keep vague, and not specific about the details that we actually needed to know, and so it all collapses in on itself in a mess of broken Themes and morals, and shattered logic, and above all else, he managed to carelessly and unintentionally cheapen every single relationship Izuku formed with the rest of his classmates over the course of this story.

[uglypastels]

Ridlington Park | II | Eddie Munson regency!au

Dear reader, my sincerest apologies for the delay in the upcoming chapter. It seems that there had been some technical problems at the printer's shop and some terrible time management on this writer's part. Before we resume this tale of love, however, I would also like to thank all who have read the first chapter and shared their thoughts on it with not only me but others. Know that your support does not go unnoticed, and I cherish it with all my heart.

Word Count: 8.1k

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:

female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. family disputes. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.

Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works. 

The Ridlington Park Collection | Correspondence | Join the Taglist - Read Chapter 1 here -

Chapter Two: A Time for Scandal

“At a private ball, no lady will refuse an introduction to a gentleman. It is an insult to her hostess, implying that her guests are not gentlemen. It is optional with the lady whether to continue to drop the acquaintance after the ball is over, but for that evening, however disagreeable, etiquette requires her to accept him for one dance, if she is disengaged, and her hostess requests it.” - The Ladies' Book of Etiquette, 1873

The Royal family's return to London brings a new life to the city each year as its elite congregates fervently for all possible occasions. The notable number of balls, soirees, and other social gatherings mark a particularly eventful point in the year that no eager lady or gentleman would want to miss. And whilst the matchmakings occupy most thoughts, this motivation somewhat overshadows the mere social aspect of the season. The parties offer the perfect meeting ground for all ton members, as they can indulge in all the niceties the hosts provide. Whether it be the music, magnificent foods and drinks, or simply pleasant conversation. To miss a social event, especially for a debutante such as yourself, Dear Reader, is to miss an opportunity to present oneself to her suitors and the entire town. It is to miss the happenings that drive the whole court forward. 

Thus, you were obligated to accept every single invitation presented to you and your family. And as spectacular as they all were, weariness settled deep in your bones with each new event. No matter how lavish, it all began to blur together into one repetitive pattern.

Each time, you would find yourself atop a grand staircase, your family trailing behind, as the earlier arrivals looked up in awe and envy. With a shaky breath and a tremble to the hand holding your skirt, you descended the steps onto the dancefloor, where a wonderful yet pesky gentleman awaited to greet you. If fortune were in their favour, they would even gather in a pack, making you the bearer of choice who to greet first, whose offer for refreshment to accept, and whose signature to claim on your dance card in which order. Meanwhile, your mother gawked in a nearby distance with a smile stretching for miles, already planning what cakes to ask the chef about for the next morning’s calling hour. 

The lights around you sparkled wonderfully, and you could not deny that Lord and Lady Parsnell had outdone themselves for their annual ball. Theirs was a particularly beautiful ballroom, with windows covering the entirety of the large west wall. It overlooked the gardens illuminated with lanterns of all colours, and the room was in an everlasting golden glow. The music played from the far right corner, where the musicians were located on their platform, all dressed in elaborate costumes and wigs, completely painted in bronze to imitate the likeness of statues and as the bypassing guests were gawking up at them, you felt a twinge of a connection between yourself and the talent across the room.

‘Would you care to dance, miss?’ one of the gentlemen asked, and as you could not find a single polite response in your entire vocabulary, you opted for a kind smile as you extended your hand in agreement. 

As with all the others, this was making itself out to be a long and dreadful evening.

On your way to the centre of the floor to join all the other couples, you caught a glimpse of your oldest brother, Nicholas. To no one’s surprise, he had found himself in deep conversation with a young lady dressed in a gorgeous sea-blue dress, a fan to match fluttering purposefully over her bosom. For the entirety of the dance, you kept your eyes on the two of them. No matter how lacking intellectual stimulation your brother’s endeavours may be, they forever remained more fascinating than anything your dance partner had to offer. You only turned your attention to the man at the harsh sound of his laugh. It appeared he had been entertaining himself with his jokes for the duration of the waltz. This and how he slurred you around the room, practically dragging your limbs behind him, made you doubt you were very needed at that moment. 

Finally, the music slowed, and you were released from Lord Bramley's harsh hold on your hands. You bid him farewell with a respectable curtsy and walked away before the man could utter another word, let alone request another dance. As you walked off the floor, a most horrid apparition revealed itself in the corner of your eye in the shape of another available man in conversation with your mama. Too occupied by the gentleman, she had not noticed you to have finished your dance, and so you saw the opportunity to make yourself scarce in the crowd, at least for the moment.

‘You cannot hide forever.’ A hum more irritating than a critter tickled at your ear as your second brother, Christopher, appeared by your side at the confectionery table. 

‘I certainly can try, can I not?’ you grinned, tasting the icing on a strawberry cake. 

‘Because we know how well that turned out for you the last time,’ he reminded you. All you could do was grin at him maliciously as you thought back to the day when— 

❀❀❀

Your mother had lovingly retrieved you from the stables as you had attempted to escape one of your family’s countless matchmaking attempts. And while the man you had met, Mr Steve Harrington, had turned out to be quite pleasant, you still struggled to relive the embarrassment of being hunted down by your mother through the garden. Not to mention the judgment of your siblings the very next day at breakfast as you learned they had been told all of what had occurred the day prior.

You walked into the room with an appetite that disappeared as soon as you saw the amusement on your family’s faces and heard the hushed tones with which they spoke as you found your seat. Perhaps if they had been more straightforward, you could have endured it, but they all remained silent as they watched you take your pick of the food, portioning it onto your plate at your own pace. Only as you took your first bite did the first words erupt, nearly leading you to choke. 

‘Your lunch with Harrington went well, I take it?’ Nicholas asked, much to his amusement.

‘What makes you say that?’ you asked, answering with your own question, with no intention of looking your family in the eye as you did. 

‘Mother has just caught us up with the events of yesterday afternoon,’ your brother stated, his enthusiasm in stark contrast to your discomfort at the moment. 

‘I cannot see how there was much to speak of.’ You tore off another piece of the toast with your teeth. ‘It was dreadful.’

‘Dreadful, you say,’ Christopher snickered, barging into the conversation, as unwelcome as the rest, ‘it is not the word I would use, given what we have heard.’

‘Please enlighten me, then, brother? What do you deem an appropriate summary given what I can only assume was mother’s thoroughly accurate recount of what happened?’ You could imagine that she had embellished aspects of the day to fit her narrative; one that most definitely would not suit your future objectives in any way. Truly, since when had the breakfast meal also become the time for your entire family to torture you? It seemed that any moment you all found yourselves in one place, it was deemed the designated time for inquiries regarding your prospects. 

‘I had only told them that you seemed to have rather enjoyed yourself with Mr Harrington,' your mother said nonchalantly as if she had not just struck you with a verbal mallet over the head. 

‘Mother!’ you said with a frozen-in-shock expression, but your mother only blinked slowly in bewilderment. You blinked slowly as well. ‘How could you?’

‘Is that an offence to say these days?’ She replied, chuckling, underestimating the damage she had caused with that simple phrase. You had rather enjoyed yourself with Mr Harrington. The string of simple words opened the floodgates that until then kept back the unwanted commentary of your siblings, in particular, the vaunting of Nicholas, who had pridefully acclaimed the matchmaking between you and Mr Harrington to himself and would not let anyone forget that for the rest of the meal or the hours, even days, after—

❀❀❀

But you were happy to put all this far behind you. No matter how keen your siblings or parents were to return to that day, you were not one to dwell in the past. You looked forward. More specifically, right ahead of you, where there seemed to be a clear exit route in the form of a pair of large oaken doors—like a gleaming, delicious yet forbidden fruit tormenting you from a distance. You shook the silly thought out of your mind, returning your attention to Christopher, who indulged himself in a puff pastry delicacy.

‘Can you blame me, brother, for acting out after having endured an entire day of the most monotonous, unspirited, and, dare I say, upright dull conversation a man has to offer?’ You watched Christopher pick up a glass of wine, quickly grabbing it out of his hands to consume the drink yourself, leaving him, in turn, in a slightly shocked state of confusion.  

He blinked slowly and sighed. ‘You do not have to explain yourself to me, and I hope you do recognise that,’ he said as he watched you finish the last drops of his wine. ‘I am merely suggesting that if you know what is good for you, you will open yourself up to these opportunities, as by defying, you will only end up causing yourself more harm.’

Now it was your turn to heave out a heavy and tired breath. You put the glass down, perhaps a bit too harshly, as the thud against the table spurred on a few looks from the ladies around you, but you were too occupied with your brother’s words. He was right, of course, on both accounts. Of all your siblings, Christopher was most like yourself, never entirely understanding the need for marriage. Of course, as a male and a second-born son, he had no such obligation or needs to fulfil. It was perfectly well for him to remain a bachelor for as long as he pleased, not to mention pursue any interests he might have.

Meanwhile, all of these “opportunities” you had that he spoke of were in matters of either matchmaking or to enhance your appeal for such exact situations. Yes, you had a more than fortunate education. You spoke various languages, understood maths and geography, could play the pianoforte prettily, perform any dance in your sleep, and occupy yourself with perfectly fine needlework. But it was disheartening, as at the end of the day, all these accomplishments were meant as nothing more than to advertise yourself to men who could not care one bit for any of it as long as your face and body were adequate for their tastes.

But you also knew, through your assumptions and fair warnings from others, that if you were not to find a husband yourself, someone else would do so for you, and a last resort comes to be just that for apparent reasons but ones you would rather not familiarise yourself with. 

‘Do not tell me I have managed actually to silence you and put a stop to your wit.’ Christopher chuckled. 

‘You wish,’ you responded, possibly proving his point. Meanwhile, another song began to play as more couples took to the floor. Your eyes immediately examined the room for any threats of men reaching for your hand for a dance, particularly a certain Mr Bridgerton, who you read to have claimed a spot on your dance card. 

‘Rules are rules,’ Christopher sang teasingly as he saw you check the card tied around your wrist. ‘You cannot deny a gentleman’s—’ but he never entirely managed to finish his sentence as he watched you tug at the ribbon connecting you to the list of men waiting for a dance. The material tightened, most likely leaving a nasty red line across your arm as you pulled and pulled until—snap—you broke free. The piece of paper fell to the floor. 

‘Oh my!’ You covered your mouth in faux-wide-eyed perplexity as you kicked the discarded card behind a large potted plant, far into the forgotten shadows of the room. ‘How can I remember the gentlemen’s names whom I have promised a dance now?’

Against his better judgement, your brother cracked a smile, ‘I can tell you now, you will regret doing that.’

‘Somehow, I rather doubt that,’ you twirled your wrist, enjoying how freeing it felt not to be tied up any longer. 

‘The second that mother finds you without that silly little thing around your hand, you will sing a different tune, sister.’ He finally took another glass of wine, cheering you on, ‘And do not come crying to me about it when that happens.’ The large chug he took was anything but galant. Still, it was his final act before he bid you farewell and left you at the confectionary table to fend for yourself. You had not expected the doubt to settle as quickly as it did, but perhaps the lack of a big brother-shaped guard dog by your side made you feel abnormally self-conscious. For a moment, you considered running after Christopher, but from what you could see through the crowd, he had quickly crossed the room and was already entertaining his friends—each of them a gentleman you were attempting to ignore. 

Things only seemed to be taking a turn for the worse when you picked up a foreign accent which deafened all others around you. 

Harrington. 

You cursed to yourself, quickly turning around to face the tables. What on earth was this man doing here? The Parsnell family was ever the charitable one, but never in the matters of their parties. You could not imagine what would make them want to invite some foreign merchant’s son. 

Well, the answer was simple. It was the same as any other question regarding Steve Harrington and his actions towards you. It must have been your eldest brother’s doing, of course. It was all Nicholas from the very beginning, and he would not let you forget it ever since that breakfast the day after you met with the American—-

❀❀❀

‘I knew it from the moment I met the good man; you would make a perfect pair.’ He said as he sat across from you in the drawing room, feet hanging over the couch’s armrest. 

‘And how, pray tell, could you predict this exactly?’ You rolled your eyes. While most often, it was Nicholas who attempted to drown out your voice through the words on a page, it was your turn that day to try to ignore his rambling.

‘As much as you would like to think better of yourself,’ Nicholas leaned forward, more than happy to keep talking about the subject, mainly if it covered a topic that could humble you: ‘the truth is that you are as shallow as the rest of us, sister, not to mention as easy to read on the subject of these matters as everyone else.’ 

‘Even if I had such biases, I would not share them with you,’ you scoffed, flipping an unread page. 

‘There was no need for that explicitly, I have conducted my research and come to the right conclusions, have I not?’ It was impossible to wipe the smug smile off his face; you knew that by now, and yet…

‘If you do not shut your mouth this instant, I swear, I will throw this book at you,’ you threatened, putting the book you had occupied yourself with over your head. 

‘You are only this upset because you know I am right.’ Nicholas gloated, but you were happy to see him tense up in the shoulders as you began aiming the book in his direction. Not that you would actually throw it… just yet. A lady can do heinous things if pushed far enough, and you felt yourself standing on the edge. 

‘I know that you are being completely maddening.’ You dropped the book in your lap. ‘And must be mad if you think I am in love with this man. He was a pleasant conversation partner, that is all. I assume mother has been deprived of social engagements for far too long, if she thinks me laughing at this man’s jests is enough for there to be an engagement already.’ Harrington’s jokes had been funny, you had to admit, but it must have been a joke from the powers above that sent the following footman into the room in that instance, announcing a gift had been left for you at the door. 

Before you could say anything, Nicholas requested it to be brought into the room. From the irrepressible smirk on his face, he seemed to have an edge of knowledge on you on what was about to be presented through that door in the following moments.

And indeed, not much later, the man returned holding an oversized vase filled with flowers—a bouquet of colours combined into a lovely smell overpowering your senses. 

You said nothing as you walked up to the table where the heavy gift was set, but your lips could not help but part in surprise. You noticed the paper sticking out from between the buds and gently pulled it out. 

See these flowers as a token of my appreciation for thy hospitality and benignity. 

Sincerest greetings, 

S.H. 

You groaned out, reading the words. ‘You are despicable, brother!’ Nicholas, who had been reading along with you from behind your shoulder, quickly stepped aside as you turned his way, ‘You set him up to do this.’ the accusation came out of your mouth like venom. 

‘I did no such thing.’ But his smile remained easy to read. Although… was it a remnant of his earlier pride, or did he see the flowers as yet another gratification for his unbearable attitude? 

‘But you did! It has your grimy hands written all over it.’ You flicked the paper in his face. How many times had you seen your brother write notes to the ladies he attempted to court or send out servants to pick flowers from the garden? ‘Did you scheme this whole thing out on the boat on your way home?’ You could already see it all so clearly. The two of them standing in a corner of the ship, your brother acting like a snake charmer, teaching Harrington everything for him to win you over. It all left a rather sour taste in your mouth.

‘I promise you, I had nothing to do with this.’ He glanced at the flowers, ‘but you must admit that the man has a great taste.’

‘Yes, I am sure his servant has great botanical knowledge. Do you think me to be so dense that I would expect the man to do this all by himself?’

‘You cannot make me believe you were not impressed for even a moment?’ Nicholas argued. You glared at him, eyes formed into narrow poisonous slits, but in the end, all you could emanate from your mouth was another angry groan. Feeling hopeless, you let your body guide you back to the chaise across the drawing room. The smell of the flowers seemed to linger on despite your effort to distance yourself.

‘So you are to say that you have no feelings for Harrington? What so ever?’ Nicholas trotted behind you, taking the seat next to you.

‘No more than I have for you at the moment,’ you said with gritted teeth.

‘Ah, so you do love him!’

‘Ugh,’ you exclaimed—

❀❀❀

 Much as you did when you suddenly felt a presence behind you calling your name. To compose yourself in the crowd and avoid further embarrassment for anyone, you quickly turned back around to face the man approaching you. However, by doing so, your sudden movement caused a chain reaction in the glass you had just reached for, spilling all its content on your person.

‘Mr Harrington!’ You gasped. However, any possible enthusiasm you might have felt for the man’s presence was overtaken by the shock as your bodice soaked in the cold beverage, knowing that the material of your dress was gaining more damage with each passing second. Of course, a handful of people nearby stopped what they were doing to gawk at what surely must be a rather embarrassing moment between a young lady and a suitor she was attempting to seduce. 

‘Miss Byrnwick,’  Harrington jumped into action, ‘let me find you a maid.’ Within another second, he had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to cry in shame at your brother’s side—your brother, Nicholas, who did not seem one ounce affected by your dramatics.

‘Have you no shame?’ he asked between tight lips, leaning in your direction to avoid the eager ears of the nearby audience.

‘Oh, brother, I have only begun.’ You smiled with a whisper before taking a step back, and another, until your back was met with the soft texture of the cake placed directly behind you. How ridiculous of you to have forgotten. 

You cried out.

‘There there, sister,’ Nicholas failed to find a single sincere vocal cord from what it seemed. ‘Let us get you cleaned up.’ He reached for your arm, smiling at a hoard of ladies standing a few feet away, but you quickly pulled away.

‘Do not be ridiculous, my dress is in ruins!’ You did anything but shout. Anyone paying attention, and by this point, this had included the majority of the gathering, would be no fool to expect your eyes to be on the verge of tears as you attempted to cover yourself up to no avail. Why, after this fiasco, no one could blame you for making a swift departure out of the ballroom.

That is nearly nobody, for your mother caught you just as you were about to exit. 

‘Dearest, what has happened to your dress?’ Her face showed an awkward smile filled with concern, but you knew that not that deep inside, she was raging with fury as she took in your state.

‘It was an accident, mama.’ You sniffed, wiping at your dry cheeks. ‘Now, will you excuse me? I would like to go home, please.’ 

In this instance, with more and more people collecting around you to look at and their whispered words making their rounds around the room faster than the country dance performed just moments ago, there was very little your mother could do. After a final look around the room in hopes of finding a suitable reason for you to stay, yet failing to do so, she had no choice but to let you go.

‘Let me at least find one of your brothers to escort you,’ your mother sighed in defeat.

‘I am perfectly capable of going home by myself, mother.’ You resumed taking steps toward the doors, their appeal practically pulling at your feet eagerly. ‘And besides, I will not be alone. I will have the carriage driver for company.’ This did not make your mother any more confident in the situation, but both your brothers also appeared to have vanished into thin air, and the gossip was only growing more potent the longer you stood there in your stained ensemble.

‘Alright then,’ Mother gave in, ‘just… be careful.’

‘Of course.’ You reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly. ‘Thank you.’ With this farewell, you ran out of the room as politely as it was possible in good society. There had not been many occasions in which you had visited Lord Parsnell’s estate, so it took a moment before you found the main entrance. 

‘Everything alright, miss?’ a footman standing by the door called out, clearly having noticed your distress. 

‘Perfectly well,’ you caught your breath. I simply require my carriage.’ To this, the man nodded and disappeared into a corridor to call for your transport. The music seeped through the main hallway from across the other side of the large house. Mindlessly, you let your body move in sync with the violins. You took small but correct steps over the marble flooring until the man returned, announcing your carriage would be ready momentarily.

‘I shall wait outside,’ you explained, and just like that, the grand doors opened to reveal the late night. Crickets chirped across the fields nearby as the moon and stars illuminated the gravel at the entrance. With nobody around and the cool night air pleasing to your heated skin, you took a deep breath and let your legs give in.

‘Danced too hard, miss?’ a familiar voice called over the sound of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels rolling. ‘You look like you have just walked through a storm.’

‘Balls have that effect on a lady.’

‘They sure do,’ Eddie chuckled, for a reason unclear to you.

‘Did I say something funny?’

‘No, it’s nothing,’ he shook his head, changing the subject, ‘Will your family be long?’

‘They shall take the second carriage. I will be making my return alone.’ With your numbers, one carriage would have called for a relatively tight, possibly hazardous fit. So you and your brothers had taken the larger coach—steered by your family’s coachmen—whilst your parents drove in the smaller hansom that Mr Munson had kindly offered to operate for the other regular driver had coincidentally fallen ill. 

Thus, now that you were returning alone, you had the smaller carriage all to yourself. 

‘No chaperone?’ Eddie asked, somewhat apprehensively.

‘I have you, have I not?’ you said as you hiked up your dress to climb aboard. The footman that had so generously opened the coach door looked reasonably stunned as, instead, you took your seat next to Eddie in the driver’s seat. He looked at you with just as much surprise. ‘I’d like to enjoy the mid-night air, if that is alright with you,’ you explained.

‘You won’t hear me complain, miss,’ he smiled, pulling the reigns and setting the horses into motion. As you drove off, you dared to take a peak behind you. The footman remained confused in his place, trying to comprehend what exactly he had just witnessed and whether or not to call it a scandal or not. But, in your modest opinion, you could not find anything scandalous in a young lady who was seeking comfort from one of her family’s employees and one you had, above all, learned to trust a great deal in the last weeks.

As you know, you have always found comfort in the gardens surrounding your house, yet after your first meeting with Mr Munson, you found yourself seeking refuge on the grounds even more often than before. Especially as the arguments regarding your prospects grew more heated and the tensions between you and your family became more tiresome by the day. It became an almost daily routine for someone to shout out obscenities and slam a door in protest, and nearly every fight ended in you needing to catch a breath amongst the flora. And more often than not, you wandered around until you found yourself at the stables. But unlike in your childhood when it was the horses’ company you were looking for, it was now a person’s attention you were hoping to catch—

❀❀❀

You certainly had no intentions of returning to the stables the first time you did so. Initially, you had planned to visit the orangery, but the gardeners were currently occupying it, and in your need for solitude, it did not feel like the right place to be, which is why you surprised yourself as you called out into the empty aisle. 

‘Hello?’

No response came. Nobody was around except the stallions and mares, who were comfortably munching away at their hay, unaware of anything happening outside the building. 

You stood in front of the entrance, looking ahead of you, unsure of what to do next and still not entirely certain why you had come here in the first place. You listened to the soft, unbothered noises of the horses and fiddled with the fabric of your dress for a moment or two until the silence became unbearable. It could not have been longer than a minute that you stood there, but to you, it felt like an eternity, and with each passing second and no plan on what to do next, you only felt sillier and sillier. You had to leave here before someone caught you standing and waiting like a statue. And as you turned around, you slammed into the arms of the one person you had hoped would not catch you this way. 

‘We must stop meeting this way,’ Eddie smiled, but the grin quickly disappeared as he caught a glimpse of your expression. ‘Everything alright, ma’am?’ 

‘Yes, of course,’ you wiped the folds in your dress nervously. Something about his gaze made it impossible for you to return it. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘You look as if you’d just seen a ghost.’ 

‘Well, you did just scare me half to death, Mr Munson.’ It was true. You felt your heart leap up into your throat as your bodies collided. ‘You are far too stealthy, you know.’ 

‘Apologies. I have learned to be quiet around the horses so as not to startle them—’ 

‘Which has the exact opposite effect on humans, does it not? ' you said, pushing the corners of your mouth into a smile. 

‘It appears so, miss.’ He returned the gesture. 

It took far too long for you to realise that, according to the general rules of conversation, you were expected to say something next; however, before you could remedy that misstep, Eddie spoke up once more. 

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ 

‘Yes,’ you shook your head, ‘perfectly so. Is the weather not lovely?’ You looked up, just anywhere but at him, to see the cloudless sky. ‘I er— I thought of taking Barley Sugar out for a ride.’ Suddenly, your intentions of finding yourself in front of the stableman were perfectly clear. 

‘Of course, ma’am. Which horse will your chaperone be taking?’ The question stumped you, which must have been clear to the man looking so intently at you, for he quickly asked: ‘You do have a chaperone, do you not?’ 

‘I do not. I am more than capable of riding the horse on my own, thank you. I have been doing so since I was 5 years old.’ 

Eddie hovered over his words briefly. ‘I did not intend to question your skills, ma’am; it is only that it had been made clear to me upon my employment that you are required to have someone accompany you when you leave the residence—for the horse’s safety, if anything.’ He quickly added, sensing that it might soften the blow of your horse-riding chastising.

‘I did not think you to be such a stickler for the rules, Mr Munson,’ you found yourself to tease the man. Where the nerve to do so came from, you did not know, but it looked to be appreciated. Eddie shook his head, possibly already regretting his following words.

‘May I at least ask where you will be headed then?’ 

‘I have not thought of that yet,’ you responded honestly. ‘I might just see where Barley takes me.’ At this, however, the stableman visibly winced. You raised a brow. ‘Is something the matter?’

Eddie shook his head in disappointment.  ‘I only wish you had not said that, miss. I cannot, in good conscience, let Barley Sugar go out unprepared like that. The old thing could get lost or, even worse, hurt. To even think of such a thing happening—’ he looked away, reminding you of how the actors moved in the many plays you had visited at the theatre. ‘Well, it is simply too painful even to consider.’  

‘I am sure Barley can manage such a venture… and she is certainly not old.’

‘Of course,’ he corrected, ‘But we must consider the risks and wouldn’t want anything to happen to Barley, now, would we?’ As he spoke, you made the grave mistake of finding his eyes and the stare he greeted you with, while warm, was intense and rather dizzying. 

You cleared your throat, suppressing a smile, ‘Well, perhaps, if you insist, you should be the one to accompany me on this ride… for Barley’s sake.’

‘For Barley’s sake.’ He echoed your words softer, and just like that, any protocol that should have been considered was thrown out the window. As a newly acquired help, Eddie had no right to accompany you on outings as a chaperone, not without senior permission, at the least. And yet, it was not even ten minutes later that you were both seated on your horses— you upon Barley Sugar and Eddie on the back of a dark brown stallion named Marzipan—and briskly making your way out of the enclosed grounds of the estate.

Ever since, as if by a magnet, you felt yourself pulled towards that particular side of the garden at the sight of any inconvenience. You knew that there was not only an ear always eager to listen but a voice happy to speak to you freely and happily. And though most days, there would be the excuse of a horse or carriage ride for your visit, other times, you would plainly sit by as Eddie worked, chatting away for hours on end or however much time you had to offer. 

‘Are you quite sure that it is alright for you to be here, miss?’ Eddie asked after a week’s worth of your visits. You watched him pick up a large sack of feed as if it weighed nothing at all and put it across the stable room. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing that however strainless the carrying of the weight might seem, he had certainly put his muscles to work.

‘I may not own this house directly,’ you answered, ‘but I am the lord’s daughter, and I am free to do as I please… to a certain extent.’ No one could tell you not to roam through the grounds or converse with the groom in your free time, but total freedom you had not. 

 ‘Well, with risk or not,’ Eddie threw another sack on top of the previous, ‘I consider it a great honour to be the recipient of your company.’

‘I am surprised none of the gentlemen have attempted to use such a phrase to charm me.’ You could not help but roll your eyes. ‘And besides, Mr Munson, the honour is all mine. It is rare for me to find a person that finds me agreeable enough to talk to me at such length as you do.’ And one I find as agreeable too, you considered adding but decided against it. 

That smile peeked out over his lips again as he walked up to you. ‘Well, I have hardly any choice, I mean, when you come here to my place of work, it’s not like I can just walk away.’

‘Oh, you,’ you pushed at him lightly. But with him having squatted down to meet you at eye level, the slight push was enough to topple him over onto the ground. And to think I wanted to ask you to escort me on another horse ride.’

‘In these clothes?’ Eddie looked at the both of you, him covered in mud and dust, and your dress was much the same. ‘What will people think?’ 

You got off your makeshift seat to help him back on his feet. 

‘Then let us hope there will be no one to see us.’

❀❀❀

The carriage wobbled over the uneven ground as you distanced yourselves from the Parsnell estate, and the quiet of the night was filled with your retelling of the evening.

‘So I am to understand that this,’ Eddie cocked his head your way, referring to your dress, ‘was your own doing?’

‘I thought it quite ingenious,’ you shrugged.

‘And what of this Mr… Harrington? He must still be looking for you with that maid of his I imagine.’ 

‘No.’ But the image of a disappointed Mr Harrington walking through the room, a maid in tow, with you nowhere to be seen, did sting at your heart a little with guilt. ‘Do you really think he is still looking for me?’ A giggle burst through against your better judgment despite your attempts to suppress it with the hand you covered your mouth with. ‘I am quite cruel, aren’t I?’

‘Absolutely wicked,’ Eddie commented with a weirdly proud smile. As the road went on straight, he took his eyes off it from time to time to glance your way—just briefly and only a handful of times, but enough for you to notice. You could only hope he was not as observant towards your actions.

‘What is it?’ you asked after several more glances directed towards you as a sweet silence fell between you. 

‘It is nothing,’ Eddie smiled it off.

‘Which means it is certainly something. Go on, enlighten me.’

He shook his head. ‘I suppose it is just that, from how you described the night, I do not see what must be so awful about it— you speak of delicious food, drinking and dancing. I don’t necessarily see a problem in this.’

‘Because that is not the problem. It is not the dancing, it is who I am to dance with.’ You sighed. ‘Night after night, it is an endless rotation of the same men I am as uninterested in as the very first day I met them. They corner me to ask me a million questions, each shallower than the last, only to then try and coax me into a dance where they will surely trample my feet.’

‘I see,’ Eddie nodded, but perhaps it was only the vibrations caused by the carriage’s movement that made him agree with your ramblings. 

‘I apologise. I do not mean to talk of my problems constantly.’ Indeed, the man must have his own issues, and ones that most likely outweighed your marital prospects severely. 

‘You have nothing to be sorry for, miss. I am happy to listen,’ he said earnestly.

‘Very well,’ you contemplated your words for a moment until you quickly blurted out with curiosity, ‘but how was your evening?’ 

‘Mine?’ To your surprise, your question had caused Eddie to chuckle.

‘Yes. I assume you must have done something to fulfil the last hours. Or do carriage drivers freeze up when unattended, only to thaw at their master’s command?’

‘I would say that is partly true.’ He quickly looked your way with a smile before explaining himself. ‘For the most part, when on duty, you have to keep your mind on the job, so I cannot exactly indulge in things and have to be ready in case a lady’s dress is ruined and she is in dire need of her getaway carriage.’ Your eyes met briefly. ‘But that does not mean that I am to sit still in an empty room until you come to call, no.’

‘So? What is it that you do in the meantime?’ 

‘Card games, for the most part.’ He shrugged, not seeing your interest in the topic, too focused on the road ahead to notice how you eagerly looked at him, awaiting his following words. 

You had to admit, until that night, you had never put much thought behind the private lives of those who waited on you. Yes, you understood that not all their day revolved around you or your family, but you also never considered it to be any of your business to follow theirs. You listened whenever your maid, Claire, told you stories about her family, storing the basic information of the names and so on in the back of your mind, but at the end of the day, these were nothing more than anecdotes amid polite conversation. Yet, with Eddie, you were eager to know everything about him. The longer you spoke, the more questions filled your mind, and the less adequate you felt to ask them. You were, after all, friendly, or so you hoped, but you knew there was a thick line in society when it came to friendships such as this one, and you were not sure where that line would be crossed and if to be scared of what would happen once it happened. But now and then, curiosity got the better of you, and you managed to trickle in a question for Eddie to open up to you.

‘What er– kind of card games?’ You nudged on in your questioning. 

‘The regular kind, the ones nobody mentions by name, but everyone simply knows the rules of.’

‘I do not think I am familiar with any of such kind,’ you admitted. In the meantime, the carriage drew to a slow halt at the crossing of two roads. ‘You take the left here,’ you told Eddie, who looked at you in surprise. 

‘I cannot say my navigational skills are perfect,’ you said, ‘but I pay attention, and I remember going past the large boulder on our way to the party. There.’ You pointed towards the rock some meters away from the crossing in the left direction.

‘You are quite observant, I’ll give you that.’ He brought the horses back to action, and the rattling of hooves and wheels on the uneven ground resumed. As you passed the large boulder once more, Eddie then resumed your conversation. ‘You do not play any card games, then?’

‘I will admit, I prefer chess, but I do often play Cribbage with my siblings—or Brag. My brother Nicholas is also very fond of Piquet, and as I am the only one in the house that can stand his unsportsmanlike antics, he often forces me to play it with him.’

‘Very well,’ Eddie listened, then asked, ‘Do you know Trischaken?’

‘Pardon?’ you barely understood what he had said. 

‘Trischaken. It’s a Prussian card game, or perhaps Austrian; you’ll have to excuse my awful memory for geography.’ At this, you both laughed politely,

‘No, I do not think I have heard of it.’

‘Oh, it’s great, I must teach how to play one day.’ Only once his enthusiasm unfogged his mind a second later did Eddie pull back the excitement of his invitation to a polite suggestion, ‘If that is something that would interest you… ma’am.’

‘I would like that very much.’ You smiled, showing a bigger and more authentic smile than you had the entirety of the passing night. And barely did that smile fade for the remaining hours as you drove back home and listened to Eddie talk, trying to explain the rules of the intricate foreign game or tell you about his life outside of work. 

‘I did not take you for a music fanatic.’ You admitted as you approached the vicinity of Ridlington Park, its gates already glowing from the lights around it in the near distance. 

‘It must be a very sour sort of man that does not enjoy music. Are there really such types?’

‘And he is more common than you’d imagine, I am afraid, and it seems to be the type that my parents see me to marry one day.’

‘I am beginning to understand your problem,’ Eddie said, ‘but yes, music has always had a special place in my heart. My father had taught me how to play when I was a young boy and since then, it’s always brought me a great comfort. It was actually one of the very few things I brought with me from America.’

‘Is it hard? being so far away from your family?’ You asked softly, unable to imagine how you would feel if you were to leave everything and everyone you had ever known to work in some foreign land on the opposite side of the world. 

‘There are many things that I am still growing accustomed to, but I cherish the change.’

‘That is a very diplomatic mindset. I for one could not bear a day without the possibility of seeing my family, I think, no matter how meddlesome they are.’

Eddie’s eyes shimmered with kindness for your words. ‘I suppose I have grown used to it. I have been travelling for years now and have not seen my family for an even longer time, so it is actually the lack of independence and presence of…. this closeness of others that I am attempting to grow used to now.’

‘Ah.’ You blinked, not having expected that kind of response. Immediately, as the door of Eddie’s past unlocked, even if just for a moment, a mountain of questions spilt inside you, but you pushed those urges back. ‘I see. Well, if you ever require solitude and wish me to leave you alone, please be not afraid to just tell me so. I shall respect your wishes.’ Had you been too eager to sit beside him for the entirety of the ride, talking his ear off? Or all those other days when you bothered him at work. Oh, the embarrassment. If it was not for the fact that you were already coming through the Ridlington Park gates, you would have jumped off the carriage and walked the rest of the way home.

‘No, I did not mean it like that.’ Eddie quickly recovered his words. ‘Please, do not think I do not greatly appreciate and enjoy our conversations. They— they have been the highlight of my days.’

‘Really?’ Your proud smile was too strong to keep at bay. 

‘Yes, really.’ Eddie’s words pushed out a breathy laugh. ‘I see it as a welcome escape from the work.’

‘So do I,’ you noticed the wrong fit of your phrasing, ‘I mean, I enjoy our conversations as well.’ Would it be too much to call them an escape from reality? To him, perhaps. The entire night had already been a far breach of that line of what is proper or not for a lady to do. You knew you were awaiting a scolding the second your mother returned from the Parsnell ball. Now, the territory your and Eddie’s exchange was heading into felt anxiously foreign, somewhere you realised you had never gone to with any of your friends or acquaintances. Your heart picked up its pace as the carriage slowed down for the final time that night, arriving at its destination. 

Before you could do or say anything, Eddie had jumped out of the driver’s seat and ran across the back of the hansom to assist your exit. He extended his hand for you to take, and the moment your fingertips met, you knew it had been a mistake. Your hold tightened around his hand as you took the steps onto the ground, and though you found your footing perfectly well, you did not find the power to let go of Eddie.

And neither did he of you.

The two of you stood in front of each other, eyes locked into a deep gaze, only broken by his glances to the point where you were connected. Your hand was in his and burning like a fire between you; for the brief seconds as they pulled you closer together, your fingertips felt like the centre of the entire universe.

A fire that surely would burn and scar if you were to touch it.

It was dangerous. You knew it.

But what was life without a bit of risk?

‘My apologies,’ Eddie cleared his throat, taking a step back, letting your hand fall through the cold air.

‘There is no need for that.’ You shook your head out of all thoughts, or at least attempted to do so. ‘It is I who should apologise. If you will excuse me, I must change into something less… cakey. Good night, Mr Munson.’ You looked down at your dress, which was still, very much, covered in remnants of wine and cake. You were to leave, but Eddie quickly called to you, almost as if the words were faster than his mouth.

‘How many times must I ask you just to call me Eddie?’ His eyes were those of a pleading man, pleading for something you did not quite comprehend, but at the same time, you knew the consequences of giving in to his request.

You looked back at the windows of Ridlington Park. The building was enveloped in darkness, as no one was there to occupy the rooms or to see you. All you could do was remind yourself that there was nothing wrong with you being alone with a carriage driver or any other member of staff, but it certainly did not feel that way. There was undoubtedly something dangerous going on in that instance.

You took a deep breath as he held it in. The line you were scared to cross was getting thinner, and you grasped for something to hold onto as you felt your feet slip away. 

‘Good night, Eddie.’

And just like that, with only the hope there was no one around to see it, you both fell.

To be continued...

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[anika-ann]

Mine, Yours, Ours (Love) - S.R.

Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; a part of this pseudomedieval-fantasy AU or a one-shot, I suppose

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x witch!reader   Word Count: 4,8k

Summary: Sir Rogers, the honorary knight of Starkerbürg, feels blessed. Another day has passed, another day he gets to come home; to his lovely wife and his child. A household full of love in the face of everyday bliss and hardships of life alike.

But there’s a shift in the air tonight; something sweet and exciting crackling in the air, a longing and all-consuming need blooming within him as he sees his wife, so divine, in the most mundane and extraordinary of moments.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, body worship and (light) breeding kink, oral (fem-rec), PIV, but also tooth-rotting fluff, polytheism and light blesphemry, Slovak terms of agreement ‘cause I can (translation at the end), knight Steve 'cause he's a warning

A/N: A super-belated gift for @stellar-solar-flare 's birthday - or perhaps an early Christmas gift 🤭 fits after the events of the previous instalments but can probably be read as a standalone; DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics

Shiny armour; a heavy sword by the hip. Stance straight and tall, head held high.

An emblem of the kingdom, worn with pride. Bloody hands and scars from defending those in need.

Standing witness to events remembered by history and lending a hand in their creation.

Virtues of a knight; strength, courage, chivalry. Loyalty. Mercy and generosity; faith.

The honour of the noble servant of Starkerbürg, the glory only growing after the appointment of the new king.

Words of praise by royalty itself, whispers of admiration from commoners and nobility at every corner.

No higher honour in these lands than knighthood; and yet.

And yet as Steven stepped into the house, all the whispers and praises fell silent in his head, the great honour slipping off his shoulders into nothingness.

As Steven stepped into his home, he allowed the thoughts and echoes of sensation in his chest having been following him all day fill in his lungs, heart and soul alike instead.

Conviction ringing truer than the steel of a sword against another.

There was no greater honour than to having stood tall at the altar where his future wife had awaited him. No greater pride than to having hold a new life, one he and his beloved had created, in his arms. No greater title to carry than the one of a loving father and a loyal husband. No greater fortune than to witness and take part in precious, ungraspable and yet achingly tangible moments history might not remember, but Steven shall, forever.

You turned to him from the stove as you were setting the tea pot down, gifting him a smile; and from his very soul, Steven would swear that all the gold and luxurious robes of the royal halls in the castle could not compare to your beauty.

His wife; the mother of his child.

The yearning to hold you in his arms again struck Steve with force beyond all the longings throughout the day combined. And yet he hesitated; torn as to whether to come to greet you or the little human sleeping soundly in the cradle first, his heart large enough to adore both and wishing to show his affections all at once.

Your smile turned softer as if you sensed his hesitance and eagerness; you beckoned with your chin to the sleeping baby, solving his dilemma without taking offence, offering warmth in your gaze as Steve’s own wandered to the small bundle of joy, his steps sure and impatient after having missed his daughter since the early hours of the morning.

His breath caught in his lungs; he had seen her for over three hundred days now and yet, air stuck in his chest every single time he laid eyes on the beautiful miracle of life.

Her lips were slightly pursed, tiny hands in fists as if she was trying to grasp her dreams and make them stay; much like Steven had once grabbed after his own dream of you and him together, despite your worlds seemingly laying hundreds of miles apart. She cooed silently as he leaned over the crib and settled his hand over her belly, his index finger caressing her soft cheek, causing her to stir minutely. For a child barely old a year, her face already showed a myriad of expressions; at his careful touch, she almost seemed to smile in her sleep.

Steven’s chest inflated almost painfully, so full it might burst; by gods, he had been blessed. Running the pad of his finger over her still closed fists, he marvelled at the small fingers clenched so fiercely. A strong, healthy, gorgeous child. A gift from the gods he shall always fight to be worthy of; a gift from you.

Tearing his eyes, prickling with tears, away, his gaze found you, a goddess in her own right pouring two cups of tea almost mundanely, the smell of herbs filling the little cabin and complimenting its warmth; the house he had helped build with his own hands; the house you had turned into a home with your generous heart.

Striding to you in quick long steps, he wrapped his arms around your waist at last, even if not before you had set the pot down as not to hurt you.   

The glimpse of your smile was warmer than the fire in the hearth, your body melting into his front so willingly and with such relaxed trust as if you, too, were only now entering your home despite having spent most of your day right here.

“Welcome home, rytier moj,” you whispered simply. Your palms laid over his, caressing in response to his lips instinctively attaching to the tattoo adorning your neck, soft warm skin humming with life under his kiss.

“It is good to be home, bosorka moja,” he muttered, granting himself a generous inhale, all senses tuning to you; the scent and warmth of your skin, the softness and fullness of your flesh causing his head to swim and his heart calm, thoughts circling around the centre and sense of his life he’d hold onto with vigour should he die the very next moment. “How are the two most important ladies in the world doing?”

Your hand rose to card through his hair, gentle touch sliding over his cheek, a smile adorning your lips and voice alike.

“Oh? In the whole world, rytier moj? Perhaps in yours…”

“Same difference.”

Turning your head, you caught his lips with yours, a taste of sunshine and pure contentment on his tongue as you smiled into the kiss and sighed, the only sign of the day’s exhaustion you allowed yourself to display. A smidge of worry creased Steve’s forehead, his arms tightening a fraction as to not only hold you and indulge in the feel of you in his embrace, but to support you too.

“It was a good day, rytier moj,” you said, a drop of humour rendering your voice a tad warmer. “However, you should know that your daughter made all the pots fly for a bit, which led to me having to clean up for eternity.”

Steven chuckled, nose nudging your temple.

The image of you having to run around rose vivid in his mind, along with concern about long hours of exhausting work of caring for the small child, no matter how joyful at moments, tiring you out; yet, the tenderness of your voice and the soft note of humour made his chest hum with overwhelming feeling of love, wide smile attacking his lips.

“Hm… I am sorry to hear that, love,” he said. “But have you noticed, how our little one is referred to as my daughter whenever she is up to no good? I find it curious, especially since such magical feat is something she has certainly taken after you…”

His thoughts wandered, the sensation of your body filling his hands so well evoking the memory of you indeed having your magic burst out of you before, more than once; sinful, beautiful images filling his mind. The memory of the taste of you tickled on his tongue, your cries of pleasure as your hips had buckled under his firm grip echoing so sweetly in his ears, heat pooling in his groin, rousing visceral need to hear and touch and taste and have again.

“Mmm, I would not be so certain, rytier moj…. stirring trouble is most certainly your specialty.”

You opposed him, amused; perhaps oblivious, for the moment, of how his grip on your sides grew firmer, your warmth and scent bringing his body to the fullest, most delicious alert.

What was it you said? Stirring trouble? Being up to no good? Oh, his sweet wife, his lovely bosorka… you had no inkling of what he was up to indeed, the longing to sink the entirety of his being into you turning too much to bear for him only.

“Is that so?” he chuckled.

Your breath caught in your throat as you heard something in his voice change; or perhaps it was his hands, sliding over your hip, moving over your belly, fingers inching lower in a wordless plea, lips pressing to the side of your neck again, lingering, a greedy inhale causing his head to spin and his hips thrusting forward just an inch, to feel more, more, more.

“Perhaps you are right, láska moja… You are so, so good. I do recall you only have your magic act out of control when I am near you.” When I take you, when I have you tether at the edge of unholy bliss, when I sink into you and make you mine. My love, my wife, the heart of my life, of my family. My everything, mine to love, to protect, to have, his mind whispered sinfully, no words spilling from his lips as instead they wandered over the column of your throat you so generously revealed when you tipped your head back to rest it on his shoulder, desire and pride of being the one to have you succumb to his ministrations so willingly roaring in his veins even as his voice was intimately quiet. “When I am so, so close to you, my name on your pretty lips, parted in bliss…”

“Steven-”

No hesitation. No protest. A plea instead, a godsdamn prayer of his name on the very lips he longed to taste and claim; and for a loyal worshipper of forces beyond Steve’s imagination, for being a force of nature yourself, you sounded damn near reverent when speaking the name of the mere mortal he was and it filled him with dark delight.

Pride was a sin; but he had established long ago that for you, he’d walk the path to hell with an indulgent smile on his face. For him, the highest authority to judge him was but pliant, warm and so wonderfully alive in his arms, an echo of the want he himself felt humming in your flesh right under his palms; your permission was the only one he’d ever seek.

“May I have you, bosorka moja? I missed you all day long, missed being home…”

“Yes-“

Just as the single breathless left your lips, his impatient fingers slid under your skirts, a silent groan escaping him when his fingertips reached your heat, soft, warm, inviting, your body arching slightly into his touch.

“We missed you too, I missed y—you.” Your breath hitched so lovely as he couldn’t but nip at the sensitive skin of your throat, the pads of his fingers brushing along your welcoming heat instead of sinking in, teasing himself as much as you. “I-- longed for you, your voice, your breath, your touch-”

Gods you were made for him or perhaps he was made for you or perhaps both—a beautiful temptress, created to seduce all his senses. To see you fall apart, to hear your cries, to taste you, to feel you, to smell like you for days to come-

Retreating his hand minutely despite your startled silent keen, he grasped at your hips, spinning you around until your lower back gently bumped into the make-shift counter, hand under your skirt spreading all over the apex of your thigh to keep you still, mouth claiming yours with hunger, groin rocking against yours just to swallow the delicious sound you made at the contact.

Your hands came to life too, sinking into his locks and gripping all gentle and needy, your other roaming over his chest, down and down to his abdomen and lower to his pants, leading him to drink from your lips deeper before tearing away to press his lips just above your collarbone, both his and your chest rising and falling rapidly, meeting in the middle, your pulse thundering under his lips. Gods, when he looked up just slightly, your mouth was so gorgeously kiss-swollen already and parted with rapid breaths, pupils blown wide and fixated on nothing but him, touch so hot and purposeful and owning just as wished and did own you, as you had given yourself to him and would love to give again; even if the light circles under your eyes whispered of how much of you you had already given today and had been giving every day.

But gods were you his and he breathed in deeply to allow the miracle settle in his very soul, sending a silent prayer of gratitude for you being his and him being yours.

A ring on both his and your ring finger; a dark tattoo with each other’s name and an intricate pattern over your hearts, your daughter’s name right under. A family; the centre and the sense of his life.

And you were nothing short of breathtaking.

His wife, his love, the mother of his child; a cradle of love and life. A force of nature just as capable of protecting as his to protect. A goddess in her own right; awaiting as to hear out his scrambled thoughts since he appeared to pause a brewing storm of desire.

“Gods, bosorka moja, you could lead a man into madness-“

You tugged at his hair the slightest bit, pulling his mouth back to yours, a hushed whisper of ‘ľubim ťa’ falling from your lips to his and back, and Steven was lost to that very madness, and hoped to never be found again.

Instead, he wandered over the gorgeous landscape of your body, mapping every enticing curve and soft valley even as one of his hands already reached the destination, welcomed with everything he could ever desire. He’d make the journey the goal for it was pure bliss and he was wandering but in his very home, lands he lived to explore and worship over and over again, nothing short of reverent.

And should his will be yours as well, he’d see to nestle at home and never ever depart again, leaving behind traces that could never be erased.

Breaths coming out short, lips parted; a slight arch to your back limited by Steven’s grasp, the most loving cage where the gift of overwhelming pleasure bordered on a punishment.

Thoughts scattered and dissolved in bliss, feelings and sensations were ruling instead – and yet they served you all the same; a lover’s sense as strong as a mother’s instinct.

Love so profound you’d see it – feel it, taste it, breathe it – all the same should you be robbed of all senses at once, was poured into Steve’s every action, touching your very heart and soul as much as ever; and yet. There was a shift tonight, a softly crackling change in the air. You could tell. A lover knows.

Steven’s touch felt different tonight, as did his undivided attention. Thumbs pressing a tad firmer into your hips as he held you down, lips drinking as if with insatiable thirst, leaving your throat raw from soundless cries. Lips wandering, hands grasping, dark gaze following every trace his heated touch left behind, praises rolling off of his tongue; of soft, soft plump skin, so warm and welcoming, a gift, a grail, the only home he’d ever want, a breath-taking art to wreck and recreate all over again; Sinful words written by your husband’s lips all over your body like poetry quietly read to a lover’s ear in hidden corners of the castle only known to those who wished to hide their desires from prying eyes.

With bliss worthy of gods gifted you once, twice, Steven’s heavy-lidded eyes kept hypnotizing you through between the valley of your breasts, the pads of his fingers appreciating the flesh so carefully but with intangible visceral need. His intent gaze grew impossibly dark – the last image you saw before your eyes slipped shut with a rasp of his name, your body trembling with ecstasy for the third time that night.

Distantly aware of your magic casting lights and shadows over your little cabin, setting inanimate objects in motion, a breathless chuckle left your lips.

Your beloved pressed a firm sloppy kiss above your belly button, thumb running over your hipbone to ease you down to earthly low as he had lifted you to heavenly heights; lingering, he breathed you in, over and over for so long a flicker of concern wormed its way into your foggy mind.

“Rytier moj?”

His palm sprawled over your abdomen, replacing his mouth; he peppered kisses over your sternum, over the flesh of your breasts, his gaze meeting yours with such heat and something so familiar and yet ungraspable it sent a shiver down your spine, a tingle in the back of your mind.

Something truly was different tonight. In his touch, in his gaze, in his aura—a good man, a loyal man, fighter, protector, father, lover-

“You are the closest thing I’ve ever seen to a goddess, láska moja…” he declared quietly, his lips brushing yours with tenderness that would make the gods themselves weep, and you as well. “Your body is a miracle I shall worship over and over.”

The tingle in the back of your mind sparkled brighter, recognition dawning oh so slowly, your rapidly beating heart thundering now.

Worship. Religious reverence; in mortal flesh.

He had laid you on your marriage bed as if it had been an altar itself, an offering to gods and goddesses and a prayer to the one he had just deemed you all at once.

The holy grail. A miracle.

A goddess.

Gathering your swirling thoughts as you would have gathered raindrops during the first full moon of spring, you realized therein lied the difference of this night; the most devoted of husbands, your Steven, your knight, blurring the lines of human and celestial.

Devotion and worship.

His love had always reached beyond human understanding of just how much of affection a single heart, even the brightest of souls, may contain and pour into another, filling your chest with sensation no language of men or gods could hope to describe; and yet tonight, it went beyond the beyond.

Every single gesture, every word, whispers of prayers to a godlike entity; his lips pressed to your body as if he glimpsed and touched the divine through your body. Through you. In you.

“Blasphemy,” slipped from your lips, no more power in the admonition than in your blissed out body, the recognition of utter adoration your husband harboured for you rendering you unable to catch your breath.

“It is not, gods must forgive me,” Steven responded, stubborn as he could be, the darkness in his eyes turning warmer as his lips pressed over your heart, involuntary tears prickling in your eyes at the sincerity lacing his hoarse voice, his absent smile. “Beautiful, soft and strong… made for loving… my precious wife, the mother of my child-“

“Our child,” you corrected him, your voice cracking with emotion rather than humour, your fingers carding through his locks.

Steven’s smile only widened, eyes glimmering.

“Yes, ours. Indeed, my love. Our blessing…”

He captured your mouth again, soft and demanding, drinking from your lips as if they tasted of ambrosia the gods themselves offered to him.

A gift. A miracle made to worship. Your body.

A goddess, love and life, his wife, the mother of his-

Realization struck you like a lightning out of clear skies, your body was overtaken by a tremble, frantic heart stumbling in your ribcage.

Blurring the lines towards the divine was but a minute shift your Steven had been building up to ever since the day he had first laid his lips on yours, since he had first made love to you.

No, the true difference of tonight was laid in purpose. Purposebeyond sharing your love together, purpose beyond bliss.

A child.

Your husband’s action, while guided by profound love, were spurred by desire and new longing. He wished for another child; the divine miracle your body, when loved by his, was capable of.

The closest to a goddess. A prayer. A plea. An offering.

“Láska moja… I shall give you my everything,” he promised sweetly, a sinfully sincere tilt to his words. “If you only let me, if you’d only give me, us, more than a man can ask, more than I can give but shall forever worship you for, fight to be worthy of…”

A surge of power that had nothing to do with magic filled your veins, affection so urgent it panged sharply in your heart and your tears spilled over, your voice caught in your throat.

Gods, you wanted.

To give him, to give yourself, to give to your daughter--- to be blessed by the gods once more, a blinding image flickering behind your eyelids.

Your daughter, sat on your Steven’s shoulders, placing a crown weaved of daisies on his head, her musical laughter filling the air, causing your lips to curl up in a smile; familiar. Such a familiar image, one that had once given you strength to battle the impossible; now changing. The idyllic image of a meadow with your husband and your child growing brighter, your gaze suddenly snapping to the firm grip on your thigh; a set of small hands pressing various herbs and flowers to your skirts, an adorable chuckle and a joyous cry of ‘for mama—pretty!’ reaching your ears even as the face of the boy remained somewhat blurry beyond the warm blue of his eyes. Your Steven’s eyes-

With a gasp you snapped your eyes open, Steven’s dextrous fingers continuing their appreciation of your burning skin, tracing the lines of your tattoo with his wet lips, lighting your sated needs alive.

“You are literally glowing, bosorka moja… say yes,” he coaxed, “say yes and I will keep you sated and so full every day, every night, until my seed comes to fruition… another little one, your belly swelling with our child, a little miracle-- I shall take such good care of you, my love, of all of you, I swear as gods are my witnesses-“

A minute crack to his voice, having been dripping sweet and sinful like honey; regret and desire so pure you could not bear his words anymore, reaching out to cradle his cheeks and silence him with a kiss.

You could taste it on your tongue; something so primal and possessive as laying claim, to continue one’s bloodline, gently laced with a need of much noble nature. To protect. To take care. To provide. Read minds you could not, but a lover knows. A wife knows. The hitch in his voice could have been caused by myriad of reasons and yet you had no doubt, your heart feeling more than reason; it laid heavy on his conscience still that he had not known from the very start of you being with a child, that he could have not been treating you as you’d deserved in his mind. Not treated the way his love, the mother of his child, a goddess in her own right should have been.

He wished to be there. He wished to be the kind of man he believed you were worthy of.

You let your lips drink from his and hoped he could taste your truth on your tongue; by gods, he was worthy. If he could only understand just how much, how overwhelming loving him could be, how you’d perish before not giving him whatever he should ask; if he only knew how you would wish for another child yourself.

“Yes, Steven-- by gods, yes-“

Heart stumbling in his chest under your palm, he tore his mouth from yours, gaze roaming your face in the soft light of the dying fire in the hearth.

“Yes?” he breathed, dark eyes sparkling with delight, the curve to his kiss-swollen lips as sinful as blinding.

You could not but chuckle, fresh tears spilling over the undiluted joy and determination he observed you with.

“Yes, rytier moj. Let us make love and create it all the more.”

He stole all air from your lungs with his next kiss, hands setting to a journey with clear destination ahead, his large body nearly vibrating with acute need his touch seemed to pour straight into your veins, heat burning low in your belly as you arched against him.

“Please-“

“Oh such a sweet plea,” he chuckled darkly, a teasing touch to assure you still awaited him more than prepared, before giving you just a hint of the pleasure he was about to shatter you with. “My precious wife, my wonderful bosorka, I shall give you anything you ask, anything you need…”

Your silent keen of his name was drowned in his mouth, the soundless cry of yes as he finally moved to make love to you as gods intended drowned in a cry piercing the cabin-

-but not one of pleasure. Of discomfort and misery.

A pair of lovers frozen in time for several frantic beats of hearts.

Steven groaned, lips detaching from yours with true blasphemy.

“I am afraid your little one does not long for a sibling,” he grumbled, taking a deep breath, slowly, oh so slowly and carefully moving away, eliciting a soft gasp from you despite his great effort – and a tired chuckle as you too returned to earthly realms in which your child – yours and Steven’s – demanded your attention.

“Oh, mine, is she now?” you challenged him cheekily as you went to stand up and tend to your momentarily not-quite-joyous bundle of joy.

Steven’s warm palm sprawled over your shoulder, pressing you down gently.

“I shall get her.”

“She is likely hungry-”

“Then I shall bring her,” he said, leaving no room for arguing despite his soft tone. “You rest, my love.”

Melting against your bed, you obeyed, a content hum rumbling in Steven’s chest as he leaned to you and briefly pressed his lips to your forehead.

As soon as he moved away, you sat up still; if for nothing else then for the precious sight of your husband crossing the modest interior of the cabin to reach into the cradle, large hands reverently careful as he picked up your daughter to the protective cage of his arms, cooing silently at her to settle her cries. Your heart swelled with pride and overwhelming affection, your blessings counted one by one, over and over.

Cherishing the feeling of holding his child, Steven took too long of moments to bring her and nestle her in your arms instead. Lingering with his touch, he pressed the sweetest of kisses to the crown of your head as you whispered to your daughter and begun to nurse her, before he busied himself with maintaining the fire. And yet, the moment his chore was done, he hurried to seat himself by your side again, wrapping his arms around the most important ladies in his whole world, gaze so warm you could feel it without tearing your own away from the child attached to your breast.

And once your little one was sated, cries having long turned into content coos, a few sleepy blinks of her large blue eyes bringing her to the land of dreams again, your knight without shiny armour gathered her to his protective embrace again, carrying her back to her cradle just as slowly, laying her down with a tender kiss and a whisper of ‘ľubim ťa, maličká’.

As he returned, you took his hand and coaxed him to lie next to you, his arms spreading to hold you close and warm through the night, shifting to hide his face in your hair.

Oh your sweet knight, so dutiful in watching over his beloveds’ sleep… so wholly unaware of how your body, while worn to a bone, had been charged with a taste of something wonderful and exciting; yearning, craving, unbearable.

He released but a soft noise of surprise when your hand found its way through the warm cage of his arms, escaping the loving embrace to cup his face, gaze flickering over his handsome features.

“Bosorka moja?”

A smile forming on your lips, you leaned forward, capturing his mouth in a slow, sensual kiss, palms caressing the expanse of his shoulders – the large arms of a protector, provider, lover – body pressing to his as your hands began to wander.

“You made me a promise, rytier moj,” you whispered, sultriness creeping into your voice, causing your Steven’s breath to catch, fingers, having grasped at you so tenderly during your kiss, flexing on the flesh of your waist. “Are you not keeping it? Have you changed your mi-”

Your breathless laughter was the last sound your lips were allowed to release before Steve responded to your affection with vigour, rolling your bodies over to trap yours under his soothing weight, fingers running over the lines of your body to continue where you two had left of.

“Oh, I always keep my promises, bosorka moja.”

You brushed your fingertips over his cheek, a moment of slow gentleness before descending into the whirlwind of passion, a smile playing on your lips.

“I know, láska moja. Then let us deliver on this one.”

bosorka moja - witch mine rytier moj - knight mine láska moja - love mine maličká - little one (to a child) ľubim ťa - I love you

Other headcanon and playlist

S.R. masterlist - contains other knight!Steve fics, independent of this universe

Complete masterlist (now with blurb masterlist as well)

I'm going to scream into the void after this for a while 🥹🫠😩 You're welcomed to join me!

Thank you for reading, loves 💕 If you enjoyed and can spare a few seconds of a minute to reblog or comment, you shall have my gratitude ✨

I hope you'll have lovely Holidays, one way or the other 💕

[bones4thecats]

Hello! Can I make a request of a platonic angst (fluff if you think suits it better) with Diasomnia with a male reader who is actually Malleus' brother?

[SPOILERS FOR BOOK 7]

The story being that Meleanor had given birth to two eggs, those being Malleus and the reader, with the Silver Owls stealing the egg that had the reader, which ended with the egg to be sent to Earth, therefore making the reader live for many years, raised by the humans without any idea of who he is, only for the Dark Mirror to bring him to Night Raven College, shocking everyone with the appearance of a Fae that was raised by humans.

Thank you!

M! Reader Being Malleus' Missing Twin

Characters: Lilia Vanrouge and Malleus Draconia Requester: @beawesome04 A/N: I'm gonna do only Lilia and Malleus for this. I couldn't think of anything for the younger Diasomnia boys. Sorry about that! Anyways, enjoy!! By the way, this may not fully follow the canon storyline for Book 7. But, there is a piece on the top explaining the backstory of the Missing-Draconia! Reader's world. ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Book 7 and mentions of baby-napping and war ⚠️

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A decades old tale of the Fae and Human war was one that everyone was familiar with. Schools began to teach the young men and women of the future of the causes and what was used to fix everything and establish the peaceful world that they now lived in.

But, there was always a part that teachers had to withhold many key details on. The attempted abduction of the Draconia Eggs.

Many years into the war, a group of human-affiliated knights had infiltrated the Draconia Castle. And since the previous Queen of the land just had her two babies still in their eggs, a few of the men had made a plan to take them in order to prompt the royals into surrendering.

Fortunately and unfortunately, they had gotten to the eggs and almost got away with both. An at-the-time young General, Lilia Vanrouge, charged in with his men and prompted them into surrendering themselves. Though, in common human-fashion, they tricked their ways out of being held.

And when one guard went to check on the eggs, he announced with loud-blaring fear that one was missing from the nursery. This made all that heard begin to panic. The humans wouldn't be so weak as to take a not-even-hatched baby away from its home... would they?

Barking out the order of finding the missing egg was all that the Fae could do at the moment. But when they all came up empty, he couldn't believe his ears... the humans were exactly what Baul deemed them to be. Disgusting excuses of beings.

After the fall of Meleanor and her husband, Revan, and the re-crowing of the female's mother, Maleficia, Lilia began to care for not only the young heir but for his own adoptive-human son, whom he named Silver.

Despite the firm and carefree smile that was practically plastered onto his youthful-face, he couldn't help but remember the loss of that precious black and purple egg... but maybe he could locate the now-growing child overtime!

As the male floated around the new students of Night Raven College, he smiled at Malleus, who was now one year away from graduating and inheriting the throne of Briar Valley. All of a sudden, the sound of the Dark Mirror opening causes Lilia to look up in shock and ready himself with his magic.

Everybody then froze once the sight came clear. There stood a tall, maybe around 6'3, male with a very clean-and-formal black and green outfit laid wrapped around his form. With a lovely mixture of down and held-up hair black hair, the apparent Fae stood out like a sore thumb.

Especially with a duet set of horns, which folded around a green gem, which glowed brighter with each step you took closer to the members of Diasomnia.

And while your gem caught the attention of many first, only Lilia and Malleus could truly understand who he was...

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, little brother."

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»»——————————- 　 Lilia Vanrouge 　——————————-««

🦇 When he looked at the horns you had, the previous General immediately understood who you were and what you wanted

🦇 Lilia allowed his feet to hit the ground as his mouth laid open as you stepped closer to him and his small family. And while Sebek yelled for you to stay away from Malleus, you merely ignored him and looked into the slightly-younger male's eyes

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, little brother." You said.

🦇 This claim was one that caused many to gasp. The story of the previous Queen of Briar Valley having two eggs was true! And here the brothers were- reuniting!

🦇 Once everyone was calmed down and told to go somewhere else for the afternoon, Lilia led you and the boys back to the dorm. Specifically the lounge

🦇 When you finished speaking to Malleus and explaining everything to him, you began to look towards Lilia. And he had to admit, the way your cold eyes stared into his soul caused him alarm

🦇 You motioned for him to sit down in the seat next to you. And stated that he could ask you any question

"Where have you been all of this time? Last I knew your egg was taken by the... Silver Owls."

"Fortunately for me, Emilia, who was young maid from the castle, picked me out from the pack of one guard. She then took me home that night and took care of me until I hatched. Her and her husband raised me until they passed away of old age, maybe around 79 and 85. I now live with their oldest son, Zekial, and his wife, Pristy, who are now 59 and 58 respectively. Their great-grand-children, Madyson and Parker, assisted me in getting here. They both attend Royal Sword Academy as third-years." You replied. It was a mouthful, but it seemed to allow the man to confide in his own thoughts to piece the whole thing together.

🦇 Lilia looked at you and asked if you were raised by humans. In which you said yes and admitted that you have seen and met many humans and Fae that have either berated you or your found-family, in which you defended both species, saying they had both flaws and pros

🦇 Hearing how wise you were for a mere 178-year-old Fae made Lilia smile and laugh, prompting a questioning of the action from you

"You may be a youthful-Fae, but you show signs of growth that not even I have gotten the pleasure of having. And I've raised a human for a son!"

"Oh... I see. Is that a compliment?"

"Yes. It is, elder Draconia."

"Please, just call me Y/N. It is what Emilia named me."

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»»——————————- 　Malleus Draconia　——————————-««

🐉 In the last 178 years, Malleus has always believed himself to be alone in this world. In both his social and familial life

🐉 But, seeing someone look so similar to him step out from the Dark Mirror, and dawning a fairly formal outfit with an almost-matching set of horns made that loneliness disappear for a minute

🐉 The sound of your heeled-boots echoing against the hard floor was all that Malleus could hear against his own thoughts of wonder at that moment

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, little brother."

"Little... brother?"

🐉 You nodded and smiled gently at the young man. And when you held your hand out and summoned a small ball of green fire, which formed a dual set of eggs

🐉 Lilia ushered for the boys to leave the room, saying you both needed some privacy. And privacy you did need

"Do you know who and what these are, Malleus?"

"By what I am observing, that is what I was before hatching into a small newborn. Am I correct?"

"That you are. And do you know who and what this egg is?"

🐉 Malleus looked back down at your hand's magic and he shook his head slightly. In every photograph he was shown by his grandmother, Maleficia, all he saw was his egg in the nursery and that was all, no extra egg or anything

"That was me before hatching. The same as you. That makes us not only brothers, but twins, despite the fact we appear slightly different." You said as your magic began to shift into a castle, the Draconian Castle to be specific.

"Born to the same mother and father, we both resided inside of the nursery before an invasion was taken by a group of Fae-hating humans called the Silver Owls. They had came inside in order to steal us to use us as an advantage against our family, but, as the Royal Army came in, they put your egg back, but took mine in an attempt to take a more psychological approach to one-upping our mother and father."

"If you were taken by these Silver Owls, where did you go and who raised you if not our family?"

"I was taken from a guards bag by a maid named Emilia, who then brought me home to raise with her husband, Mustove. They have long since passed from old age, an unfortunate thing humans have. I was then taken in by their children, who are both now reaching elder-hood in human terms, and I was assisted in reaching you from their great-grandchildren, who attend Royal Sword Academy as current third-years. It is thanks to them, to those humans, that I finally can reconnect with you, my brother."

🐉 Malleus stared at you with widened eyes. And while your magical shape-shifting fire burns out along with the glow of your forehead-jewel, your brother began to sniffle and hold his fists tightly against his sides

"I understand that you have felt alone for the many past years, Malleus. But understand that I am here now, and I do not plan on returning to complete isolation away from our family, away from you. Okay?"

"It's just so... nice to have you here with me."

🐉 You held your arms open and allowed the prince to jump into your arms, hugging you tightly as he buried his face into your chest, tears falling form his eyes as he sniffed and smiled with comforted joy and sadness... he finally had his other half with him again. And they wouldn't leave him on their own accord

"May I call you 'big brother'?"

"Yes. Yes you may, little brother."