#the only exception would be someone she's grown attached to

[jenctrl]

birds of a feather*ೃ༄

"that one time when she realised that some people love unconditionally"

warning; from the blackcat!Y/n series, the parts don't need to be read in order! this part contains some hurt/comfort! but it's all sweet :D

“Y/n?” Yunjin mumbled, her cheek pressed against the door as she tried to listen to what was going on behind the door to the feline’s room. 

The morning had been quiet, it wasn’t that Y/n was ever loud, but it had been empty for Yunjin. After not seeing her for almost a whole day, she wanted to see Y/n and be with her, especially today. 

The girl had locked herself in her room yesterday evening and hadn’t come out since then; it was almost lunchtime now. The canine had waited the whole morning, patiently(not really), she had nothing to do today except fitting in the early morning that she had been done a while ago with. 

It wasn’t the first time, Y/n tended to be hot and cold, it wasn’t something Yunjin minded as she knew about the black-and-white world Y/n lived in. There was good and bad, no in-between. The current situation was bad beyond words, it was just as bad for Yunjin, but she dealt with it differently. 

She raised her fist and knocked, there was no answer and nothing more but silence on the other side. Yunjin gently opened the door after knocking, peeking her head inside before opening it wider and fully looking inside. 

Her lower lip jutted out as she stared at Y/n whose back was turned to her, the girl was sitting on the floor. The luggage bags around her were open, but no clothes were inside; the clothes were rather sprawled out around the room, creating a mess that was unusual for Y/n who was organised. 

Y/n preferred to act like certain things didn’t bother her as if she didn’t care because she didn’t. She at least wished she didn’t. Who would have thought that after being proven the same thing over and over again throughout her whole life; one person could come in and alter all of it? Y/n liked when change happened but hated when someone else changed stuff in her life. 

She stared down at the empty bags, glaring at them. She had been sitting in the same spot for what felt like hours but was probably just around an hour as she had woken up not long ago. How could she tell someone about her reasoning when they felt stupid to begin with? 

Yunjin (and her members) would probably understand or try to, but it wasn’t easy. It was scary to be vulnerable and talk about her biggest fears. 

“Can I help?” Yunjin asked, leaning against the frame as she picked on her nails. 

“No.” The answer was cold and simple, that’s usually how the girl’s answers were, but this was different because there was actual distance that Y/n had put between them. 

“But I always help you pack.” The girl reasoned, her hands dropping to her sides in disbelief. 

“No, just leave.” 

All her life she had been taught not to get attached because people would come and go, no one stayed, no one cared, no one truly loved and if they did they would leave without a word. She learned the hard way that it was always better to be alone, to do everything on her own, to not seek comfort or help and only rely on herself. 

She realised a little too late that she had grown attached to the new people around her. She forgot her lessons the second Yunjin stepped in and after a while the same happened with the rest of the members too. 

However, it was different with the girl who sat down beside her on the floor. She hadn’t said it, but she gave in, unable to shut Yunjin out no matter how hard she tried. 

Yunjin stayed silent for a few seconds, her eyes scanning the girl beside her whose chin was resting atop her knees. She never liked it when Y/n fell into a gloom, it made her feel down too. 

“It’s only a month, it will go by quickly.” She tried to look on the bright side. Y/n was being sent overseas for a solo schedule and it would all line up with promotions and garner more attention. 

Only a month away from the highlight of her day, a month away from her comfort, from her safe space, from her home. Yunjin was realising how bad it was. 

They may have been dramatic in the eyes of everyone else, but this was shaking up their world.

Yunjin watched Y/n who huffed and turned her face to the side, being met by the back of her head now. Those weren’t the right words to say. 

Y/n ignored it when Yunjin stood up and walked out of the room. It made her pout as she got what she wanted, to push her away yet it gave her the opposite feeling as she released a long breath to try and get rid of the heaviness. 

Was it that easy for someone to leave? Y/n would know, she liked to leave people behind before they could leave her after getting to know how it felt. Once was enough. 

Another sigh fell from between her lips and she looked back at the empty bags she was supposed to start packing days ago. She had thought that stalling would help her forget and maybe make the problem disappear and she wouldn’t have to go if she hadn’t packed. 

“Okay, we will finish packing later–” Y/n was startled when Yunjin came back inside, it made her look up at the girl who stopped beside her, dropping a bundle of clothes, hoodies and sweaters, right into the luggage in front of her. Yunjin’s scent wafted through the air after they were dropped. “Right now, we need to go to the bookstore to get that book you wanted, I’m even paying.” 

“I’m not dressed.”

“Just get a hoodie and cap,”

Y/n wanted to say no and protest, tell Yunjin to go away, but instead, she pretended to be bothered without putting up a fight when her hands were grabbed. 

The canine took hold of the grumpy feline’s hands and pulled her to her feet to drag her out of her room at last before they left the apartment altogether. It was with a few grumbles and snarky comments, but she knew Y/n better than to think the girl didn’t want this.

She was just too stubborn to show that she wanted it.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

“You know…” Yunjin started, trying to figure out the right words to say as she walked behind Y/n through the aisles of the small bookstore. It held an antique vibe to it, located in quite an isolated alley, they had found it a while ago while walking around. 

She got a short hum from Y/n, her eyes on the girl who was in a pair of loose black shorts with a hoodie, cap and slippers to match. Yunjin’s fingers grazed over the spines of the books while admiring everything around her, admiring the way Y/n admired her surroundings as her cat-like eyes curiously gazed around. It made Yunjin smile.

“You’re my Scrump and I don’t want to make you think about whatever is unpleasant, but I don’t want you carrying it all alone…Problems don’t usually disappear without being faced.” 

Yunjin’s heart raced slightly, it was a dangerous game almost. She knew that her Scrump was a tough cookie, but she was soft on the inside despite the outside being hard to crumble. However, it was these words of care that would make Y/n close off instead of open up. 

Y/n pursed her lips and swallowed before biting her lower lip. She hummed, that was all she could do as she pulled the cap down further and stopped. Her eyes looked over the books, already holding three as she reached for a fourth one.

“Mm,” Y/n gave a nod, unsure if she was acknowledging Yunjin’s words or the book she picked up. The strain in her arm disappeared when the books were grabbed from her hold and she turned to look at Yunjin. 

Yunjin tilted her head when Y/n frowned and looked at her with a small scowl, it was unusual to find clear signs of what Y/n was feeling on the outside. It was always masked so well. 

However, Yunjin could always tell how Y/n felt just by looking her in the eye. 

She reached her hand out and the feline clicked her tongue in annoyance when Yunjin pinched her cheek. “You’re too cute at times.” Her hand was pushed away, but she didn’t give up just yet. Y/n tried to squirm away when Yunjin wrapped her arm around her into a struggling half hug with books. “Aww, you need a hug, don’t you?”

“Let go.” Y/n tried to argue, unable to struggle free from the arm around her shoulders.

“No, hug me back and I will,” Yunjin argued back as she stumbled forward, managing to hold her balance and Y/n whose face was buried in her shoulder.

“You’re so annoying.” The feline exclaimed as quietly as possible because they were still in public, but she was getting worked up now. She tried to jump, but Yunjin’s hold around her was too strong. It made her groan when all she got in return was a laugh. 

“Hug me or I’m kissing your whole face.” Yunjin threatened and patiently waited as the girl calmed down and huffed in her hold. 

Y/n got out of the canine’s hold who yelped in pain, stepping away. 

“You bit me.” She accused as she looked at her shoulder, massaging it through her sweatshirt. Her gaze averted to Y/n who was frustratedly fixing her clothes and cap. 

She ignored what the latter said and looked at the book in her hold before showing it to Yunjin who pouted at the indifference on Y/n’s face after causing her pain. 

“Do you–” Y/n started, she usually wasn’t one to suggest these things or admit to wanting to spend time together. She loved being alone, but not lonely. “Wanna read this with me at the park?” 

Yunjin smiled while Y/n looked away, feeling weird and awkward for asking for someone’s time as she wasn’t used to it. Neither was she used to people having time for her.

“If I wanna read a book with you at the park?” Yunjin questioned, but Y/n’s gaze was still glued to the shelf of books beside them. “I would read a million books with you, let’s go pay and get food too.” She ushered, feeling giddy because even if Y/n didn’t say it or showed it differently, Yunjin knew. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Whether with words or silence, they knew how to soothe each other and Y/n felt everything she had put up slowly go away. Yunjin’s presence simply made her realise where she found comfort and who she trusted. That was it at the moment though, she still couldn’t let it out with words, but she could forget about it all for a moment as the canine made the bad go away. 

Yunjin knew that she was getting closer and she refrained from speeding up the process as the physical distance was gone at least. She sighed in contentment through her nose while adjusting her head that rested against Y/n’s who had her head on her shoulder.

The wind blew gently, it wasn’t a breeze that was cold yet it made Y/n sit closer, the older girl’s sweatshirt on her lap to get rid of any goosebumps. The food they ate had been discarded after they finished, sharing a meal and now sharing a novel Y/n had picked out. 

They both sat at a picnic bench that was close to Han River with people being too busy to pay them any mind. It wasn’t often that happened and so they refused to take it for granted just like they refused to take any moment spent together for granted. 

The time they spent together, the memories (good or bad) they created together, the times they thought about the other, talked or texted, in person or across the world, it was all moments to treasure. 

Love came in so many forms and was so hard to truly express, but they just knew what love was in these moments. 

Yunjin held the paperback book for both of them, Y/n’s one hand looped under her arm to flip the pages. The younger’s other hand rested against Yunjin’s leg, drawing patterns on the material of her jeans. There was no need for words to be exchanged in these moments where they dwelled in silence and their bond.

Y/n fought long and hard to find her peace, she refused to give it up and the longer she sat with Yunjin, in her warm presence that she was overly fond of; Y/n realised how much she didn’t want to be away from her comfort. It took so long to find. 

This was exactly why she relied on herself, why she avoided attachment, it was too scary and now she had to go through it all again. 

The canine gasped and lifted her head after Y/n flipped the page and the rest was blank: they finished the novel. The feline grabbed hold of Yunjin’s forearm as she sat up straight and the two turned to look at each other at the same time. 

“Bro.” “That was nuts.” 

“Since when do you say bro?” “And you nuts?” 

Yunjin put the book down and leaned against the backrest of the bench. Another silence occupied them (taking in the book they finished) and Y/n used it to lean back, however, she leaned into Yunjin who wrapped an arm around her shoulders. 

“Just got shocked enough to say: bro,” Y/n mumbled and looked down at her lap as Yunjin let out a breathless chuckle. She stared at her hands, playing with her fingers and she tried to think about the book a bit more before trying to empty her mind fully because it wasn’t working. 

The canine could sense it, she could tell how Y/n felt even if the girl didn’t say it. The feline’s face was impossible to read, but Yunjin could simply just tell.

Sometimes the simplest gestures or the simplest words worked. She trailed her fingers along Y/n’s arm which was covered by the black hoodie while she stared down at the girl’s hands. 

They had been sitting around for long enough.

“Y/n.”

“Yeah?”

“Your problems will always be my problems too. I will never let you go through it alone.”

Y/n’s silence grew and Yunjin moved her head to try and look at the girl’s face, only catching the little pout on her lips before she faced away from her. The feline’s eyes found their way to the sky and she watched the white fluffy clouds float by and change shapes. 

Why couldn’t she be more like a cloud? To also change the way she was the further down the road she got? 

The canine didn’t avert her gaze though, a small smile tugged on her lips as she watched Y/n who admired the clouds in the sky. With the clouds clouding Y/n right now, she would wither like a flower due to the lack of sunlight, however, Yunjin would blow them away just for her. She’d have time to grow back. 

She never wanted the girl to change, there was no one she could love more, no other version of Y/n than the real her. If she could just find the right words to say it, to let Y/n know that there was perfection in the flaws and the flawless because that’s what made the girl her feline. 

Yunjin was about to say the words, but Y/n got out of her hold and turned to her. It startled Yunjin as the girl stared at her. The feline stared at her for a second or two, blinking and the silence was making the canine nervous. Had she messed up? She only wanted to remind her of it, but not push her to it. She was about to sink into the ground any second. 

“Did you bring a camera?”

Yunjin nodded her head, taking a breath of relief as she quickly reached for her purse. She handed the digital camera to Y/n who used it to capture the clouds in the sky. The latter would get a couple of pictures of the feline later on.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

“You have to take this.” Yunjin persisted as she tried to get past Y/n to shove the plushie into the only luggage that was left open.

“There’s no room for it in there,” Y/n argued, grabbing hold of Yunjin’s arm so she wouldn’t walk past her while she sat on the bed. They had spent the past few hours packing which should have been started days ago to make it easier. They made it work though.

“I will make room for Scrump.” She insisted and Y/n grabbed hold of her arm with both hands before pulling Yunjin down with all her might and a huff. Yunjin yelped as she stumbled and fell onto a pile of clothes on the bed, the plushie being taken from her hold. 

“Are you seriously not going to take the Scrump I got you?” The canine asked with sorrow and seriousness laced in her tone. 

Y/n rolled her eyes and looked down at the Scrump plushie in her hands. How could an inanimate object hold so much importance to the younger girl? They never did, but with time things changed, with her members, with Yunjin, somehow every little thing started being important. A plushie felt so important to Y/n that she would feel bad if she put it in the luggage.

“I am taking her–” Y/n mumbled and turned back to reach for the bag she’d have at hand when leaving for the airport in the morning. “Just not in there…idiot.” Yunjin chuckled as she watched Y/n place Scrump in the bag with the other important things she needed at hand.

It warmed Yunjin’s heart, this was what reassured her that each day they took steps forwards and not backwards.

“Can we stay up till late?” Y/n questioned as she somewhat regretted choosing to lock herself in her room all morning as she could have spent all that time with Yunjin. Now it felt like they were short on time and she desperately wanted to be able to make the day longer or be able to rewind and make different choices. 

“I will do anything you want.” She replied without any doubt, her tone back to that cheery one. 

“Why?” Yunjin hummed in confusion, tilting her head as she leaned back against her palms, gazing at Y/n. She didn’t expect a question back, not one like this. The other’s gaze was on Yunjin, but not on her face, avoiding her eyes as she puffed out her cheeks with a shrug.

“Why do you?” Why did Yunjin and everyone around her do so much and care so much for her? It was all so foreign, it was nice but also scary.

“I will do anything you want, follow you anywhere, and give everything to see you smile.” It wasn’t because she had to, but because she wanted to and knowing Y/n did the same for her whether consciously or not made it all worth it. 

The feline was worth it.

“But why?” Y/n emphasised, not understanding why anyone would go out of their way for her. 

How was following her through thick and thin so worth it for Yunjin? For her members? Y/n was there for them, she tried to be at least, but she wasn’t sure if she was enough for them. For anyone. 

The feline felt great and warm when she managed to make the people who were close to her smile, laugh, even cry (for good reasons) and just be there for them. However, she felt like she was nothing but a burden when they did the same for her. Y/n didn’t fit in and therefore didn’t deserve it. 

She had managed to get all these loving and supporting people around her, but she felt like a phony, someone who hadn’t done well or enough to have this much. It wasn’t deserved for an imposter in the home they created. 

Yunjin huffed as she pushed herself up, it made Y/n groan when arms wrapped around her shoulders, squeezing her tightly and holding her close. It washed over her, that warm feeling that made her heartbeat much quicker and she shut her eyes tightly, her back hitting the mattress. 

“Because I love you.” Why did hearing those words make her feel so sentimental?

Yunjin’s legs tangled with hers as the canine lay atop her, arms wrapped around Y/n as she hummed in contentment. The feline bunched up the sheets under her, trying hard to put up walls, to come off as indifferent, but the weight of sincerity and love was crushing it all as she lay limp.

“Why?”

Yunjin hummed as she acknowledged the whisper of a question and she smiled into Y/n’s hair. 

“I don’t need a reason to love you, I just do.” She finally found the right words to say to Y/n, these few words that said so much. That let Y/n know everything Yunjin always wanted to say to her, but never knew how. “Don’t act like you don’t know it, Y/n. We all love you, I love you. You’re nothing but loveable.” 

Yunjin lifted her head at the silence she received, her hands planted on the mattress and the second she did Y/n used a forearm to cover her face from the canine. It made her hand gently reach to her and try to remove it to see the girl, but she whined and grumbled, refusing to show herself.

The canine cooed, seeing how vulnerable it made Y/n. “You’re crying, my little Scrump.” 

“I’m not.” She tried to reply, her voice cracking at the fight she was putting up. 

Y/n couldn’t help it, those simple words meant so much. They made everything wash away and she hadn’t felt this light in her body for a long time. She snivelled, only peeking at Yunjin when the bed dipped beside her as the girl had moved to lay beside her. 

“It’s okay, although it is making me tear up,” Yunjin reassured her, knowing Y/n rarely showed herself at her weakest points, at times when she was vulnerable. It was making her teary-eyed too. 

She grumbled, removing her forearm and turning to finally hug Yunjin who hugged her back. The feline buried her face in her shoulder, bunching up the material of Yunjin’s shirt in her fist as her back was rubbed. It did feel good to hug and hear those words even if she tried to deny it. 

There was a court knock on the door–Yunjin humming out a reply–before it opened and Sakura was the first to peek inside followed by Eunchae, Kazuha and Chaewon. 

“We’re heading to bed, but thought we’d say goodnight and goodbye first,” Sakura explained as Y/n was departing early and wouldn’t be able to say goodbye. 

“Aww, look, she’s crying.” Y/n groaned at Chaewon’s voice and she was about to argue until her body was crushed by the weight of all her members. 

“We will miss you too.” Kazuha teased, making the feline flail her arm to get the girl away, “Shut up, Zuha,” only to get hugged tighter by everyone. 

Y/n did know it in the end, didn’t she? She knew that she was loved and cared for. She just needed a little reminder to remember that she did belong even if at times she was sure that she didn’t. A reminder that they were different.

Yunjin, all her members weren’t leaving, so she didn’t have to worry.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Yunjin woke up the next day in Y/n’s empty bed, it made her heave a sigh first thing in the morning. She stared at the ceiling for a while and thought about yesterday before deciding to think about the coming days up till Y/n’s return. 

The girl turned in the bed to face the room that was tidied up after the mess they had made. A book was on the bed and she reached for it as it hadn’t been there before. To try and distract herself she opened it and flipped past the first few blank pages and whatnot until she got to the official first page.

Yunjin smiled as she read the words that were circled in across the page.

I guess

I love

you

It made her flip to the next page as there were no more words circled in on the first one. 

a lot

Another page was flipped.

thank you

There’s 

nothing more

She knew that Y/n did, she knew the girl better than the feline thought she did. Yunjin was aware that Y/n would struggle to say them–always saying them with different gestures instead–because she simply struggled to outwardly express them. Yunjin didn’t need to hear it to know it.

The canine still kept flipping and she chuckled at the polaroid that fell out, making her pick it up–it was the two of them from last night–and look on the backside.

‘I knew you would keep looking cause you’re annoying’

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

[seoulmatez]

— 𝒷𝒶𝒹 𝓇𝑒𝓅𝓊𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 ౨ৎ

haitani rindou x reader. 1.3k w.c. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ college au-ish :3 ﾉ just some rindou lovin' ﾉ repost!

it’s been a while since you've been out with your friends. can you really call them that, though? they are classmates at the very least, ones that feel compelled to invite you to their gatherings. it’s thoughtful, you’ll give them that, but part of you wishes they didn’t. maybe the outing is just boring or maybe they have all grown dull, but either way, it’s easy to zone out in their presence. their chatter seems distant. you don’t even really know what they’re talking about—something regarding everyone’s plans for this saturday.

“what about you?” the girl beside you nudges your ribs to gain your attention—and it works. the jab is surprisingly painful given how small she is. “can you make it?”

“sorry, i already have plans with someone else.”

“aww,” she whines at your answer, “who are you hanging out with? maybe they can tag along.”

“rindou.”

all the idle chatter at the table stops upon the mere utterance of his name. suddenly, all eyes are on you. he’s popular, but not for the right reasons. not many people are fond of him. and you never minded that, but the people who dislike him don’t just dislike him; they’re afraid of him. so although you have no problem associating yourself with him, you’ve learned quickly that bringing him up around others often leads to unsavory reactions. you slipped up at this moment.

“you mean… haitani rindou?”

“mhm.” you’re aware of the common consensus when it comes to rindou and what people think of him, but you want to test the waters and see how your peers perceive him. “why? what’s wrong with him?”

the replies flood in like a tsunami.

“he only hangs out with his brother and you know how much trouble ran is.”

“yeah, they’re total scumbags. i’m pretty sure they���ve almost gotten arrested—and on multiple occasions at that.”

“you’re perfectly capable of surrounding yourself with better company. why on earth would you want to be seen with him?”

“that’s really none of your concern.” the last comment strikes a nerve and causes you to raise your voice. shocked eyes accompanied by gaping mouths stare at you in surprise. you don’t know why you expected their responses to be any different. everyone jumps to the same conclusion and they aren’t an exception. their feelings about him are crystal clear. if they think so poorly of him, they have no place in your life. “and i’d rather not talk to you guys if you’re going to continue to speak about him like that. i’m leaving now.”

and with that, you stand up, collect your things, and start on your way home.

• • •

rindou is in the kitchen when you walk through the door. a head of blonde hair sits at the small table, slurping up ramen noodles. the steam wafting from the bowl leaves the lenses of his gold-framed glasses foggy. your keys clatter when they meet the ceramic of the dish that holds little things like chapstick and mini box cutters. the noise grabs rindou’s attention, his gaze abandoning his food in favor of looking at your figure that approaches to take a seat next to him. he didn’t think he would see you back so soon; it felt like you had just left. but he doesn’t say a word, instead, offering you the noodles hanging from his chopsticks. you lean forward to accept the mouthful of spicy ramen. every other bite of what remains in the bowl is reserved for you.

you stay attached to his hip for the rest of the day; helping him wash the dishes even though it’s your least favorite chore, sitting in his lap and snuggling into his neck as he boots up his computer to play who knows what game with his friends—you even go as far as getting comfortable on the lid of the toilet while he takes his shower for the night. it isn’t unusual for you to take care of his hair once he emerges from the steamy room, combing out the tangled strands of blonde and blue before pulling out the hair dryer. after the locks are fluffy and dry, his hair sits in a neat bun on the top of his head. the only pieces that escape are the ones not quite long enough to be tied up with the rest.

you wonder if your actions came off as overbearing; not that you would care if they did. the conversation from earlier reminded you of how poorly people regarded your boyfriend. someone has to love him when everyone else thinks so little of him, and you’re more than happy to be that person.

and you’re content at the moment, practically lying on top of him, your fingers tracing each curve of the black ink tattooed into his skin. you can feel the thumping of his heart, hear the rhythmic beat of it in your ear.

“what’s wrong?” rindou speaks up out of the blue. so then he had noticed the shift in your behavior.

“what do you mean?” you feign ignorance. you know rindou was fully aware of his reputation, but that doesn’t stop you from wanting to shield him from the harshness of others.

“you’re even clingier than usual.”

“i’m not clingy,” you mumble against his chest.

“mm, yeah, you are.” he pinches your cheek that isn’t pressed against him. it doesn’t hurt but you look up at him regardless. lilac eyes peer down at you. the blank expression on his face may not show it, but his gaze is enough to tell you that he’s concerned. “are you gonna tell me what happened or not?”

rindou isn’t the type to push you, to make you tell him something you aren’t ready to tell. if you told him you didn’t want to talk about it, you were sure he’d let it go. but since it’s weighing so heavily on your mind, maybe it is best to share. “i brought your name up in front of some classmates and they said some pretty rude stuff about you.”

he snorts as if what you were worried about was silly. and to him, it is. it doesn’t bother him—the wandering eyes, the hushed whispers, the anxious avoidance. everything that you seem to be hyperaware of is the norm for rindou. and he can understand why it upsets you, he wouldn’t want people speaking ill of you, but he’s accustomed to his bad reputation. “i thought i told you not to let stuff like that get to you. you know i don’t give a shit about what people think.”

“well, i do.” maybe you shouldn’t, not to the extent you do, anyway. but after getting to know rindou, the real rindou, you can’t help but feel offended when people reduce him to nothing more than a no-good criminal. sure, he isn’t a saint, but he’s far from evil. what gave them the right to form opinions when they only got a glimpse of one side of him? “they shouldn’t get to judge you if they don’t even know you.”

he lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh, the breath heaving from his chest causing your head to raise. though, not long after, his lips find their way to your hairline, pressing a light kiss to the skin. his hand runs up and down your arm, “it doesn’t matter how often i tell you, huh?”

“nope.” you shamelessly reply. you’ll never stand for people demeaning the man you’ve come to love.

“how stubborn,” he clicks his tongue. it’s clear that this was a matter he won’t be able to change your mind on. of course, he doesn’t care what people think about him, but seeing you so protective of him and his image is oddly endearing. “so what, are you my defender or something?”

“mhm,” you hum, letting your eyes drift shut, “now and always.”

thanks for reading! pls consider reblogging or commenting if u enjoyed :3

[yourlittlebunnyy]

a court of shadows and darkness

main masterlist - azriel masterlist - previous

chapter seven

summary: Selaene, Rhysand's sister, Azriel's mate runs away after the High Lord of Spring tries to kill her.

warnings: none

enjoy!🫶

Sobs escape the lips of the three siblings before they can even stop them. Cassian is quick to react: he gets up and hugs Selaene, his face wet with silver from happiness. She feels her heart burst as she holds one of her brothers in her arms. She had not realized how much she missed him before. They remain embraced for what seems like hours to her, but at the same time, not enough time. She hears whispers in the background, a female voice asks a certain Feyre who Selaene is, what she is doing attached to her male. The other female shushes her.

She feels someone touch her shoulder, and when she lifts her head from Cassian's chest she meets Rhysand's eyes. The man smiles at her through tears, and she does the same. Cassian pulls away slightly to give her brother space, but he remains beside her, his eyes fixed on her as if he cannot believe that his sister is here, she is alive, she is safe.

Rhysand and Selaene hug each other tightly, almost knocking the breath out of each other. Cassian takes time to analyze his sister's figure, check that she is not hurt. She is the same as before, the same as four hundred and sixty-three years ago. As if it were yesterday. She is wearing a torn nightgown and a coat that looks like it came from the Winter Court. No, he is sure it came from there. He smells of cinnamon and ashes. But under the smell of the heavy coat he can now smell her own smell, the familiar smell of his sister. That too has remained unchanged: cream and strawberries. Strange, he thinks. He and his brother have remained the same, of course, but their appearance and smell in four copious centuries has clearly changed. They have grown, matured, and their smell with them. Before they smelled like little boys, now like men. And it should be the same for Selaene, should have sharpened her features, should look like a female of almost five hundred years, smell like one. But she has remained the little nineteen-year-old she once was. She does not seem to be hurt, he notices with pleasure.

Rhysand finally pulls away allowing the two to breathe. He seems to study her just as his brother already did. He seems to have the same questions.

“Selaene...” It seems surreal to him to have her there, calling her name and not in front of her grave. He is afraid to wake up. He seems to swallow a knot in his throat before asking her, “We were just about to have dinner, why don't you join us?” The question sounds so distant to everyone, though.

Selaene nods, still a little dazed, and finally seems to take in the rest of the room. There is Mor, of course. Four other females and one male. She sniffs the air, the scent of the two brothers imprinted on the skin of two females. The third simply smells of herself.

While the other two Fae seem to be together. Rhysand snaps his fingers and an extra chair and cutlery appears for her. She sits between her brothers, and suddenly feels shy of all the curious looks. Except for one. The female with Cassian's scent on her seems to be killing her with his gaze and seems to want to incinerate her. Selaene does not make herself look smaller, she keeps her chin up and her eyes resting on her with a calmness that seems to reassure her.

It is Rhysand who speaks first again and introduces everyone to her. “This is Feyre, my mate. I don't know- I don't know where you've been, but chances are you've heard of her.” Selaene looks at her brother and later at his mate. She obviously has no idea who she is, but she seems like a nice person. The girl smiles sweetly at her, and Selaene can only reciprocate with equal warmth. She is happy that her brother has found his happiness, but their bond makes the young woman think of Azriel. She can smell him, but it is very faint, and she would not be able to smell him were it not for the bond, which is still dead. A panic creeps under her skin, and her brother looks worried. He lays a hand on hers before asking her if she was all right.

”Uhm... where, where is Azriel?” Rhysand and Feyre smile at her. Does she know her? Has Azriel told her about her? However, it is Mor who answers. “I contacted him as soon as I saw you. He was on a mission, but now he is on his way. He is well, he has... he waited for you, Selaene.” The young woman wants to cry at the blonde's words. She nods gratefully. This time it is Cassian who speaks, introducing her mate. The sister can do nothing but smile, even more than before, unconcerned that the female has given her a glare of lightning. She seems to realize, slowly, who she really is. The gaze alternates between her and Rhysand, and finally, she smiles kindly at her as well. She offers her hand, and Selaene grasps it.

“I am Nesta.” Her grip is firm and her hands are soft but calloused. A warrior, she thinks. Just like Cassian.

“I'm Selaene, Rhysand's sister.” Nesta nods. Amren is introduced to her. She is slightly surprised, and her face hides a slight smile. She is very beautiful, Selaene thinks. Next to her is her male, Varian. And finally Elain, a sweet rosy-cheeked fawn that Selaene finds adorable.

“So you... you and Azriel?” She asks her as food is served from the House. Just like it used to be. The smell fills her nostrils and she smiles. She missed Velaris. She missed everything.

“Azriel and I are mates.” She answers simply, a tone that hides some possessiveness that makes Feyre chuckle. She pretends not to notice the fawn's slightly disappointed expression, but anger mounts inside her.

“Why?” She asks more coldly. Amren seems to care about the turn the conversation is taking, because she straightens up and hides the feline smile that appears on her face with a glass of red wine. Elain blushes.

“No, of course nothing. It was just to- just to know.” Selaene clenches her jaw, the brothers' faces pure amusement. They remember how she was always jealous. Gods, she was jealous even if one of them got too close.

“And you,” the tone is accusatory, ”do you have one? A mate?” She nods quickly.

“And where is he?”

“Far away. We didn't... We didn't get to know each other properly before.” Selaene smiles at her, a double-faced smile.

“But have you had enough time to get to know my brothers and my mate?” At those words Feyre decides to interrupt Rhys's sister's little jealousy tantrum.

“Don't worry, Selaene. Azriel, although he thought you were dead, has always had eyes only for you.” The Fae seems satisfied with her words, and rests her back on the backrest, her posture rigid now relaxed. She even giggles when she hears Nesta say, “ Possessive Illyrian.”

She looks at the three females and realizes something, too: they are three sisters. She certainly cannot blame poor Elain. The Cauldron was cruel in creating three sisters and three brothers and leaving one alone. But there was Selaene before her. And there will always be Selaene.

“We have missed you very much, Selae.” Says Cassian serving himself.

“You have changed a lot.” She responds by savoring some baked potatoes again. She almost groans when she swallows a bite. The taste long forgotten.

“Are you all right?” Feyre asks her, “Is something wrong?” She is worried.

“Yes, everything is great. It's just that I haven't eaten for a long time...”

Cassian laughingly comments, “Hell, Selaene. But where have you been?” The joke, however, does not make anyone laugh.

“I've been stuck in the UnderWorld.”

The table seems to stop breathing at those words. No one has ever returned from there.

It is Amren who speaks first, her voice charged with distrust: “No one has ever come back from there, girl.”

Selaene, proud as any Illyrian is, has no trouble keeping her accusatory gaze. Did she expect that in front of that Fae she would react the way Elain had reacted to her before? Because she is wrong in case she does.

“I did.” She says with a shrug. “It took almost five centuries, but I did it.”

“How did you keep from going crazy? Alone, in the dark, all that time?” Feyre asks while sipping wine. Everyone is incredibly surprised.

“I wasn't alone....” A motion of sadness, remorse, passes through her eyes. “Rhysand. I would like your help. We need to find my friend, Vanessa. She stayed there.” Her brother hesitates, but he can't bring himself to say no.

Cassian opens his mouth for the first time after hearing the news, “Is that why you haven't grown up?” She simply nods.

“It's also how I haven't starved all this time. I'm still wearing -- I'm still wearing the pajamas I had on that day.” Rhysand and Cassian are saddened, however, it is Nesta who asks for an explanation of what happened that day. Selaene dismisses the matter with a wave of her hand, explaining that she does not want to ruin dinner over something that happened so long ago.

“Someday I will tell you all about it. No, in fact, I'll show you, Rhys. But I don't want to think about it for at least a week. I'd like to at least see Azriel first.” He nods. Then he pours blueberry juice into her goblet. Selaene smiles; he is his usual self. He raises the glass to the air.

“Let's toast to Selaene, then."

Dinner proceeds smoothly. Feyre and Selaene seem to have established a great understanding, and her brother could not be happier: his two most important women getting along. Mor and Nesta also seem to adore her, and the latter in particular seems to love hearing all the embarrassing stories from her brothers. Elain, on the other hand, always seems a little down in the dumps when Selaene mentions her beloved mate.

“I swear to you! He came flying past my house with flowers for our mother in his hand, only there was a blizzard, and the porch was frozen, so he slipped and fainted! He stayed in bed a whole week, and all the flowers went on the floor.” The females laugh so heartily at Selaene's gossip, while the two brothers look embarrassed. Rhysand smiles mockingly before pointing out how Azriel had also fallen. And how he had cried out of worry.

“Yes, but unlike you, Rhysie, he didn't hit his head and faint because he has remarkable reflexes. I was worried about his wing.” Cassian snorts a laugh, getting a friendly pat from his brother on the bicep. Nesta would like to ask her to tell more, but footsteps echo in the air. And Selaene knows those footsteps all too well.

next chapter

[atlasthegreatest]

Alchemy of Minds / Mel Merdada x Male Reader

Mel Medarda, ever the calculating and composed Piltover leader, unexpectedly finds herself drawn to Y/n Tenwick, a bold Zaunite scientist brought to the city as an apprentice under Professor Heimerdinger. Drawn to his bold ideas and unguarded kindness, Mel begins visiting his lab, finding an unexpected companionship. Yet, she’s haunted by the dangers of this attachment in Piltover’s cutthroat society, leaving her torn between duty and a desire for something genuine.

Warning: soft angst (?)

Word count: 3791

A/n: Any grammar mistakes will be fixed later

The morning light that bathed Piltover’s marble streets was crisp, cutting through the chill of the early hours. On the balcony of a towering estate, Mel Medarda sat alone with a goblet of honeyed wine, her golden eyes sharp and calculating, as always.

Mel enjoyed being alone. Silence gave her room to think—strategize, analyze, and dismantle obstacles before they even arose. But the morning’s peace was interrupted by a sharp knock at the entrance to her estate, followed by a servant informing her of a peculiar invitation.

“Professor Heimerdinger requested that you attend today’s symposium at the Academy, Madam. He said there would be… interesting minds.” The servant bowed low, sensing Mel’s irritation, though she allowed none of it to touch her face.

Mel exhaled through her nose. Heimerdinger, with his endless optimism, had a knack for making promises about “interesting minds.” Most of those minds, however, were stuffy bureaucrats clinging to outdated ideas of order. But Mel was bored, and boredom was dangerous—dangerous for her and anyone caught in her path.

“Tell the Professor I’ll be attending,” she said, rising from her seat.

She didn’t know, not yet, that today would be the beginning of her undoing.

The symposium buzzed with the usual self-importance that Mel had grown to despise, but her entrance commanded attention as it always did. Draped in silk and gold, she glided through the hall like a queen surveying her court. Most eyes followed her—except for one.

In a far corner of the room, a young man sat with his head bent over a complex schematic, completely absorbed in his work. His unkempt hair and stained gloves marked him as out of place among the pristine scholars of Piltover. His clothes, though freshly pressed, bore the lingering smell of smoke and strange chemicals—a scent familiar to anyone who had been to Zaun.

Mel’s lips curled into a smirk. A Zaunite apprentice, here in Piltover, under Heimerdinger’s tutelage? Intriguing.

She moved closer, intrigued not just by the novelty of him but by his sheer lack of awareness of his surroundings. His focus was magnetic, a sharp contrast to the superficiality she saw in most Piltover elites. The man looked like someone who had never cared for politics, only precision.

“You seem determined to solve the mysteries of the universe without bothering to attend the actual lecture,” Mel said, her voice smooth as silk.

The man's eyes. A brief flash of panic crossed his face, but it faded into something softer—curiosity.

“I—sorry. Didn’t realize it started,” he murmured, his Zaunite accent faint but unmistakable. He straightened, pulling off his gloves and offering his hand. “I’m Y/n. Y/n Tenwick. Apprentice to Professor Heimerdinger.”

Mel studied his hand for a beat longer than necessary as if considering what kind of man would offer a handshake without realizing who she was. She took it, feeling the slight roughness of his palm. A worker’s hand. A builder’s hand.

“Mel Medarda,” she replied, watching his expression closely for a flicker of recognition. There was none. He didn’t know who she was, and somehow, that thrilled her.

“Ah. Nice to meet you, Miss Medarda,” he said, oblivious to the weight her name carried in Piltover. “Sorry about earlier. It’s just—there’s this problem I’ve been trying to solve with stabilizing Hextech particles, and I guess I lost track of time.” He chuckled nervously, brushing a streak of grease off his cheek.

Mel raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. Most men she met tried to impress her with wealth or power. Y/n, it seemed, had no such pretense. His passion lay elsewhere, somewhere genuine, raw, and entirely untouched by the delicate webs of politics that Mel wove daily.

“And have you solved it?” she asked, her voice carrying a playful challenge.

“Almost.” He grinned, the nervousness in him easing slightly. “But it keeps slipping. Like… like trying to catch smoke in a bottle. I think I’m missing something—some variable I haven’t accounted for.”

Mel tilted her head, resting her chin delicately on her fingers. “Or perhaps you’re overthinking it. Sometimes the solution is simpler than we want it to be.”

Y/n blinked at her, surprised by the comment, but instead of brushing it off, he seemed to consider it. It was a rare thing, Mel thought—someone who didn’t dismiss her out of fear or ego, but who genuinely listened.

“Maybe,” he said thoughtfully. “Or maybe the solution’s just… waiting in the right place.” He looked at her then, and for the first time, Mel saw the flicker of something unexpected—interest. Not in the way most men looked at her, as if she were a prize to be won, but as if he were seeing her for the first time, as a person rather than a political tool.

It was disarming. And dangerous.

“Tell me, Y/n,” she said, her voice softening just a fraction. “How does a Zaunite find himself under Heimerdinger’s wing? That’s no small feat.”

Y/n scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “Bit of a long story. But… the short version? I built something dangerous back in Zaun. Heimerdinger found out and thought I might do less harm if I had proper guidance.”

Mel laughed—truly laughed—and it caught Y/n off guard. “And here you are, in the heart of Piltover, still building dangerous things.”

“Old habits die hard,” he admitted with a grin, his eyes alight with mischief.

For a moment, the world outside this strange conversation faded away. Mel forgot about the political games she played and the alliances she had to maintain. In Y/n’s unpolished charm, there was no hidden agenda, no expectations—just a man who looked at the world through the lens of what could be instead of what should be.

It was a dangerous feeling, this lightness in her chest. Mel knew better than to let her guard down. She knew the risks of attaching herself to someone so far removed from her world. And yet, as she watched Y/n return to his schematic, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, she found herself wanting to stay just a little longer.

Maybe, just maybe, not every connection had to be calculated.

And for the first time in a long while, Mel Medarda felt something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

Hope.

That evening, as she returned to her estate, Mel stood on the same balcony where her day had begun. Below her, the city glittered with light and life. But her thoughts were not on Piltover tonight.

They were on a Zaunite with ink-stained hands and a mind full of impossible ideas.

And though she knew it was foolish—knew it could lead to ruin—Mel allowed herself the smallest flicker of something dangerously close to longing.

The fractures in her golden armor were beginning to form. And she didn’t know if she wanted to stop them.

——————————

Over the next few weeks, Mel Medarda found herself drawn back to the Academy more than she would have cared to admit. Meetings and state dinners were rearranged, political allies left waiting. Each time she promised herself it would be the last visit—just a passing curiosity, nothing more—but each time she ended up in the same place: the lab tucked into the far corner of the Academy’s west wing, where Y/n Tenwick worked tirelessly under dim lantern light.

To her surprise, Y/n never seemed fazed by her sudden appearances. In a city full of people eager to curry favor or steal glances at her, Y/n treated her like a familiar shadow, neither unwelcome nor remarkable. He greeted her with an easy smile, even when his hands were buried in some strange contraption or his face was smeared with soot.

“You’re back,” Y/n would say with a lopsided grin, as if she were a colleague stopping by to chat rather than a Medarda.

And each time, Mel found herself lingering just a little longer, fascinated by the way his mind worked—so unlike the polished aristocrats she dealt with every day. His ideas were messy, chaotic even, but underneath the disorder lay brilliance. Y/n thought not in rules and limits, but in endless possibilities.

One evening, long after the sun had set, she found herself sitting on a workbench in his lab as Y/n fidgeted with a delicate device in his hands—a small sphere of polished brass, etched with intricate runes.

“It’s supposed to detect anomalies in Hextech crystals,” he explained, turning the sphere slowly, his brow furrowed in concentration. “But it keeps shorting out the second it gets near anything remotely unstable.”

Mel leaned closer, watching the way his hands moved—deft and precise, despite the chaos of his surroundings. “So what you’re saying is it works too well. It’s not detecting failure. It’s… anticipating it.”

Y/n looked up, his eyes widening slightly in realization. “Exactly!” he exclaimed, his grin spreading. “It’s rejecting anything it thinks might destabilize, even if it hasn’t happened yet.”

“Sounds like the people of Piltover,” Mel murmured with a smirk. “Refusing anything unfamiliar before it even has a chance to prove itself.”

Y/n laughed, a warm, unguarded sound that filled the small lab. “And here I thought Piltover was all about progress.”

“Progress at a carefully calculated pace,” Mel replied, a sharp edge beneath her smile. “One that doesn’t upset the delicate balance of power.”

Y/n gave her a curious look, as if seeing her for the first time in a new light. “You sound like someone who knows a lot about power.”

“Maybe.” She met his gaze, unflinching. “And you sound like someone who doesn’t care about it at all.”

He shrugged, turning the brass sphere over in his hands. “I care more about discovery than control. Power doesn’t build things—ideas do.”

Mel’s heart skipped, just for a moment. It was a dangerous way to think in a world like theirs, but it was also… intoxicating. Y/n wasn’t weighed down by ambition or fear, and that made him unlike anyone she had ever known.

“That’s a bold philosophy,” she said softly, as if testing the words on her tongue. “Not many people think that way.”

“Maybe that’s why the world’s so broken,” Y/n replied with a grin.

Mel shook her head, amused. “And here I thought it was because people keep building dangerous things in secret labs.”

Y/n laughed again, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “Fair point.”

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, the quiet hum of machinery filling the space between them. Mel found herself strangely at ease here, in a room cluttered with strange inventions and half-finished projects. There were no expectations, no masks to wear. Just the quiet companionship of two people from different worlds, drawn together by the alchemy of shared curiosity.

At some point, Y/n handed her a set of blueprints, his fingers brushing hers briefly. “Here,” he said, almost shyly. “Take a look at this. I could use another pair of eyes.”

Mel arched an eyebrow, bemused. “You want my help?”

“Why not?” he asked with a grin. “You seem like someone who knows how to spot a flaw.”

She laughed, surprised by his boldness. “Careful, Y/n. I’m not known for going easy on people.”

“Good.” He winked. “I don’t want easy.”

Mel stared at him, caught off guard by the simplicity of his honesty. There was no pretense in Y/n, no ulterior motive. Just a man who wanted to build something better, no matter the cost. And for the first time in years, Mel felt the walls she had built around herself begin to shift, the cracks widening just a little more.

It was foolish to let herself care, she knew. Dangerous, even. Y/n was a distraction—one she couldn’t afford in a city as treacherous as Piltover. But some part of her, the part that longed for something real amid the artifice, refused to let go.

“Alright, Y/n,” she said quietly, tracing a finger along the edge of the blueprints. “Let’s see what kind of trouble we can build together.”

And as their eyes met across the cluttered workbench, Mel Medarda realized she was in more trouble than she had ever anticipated.

——————————

Days turned into weeks, and Mel Medarda found herself entangled in something she had not prepared for: late-night conversations over prototypes that wouldn’t work, laughter shared over failures, and moments of unexpected silence where the air felt heavy with something unspoken. Piltover’s glittering society faded into the background whenever she was with Y/n. It was a dangerous kind of indulgence, one she knew she couldn’t afford—but she kept coming back.

Y/n was a puzzle she couldn’t resist solving. His mind danced between chaos and brilliance, never fully constrained by rules or fear of failure. Where Piltover’s scientists worked within lines, Y/n thrived in breaking them. He was building something more than inventions—he was creating possibilities.

And Mel, for the first time, didn’t feel like she was playing a game. Here, in Y/n’s lab, there were no Medardas to live up to, no political alliances to manage. She wasn’t a strategist. She was just Mel.

But that freedom came with a price, and it wasn’t long before the weight of reality began to creep back in.

It was another late evening, and the two of them stood over a table littered with gears, diagrams, and shattered crystals—casualties of their latest attempt to stabilize Y/n’s anomaly detector. A thin trail of smoke curled from a busted component, and Y/n rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing at the mess.

“Well,” he said with a lopsided grin, “another brilliant failure.”

Mel smirked, watching as he absentmindedly smeared a streak of oil across his cheek. “Not every failure is a loss,” she said. “Besides, it’s not the first.”

Y/n shot her a playful glance. “Is that your polite way of saying I’m terrible at this?”

“No,” she replied, leaning in just slightly. “It’s my way of saying you’re reckless.”

He laughed, that easy, open laugh that seemed to come so naturally to him. “And you like that, don’t you?”

Mel raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth lifting in amusement. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just waiting for you to blow something up.”

“Careful. You say things like that, and I might take it as encouragement.”

They were close—closer than they had been before. The air between them felt charged, like the moment just before a storm. Mel could feel the heat radiating from Y/n, smell the faint scent of smoke and copper that always clung to him.

She should have pulled away. She knew better. She had always known better. But Y/n wasn’t like the others who wanted something from her. He wasn’t looking for an alliance or trying to worm his way into her family’s power. All he wanted was her, just as she was.

And that, more than anything, terrified her.

“You know,” Y/n murmured, his voice softer now, “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Mel’s heart stuttered in her chest, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. “I could say the same.”

For a moment, it felt as though the entire world had shrunk to the space between them. And then Y/n took a step closer, hesitating for just a breath, as if waiting for her to pull away. When she didn’t, he reached up and gently tucked a stray curl of hair behind her ear.

His touch was light, almost reverent, and it sent a shiver down her spine. Mel wasn’t used to tenderness—she was used to power, to control. But there was no calculation in Y/n’s gaze, no hidden agenda. Just quiet, unspoken affection.

“I think you’re dangerous,” Y/n whispered, his eyes locking onto hers. “And I don’t care.”

Mel swallowed, her throat tight. She had always known how to handle ambition, betrayal, manipulation. But this—this quiet honesty—was something else entirely. It was disarming in a way she hadn’t expected.

Before she could stop herself, she leaned in, closing the distance between them. Their lips met, slow and tentative at first, as if neither of them quite believed it was happening. But the moment their mouths touched, something inside Mel shattered—something she hadn’t even realized she was holding onto.

The kiss deepened, and for a few fleeting seconds, there were no politics, no families, no cities divided by wealth and desperation. There was only the two of them, caught in a moment that felt both inevitable and impossible.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Y/n rested his forehead against hers, his hands still cradling her face.

“That was… unexpected,” he said, a breathless laugh escaping him.

Mel smiled, feeling lighter than she had in years. “You Zaunites do have a talent for disruption.”

Y/n grinned, brushing his thumb gently along her jawline. “Maybe Piltover could use a little disruption.”

Mel laughed softly, but the sound was tinged with something bittersweet. As much as she wanted to believe in this fragile thing between them, she knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

Nothing ever was.

——————————

The next day, Mel’s carefully constructed world began to close in on her.

It started with a meeting—an innocuous summons from her mother, Ambessa Medarda. But nothing involving her mother was ever innocuous.

“You’ve been distracted,” Ambessa said, her voice cold and sharp as a blade. She sat with perfect poise, her gaze as piercing as ever. “And that’s dangerous, Mel.”

Mel kept her expression impassive, though her heart hammered in her chest. “I’m handling everything.”

“Are you?” Ambessa arched a brow. “Because I hear whispers. Whispers of you spending time with a Zaunite.”

Mel’s stomach tightened, but she didn’t flinch. “He’s an apprentice to Heimerdinger. A scientist. Nothing more.”

“Nothing is ever ‘nothing’ in Piltover,” her mother snapped. “You know that better than anyone.”

Mel clenched her jaw, her mind racing. She had always known that her relationship with Y/n would be dangerous—not just for her, but for him. Zaunites were not welcome in the circles Mel moved in, no matter how brilliant they were. And a Medarda could not afford to be seen consorting with someone so far beneath their station.

“This is not a game, Mel,” Ambessa continued, her voice low and deadly. “The council is watching. Your enemies are watching. One wrong move, and they will destroy you—and him along with you.”

Mel’s hands curled into fists at her sides, but she kept her voice steady. “I know what I’m doing.”

Ambessa gave her a long, assessing look. “I hope you do. For his sake.”

As her mother’s words echoed in her mind, Mel felt the weight of reality settle over her like a shroud. What had started as a reckless indulgence was spiraling into something far more dangerous.

And for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she could control it.

But as she stood on the edge of ruin, one thought remained clear:

She would not let Y/n be another casualty of Piltover’s games.

Even if it meant risking everything.

Bonus Chapter:

The rain was falling softly over Piltover, turning the cobblestone streets slick under the warm glow of gas lamps. From the balcony of her estate, Mel Medarda watched as the drops slid off the iron railing, lost in the night below. The world outside her doors was peaceful for once, yet her thoughts were a tempest she couldn’t escape.

Y/n had become something she could no longer ignore. What began as curiosity had grown into an ache—persistent, unrelenting, and far more dangerous than any political alliance or council negotiation. She knew she should walk away. She should shut it down before the inevitable fallout began.

But that wasn’t what her heart wanted.

A knock at the balcony door interrupted her thoughts, and before she could call out, it creaked open. Y/n stepped through, rainwater glistening on his coat. He wasn’t supposed to be here—he knew it, and so did she. But the sight of him, soaked and wind-tousled, was enough to shatter her resolve.

“Y/n,” Mel whispered, half in warning, half in relief.

He grinned as he pulled off his coat, draping it over the back of a chair. “I figured you could use some company tonight.”

She should have scolded him, reminded him of how reckless this was. If anyone caught him here—

But Y/n had a way of making her forget the rules, forget the consequences.

He crossed the balcony to stand beside her, his shoulder brushing hers. For a moment, neither of them spoke, content to listen to the patter of rain against the rooftops.

“You don’t belong here,” Mel said finally, her voice barely audible over the storm.

“I know.” Y/n’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “But I came anyway.”

Her heart twisted painfully at the simplicity of his words. Y/n never fought to earn a place in her world—he had simply shown up, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And somehow, that made it harder to resist him.

“You should leave before someone sees you,” she whispered, though the words felt hollow.

Y/n turned toward her, his expression soft. “Do you really want me to go?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached out, her fingers lightly tracing the scar along his wrist—an old wound from an experiment gone wrong, a reminder of the risks he took for knowledge. For discovery.

“No,” she admitted at last, her voice breaking like the first crack in a dam. “I don’t.”

Y/n exhaled slowly, as if the weight of her confession had lifted something inside him. He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “Then let’s stop pretending we’re not in this together.”

Mel squeezed his hand, a mixture of fear and relief swelling in her chest. For so long, she had lived with caution, every move calculated, every relationship a step toward something greater. But with Y/n, there was no strategy. There was just the raw, messy truth of it.

And it terrified her.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n smiled, brushing a damp curl from her face. “Neither do I. But we’ll figure it out.”

For the first time in years, Mel felt something unfamiliar—hope. A fragile, dangerous hope that maybe, just maybe, they could make something real in a city built on lies.

They stood there for a long time, wrapped in the quiet rhythm of the rain, two souls from opposite worlds daring to believe in each other.

And in that stolen moment, beneath the shimmering veil of Piltover’s storm, Mel Medarda allowed herself to believe that some things—no matter how dangerous—were worth the risk.

[dxmoness]

Hi! How are you? I hope you're doing great! May ask hc of rezef x (fem) reader? Reader is an intelligent,calm, polite and short person and her look and voice are just like dolls and she is cayena's lady in waiting. Please take your time and thank you!

[ AUTHOR NOTE ] Thank you for requesting, nonnie! Sorry this may be short, it's been a while since I made a hc 😭

[ CONTENT WARNING ] yandere / possessive attitude (it's Rezef)

[ PRONOUNS USED ] she/her! But anyone can read ^^

❏ Rezef was known to hate everyone. No matter who it was, his servants or others he loathed them. All except his sister. This was true enough until he met her.

❏ She was Cayena’s new lady-in-waiting. At first Rezef thought she just looked pretty like a doll but that was it. Later after plenty of illegal observations made him realize her potential. This only fueled his tendencies to search and observe her even more and see if someone had eyes on her.

❏ He hated the fact that Name had so many men on her tail, men desperate for her attention. So much that some even tried to make plans of meddling with his new obsession's things and schedules. So he murdered them, he told himself it was because of the fact that Name was Cayena’s lady-in-waiting meaning she needed to be there for her sister. Little did he know it was for other reasons.

❏ He found about his actual reasons when he saw her with another noble. He had hated it. Hated seeing her with another. He had dragged Name away from there and told her to stay away from any men other than him. Clearly possessive. This was when he realized he wasn't doing his actions for Cayena’s sake anymore.

❏ He'd grown so attached that he'd do everything to get her attention. To get her to be in the room with him. Every excuse possible and Cayena still hadn't managed to catch his obsession with the female.

❏ The day he managed a kiss from her was the day he became infatuated. Utterly infatuated. Every bit of him wanted and needed her as his wife.

❏ When his father made it clear that he didn't want him marrying her, he went into a complete anger tantrum. Breaking everything. The audacity of the man. It didn't matter though as he would still do it. Whether his father liked it or not, that woman will be his.

Name stands there, she was called to the prince’s room yet again. Her eyes hold way to the emotions of concern and curiosity.

Rezef sits by his desk, sapphire eyes fixed onto the female. His lips lift up in a smile as he heads to her, eyes glowing with delight as he watched her bow respectfully towards him. “Do you know why I've asked you to come here, my lady?” He stares at her, fondly eyeing her frame.

“No...” She murmurs, her eyes giving way to confusion now. “Why has His Highness called me?” This question made him laugh. A laugh that was one of a cold-hearted male. Name shifted nervously at the sound of it.

The awkwardness lingered as Rezef came closer towards her. Now near her, he reached forward and touched her chin, lifting it to face him. His eyes were ablaze with the feeling of admiration, adoration and lust mixed together as he leaned closer, his mouth near her ear. His hot breath making her shudder. "Has any man ever told you that you look beautiful, doll?" He whispered as his hand still remained stroking her cheek.

Name was quiet. "They have." She said quietly. Rezef just smirks before he neared her lips. "Then allow me to make those men jealous." He whispered, lips touching hers.

tagging, @sxnful-rage

[mooodyblue]

hi!! i love your writing! i’m sorry if this is convoluted but i keep thinking about that linda thompson quote where she said she wanted to be the little girl sometimes but elvis always had to be the bby. can i please request a 70s elvis x reader fic where one of them is always cg and the other is always little (pick your poison for who’s who!) but the cg has been having a really hard week so their little suggests that they switch roles for a bit. the cg is reluctant at first because they’ve never been little before but their little helps them go down and they love it and feel so safe and happy :)

wc: 1,955

pairing: 70s!elvis x little!reader

warnings: age regression (sfw)

a/n: ok totally obsessed with this request. probably one of my favorite parts of her book too!!! enjoy 🫶🏼

masterlist directory

elvis was always used to giving. need a new car? he'll get it for you. need your car fixed? he’ll buy you a new car. give, give, give, that's all he ever did. he always did it out of the kindness of his heart, but he never got anything back. he felt stuck a lot of the time, always feeling like his life was just giving, always taking care of people and never himself. he looked out for everyone else before he did.

it was his whole life, even growing up. he worked to help his parents pay rent and when he got famous and started getting bigger checks in the mail, almost all his money would go to taking care of his family. he took care of his daddy, took care of his momma, and even his cousins and grandparents. it was always on him. 

but sometimes he wished people would give back. someone paid him back once and he went home and cried.

after the death of his mother, the feeling and want to be taken care of only got worse. his own mother couldn't coddle him anymore, no more of the motherly love he craved whenever he was feeling blue. he found himself lonely, wishing he had someone to hold him and tell him he'd be okay.

he started sleeping with a plushie. it was weird at first, being a grown man and sleeping with a plushie that a fan gifted him. he felt weird about it. he didn't tell anyone. it was just his little secret. he found himself feeling bad once he got more plushies as gifts, a weird sense of dread realizing he was neglecting all the other plushies and sleeping with the same one every night. he felt bad getting rid of them, but he donated them to feel a little better instead.

he started having sweet nicknames with his partners. then the baby talk started just like how he did with his mother. it was oddly comforting talking to his partner in that way, he loved how they'd babytalk back, all the different nicknames for him….it all reminded him of her. 

it happened with every partner of his. babytalk, nicknames for each other, elvis being babied and acting like a little boy with a tiny high school crush every time. 

but then you came along. you changed his life and he found himself so attached to you. now, he was older. he was sicker, his body ached, he was overworked and he knew of it. he wanted that escape, to feel a mother's love, wishing his own was around to comfort him when he wasn't feeling good. you comforted him, you gave him the love he wanted, even when he got more attached to you and it got beyond just nicknames and babytalk….you gave him what he wanted. you knew he deserved to be treated in that way.

the older he got, the more he found himself slipping into that sort of headspace whenever you were around. you’d hold him after shows, telling him he did such a good job at being a big boy, he’d call you momma as his cheeks got pink with every compliment. it was always just you and elvis. never with the guys, except jerry that one time. 

elvis always played the baby. he was the baby. you never minded it, you loved it. the toys, the plushies, ‘iddyteam’, and plenty of ‘butch’ in a glass every now and then. 

but he wasn’t always in that sort of mood, though. he was elvis presley after all. every morning he’d wake up, have his coffee, read a book or maybe the paper. breakfast was always quiet. the occasional shared glance as he look at you as he flipped a page, smiling at you then going back to what he was reading.

you’d been feeling off as of lately, too much going on your head, you had a lot going on—between taking care of business around graceland and being elvis’s partner….well, being his partner was hard enough as it is. 

“i’ve got some work to do today, satnin.” elvis suddenly spoke, breaking you from your thoughts. “colonel wants to see me about some songs i wanna record.”

a soft sigh left your lips. you planned to talk to him today about wanting to be babied too, wanting to see if that would make you feel any better. you worried he’d be weirded out by it, especially when he had valid reasons for wanting to be the baby in the relationship.

it’s not like you didn’t enjoy it. maybe it was burn out. you wanted to feel what he felt for a change. the whole week felt exhausting to live through. sure, you wished you could relive your childhood, back when everything wasn’t so…complicated. but going back to that now as an adult, would it be as comforting?

“you’re thinkin’ again.” elvis spoke, looking at you. “what’s on your mind? c’mon, spit it out.”

you ran a hand through your hair and sighed. “i’m just….” you didn’t know how to really explain how you were feeling or how to even bring up that you wanted to try switching roles. “can i ask something crazy? please don’t get mad, just hear me out.” 

elvis raised an eyebrow, closing book. “okay…..”

there was regret on your face, wishing you hadn’t brought it up. it was too late to turn back now. “i’ve been…wondering if maybe…we could switch roles one day? i love that you’re my baby and i’m so happy to take care of you, i’ve just been feeling stuck this week.”

he didn’t say anything. he looked at you slightly puzzled, confused even. he didn’t know what to say to that. 

“i know it sounds insane.” you added on, “ but sometimes…i just…want to be the baby too—”

“oh, honey.” he leaned forward closer to the table, taking his hands in yours. “i wanted to bring that up to you, to see if it felt like somethin’ you needed.” elvis noticed how quiet you’d been the whole week. he didn’t know what was going on your head a lot of the time, you kept to yourself quite often.. “i didn’t want ya thinkin’ i was the crazy one.” he laughed softly. “you’re always gonna be my baby, darlin’. let me take care of you today, sound good?”

you were surprised with how accepting he was to your proposal, a surpised look on your face. “i thought you had to work—”

he waved you off, “the colonel can wait. he can cry about it, i don’t give a damn what he has to say. i’ll make him wait.” he smiled. “i want you to be happy and comfortable too, little one.”

your cheeks warmed up at the pet name, squirming a little in your seat. it was sweet that elvis was willing to switch up the roles, but you didn’t know how to just…feel what he felt. you didn’t know how to go down, it wasn’t easy for you like it was for him.

“don’t worry about it, hon.” he said reassuringly. “i’ll help ya, not a problem. we’ll figure out what you like and don’t like, you just gotta get comfortable.” he smiled, reaching over to put his hand on top of yours. 

elvis was very patient with you. whenever he went down, it wasnt on purpose, it always came to him. he knew some people could force themselves into that sort of headspace, but for someone that never got themselves into that sort of tiny place in their head? he knew it was going to be difficult. he also knew he had to do what he thought would make you feel smaller, not what helped him, but you.

he made you a little snack instead of having something made for you. just like him, he couldn’t have certain things unless they were made by you. it started with getting you comfortable, helping you change into clothes that made you feel cozy. you had your favorite pajama set on, he had his on too. elvis was kind enough to lend one of his plushies to you, finding himself almost slipping into his own headspace after rambling on about it and its name, but this was about you, not him.  

you watched some cartoons with him, snuggled up on the couch. you still couldn’t get yourself to fall into that headspace. he kept you close to him, rubbing your arm and kissing the side of your head. sweet pet names always left his lips, making you feel giddy and light, your heart about to burst with love from this man. 

a funny scene appeared on screen, elvis letting out a soft laugh and you giggling softly. you hugged the plushie close to you, feeling its comfort. the soft glow of the tv and the presence of your comfort person made you feel so safe, a type of comfort you hadn't felt in a long time. you found yourself beginning to feel fuzzy—a light, floaty feeling taking over your brain as you continued to live in the moment, suddenly burying your face in elvis’s chest. 

“oh, baby.” elvis chuckled, rubbing your back gently. “i got ya, daddy's got ya. you feelin’ alright, lil’?” 

“mmhm.” you hummed in response. 

although elvis was so used to taking care of others, it felt nice to be with little you. he felt needed, like this was what he needed to do. it felt right. he wasn't going to stop being your baby, of course, but he would definitely be exploring this side of you more often. there was so much to learn, likes and dislikes, mannerisms, what age you found yourself stuck as….he was ready to learn it all.

once he realized you had fully gone down, he played with you for a bit, even letting you draw him a few pictures in crayons. you were the better drawer while little, he just scribbled, you actually tried. he thought it was cute. 

dinner was easy. he lended you a sippy cup filled with milk, a pb&j and some animal crackers. he loved seeing you happily chow down on such a simple meal, how your legs kicked back and forth with the sandwich in between your hands.

he decided to run you a bath before bed, a lavender scented bubble bath with a few bath toys to help you wind down for the night. he hummed softly as he washed you, watching you play with a rubber duck in the tub and giggling as you squeezed it, a soft squeak coming from the piece of plastic. “funny lil’ sound isn’t it?” he asked, mimicking the sound and getting a laugh from you in response. you flapped your arms gently in the bath, some water splashing out of the tub. he didn't mind it though, you were happy. “silly baby.” 

he got you dried up and into some fresh pajamas, taking your hand as he headed back to his bedroom for the night. you hopped up on your side of the bed, watching him get himself ready for bed. “y’gonna tell me a story?” you asked softly. 

he snorted, “a story?” he playfully complained. “haven't i done enough, baby?” 

you gave him a small pout, “please?” you begged, dragging out the e.

he put his hands up in surrender, “alright, alright!” he got up in bed beside you, letting you rest against his chest. “because you were so good today, i’ll tell you a nice lil' story.” he ruffled your hair. “i love you, baby.” 

you smiled at him and buried your face in his neck, “love you too, daddy.”

[lucky-clover-gazette]

Arceus Forbid Women Do Anything

Chapter 2/3 | 7,558 words | Rated T

Commandment II: Gatekeep

The self-indulgent Volo Wins AU fic has turned into non-diagetic game mechanics timeloop existential struggle with failure fic. Who's surprised

When the champion watched him during their battles, she often tried to imagine him in a different state of mind. She analyzed what she understood of his plans, was reluctantly impressed by his enduring commitment to his own aspirations. She got the best impression she could of the real Volo, a friend and a stranger and her only companion in this endless cycle of failure. She never spoke to him. The idea of conversation felt wrong, as if disturbing a scripted play or painting over a work of art. And besides, even if she managed to change the narrative through speech, her inevitable failure would render the results meaningless. She would, always, try again. Until she won, she would try again. As she approached the Temple of Sinnoh once again, the champion thought that she might be going insane. It made no sense, that she had not yet used her knowledge and practice to end this cycle. But every time she had the chance, she just… couldn’t. She would lose, retreat to the cave, call Arceus, and receive the same answer each time. Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

Read the full chapter on AO3 or under the cut:

BEFORE

The Champion of Hisui knew that something was wrong when she reached the temple’s remains.

Volo had been acting more strangely than usual in the past few weeks, as their search for the plates of Arceus drew closer to its end. Restless, lapsing into bouts of discomforting behavior that she’d struggled to explain. She’d always known there was something ironic about his friendly mercantile persona, and appreciated his genuine nature whenever it showed. Having worked retail herself in the previous world, she could never blame Volo for avoiding his job at the Ginkgo Guild, exploring ruins and attaching himself to her adventures instead. With time she had come to genuinely enjoy his company, smiling despite herself whenever he emerged to congratulate her for quelling yet another frenzied noble. And after her banishment, when he’d been the only person to truly care for her, she hadn’t hesitated to accept his comfort.

She didn’t know what exactly to call their relationship now, in the wake of her victory against Palkia and Dialga. By all intents and purposes, it felt like they were a partnership—officially as seekers of the plates of Arceus, but also as friends. He was the closest companion she had found in this world, and she’d grown to trust him near-implicitly. Volo had put himself at risk on her behalf far too many times for her to doubt his intentions now.

But, still. He was being weird. His lecture about Giratina had been pretty normal (for Volo), but the deranged laughter interrupting it? Definitely harder to explain—even for the champion, who usually delighted in Volo’s bizarre behaviors.

Of course, part of that was due to Volo himself, who was easily one of the most attractive people she had ever met. If someone else did half of the weird shit he did, she was pretty sure she’d find it annoying or even creepy. But with Volo, it was endearing. Not just because he was beautiful, or because he had a pleasant voice, or because he held himself with exceptional confidence. She was endeared because he was brilliant, and passionate about his interests, and clever in his humor, and so very sweet towards his pokémon. And he was hot.

She sometimes wondered if he felt the same way about her. But he was so focused on his studies, on the plates of Arceus, that she assumed that any kind of latent attraction would not be made a priority. Occasionally she felt the urge to just straight-up ask ‘what are we?’, but that seemed far too modern an approach. And besides, did she even want her relationship with Volo to be physical, or even explicitly romantic, outside the realm of fantasy?

She didn’t know if she could stand to lose his friendship. Volo, more than anyone else in Hisui, felt real. He was more than a sycophant, a worshiper, someone who idolized her unquestioningly for her gifts. He’d praised her successes, of course, but she’d never been ignorant to the double meanings in his words, the slight contempt of someone who wished for a life they could not have. A life she did have, thanks to the Almighty Arceus plucking her from her original time and place.

From others, praise felt shallow and meaningless. She’d saved them from misfortune, and they’d thanked her because they could continue living as they always had. But from the lonely and mysterious Volo, praise felt meaningful and true. Through his resentment he saw the many facets of her—she was not a flawless hero—and as a result, hadn’t rejected her when she appeared to have failed. He hadn’t abandoned her after she’d saved the region, either, once she’d served her great purpose. And while he was absolutely using her to find the plates, she knew that she was using him too. And that, somehow, was a greater comfort than any other connection she’d forged in this unfamiliar world.

Of course, things weren’t entirely cynical between them. Volo had shown the champion genuine moments of support, even when it had served him no purpose to do so. He’d comforted her during her banishment, blaming the people of Jubilife for their cruelty rather than telling her what she could have done differently to appease them. He had never once encouraged her to apologize. He’d given her a safe haven with Cogita and dedicated himself to assisting her with the Red Chain. All the while, he’d shown no shame about his continued association with the traitor who supposedly doomed them all.

Arceus, meanwhile, had transported its champion to Hisui with only a smartphone as a tether, offering little support beyond a mission and a vague promise upon its completion. At least when Volo was negging her, he did it to her face. With effort. While being hot about it. When he’d asked the champion for her help with the plates, taking her away from the village so they could travel the world together, it had been a no-brainer to say yes. She didn’t even really know what the plates did—just that Volo cared about finding them, and so she did too.

But, still. Something felt wrong. Something had felt wrong, ever since their last conversation with Cogita. Volo was lying to her, and after everything they’d been through she had no idea why he would. She already knew that he was more misanthropic than he acted and negligent in his merchant duties, which were the things he seemed most invested in concealing. He obviously had secrets—she knew very little of his past, for example—but those missing truths had never threatened the dynamic they’d created together. This truth, whatever it was, just felt wrong. She would not be able to proceed until it was revealed.

The champion took a deep breath, more nervous about this confrontation than any that had come before, and entered the temple ruins.

─────────────────

NOW

The challenger returned to Mount Coronet for what would surely be their final attempt at victory.

They only knew what Arceus had told them: they’d returned countless times throughout their life to battle the Champion of Hisui, and each time they had lost. Lost the battle and their memory, returning to the wilds to train the pokémon they wielded. They knew that they were nearing the end of their life, and soon enough would not be able to ascend Mount Coronet at all—yet the voice of Arceus still urged them forwards, and so they climbed.

They understood now that the Champion of Hisui was a faithless traitor, who they would need to defeat in order to earn an audience with the detested false Lord. In their younger years Arceus had not provided this information, simply requesting that she be dispatched. After several losses, though, Arceus had eventually disclosed the entire truth. Ever since that disclosure, the challenger’s mood approaching Spear Pillar was always the same: overwhelming anger towards the fallen hero who had enabled the old world’s destruction.

The challenger reached the temple again.

“Welcome back,” greeted the Champion of Hisui, motioning to a bench at the edge of Spear Pillar. “Please, take a seat.”

─────────────────

BEFORE

She thought it was rather dramatic, the way he stood at the edge of the ruins. The sky around them was vast and pink, dotted by Hisui’s seemingly eternal clouds as the sun slowly set. Volo did not face the champion and the feeling of wrongness only increased.

“The temple lies in ruins now,” said Volo, still refusing to turn around. His voice was light, distant, a kind of detached calm that she had rarely heard from the passionate researcher. “Columns cracked and broken... like pillars now turned into spears, stabbing into the heavens.”

The champion raised an eyebrow, stopping just before the stairs leading up to the viewing platform. But she said nothing.

Volo turned around then, wearing his winning merchant’s smile. “Well,” he sighed, “I detect a distinct lack of Giratina.”

The champion couldn’t help but smirk at that. It had always amused her, the way he acted like life was a comedy of errors and they had no choice but to play along. The way he’d spoken in the Celestica Ruins had been different, though—he’d been dead-serious about his own suffering and the suffering of others, deranged laughter aside.

And here was that humor again. It should have been a comforting return to form. But this time, the champion could not shake the chilling feeling that Volo was in on the joke.

“Hm?” he asked, resting his chin on his hand. His tone was unmistakably condescending. He hadn’t spoken to her like that in months, not since they’d grown to understand each other as more than merchant and hero. “Is something bothering you?”

The champion nodded stiffly. For all of her trust and confidence in their friendship, she couldn’t help but wonder—

“Ah, I do beg your pardon,” said Volo, having traded his smile for a chillingly neutral expression. “I suppose I must seem to be behaving strangely!”

He didn’t sound like himself. He put a hand on his hip.

“I daresay you deserve to know what I’m really after by now,” he told the champion, and her heart sunk.

She found herself stepping backwards, filled with incomprehensible dread. It didn’t matter what it was, it only mattered that she hadn’t possessed the sense to avoid this situation altogether. And now she had no choice but to accept that she was wrong about the only person in this world who’d ever felt right.

Volo chuckled darkly, his one visible eye noticeably changed. He looked… manic, was the only word for it. She’d seen hints of this before, but had chalked it up to passion. It had even been sweet, in small doses. But this was concerning. She wanted to reach out to him, and she wanted to leave this place before she learned exactly how foolish she had been.

The conflict left her rooted where she stood. The conflict, and the fear.

He seemed to sense that fear, his expression shifting back to an easy smile. He spoke clearly, thoughtfully, just as he had during countless discussions of history and ruins and oh, Arceus, this man might actually be insane.

“Ever since I became convinced that Arceus really does exist,” said Volo, “there has been one question that consumed my thoughts: How can I meet such a being myself?”

The champion struggled to understand the implications of his words. All things considered, that was a perfectly normal Volo thing to say, so why did everything feel so—

"It was in an attempt to answer this question that I originally sought out Giratina and had it tear open that rift in space and time,” Volo told the champion. “After all, Giratina wished to stand against Arceus.”

She blinked.

He…

He’d brought her here.

She was here, because of him.

And when she’d been banished…

“But that didn't do the trick,” Volo continued, still smiling. “So then I had you gather the fragments of the all-encompassing deity, just as the murals of the ruins directed.”

He had her.

He’d had her.

Volo closed his eyes and lifted his head to the heavens, eerily peaceful in his confession. “Eighteen plates said to be the fragments of the all-encompassing deity. You hold in your hands seventeen of them. So, you must be wondering: Where is the last one?“

He opened his eyes and removed something from his apron. A purple plate, shaped exactly like the others. “Why, it’s right here!”

That was not a customer service smile, it was a smirk. She’d seen it last when he’d playfully challenged her to battle, but nothing was playful about this challenge.

The champion stood, slack-jawed, as Volo reached for the shoulder of his Ginkgo Guild uniform. In one smooth motion he removed the jumpsuit and his hat, revealing…

Oh, he was definitely insane.

"Now hand over the plates you gathered!” Volo commanded, dressed in the most bizarre outfit the champion had ever seen in her life. He wore a chiton-shirt with a cold shoulder, a pendant with a teardrop-shaped stone, gladiator sandals, and green capri pants. Had he assembled this look in the dark?

And the hair. He had done something with his hair. His beautiful hair that the champion had always longed to see at its full length, gelled up in a deranged imitation of God itself.

It was too much. All of this was too much.

Volo’s gaze burned into her, his visible pupil having grown noticeably smaller. “I will be the one to bring them all together!"

The champion gripped the strap of her satchel. How dare he make commands, when he was the reason Arceus had brought her here? He should be begging for her forgiveness!

Volo was ranting now, seemingly to himself more than the person he’d just betrayed. "My desire to meet Arceus cannot be contained any longer! I need to know what it is! I must know what it is!"

When the champion was banished for Volo’s actions, he had comforted her. He had cared for her. Why would he have done that? Why would he have done any of this?

He stopped smiling. He spoke to her now, although part of her wished he wouldn’t. "If I can meet Arceus myself, then I may also be able to subjugate its power. And using that, I will attempt to create a new, better world!"

His words at the Celestica Ruins echoed through the champion’s head:

Ever since I was young, whenever I met with something painful or heartbreaking, I couldn't help but wonder why life was so unfair. Why I was cursed to live through such things. Of course, I imagine we all go through something like that.

The champion was pretty sure she was currently going through something like that.

“Of course,” Volo continued, “if I create a brand-new world, then the Hisui region that we currently exist in will be undone and returned to nothing. You, everyone you know, and all the Pokémon living here will vanish in an instant, as if you'd never been."

He’d brought her to this world, and now he wanted to destroy it.

Destroy her.

The champion wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to pound at Volo’s chest and demand that he admit that their connection was real, that she wasn’t a fool, that he regretted what he’d done to put her in harm’s way. She wanted him to be cured of this divine madness and come to his senses. She wanted him to be the person she’d grown to love—because of course she’d grown to love him, of all the people in this stupid world, instead of someone normal and unremarkable and disinterested in becoming a god.

Because that was what Volo wanted, right? To become a god? To subjugate God, and take its place?

And then he would destroy everything. This entire reality, gone. The people and pokémon within it, gone. Her, gone.

Did he really care for her so little, that he would erase her along with the rest of them?

And how deranged was she, to be more upset by the loss of his friendship than the loss of everything and everyone else?

Volo crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the champion as if he saw right through her. As if she wasn’t a person at all, but an obstacle in his way. The final barrier between him and Arceus, between his destiny and desires, in which she would have no part to play.

She would have given him the damn plates, if he had just apologized and explained. After all, it had been Arceus—not Volo—to bring her to this godforsaken place.

"If you want to keep this world from disappearing,” challenged Volo, “then face me in battle!”

She would not be giving him the plates. He didn’t deserve them, didn’t deserve to be God any more than God itself deserved to be God. Arceus and Volo—a deity and its unfashionable imitation. Honestly, in that moment, the champion despised them both.

“Not that you have a choice,” Volo taunted, grinning widely because he was insane. “Even if you don't wish to battle me, I'm not above using force to take those plates from you."

He held up a pokéball and stared down at the champion. With the slightest of nods, she removed her samurott from her satchel.

She had Arceus’s blessing and Volo clearly did not. She was going to defeat him, just as she’d defeated every other enemy in her path. Only once she’d sufficiently humiliated him in front of his god would she allow herself to process everything she’d learned.

Volo tossed out his first pokémon with a knowing smirk, his form surprisingly confident and precise. For all of his intellectual strengths, the champion had never known him to be a particularly skilled trainer.

A spiritomb emerged from his pokéball.

Clearly there were many things the champion did not know about Volo.

─────────────────

NOW

“Please,” the champion repeated, motioning to the bench beneath the heavens. “I really think you should sit down.”

The challenger scowled at her, crossing their arms over their chest. “You know why I’m here.”

She rolled her eyes. The outsider had no memory of meeting her before, but her behaviors felt familiar all the same. “Yes,” the champion sighed, “I know that you’re here to fight me.”

“And then Lord Volo.”

She smirked at that. “Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

Her attitude enraged the challenger. A wicked traitor to the god that had chosen her—unfathomable, really, in her irreverence.

“Seriously,” said the champion, looking the challenger up and down. “Sit down.”

“Why?” the challenger said, suspecting a trap.

“You look exhausted from your climb.”

She was uncomfortably earnest in her explanation. And she was correct.

“How old are you now, anyway?” the champion asked as the challenger sat. To their surprise, she sat down beside them immediately.

“Old enough to finally defeat you,” said the challenger, avoiding her searching gaze.

She chuckled. “Fair enough.” And then, thoughtfully: “It’s been quite some time since we last met. I was beginning to wonder if Arceus had decided against sending a senior citizen in its stead.”

The challenger, naturally, took offense at the insult. “How old are you, then? I assume that your lack of humanity implies a lack of mortality as well.”

She nodded with a face that appeared far too young for the person wearing it. “I do not age conventionally, that is true.”

“Can you die at all?”

“Not by natural means,” the champion said. “Although I suppose I am still flesh and blood, just like you. But you are old and frail, while my youth has been preserved. Your remaining time in this world is incredibly limited, and yet you’ve come here again—do you not have other things to do? Interests, passions? Family? Does your entire life revolve around your mission from God?”

“Does your life not revolve around your Lord?” the challenger deflected. “According to Arceus, you chose him over the entire world.”

“In a manner of speaking, I did,” admitted the champion. “Though I don’t expect Arceus to ever fully understand my decision.”

“Decision? You lost.”

Something flashed behind the champion’s eyes. It felt good to drag her down from the heavens.

“It was once said,” she told the challenger through gritted teeth, “that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results.”

It was an odd response. The challenger did not care to understand its purpose. They were indeed old and frail, and this was their final chance.

“Today,” they told the champion, “I will win.”

“Very well,” the champion said, withdrawing an ancient-looking pokéball from her fine silks. She stood up and offered her challenger a hand. They glared at it. The champion sighed, withdrew her hand, and watched as the challenger struggled to their feet.

─────────────────

BEFORE

Her final pokémon was on low health when she finally defeated Volo’s Togekiss. She had refused to speak a word during the fight, despite his taunting smiles and various confident poses. In addition to being insane, Volo was apparently also an incredibly skilled trainer. Not quite as skilled as the champion, though, as his final and most beloved pokémon returned to her ball.

Volo shook his head, still wearing that deranged smile, as he returned the pokéball to some unseen pocket in his ridiculous Arceus outfit. The champion sighed with relief, grateful that this would be over soon. He’d abandon the temple in defeat, and she would mourn his betrayal in peace. Short of physically attacking her, he had no other way to take the plates by force—and she still could not believe that Volo was capable of such brutality, when his entire goal was to create a better, fairer world.

(Honestly, if he hadn’t hurt her so profoundly in the process of achieving that goal, she thought she might admire him for his idealism.)

She shook her head. He was a hypocrite and out of his right mind. The last thing he deserved was admiration, or even an attempt at understanding. She would return to the village and forget all about him, and try her best to find someone else in this world who made sense. Maybe if Arceus saw her success, it would even return her to her world. Defeating Volo had been her ultimate mission, right?

Which…

If Arceus had sent her to correct Volo’s disturbance of the natural order, it had always known about Volo’s hidden intentions. This entire time, it had watched its chosen champion find comfort in her destined enemy, without so much as a word of caution.

It must have been intentional, then, for Arceus to keep her in the dark. But why?

“Why?” Volo demanded, now despondent in his defeat. “Why you?! Why do you have the blessing of Arceus?”

She didn’t know. He knew that she didn’t know.

“I’ve devoted myself to Arceus beyond any other!” Volo ranted, seemingly towards the heavens themselves. “I worshiped it as the creator of our entire world! I bent all of my passion and interest and study! All the time I’ve spent poring over the legends.. Everything that I’ve done—!”

The champion had served Arceus’s mission dutifully since her arrival in Hisui. Although reluctant at times, she had quelled the nobles and assembled the Red Chain. She had immediately opposed Volo, who sought to destroy the world Arceus created. This mission was her entire life—her job, her hobby, her singular purpose upon being transported to Hisui without her consent.

“You outsider!” Volo hissed, now glaring directly at the champion. “It’s almost as if you were spat out of the space-time rift just to get in my way!”

She felt a lump rise in her throat.

Volo had been the one thing, here, that she’d chosen for herself. To her, their friendship had been disconnected from her holy mission or crushing responsibilities—in fact, it had been a much-needed relief.

But the entire time, he had only viewed her as Arceus’s chosen hero. And he despised her for it.

Silent tears ran down the champion’s cheeks. He seemed not to notice, or not to care.

“No,” Volo told himself, “no, this isn’t finished yet.”

Please, she almost begged, but didn’t. She didn’t know how much more of this she could stand. But she couldn’t leave, either, not when he still posed a threat, not when she deserved answers but couldn’t yet bring herself to ask—

Volo grinned again, his derangement reaching its apparent peak. “Can’t you feel it? The chill creeping through your veins—the eldritch presence icing your heart?”

She felt something, as dark shadows began to appear behind Volo. A massive void, from which a large creature began to emerge. It screeched as Volo began to laugh, its wings unfolding and its body taking material form. The champion recognized Giratina at once, well-primed by Volo’s lecture in the Celestica Ruins.

Volo regarded her in the throes of his mania, unwilling and unable to recognize her as anything but his enemy. Perhaps that was too charitable an interpretation, but—

“GIRATINA!” Volo shouted, clenching his hands as if they already held the plates of Arceus. “STRIKE HER DOWN!”

He laughed again, his eyes wide and his body hunched, as Giratina roared.

The champion released her final available pokémon, which only possessed a quarter of its health. She then turned on her heel, summoned Wyrdeer, and headed for the temple exit, using the ill-fated battle as a brief distraction. She ignored the sound of her fainting pokémon and Volo’s confused yelling as she pulled her Arcphone from her satchel and held it to her ear.

“You have to stop him,” the champion demanded as she entered the passageway beneath the peak of Mount Coronet. The cave was cool and blessedly quiet, and she only stopped moving when she received her response.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

─────────────────

NOW

As always, the challenger had put up a very good fight.

“Will this be the last time I see you?” the champion asked, almost bored in her victory. The challenger just glared at her, returning their fainted pokémon to their pocket.

“One can hope,” they said, and revealed their knife. If repetition with the expectation of different result was insanity, then they were no longer insane. Because this approach, this last-ditch effort, was entirely unprecedented—even to Arceus itself.

Using their last reserves of energy and strength, the challenger seized the woman. Short of stature and physically softened by ages of casual godhood, she could show little resistance to even the oldest of heroes. And, of course, there was the matter of the blade held to her throat.

“He will lower himself from the heavens and face me,” the challenger said between gritted teeth. The champion swallowed.

“Arceus has driven you to this,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Lord Volo has driven me to this. Arceus has only ever encouraged me to be better.”

“Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.”

The challenger’s eyed widened. “How do you…?”

The champion sighed. “I heard it too. Every single time.” She was infuriatingly unfazed by the threat to her life. “How relieving it must be,” she said, “to lose the memory of each of your losses.”

“I find it rather inconvenient, actually,” shot back the challenger, holding the blade closer to her throat.

The champion smiled sadly and shook her head.

─────────────────

BEFORE

Eventually, she found herself trying to lose.

The fight with Volo had become like second nature to the champion, who since her first attempt had assembled the ideal team to counter his specific pokémon and fighting habits. Arceus knew she had been given enough attempts to observe him, some of which ended before Giratina even appeared. Volo was undeniably skilled, and dedicated to his own victory in a way that consistently astounded the champion. But while each new battle seemed to be Volo’s first, his memory struck of previous victories and defeats, the champion remembered everything.

At this point, she knew Volo almost entirely as the man she’d truly met atop Mount Coronet. Memories of their previous friendship lingered in small instances, but she had lost much of her attachment to his formerly comforting presence. This made it easier for her, as Arceus’s champion, to study and practice and try again and again and again.

She was confident, now, that she could defeat him. Him and Giratina, and then she would finally witness the world after such events transpired. Would he give up immediately, or try to harm her further? Would they finally speak as their true selves, or would he just disappear? If he did disappear, would he be gone forever?

The champion was still far from completing the the Pokédex and meeting Arceus, who only potentially could send her home. In the meantime, she would still be stuck in Hisui, alone. Almost certainly without him.

The outfit was not… irredeemably ill-conceived. With some modifications, she could understand the vision. And it would be easy for Volo to take down the Arceus style, allowing his hair to flow naturally. When the champion watched him during their battles, she often tried to imagine him in a different state of mind. She analyzed what she understood of his plans, was reluctantly impressed by his enduring commitment to his own aspirations. She got the best impression she could of the real Volo, a friend and a stranger and her only companion in this endless cycle of failure.

She never spoke to him. The idea of conversation felt wrong, as if disturbing a scripted play or painting over a work of art. And besides, even if she managed to change the narrative through speech, her inevitable failure would render the results meaningless. She would, always, try again. Until she won, she would try again.

As she approach the Temple of Sinnoh once again, the champion thought that she might be going insane. It made no sense, that she had not yet used her knowledge and practice to end this cycle. But every time she had the chance, she just… couldn’t. She would lose, retreat to the cave, call Arceus, and receive the same answer each time.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

There had been a few close calls, where she’d almost won. Especially against Giratina, she often stood a very good chance. But then she would remind herself that this was not fair in the slightest, because she had been given infinite chances to practice and strategize. Yes, Volo had technically cheated as well, but abusing Arceus’s blessing in such a manner simply felt cheap.

That was what she told herself. Eventually, someday, she would see an opportunity for victory that she could truly call fair, and she would take it. But until then, she would just have to lose.

And he would still be here. Insane, but here.

Insane.

She was going insane.

“I think I’m going insane,” she told Arceus after yet another loss.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

“I know I’m going insane.”

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

“Why don’t you try, for once?” the champion challenged, gripping the phone tightly.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

And then, she thought it. For the first time in what felt like an eternity of repetition, she finally thought something new:

“Why can’t I lose?” the champion asked, her voice shaking as tears ran down her cheeks. She did not understand what she was asking, exactly—she could not lose because Arceus had blessed her, that much was already obvious. The world, this world, worked in her favor in some unearned and unwanted way. Yes, she could retreat from the mountain at any time to train her team, but that still left Volo up in the temple, nearly indistinguishable from the person she had grown to love. He would not follow her, would not attempt to seize the plates by any other means, seemingly frozen in time and place by divine circumstance. She would never have her former friend back, and if she moved forward, Arceus would never allow her to befriend him as he was now.

And she—

She would just keep going, in Volo’s absence. If not this battle, she would be fighting another. Again and again and again, until Arceus deemed her worthy. Arceus, who had lied to her, manipulated her, taken her from her home without her knowledge or consent. Who had created this world and its mysterious mechanics, blessing—no, cursing—her to endure.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

God’s champion hung up the phone.

─────────────────

NOW

Much to the challenger’s surprise, Lord Volo had not immediately arrived to save his champion.

“He can see this, right?” they demanded, as their arms grew increasingly tired around her.

She scoffed. “Of course he can.”

“So why isn’t he coming? Perhaps he cares less for you than you believed.”

The champion met the challenger’s gaze. “He knows that you would never actually murder me. That is not becoming of the world he designed.”

The challenger narrowed their eyes. This had always been a possibility. “Fine,” they said. “But would your Lord stand by while you are in pain?”

For the first time, the champion looked afraid. “I—”

The challenger plunged their knife into her fine white silks.

─────────────────

BEFORE

The champion surrendered.

It was not a victory, nor was it any sort of defeat she had experienced before. Instead of intentionally losing the fight, she had refused to even allow its commencement. She had approached Volo where he stood, suspended in space and time, and offered him her satchel containing the plates of Arceus.

He stared at it, pupils shrunken and hungry. A smile crept onto his face. “How precious,” he said, almost tenderly. “You only needed a moment to think, before deciding to see things my way.”

The champion scowled. To him, it had been only a moment.

“You’re insane,” she said, showing no resistance when he began to take the satchel from her. He paused, though, upon hearing her first words towards his true self.

“Did you not listen in the ruins?” he asked, slight irritability piercing through his mania. “My reasoning is entirely rational. If God did not want to run the risk of its power falling into our hands, it should not have created its plates on our mortal plane. It is my right to seize them, and use that power to create a better world.”

“You could make this world a better place.”

Volo shook his head, smiling sadly. “Can’t be done. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“You made it better for me.”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them. She was so, so tired.

Volo narrowed his eyes, pupils still tiny but slightly more focused. “Whatever could you mean by that, hero?”

“You know my name,” said the champion, cursing her voice for cracking at the last word.

Volo looked properly confused, now. Especially as the champion began to shake. “What are you—”

“Just take it,” the champion said, feeling that lump in her throat again. She had felt so strong, when she’d hung up the ArcPhone in the cave. Self-assured, energized by the notion of ending this vicious cycle. It had seemed, if only for a moment, that she had found a way to truly win.

This did not feel like winning.

“Just fucking take it,” the champion repeated, shoving the satchel towards Volo. He did without further comment, but did not immediately dig inside. He only watched her, still far from sane but seemingly calmer at least.

Volo furrowed his brow. “You said I made the world better, for you. But I was using you. I am the reason for your existence here. You should hate me.”

The champion shook her head as a tear ran down her cheek. “I don’t hate you.”

“Don’t be foolish.”

She winced.

Volo studied her carefully. “What,” he said, “do you think your god would say of this?”

The champion shut her eyes. “Arceus doesn’t care about me.”

“Of course it does. It has chosen you to receive its blessings. It loves you, as it will never love—” Volo cut himself off, though of course she understood how the sentence would have ended.

The champion felt pathetic as she met his eyes. “I love you.”

He blinked. “How?”

“I just do.”

Volo began to pace, shifting into a paranoid state. “A trick from Arceus,” he muttered to himself, clutching the satchel close to his chest. “A test? No, a safeguard—a temptation…”

A temptation?

“This is all by design,” Volo continued to ramble, “If I allow for this endearment, for this enduring desire—”

Enduring desire?

“I must be strong. There must be a better world. I must not allow myself to—”

“Was any of it real?” the champion asked, point-blank.

“Yes,” Volo said at once.

“Which parts were fake?”

“The parts that mattered.”

She narrowed her eyes, trying to understand. Volo sighed.

“The parts vital to my mission,” he clarified, “were false. The merchant charade, the search for the plates.”

“And that’s what mattered?”

Volo avoided her eyes. “Nothing else can matter in this world,” he told the champion. “Nothing else will remain.”

He looked haggard, as if this was a truth he’d refused to admit to himself before having it forced from his lips.

“It has never been my intention to carry over unwilling parties,” Volo reluctantly explained. “Involuntary acquiescence has no place in my better world.”

“What about lying and manipulation?” the champion asked. “And erasing everyone and everything that came before it?”

Exhausted, Volo gave his response: “I said ‘better.’ Not perfect.”

After a moment, the champion replied. “It mattered,” she said quietly. “To me.”

“Your mission?”

“Us.”

Volo regarded her as if for the very first time. “Us.”

She stepped forward slightly, reaching for his hand. He allowed her to take it, using the other to clutch her satchel.

“Do you want them to remain, in your new world?” the champion asked, looking into Volo’s wide exposed eye. “The parts that were real?”

He gave the slightest of nods.

She could not have him in this world. She could either continue this endless loop of suffering, or defeat him and likely never see him again. And it wasn’t just Volo who mattered, but the champion herself—with Arceus as her god, she knew that she would never truly be free.

“Is this the right decision?” she asked Volo, squeezing his hand tightly. He gently leaned down to place her satchel on the temple floor, then used his other hand to stroke her face.

“Must there always be a right decision and a wrong decision?”

“I should be ashamed.”

“I disagree.”

“What if I’m insane?”

“I would say that you are just as sane as I am,” Volo reasoned, “if you wish to remain by my side.”

The champion frowned. “That is not a reassuring statement.”

“It is all I can offer,” Volo said, holding her hand to his heart. Then, with a small smile: “That, and—”

He kissed her on the lips. When he pulled back, his eyes were almost back to normal.

“So?” Volo asked, eager and curious just as the champion had remembered him. Her heart ached with the comfort of familiarity—lost in the cycle of repetition, she hadn’t even realized how much she missed her former friend.

“It’s not perfect,” she said, “but it’s better.” She allowed herself to finally relax as Volo held her close.

Keeping one arm around his champion’s waist, Volo leaned down to retrieve the satchel once again. Despite her divine mission, the champion did not intervene.

“Very good,” Volo praised. His voice was warm and earnest, lacking the condescension one would usually associate with such a statement. “Now, rest. You’ve done more than enough already.”

And with that, at least, the champion could wholeheartedly agree.

─────────────────

NOW

Lord Volo appeared at once.

The challenger stepped away from the champion, their hands shaking as the knife clattered to the temple floor. Violence was a rare occurrence in this world, and murder was almost entirely unheard of—yet here they were, resorting to the former and possibly the latter as a desperate final effort.

“This was my mission,” the challenger prayed to Arceus as a figure descended from a shimmery stairway to the heavens. “Now please, give me strength...”

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

“No, I haven’t! I’ve won—look, he’s coming now!”

Lord Volo was a tall man, appearing much as he’d been depicted in historical records and famous works of art: blonde, pale, draped in white silks resembling those of his champion. He reached the bottom stair and stepped onto the world he had created, barely giving the challenger a glance as he walked right by.

Thou hast been defeated in battle, the voice of Arceus said. Thou shalt try again.

But the challenger was not beaten yet.

They reached for the knife, even as their joints ached. Lord Volo disappeared the weapon with a flick of his wrist. He then took his champion in his arms and placed her onto the bench, speaking words that the challenger could not hear.

She seemed to be speaking, as well. Alive. Despite everything, the challenger felt relief at that.

There was a sort of peace, in knowing that this was the challenger’s final try. Their pokémon were fainted, their god had seemingly abandoned them, they had compromised their own values out of desperation after a lifetime of repeated failures. Now, Lord Volo would disappear them just as he had the knife.

At least in oblivion, the challenger would finally be able to rest.

The champion muttered something more to her god, who then turned to face the challenger. He did not look happy, but seemed to be exercising some kind of restraint.

He looked back at the champion, who nodded. Lord Volo sighed.

“Very well,” he said, and flicked his wrist again. The challenger inhaled sharply, and then they

─────────────────

In the heavens, he saw to her healing.

“I’m sorry,” Volo said for what felt like the millionth time, although it would never truly be enough. He held a hand over his champion’s wound, glowing gold with healing light. “I’m sorry, and I love you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” the champion said, kissing the side of his other hand. “The rosiness had begun to return to her skin, her deific attire now clean of the blood that had stained it. “I understood the risks of going down there undisguised.”

“That isn’t supposed to happen, though,” Volo said, trying to mind his temper as he channelled healing towards the champion’s wound. “Violence and murder, they’re not—not a part of our world.”

“Neither is the voice of Arceus,” the champion countered. “But even from within its containment, it still finds a way to haunt its champion.”

She glanced pointedly towards the pokéball on Volo’s hip. He had wielded its power to destroy the old world and create this one anew, to grant himself and his partner endless life and a home in the heavens above. He supposed it made sense that if Arceus’s power still existed in this world, its voice could never truly disappear.

“What will happen now?” Volo asked, shifting slightly against the headboard of their bed. “Will there be another challenger?”

“Probably,” said the champion. “Eventually.”

“But the one who…?

“I think they’re safe. An infant without memory of their past life, reborn free of Arceus’s influence. Of all the people in this world, why would it choose them again?”

Volo frowned, thinking of the recent confrontation. “I wanted to destroy them, for what they did.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here,” teased the champion, “to make sure you don’t repeat old patterns.”

He smiled fondly, thinking of the many way they’d helped each other create this new world from the ashes of its predecessor. Not only was his champion beautiful, but she was also brilliant—always had been, although he’d been rather slow on the uptake. In Volo’s defense, he’d very much written her off as a loss before her surrender on Mount Coronet. It had been a matter of strategy, to avoid considering her inner life.

“Can I ask you something?” said Volo, watching his champion with endless interest. She nodded. “What changed your mind, in the cave?”

She looked surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“On the day that the old world fell, you initially ran away,” Volo recalled. “Disappeared into the passageway for only a moment, then emerged again to hand over the plates. Why?”

The champion appeared conflicted, which was not the desired outcome of Volo’s questioning. He had his suspicions, based on previous reactions around the subject, that this was not a memory she often wished to revisit.

“I felt defeated,” the champion said, “so I tried something new.”

Volo couldn’t help but think of the challenger, who his champion had always seemed to care for despite the annoyance they caused. Even after their unfathomable act of violence, she had insisted that Volo reincarnate them rather than destroy them entirely.

“Something new?” he asked the champion, as he felt her pain ease beneath his fingertips. “Had there been… something before?”

She nodded. “Over and over again. And I remembered everything.”

A chill ran down Volo’s spine. With this revelation, the champion’s requests to borrow his spiritomb while facing Arceus’s challenger made an entirely new sort of sense.

“You never told me,” he said.

“In a way, I did,” she replied with a soft smile. “When you suggested that we were both insane, I didn’t disagree.”

Still so very cryptic. Volo kissed the champion’s forehead, vowing to someday learn every secret within it.

“And how do you feel now?” he asked as the stab wound faded entirely from her skin. Good as new.

His champion regarded him knowingly, lovingly, shamelessly.

“I feel better.”

[deartouya]

TIME OF YEAR — HAWKS

summary: the week following valentine's day, you start getting a gift a day. they're always sitting on your desk when you get in, never attached to any note, and always something that you'd like. then a certain pro-hero shows up at your door brandishing a bouquet.

pairing: hawks x gn!reader

wordcount: 1.4k

content: reader works in miruko's agency, fluff, stocked full of (very american) valentine's fluff and cliches, gift giving as a weird confession, best friend bakugou bc i can't help myself, mentions of food/eating.

happy valentine's day lovies !!! i barely finished this in time but ;-; it's done !! and i had to write something for keigo bc i love him dearly ;-; i hope you enjoy my self indulgence even if it's not my best work !

Working for Miruko's agency has been surprisingly mundane for a top hero agency. Spending your day filing reports and attempting to lessen the load of paperwork for her and the dozens of sidekicks she worked with. You'd grown fond of the routine, comfortable with your daily cafe runs and lunches spent working at your desk. It was nice, normal.

The past week has been weird, though.

It started with a rose. Soft and creamy maroon petals left in the center of your desk without a note or any hint of who had left it. You thought it'd been a mistake, someone mistaking your office for someone else's, but no one in the entire office building recognized or claimed it. So you found a dusty flower vase under your sink and kept it on the corner of your desk.

Next were blueberry muffins. You recognized the little white box from your favorite bakery the moment you saw it, the one nestled in a corner of the city which is almost always empty. Buttery and still warm when you finally willed yourself to open it. You couldn't help the warmth which filled your chest at the smell of them and you ate two of them for breakfast before starting your paperwork.

The rest of the week was filled with more gifts, all practical or catered perfectly to your own tastes; a pair of cashmere gloves a muted gray, a coffee from your favorite cafe just the way you ordered it, a shiny broach in the shape of two doves, a travel coffee mug not too much after your own finally worn out. Nothing that hinted at whoever's been leaving them for you.

 "Come on, Katsuki," you lament, folding yourself pathetically over your desk, "you're always at the office--you have to have seen them come to my office! And you're the only one who knows I go to that bakery every morning, you have to know!" He snorts, barely looking up from his own stack of reports to see the considerably large box of heart-shaped chocolates. The rich, fancy kind that if you ever had a craving for you would've had to save half your paychecks.

His eyes seem to get stuck on the ribbon holding it shut, on the sliver of something soft and red poking out. You pluck it out, expecting a sticky note or card--anything but a feather the size of your index finger.

"Is this supposed to be a hint?" Katsuki only stares blankly at you, something akin to amusement warming the red of his eyes as your annoyance mounts, "do they have a pet bird? I don't think I know anyone with a parrot--except for that one guy from tech but his is blue."

Katsuki rolls his eyes, dropping his pen and shoving his chair away from his desk, “and why would he leave a hint? If he wanted you to know who he was he wouldla left a fuckin’ note on one of of ‘em.”

“I don’t know! I’m tired of not knowing,” you collapse back into your chair to stare forlornly at the ceiling, “no one in the building will admit to leaving them and we both know that they’re awful liars.” You’d tracked down nearly everyone who worked on your floor to ask about the gifts, even cornering an extremely nervous Midoriya in the elevator on your way home. None of them admitted to it. And none of them paid nearly enough attention to know where you bought your muffins or coffees from. 

“You’re overthinking.” 

You huffed, arms crossed over your chest as Katsuki returned to his paperwork. “I just don’t know who’s doing it, no one’s seemed nervous around me and I haven’t gone on a date in months.”

“Might make you less stressed,” Katsuki snips, a flash of canines when you chuck your now emptied coffee cup at his head—which he blocks easily with a laugh. 

“I’m serious, Katsuki. I’ve never had someone all that interested in me—let alone this interested. I just want to figure out who it is.”

He softens just a little, sighing and dropping the empty cup in the bin beside him. You know you’re being childish, pestering him all week over something as trivial as a potential secret admirer when you both have stacks of paperwork and endless reports.

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon.” That look’s back, something passing slowly over his face—like he’s considering his words carefully, hiding what he knows, “Valentine's day’s tomorrow—maybe he’ll show up then.”

You don’t notice anything weird until you get to your office. Oblivious with the expectant stares of your co-workers, the raptness in which they watch you hurry to your office, the way they all look at eachother. Until you’re confronted with an incredibly familiar and out of place set of eyes, “Hawks!”

He starts at the sound of your voice despite facing the door, fingers tightening around a bouquet of budding peonies and wings ruffled and restless behind him. He looks out of place in your office—large and imposing, standing awkwardly in front of your desk and feathers twitching behind him.

Pictures could never do Hawks justice. He’s always prettier, brighter—the warmth of his hair and the flush of freckles across his nose—in person. He’s larger than life, all wide smiles and crimson wings, and no amount of photographers can capture all of him as he is. Breathtaking. But now, he looks nearly skittish.

Hawks smiles at you then—nervous and disarmingly ill-practiced for someone whose job is half made up of practiced smiles—and brings the bouquet just a little closer to his chest. “I saw these while I was on patrol… it’s that time of year, isn’t it?” His voice is quiet, something soft and tender that makes you feel warm all over.

Everything hits you very suddenly—the feather, the knowing way Katsuki had behaved when questioned, every pricey gift that had been left. Hawks visited the agency all the time, visited you in your office and had taken you for coffee at the very cafe your gift came from. He’d also put the final nail in your travel mug’s coffin, knocking it off the edge of your desk the last time he’d visited you with a teasing feather. Of course it’d been him.

“You left the gifts. You’re my secret admirer,” you say dumbly, sounding quiet and childish even to yourself. 

But Hawks flushes, chin tucking into the plushness of his collar and failing to hide his wide and boyish grin, “I did—I am.” His hand—noticeably bare and warm—cups your own, transferring the bouquet of soft pinks and reds to you. “And these made me think of you when I saw them in the shop—you said peonies were your favorites.”

You flounder under the weight of his grin, the sweetness of flowers, the heady smell of his cologne, and the crispness of wind which always surrounds him. You’ve never been this close to him, always had a buffer in the form of mutual friend or coworker to soften the interaction. It’s overwhelming to be this close knowing he likes you. Knowing he pays such attention to you.

A swell of emotions overtakes you, grin so wide it aches and his own seems to mirror it. Hawks is warm, a slow gentle heat which seeps into you and melts against your skin from where his hands are skating up your arms. It’s dizzying and you find yourself leaning into him, overcome with the sudden urge to kiss him, to be even closer, to curl your hands into the softness of his collar and pull him into you.

But you don’t.

His wings twitch again behind him again, restless ruffling as he lifts a hand to rub at the nape of his neck. You track the movement with a smile—it’s oddly endearing to see him acting so human, so unlike everything you’re used to seeing of him. “Do you want to get dinner after patrol?” Golden eyes flick over your face, as if looking for any hesitance—discomfort. He doesn’t find any. “There’s this really good yakitori place down the street.”

“Sounds like a date, Kei.” His smile’s immediate, blindingly bright and so wide the corners of his eyes wrinkle.

“A date,” he echoes giddily, face flushed and smile half-concealed behind his hand.

[yantalia545]

Can we get a part two for your motherly s/o? Except this time with the nations that have/had kid colonies. And the dynamic they have is a teamwork between a romantic yandere (Britain, France, Spain) and a platonic yandere(America, Canada, Romano).

They met when the chibi got lost and she helped them get back to their caretakers. But the chibi got attached to her so she decided to visit them when she has time. But as years go by both father and son are getting uncomfortably clingy towards her, her motherly nature filled in the absence left by the father and her concerned and nurturing nature for the adults made some days easier for them that they can't help but fall in love with her. It reached to the point where they really believed that she is their mother/wife and scared away anyone who dare tried to take her away from them. Even when the chibi grew up and is independent, he still supports his former caretaker.

"She's my/his wife, she just doesn't know it yet"

This one made my head spin @~@. So many ways to go about this.

May need to make a husband vs husband post after this. What do you guys think?

England:

England is a bit of a hardhead and a little hard to get along with at first, but he'll come along and appreciate your efforts eventually.

For a little while, when you first started coming around with America, he was a little jealous of you. England has never taken care of anyone before, but you seem to be able to do it with ease. He most likely will throw you out the first handful of times you come around just because he won't admit that he doesn't exactly know what he's doing and needs help. Only after America throws constant tantrums for you to come back will England finally put his ego to the side and call you back.

England is used to others being cocky and even very passive-aggressive around him, so when you first walked in the door and you gave him a long hug, he was very caught off guard. He even treated you horribly. Why are earth are you wing so kind to him?

America on the other hand, couldn’t have been happier to finally see you around again. He had someone else who would play with him. If you can keep up with him too, all the better.

Fairly quickly after that whole endeavor, America grew close to you. England was a very busy man and had lots of things that needed his constant attention. It was nice to have you around to fill in when England couldn’t be around. Not to mention, you were a little more easy-going than him too. America just felt more at ease when you were around. England wasn’t yelling at him as much. You made England softer and kinder towards him.

It was nice. To England, it was almost like you were married. Like a family. That world never failed to flutter England; family. You guys were a family. A real family. Finally, just like he’s always wanted. Unlike his nasty brothers that were always so rude to him. He had you; the glue to it all.

As America become older and started fights over independence, things began to grow tense. England was terrified of the feeling that his perfect family was beginning to fall apart. What was worse, you supported it. You tired to argue that America was grown now but England was too stubborn to let his family go.

England fought tooth and nail to preserver his family, but in the end, America still managed to get away from him and gain his freedom. That’s when things took a turn for the worse for you.

You betrayed him. You supported America leaving and because of your help, America managed to break away from him and gain his independence. You may be America’s mother, but you’re still his wife. You’re supposed to support him above all others.

You will be punished for this and England will be very snappy but also clingy to you for a while. Don’t hold it against him though, it was all your fault for breaking apart his family.

At one point, America will try to step in between the two of you out of concern. England has shown some dark sides of hisself thought out their time in war and was afraid for you safety. Knowing England for many years himself, America just knows that England is up to some terrible things when it involves you. Especially when he’s well aware of England’s affections for you.

The two will most likely fight often over you. Bickering in meetings especially.

“Why isn’t (y/n) allowed to come meetings anymore!?”

“Has anyone else been able to contact (y/n) yet?! Or is she just yours!”

These are all true, you haven’t been present in meetings in years and anytime someone tried to contact you, England will throw a fit and forbid you from responding to them. They’ll poison your mind and take you away from him. England’s already lost his brothers and son, he won’t lose his wife too.

The dynamic between these two is serious competition. Your son, America, will do anything he can to protect you while your husband, England, will do whatever it takes to keep what’s left of his family with him.

France:

France already had a good handle on being a good parent. Not to mention that Canada is a much easier child to handle than America is. However, France is still over the fence at the thought of you wanting to join his family.

With you around, his family is complete just like France has always wanted. Countries can produce children like regular humans can, so this was the best next thing. He, like England, has been dreaming for this moment. A family to call their own.

France will often brag about how wonderful his family is now that you're here. Especially to England just to rub in his face. France just couldn't be happier with you here. No one is going to take this euphoric feeling away from him.

You thought he was just being funny, but to France, he was serious. Ever since...you know who, he's dreamed of having a wife and a family to call his own, as I've mentioned before.

You'd go along with the joke, thinking that he was just being France. That was until France began to invest in your relationship.

It started off small and you ignored or played into them for Canada. Holding Canada's hand together, singing the little nation to sleep. Even cooking together was all things that you were doing for Canada's sake, not his. You didn't mind if they helped France out too . You wanted to lighten his burden as a caretaker. That was until things started to get a little too uncomfortable for you.

France had tried to kiss you on his way out the door. Luckily, he only managed to kiss your cheek when you turned away from him. You didn't wish to alarm Canada as you knew he was a nervous nelly, so you knew you'd have a discussion with France when Canada was asleep tonight.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. You should have just run. Called England up to watch Canada and ran that day, because when France came home that night, it would be already too late.

He was having a secret meeting with your bosses today. Well, it wasn't intended to be a dirty secret. It was meant to be a surpise. France had decided a long time ago that he was going to marry you. Today was the day he'd finally put it all into place.

With a smile on his face and the most beautiful ring he could find, France practically skipped home that day. Excited to ask you the big question. France was a little worried about you avoiding his kiss that morning, but he pushed it to the side as just morning brain. If just a kiss can get you so nervous just wait until he tells you the big news.

When you rejected his proposal, he was shocked. What do you mean you don't love him? Isn't that why you lived here? To join his family?

No. No. No. No. NO! He won't have it. You do love him! France knows you do. You're just nervous and confused but don't worry, France will be a good fiance and husband and take care of you every step of the way. It's not like you can really say no when your boss already signed the papers.

Canada will be confused as he suddenly sees you less and less. Where did you go? What does France mean by needing to "heal" you? Are you sick? While France has his hands full with conditioning you he won't have a lot of time to spend with Canada. Being that he doesn't receive attention from others, this will impact Canada greatly. He'll start to cling to you more when you are allowed out. Unknowingly pushing the idea that your defiance is only hurting the family.

Spain:

Little Romano is quite the handful, so when you came around to offer your help Spain was more than happy to accept. If only Romano would behave himself and not catcall you.

What is he to do about that boy. :')

To Spain's surprise, he does see Romano settling down at some point during your visit. Romano just can't act tough forever. Not when you're pampering him like no other. Spain almost couldn't believe it when he saw Romano curled up against your side while you slowly pat his head. Careful not to touch his precious curl. Your voice was so beautiful as you sang a soft tune from your homeland. Romano was blissfully listening with a soft smile; Nealy asleep.

That day, you looked so heavenly in Spain's eyes. Like a goddess who tamed a wild beast. He almost couldn't believe that this wouldn't last forever. You would have to go home eventually as you were only a visitor.

If only there was a way you three could stay like this forever.

After that, Spain made sure to invite you over all the time. With the help of a fussy Romano who just wouldn't calm down until he saw you again, you spend an enormous amount of time at Spain's house. Much to their delight.

Whenever you were around, Spain could delve into his fantasy about being a happy family and Romano could have something that his stupid younger brother can never take away from him.

Despite Romano's hard exterior, he really is just a scared little child who was hurt by the abandonment of Rome and the overshadowing of his preppier brother, Italy. All he ever wanted was to feel seen and wanted. You were perfect.

You never once compared him to Italy or picked on him. You were always so calm and gentle but knew just how to put him back in his place. (You are quite terrifying when tempered). For that, Romano holds a lot of respect for you that carries on into his adulthood. He most definitely sees you like a mom. His mom. Not his brothers; Just his.

Spain is more than happy to use Romano's perspective of you to his advantage. If Romano sees you as his mom, then that must mean that you're also his wife. The three of you are a little, happy family.

Being a loving country, it doesn't really take Spain too long to propose to you. He was just so certain that you were dying to say yes. When you mention that you only see Spain as a friend and that you were only looking to help with Romano it shatters him. What do you mean you don't love him? Isn't that why you come around so often?

Spain takes your rejection very harshly. His mind just won't stop spinning with all these nagging questions and insecurities. Could you be seeing someone else? Taking care of another person's child?

This won't hold well for you. Spain most likely will be taken over by his rolling thoughts and lock you in his basement until you reconsider. He doesn't want to scare Romano, so he'll tell him lies about you and that this is all normal between couples. Romano will be too young to understand that what Spain is doing is really wrong. Besides, he does want you you stay with him too. Romano can't risk losing his mom.

[fl3shm4id3n]

Hello so I heard ur requests is open and I don’t think u remember me but I was the person that asked you how na’vi people would react to Melanie Martinez character (a.k.a the creature) and I just wanted to know if you would like to write about that since you were also asking for suggestions

ₜₕₑ ₒₘₐₜᵢcₐyₐ ᵣₑₐcₜᵢₙg ₜₒ ₐ Fₒᵣₑₛₜ ₙyₘₚₕ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

ᴏᴍᴀᴛɪᴄᴀʏᴀ x ꜰᴇᴍ! ꜰᴏʀᴇꜱᴛ ɴʏᴍᴘʜ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ), ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜʟʟʏ'ꜱ x ꜰᴇᴍ! ꜰᴏʀᴇꜱᴛ ɴʏᴍᴘʜ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ)

Tw: Mentions of human experimenting, rebirth? mentions of the first movie,

A/N: I hope ya don't mind me referring to reader as a forest nymph, based on the song Nymphology.

Masterlist

You were once a human, except, you were used for human experimenting. The whole purpose of the experiment was so that you could be the first human to be immune to the toxic environment of Pandora. They'd be constant serums injected to you and even exposing you to the toxic are to see if it'll work. It went on for years.

Until the war between humans and na'vi, you had managed to escape. But during your escape you had fallen into a huge hole and fell to your demise. You hoped and begged that you wouldn't die lie this, you wished for a second chance of some kind. Then you began to be wrapped in some kind of flesh like cocoon, filling with water.

Years later, the so called cocoon still remained in the hole. Then the cocoon proceeded to open up slowly. Then you had emerged from the now shell like cocoon. Except, you weren't exactly human. Your skin is pink, your hair was no longer a natural color. But a mixture between blonde, green, a purplish grey, pink and so on.

Not only that, but you had more than just two eyes, making them four in total. The last thing you didn't expect was to have a literal pair of wings. If it wasn't obvious, you weren't human anymore. You had no idea what you had become, but you knew that you weren't human not one bit.

After moments of realization, you had to get out of that hole you been in the last couple of years. First you crawled out by climbing the dirt wall. But you were stopped by something that had been attached to you. Looking down, you saw that it was some sort of ambilocal cord attached to you, so you decided to pull it. At first it didn't do nothing, then you pulled much harder, then finally the cord tore off.

Once you were out of that hole, you decided to try and find someone or people to help you. After hours of roaming around in the woods, you had came across the na'vi. Well, group of na'vi kids and a human boy. At first they freaked out because they're never seen a creature like you, but had finally calmed down after some time.

You then explained everything that has happened to you and how you ended up the way that you did. They got curious. They'd ask question after question, such as. Why is your skin pink? Why is your hair multiple colors? Why do you have wings? What's up with your four eyes?

You had no answers to their questions, the only answer you gave them was that you had been 'asleep' for many years and just woke up. They then thought about taking you to meet their father and mother, maybe even grandmother.

When you arrived at the high camp, just like them, their parents. Mainly their father freaked out. Their mother didn't seem to freaked out. When the kids explained to them about your whole or most of your situation. Their father seemed to understand where you were coming from.

As for the mother, she thought of you as a forest creature that had just been born. Sounded normal to her.

Since then on, you'd be around the Sully's. You got to learn their names. Jake, Neytiri, Neteyam, Kiri, Lo'ak, and Tuk. Spider was the family friend of the Sully kids.

Quickly after, the rest of the Omaticaya took notice of you. Since you were always around the Sully's. They had grown curious because they've never seen a creature like you, ever. They didn't seem to really mind your presence, but they couldn't help but often stare. In a curious way.

They'd be times where you'd interact with others other then the Sully kids. They were pretty touchy, often touching your multi colored hair, your wings, your hands and even ears. You didn't mind since they were curious in trying to figure out what you were.

Mainly the children, ever since Tuk had introduced you to her friends. They couldn't help but be around you constantly. They'd ask you question, almost similar to the ones that you were asked and different questions. Like. Can you fly like the ikran? Why is your hair constantly changing color? Why are you pink? Is there more like you?

Almost every day other day you'd get asked a different question by the kids and adult. As much as you wanted to answer them properly, you just couldn't. Hopefully later on you'd be able to answer them all.

[the-guilty-writer]

omg i am obsessed with the premise of garcia x daughter!reader. if you have any time in the future to write another fic or head cannon on the pairing (or if you want to ofc !!) it would be so amazing

garcia!daughter reader is one that I struggle with writing so it's one I really only do headcanons for. Here is my headcanon on how garica would end up with a daughter!

CW: criminal minds talk, being orphaned, etc.

Penelope knowing that she would adopt a child from the foster care system if she ever wanted kids.

She's also a person who believes in fate so I don't think would actively seek to adopt a child.

But there's a local case and your parents were unlucky victims. You're sitting in the conference room absolutely terrified.

JJ has tried everything to get you to be comfortable but it's just not happening.

That is, until Penelope walks in wearing her cat ear headband.

She starts talking to you and you start to open up just a little bit.

JJ has to make some calls, so she leaves the two of you, and when she comes back you're wearing Garcia's headband and she's braiding your hair and you're humming to a song together.

The social worker comes and you scream bloody murder when they try to take you away from Penelope.

They try everything, but you're clinging onto her for dear life.

So they make an exception to the rules and let Garcia take you home with her, with the excuse that until the killer is caught you'd be safer with someone who works for the FBI anyway.

For the whole week while the team works the case, she brings you to work with her everyday.

She does our hair every morning, packs you both cute little lunch boxes, lets you play with all her figurines, shows you pictures of cute animals, etc.

And when the team finally catches the unsub, Garcia has this realization that you're going to have to leave.

She's secretly really happy that the social worker decided that after all you had been through, they'd have to work super slow to get you to the point where you could be placed in a foster home.

You've grown really attached to her though so it's snail level slow.

It's been hard for Garcia to adjust to having you but the amount of joy you bring her is insane.

She realizes that she can't imagine life without you anymore.

But she doesn't want to admit it.

Until one day there is a case involving kidnapping young girls and Garcia has worked on some hard stuff but this time is hits her so much harder than before.

You get home from school and she wraps you in the biggest bear hug ever.

"Miss Penny why you hug so tight?"

Tears stream down her face as she says "I'm just happy you're home, little one."

"What happens when they make me go to different home?"

"I'm gonna make sure this is your home now."

You light up for the first time since you parents died.

"Really?"

"Really, little one. Really."

[linnoya-writes]

Zutara Childhood-Friends-to-Lovers Alter-Egos Forbidden-Romance AU (part II)

It was Zuko's idea, to write the first letter.

It had arrived to the Southern Water Tribe by a very cold and shivering messenger hawk, folded by wax stamp of a blue theatrical demon mask nobody had recognized. Nobody, except Katara, and she tried to keep her pounding heart from giving herself and her childhood friend away.

In the years that they had been allies, Katara only recalled the Fire Nation sending messenger hawks to the arctic tundra under dire circumstances (an island's epidemic in need of more healers, a village's drought in desperate need for ice)... and so she noticed the brilliance of her friend's gesture easily. How, in spite of their feuding nations, there was no need to let an innocent creature freeze to death by being turned away as soon as it arrived.

It was Sokka who read the content of the letter. "Her name is Caiduri. She likes fish." Their father had been with the tribal council, and so Sokka was left to decipher the significance of this letter and the writer. "We're supposed to keep this enemy bird?" Sokka deduced. But Katara jumped in immediately to calm Caiduri's annoyed ruffling of feathers, and the bird seemed to find a home on the girl's pelted arm. "She's not our enemy! She's sweet. And she should stay with us until the summer solstice." That meant they would have the bird for months, and Sokka shook his head in disbelief.

"Dad's not gonna like this."

"Well, Dad doesn't have a choice, does he?" She smirked at her brother knowingly.

"Yeah. Well don't get too attached to it. Once it goes back, it's not coming back here."

"It's a she, stupid." But Sokka had already left their hut before he could hear that. Katara groaned, but then yelped as the bird started nipping at her ear. And it hit her that she suddenly had something to take care of-- something else, anyway.

After feeding her the last scraps of their salmon dinner, Katara took Caiduri out with a lantern towards the snowy forest that encompassed the tribal village-- a forest that sang of screeching snowy owl-cats and howling distant polar bear-wolves. The girl had grown accustomed to these sounds, they didn't phase her anymore... but the bird perched on her shoulder trembled from all of the new.

"Don't worry-- you're safe here." Katara reassured, grazing the birds' feathers with a finger. "I just want you to see what I've been working on since the summer."

The little lantern light directed Katara towards a centuries-old pine tree, its trunk leaning back as if basking in the blanket of stars. The tree was as thick as the Fire Nation eastern redwoods that Katara had seen as a child... and it was that memory that had granted her the idea: a tree that thick must have a village of roots underneath, so vast, it can bring up soil a good distance away. And so Katara had searched for a cavern... a bungalow... any place where animals had long abandoned and could still shelter soil and warmth for a foreign seed. Her plum seed was precious; she couldn't just plant it half-heartedly. She tested potential spots with local shrub seeds, first, and then, if it succeeded... with cranberry bushes... and finally, in a little damp bungalow a short hike west of the leaning pine, Katara boldly planted Zuko's gift. All she did was give water and a prayer.

She had done this every night, for weeks.

And when Katara introduced Caiduri to her secret bungalow, the seed's stem was beginning to sprout. Tiny leaves were shining against the lantern light like dew drops.

Katara let the hawk scrunch into her warm pelted hood.

She couldn't help but laugh, thinking that Zuko had been the one to beat her at the first message, the first gift.

It was only because her gift was taking a bit longer to make, and she would've sent it through a private courier or a a stowaway shipment towards the islands. She would've found someone to vouch for her, made up some story to get this gift to the palace after so many levels of clearance.

But Katara had to give it to Zuko; the hawk was a brilliant idea.

By summer solstice, Caiduri returned to the Fire Nation palace. A tiny tropical plum neatly wrapped around the bird's leg. The image of a woman's face obscured by a veiled hat was the first thing Zuko recognized, drawn with ink on the wrapping.

Zuko tried to hide his grin while his uncle and his advisors tried to decipher the strange message.

"As it turns out... she likes plums, too."

[sharffffff]

Anarnyrel Emeratu

Wow this lady is ✨old✨

How old, exactly? Well, not the "this is the oldest mortal character in TES" old, but not that far behind either. Being born into one of the first generations of Falmer living under Dwemer rule, in 1e487, Anarnyrel would be just over 3000 years during the Planemeld.

You might be wondering, however, that she doesn't look like a Falmer at all, and fair, she doesn't - her grandfather was a Dwemer and (in my headcanons) snow-white skin tone of Falmer is extremely recessive (as in, multiple different skin tone genes rely on being recessive to achieve that tone), so getting back to being snow-white after initial hybridization takes a lot of generations. Anarnyrel is still significantly paler than your average Dwemer, who have almost bronze skin tones, and much more desaturated as well.

Now, what is there to know about her? Let me get into my "it's time to actually write seriously" mood and get started.

Although a lot of Dwemer in recorded texts had thought themselves superior to other races, especially their downtrodden brethren Falmer, it was far from the case in reality, even though "kind souls" of Dwemer society were less likely to be in positions of power and have any written texts about them survive through both their disappearance and thousands of years since then. But they existed, in quite the significant numbers, and Anarnyrel's grandfather, Nathranas, was one of them. He has always been interested in cultures of other races, and has spent a lot of time among Falmer in particular, after the Night of Tears but long before the fall of Snow Prince and complete collapse of the Falmer kingdom. He has travelled a lot, but always kept coming back to Skyrim, especially with things getting more and more heated.

But in particular, he kept coming back to Vantari, a Falmer who he has grown attached to, who always made snide remarks about his kind of work, and to whom he always fired back to. They had this sort of friendly rivalry that was on the verge of growing to something else, but Nathranas never took the first step in the fear of being too imposing, and knowing that Vantari had more things to worry about. After all, she was in charge of an entire Falmeri town, and with the war in Skyrim getting worse and worse, she surely had more important things than love. So, Nathranas held off from the confessions and just offered her and her people whatever help he could, while in the background working on securing them the place to live in case Falmer were driven off the surface after all.

The rumors he heard about the plans of other Dwemeri houses weren't too promising, and he didn't hold enough political power to get anything done about it. Who would listen to the last remaining member of a house that's been down on its luck for the last five centuries, after all? Only someone who already held views similar to his, and it wasn't the powerful majority. Yes, he had convinced some other minor nobles to also prepare the safe space for the Falmer in case the inevitable happens, but he was afraid that it wouldn't last. The plans of larger clans and houses... they were horrifying. And what's worse, they were likely to succeed.

And then it happened. Snow Prince fell in one of the battles against the Nedes, and the last hope for Falmer to stay on the surface was gone. They were hunted like animals, driven off the surface of the world, driven right into the trap of larger clans. Some settlements were able to evade the deal with those clans and instead find safe haven with some of Nathranas' allies, and Vantari and her town was welcome in the old fortress of Narthranas' house, which he had been restoring in case this did happen. They were welcome in, no strings attached, with the exception of having to help growing the food for the town, as he alone could not feed nearly a hundred people all by himself. Yes, there were some constructs to help with gathering the crops, but he didn't have time to fully repair them as of yet - it was one of the first things on his list, however. And, to be fair, this deal was significantly better than some other refugees have gotten, which Narthranas was utterly disgusted by. He was hoping that the rumors weren't true, but, sadly, they were, and as much as he hoped he could've helped every single Falmer, it just wasn't possible.

Over time, however, the old fortress has started seeing new life, both with many constructs being repaired to help with growing crops, looking after kwama and other things around the underground citadel, and with Falmer who have retreated here seeing that unlike many other Dwemer, Nathranas wasn't going to stab them in the back. They were still wary, of course, but this deal was better than some others they could've gotten. In the meantime, Narthranas started teaching some of the younger Falmer how to repair the constructs and how to build new ones, how the magotech worked, how to charge the soul gems to power both the constructs and some of the automated systems in the fortress itself, and many other things that were usually forbidden to relay to the outsiders. But then again, Narthranas has already "betrayed the Dwemer" from what he heard said about him, so why not betray them some more?

To return to the topic at hand, Anarnyrel - for her to come to exist, something must happen. And, surprising nobody, it did - it was Vantari who approached Narthranas, however, as he was too afraid to even think about it with all the news about how other Dwemer treated their Falmer brethren. She told him how she loved to see him squirm, unable to admit his feelings, but thought that he has stewed in his guilt for far too long. He wasn't responsible for the actions of his people, and it didn't mean he wasn't deserving of love. How Narthranas didn't just die on the spot is still unknown, but the relief he felt from being accepted by the woman he had loved for the past 264 years was immense. It would be more than another century before they would get a daughter of their own, with two generations of Falmer having grown up in the fortress without ever seeing the light of day.

Well, this wasn't entirely correct, as the exit to the surface wasn't locked, and some experienced hunters would go out now and again to bring back fresh meat, and with some youngsters sneaking out despite the looming threat of Nedes still hunting down the last remnants of Falmer, but sunlight was still a rare encounter for most of the younger generations. The artificial sunlight was good enough for the cave crops and to not go completely insane from constant darkness, and Dwemer have lived like this for thousands of years, but for normally surface-dwelling Falmer it was difficult to get used to.

Autarielle - that was the name that Vantari has given their daughter, "Beaty of the Clouds", to remind of what was lost. When she was just born, she was surprisingly pale, looking almost like full-blood Falmer, but as she aged, her skin tone grew darker, ending up being almost darker than that of Narthranas. To the unknowing eye, she looked almost more Dwemeri than her own father! Autarielle was loved among the entire city, with people living there hoping that she was the blessing from the gods, a sign that things would be okay, that the city was safe from the rest of the world. And for the time, it was true. The fortress was thriving, more hunting parties were going onto the surface, still with immense care not to lead the Nedes to the entrance of the caverns, and more and more Falmeri children, Autarielle included, were being taught the crafts of both Dwemer and Falmer, in case they ever needed to take care of the citadel after Narthranas was gone.

And then, Narthranas got his first threat. His city was doing too well, and the important people have taken notice. The letter didn't look like a threat to an untrained eye, but the phrasing made it all far too clear. They were "interested in the progress of [his] little project, and recommended to not let it grow too big to handle". This was bad. The city has grown significantly, with four generations of Falmer having grown up here already, almost doubling the population, and this letter has just become a confirmation that they kept their eyes on him. This almost drew Narthranas to the panic, and then something happened that made it all even worse.

With things going well up to this point, even slightly less experienced hunters were allowed to join the hunts on the surface, and so, with all this traffic up and down, it became easier for some mischievous younger Falmer to sneak up to the surface to watch the animals, and sky, and trees, and clouds. Autarielle might have had it a bit more difficult than others, as her sneaking out would be much more noticeable, with her looking nowhere near like other Falmer, but it didn't stop her. She and her partner, Seravin, became great at sneaking out to spend time alone together, as it has become quite difficult to find empty spaces back in the citadel, and they weren't ready to make their relationship public just yet. Seravin felt that they might be a little too "unimportant" for Autarielle's parents to allow her to be with them, with her being the daughter of the leader of the city and the one who gave them this safe haven, and with Seravin just being a child of a hunter and a kwama miner. Autarielle always called them silly for that fear, but never forced them to become public. They would do it when they were ready.

Sadly, that "ready" moment wasn't going to come. During one of their escapades, with both of them sitting in the branches of a great oak and just having some fun, they were ambushed. Nords were some masterful marksmen, and Seravin was dead mere seconds after the arrow hit them straight in the heart. After noticing Autarielle, however, Nords ran, screaming at each other that they should never have attacked the Dwarves and that they would be cursed forever now. Autarielle didn't even have a second to process what happened and had entirely shut off. She was trying desperately to heal Seravin, refusing to believe they were dead, and dragged them back to the fortress on sheet willpower alone, and then lost consciousness. When she regained it, she shut off from everyone around her, including her parents, who quickly realized what was going on between the two. Autarielle couldn't believe it was happening. What she didn't know at the time, either, was that she was carrying Seravin's child.

Narthranas had to put out several centurions near the entrance to the citadel to ward off any potential Nords who may have wanted to follow the bloody trail, to show that this city was still occupied by Dwemer they oh so much feared, and them he broke down himself. He has almost lost his daughter to those Nedic savages, and she has lost the life of her life and the other parent of her child. And he didn't even know she had been seeing someone! He was heartbroken by the thought of her not trusting neither him nor Vantari with this information, but was aware that she had her own troubles to deal with right now. Meanwhile, he ordered to increase security around the elevator and decrease amount of hunts, to make sure no more people are lost. He would've felt responsible for each loss had he not done it.

The day Anarnyrel was born was not a happy one, either. As the world welcomed in one life, it had taken another one instead. Autarielle had died in the child birth, and Narthranas had promised himself to teach Anarnyrel everything he could to make sure she can survive for as long as possible. He raised her as his daughter, spending almost all his time with her, teaching her everything from how to grow crops to how to do complex engineering, including that of limbs and organs. He taught her how to wield both magic and tech to prolong her life, and a variety of other skills that could come useful. He even hired tutors from various cultures to give her better education in magical and other fields, and dedicated the rest of his life to her, especially after Vantari was claimed by her old age. He couldn't allow himself to let Anarnyrel suffer the same fate, he had to protect her no matter what. He couldn't let the last of his loved ones to die. What he inadvertently taught Anarnyrel, however, was that love was dangerous and could drive you to insanity both when gained and when lost.

And then, one day, when Anarnyrel had barely turned 96, Narthranas had sent her away, telling her that it was too dangerous here now, that he would try to evacuate as much of the city as he could, but they were unhappy and they were coming here. After this, she never heard from him again, and in her retreat in Summerset she had news reach her that a "dangerous traitor to Dwemeri society has been eliminated, with all his experiments destroyed". The name of this dangerous traitor? Narthranas Khazdarth. Her grandfather. And the experiments were, most likely, the Falmer who weren't turned into blind slaves, like those of the other clans. He was saving her when he was sending her off to Summerset, and she had to use everything he taught her to make him proud.

1e700 has left Anarnyrel untouched, most likely thanks to her mostly Falmeri blood, and she has seen way too many historic events since. As time passed, some of her body had deteriorated and was replaced by far more reliable mechanical parts, while the rest was sustained on a variety of magical means. She had grown in power over the years as well, but had spent most of her life in her own tower, which she built with a mix of Dwemeri and Falmeri architecture, studying different metaphysical concepts. She was most interested in some myths and legends of different cultures and how true or false they were. Numerous experiments, as well as field trips to measure magicka levels in the places of legends were successful, much more were proven false, but she never published her results - her grandfather had spread the knowledge among the masses and it was one of the causes of his death, and Anarnyrel wasn't going to be so reckless.

But if she ever was to die, she had a failsafe to publish all of her research in as wide of a print as possible, releasing potentially devastating revelations. Good thing it was that she wasn't planning on dying any time soon, and still had much more research to be done.

[mirioho]

Full Character Profile: Reyu Carrera

Name: Reyu Carerra

Age: 17

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Birthday: April 27

Height: 5’7

Class: 1-A

Dorm: Ramshackle

Homeland: New York

Club: Board Game Club

Best Subject: Mathematics

Dominant Hand: Right

Favorite Food: Dosas

Least Favorite Food: Shrimp (Allergic)

Twisted From: Robert Philip (Enchanted)

Hobbies: Writing, Bullet Journaling, Scrapbooking

Likes: Reading, Watching Legal Dramas, Soap Operas (Secretly), History, Coffee, Stationery, Poetry, Magic Tricks, Trying New Food, Flying, Candles, Chess, Museums

Dislikes: Cleaning, Rats, Cockroaches, Blind Optimism, Failing, Danger, Being a Burden, Dancing (So she says), Vanity, Playboys

Character Info:

  Reyu grew up in the bustling city of New York,  specifically in Jackson Heights, with only her working single mother to raise her. This was because shortly after Reyu turned 7 years old, her parents had divorced, and to make matters worse, her father just up and left, wanting no contact and no part in raising Reyu. To be so clearly unwanted by her father was a sting that burned her to her core. However, her mother was undeterred by her ex-husband’s lack of involvement, she was a strong woman and she would see to it that Reyu understood that she was loved by her and she would do her best to shape her into an independent and strong young lady herself.

Reyu greatly admired her mother, and though there was still an ache in her heart, she did her best to be strong, moreso for her mother’s sake, to assure her that she was doing a good job on her own. Reyu could tell how tiring it could be for her mother, having to provide for the both of them on her own, having to work double jobs, having to do long hours, just to keep moving forward. It’s why Reyu did her best to do her part and work hard in school, to make sure she had top grades her mother could be proud of, to participate in activities that would show her mother that her efforts weren’t in vain. Reyu didn’t want to become a burden to her mother, she couldn’t. So she had to be someone worth sacrificing so much for. She had to repay everything her mother did for her.

Reyu has the goal of becoming an affluent and well-established Family Lawyer. A goal she pursues by looking up qualifications she’ll need and doing her best to prepare herself for law school, maintaining her GPA, making connections, doing research, joining her school’s debate team, and even earning herself an internship for a law firm.

But she never does make it to her internship, instead, she finds herself inside a coffin and in a completely different world.

Personality:

Reyu is, of course, hardworking when it comes to her studies and is often reading one thing or another, always expanding her knowledge although she would already be considered intelligent, she knows learning doesn’t have an end point. 

She can be quick-witted as well, having grown up in the city, her mind is constantly on the go and ready to react to one situation or another. Though, being in Twisted Wonderland, even she finds herself taken aback at the things that occur. Still, she strives to remain practical and calm when she can.

Though Reyu is kind and soft-hearted, she tends to be prone to a sarcastic and sometimes snarky front that she’s mostly adopted to keep herself from getting too emotionally attached and distracted away from her goal in pursuing a successful career as a lawyer. (She tries to anyways, but she ends up getting attached easily anyways thanks to being a softie)

But, she’s still a helpful and caring person, and she’s very forthcoming about following her personal principles. One such being that just because the world sucks doesn’t mean one needs to make it worse. She’d be the first to accept there’s a lot wrong in the world, but she’ll still be the first to do the honorable thing and do right by people who need it, even if she gains nothing from it and even if said people might not deserve it. (With few exceptions of course, these are still her own personal principles so she can change it as she sees fit)

Overall, Reyu is a self-reliant, sometimes strict, yet responsible, protective and trustworthy person.

Intro Page ||

[kettlefire]

Love without End

Inspired by this post by @hithisiszooz Warning: Really long post, I mean really really long omg

Johnny shouldn't have been there that night. He was grounded three ways to Sunday, and he didn't have his ride for the night.

He shouldn't have been there. There were so many reasons why he shouldn't have been at that party. Richie hated his guts, and the party was at the quarterbacks place.

Yet, Johnny was estatic he went.

Because if Johnny hadn't gone, he had listened to all the signs from the universe... Johnny wouldn't have met Kitty.

The moment his eyes landed on the green-haired beauty, he was enraptured. In the split second their eyes met, Johnny knew he was in love.

Kitty would become his everything. She was the perfect girl, and Johnny wouldn't lose her. He wasn't going to mess this up like he did everything else.

They didn't call him "Johnny 13" for no reason.

Except, Kitty took it in strides. Every time he let his eyes wonder and she caught him. When she found out the reason he never spent time at home.

Every little thing that Johnny kept hidden from the world, Kitty loved. She was the only person Johnny was ever close with.

And she was perfect for it.

~○~●~○~●~○~●~○~

Kitty didn't want to go. Sure, all her friends were pushing for it. It was going to be the biggest party of the year. Everyone was going to be there.

She knew why she had received a personal invitation from the school mascot. Why Richie and the team wanted her there. Lucas was the reason, she knew it.

It was going to be some elaborate and complicated scheme to get her to sleep with him. Everyone knew about the tradition, and Lucas was the newest team edition.

Yet, Kitty was estatic she went.

Because if Kitty hadn't gone, and straight up shut Lucas down... Kitty wouldn't have met Johnny.

The moment she caught sight of him, tired and disheveled. She knew he was the one, the man she wanted by her side. Kitty knew she was in love.

Johnny became her everything. He was the perfect gentleman, and Kitty didn't want to lose him. She wasn't going to give him a reason to leave her.

Except she did. Kitty gave Johnny a hundred and one reasons to leave her. To find himself a better girl, someone easier to handle. Someone who would be the perfect wife and mother.

Johnny never left her. He took her in strides. Every time she got too riled up, every time her nails left a new mark. Every time she said or did something that left her in a pit of self hatred.

Johnny was always there. Through thick and thin, the perfect man stayed right beside her.

~○~●~○~●~○~●~○~

That one party, changed everything for Kitty and Johnny.

Since that night, they were attached at the hip. There was no Kitty without Johnny. And no Johnny without Kitty.

It felt natural, right. Even with the fighting. Even with people around them telling them they wouldn't last.

Kitty and Johnny loved each other. They could see their life together easily.

Expect the day the accident happened.

Johnny remembers riding with Kitty. He had just gotten into yet another argument with his father. Johnny wanted to blow off steam. He wanted to see Kitty, to feel her arms wrapped around him, and the wind whipping around them as they sped down the street.

Kitty remembers the feeling she felt when Johnny was suddenly at her window. The way she could tell he was holding back tears and the slight shake in his hands as he asked her to go for a ride.

The night was cold. A fog settled in the air, and the full moon high in the sky. The full moon that was obscured by clouds and the mist. A soft blue light was the only reminder of it's presence.

Kitty had a bad feeling in her gut. Even as she settled into the seat behind Johnny. A spot she had grown so accustomed to. Her arms wrapped around his middle on instinct, chin propping on his shoulder as she held him tight.

There was a barely there tremble in Johnny's muscles. He was trying desperately to push away the thoughts that swirled in his head. The heavy feelings trying to push their way out.

Then Kitty pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

And the world seemed to disappear around them. The tense left Johnny as he threw a grin over his shoulder, being met with Kitty's smile and loving eyes.

Just like that, the two loverbirds were barreling down the streets. The wind was cold and harsh against their cheeks, hair whipping around with no sense of direction.

But neither of them cared.

None of it mattered. Nothing that happened outside of their relationship mattered in that moment. It was Johnny and Kitty.

Just the two of them against the world. It felt perfect. It was just like how life should always be for them.

Kitty laughed along with Johnny as she held on tight. The ride was a bit bumpy. The world was hazy around them. Both from speed and from the fog.

They weren't worried. In all this time, Johnny had always had an amazing control over his bike. Sure, they took a tumble here and there. But nothing serious. Nothing scary.

Except tonight.

The memory was hazy for both Johnny and Kitty. But they both could agree in the same details.

Johnny took a sharp, curving turn. The landscape obscured what was on the other side of the curve. Then a pair of glaring bright headlights landed on them.

Kitty immediately slammed her eyes closed at the harsh brightness. Johnny did the best he could to see through the light. To try and get a grip of the situation.

Then there was the horn. The sound of a semi-truck blaring its horn. Just like that, Johnny could clearly see the truck.

Fear rushed through him, but he tried to keep his cool. Johnny didn't care about himself, but he had precious cargo with him.

Kitty cried out at the sound of the horn, pressing herself tighter against Johnny's back as she spiraled in thought. No matter what, Kitty knew she was powerless. She had no control over the bike or the truck.

But she could make sure she didn't let go of Johnny.

Johnny set his shoulders, clutching the handles as he pushed forward. Another sharp turn, and they barely managed to get by the truck without impact.

There was a brief moment of relief. Extremely brief.

The next thing the two of them knew, the bike had rammed straight into the guardrails. The front wheel caught in a small gap. Swinging the bike upwards, and sending both Johnny and Kitty into the air.

Kitty hates to remember this part. The way she screamed out Johnny's name. The way her arms slipped from his body as they barreled through the air.

Then, the impact.

[imhereformysciencefriends]

Day 5: Historical Period

Tags: @loturaweek2024 Frozen AU, minor character death, schemes, background Shiro/Keith, Extremely background Alfor/Melenor, magic, Lotor's generals are there

Read on AO3

The fourteenth child of a man who hated all of them would gain no power. Lotor had known that before he’d even really understood how the line of succession worked, when he was still asking questions like he might receive useful answers, but oh, he’d always known.

When he’d grown a little older, he surmised that if he was ever going to hold political power, it would be in a different country, married off to that country’s sovereign; it would never, ever be won from his own merit or worth. But that, of course, presented the problem of what sovereign would marry the fourteenth son, instead of a second or third.

But perhaps he could marry a duchess close to the top of her own line of succession, and then. Well. Accidents happened all the time, didn’t they? It seemed the best, if not only, option, and Lotor was determined to one day hold a throne, he wasn’t picky on which.

So he studied foreign languages like he would die if he didn’t, and wound up fluent in tongues his brothers and sisters had only ever passingly heard of. He sent his spies out far and wide, looking for chinks in the armor of foreign dignitaries, gossip, predictions, oracles.

And then, one year, he found it. The little magic country of Altea. Known largely for its exports of ice, and the shrouding rumors that surrounded it of powerful magic. Lotor had magic, himself, most noble lines did, but Altea’s was rumored to be something else entirely. Pity, then, that they were largely regarded as hermits by most of the civilized world, sequestered away on their little northern island with its large fishing ports and large ice production and nothing else of any noteworthy size at all. Except, of course, that whenever someone did try to conquer the tiny island to round off that ugly looking little corner on the map, they were thoroughly bested no matter if they sent ten or a hundred thousand troops to Altea’s borders.

Enticing, even if the rest of the island’s economy was dull.

Still. A throne was a throne, and Lotor would not be picky in his pursuit of the title he knew he was destined for. And the spy he’d sent north, his Ezor, who had what was well regarded as powerful magic in her own right, spoke marvels in his ear.

Twin sisters the only heirs. The throne held by a regent after a horrible accident at sea had taken the rulers. The elder twin was seen as cruel and cutthroat, her peoples hesitant and wary of what would happen to them when she took the throne. The younger twin was sweet and beloved by all Altea, a kind-hearted girl who’d been kept locked up in the castle since her parents’ passing.

And oh, what an opportunity. Exactly what Lotor needed. The younger would be sweet, lonely, a little naive, Lotor was well familiar with the act of shaping himself into anything another person wanted, he could be her dashing prince, wed her, and discreetly remove her elder sister, who sounded reviled enough that the people might not even investigate her death too closely. Of course, he’d have Narti or Ezor do it, their work as assassins flawless, but there might be room for error, which Lotor rarely received.

He called the other three back from their scouting.

Altea would have its coronation on the twins’ birthday, when they came of age to take the throne from the hands of their regent, and Lotor needed only to convince his father to allow him to be the representative their country sent. Something that would, ideally, not be too difficult, as he did not believe that callus man had any intentions of sending any representative to little Altea at all.

Finally. Finally, the opportunity Lotor had been waiting for all his life.

***

Altea was beautiful. Even Zethrid, who was rarely moved by any beauty not attached to a giggling woman, agreed. Its trees were old and… alive, in a way that Lotor would not typically liken to an inanimate object. The sky was crisp and blue, the architecture quaint but solidly built, favoring quality and longevity over speed in erecting the buildings, the streets were clean, its people sensibly well dressed, and the glistening ocean port was clear as a gemstone.

This would be a fine country to be king of.

“Sire, is that… the princess?” Acxa asked with quiet confusion, and Lotor glanced at her only long enough to follow her line of sight.

There in the streets, dancing and singing with a group of children, was one of the most beautiful women Lotor had ever laid eyes on. She had long, cascading, wavy hair so dark a brown it was nearly black and light brown eyes squinted up in a smile, pink markings on her cheeks that were such a defining mark of Altean beauty standards and pigmented cosmetics, her dress lovely, but not necessarily noticeably nicer than the peasantry around her. Even so, when compared to the sketch that Ezor had given him of the younger twin—

“Yup, that’s her alright,” Ezor said from behind Acxa, leaning in a little. “She’ll do this, just wander around outside the castle until her sister’s guardsmen come haul her back in. For someone sneaking out, she doesn’t really hide her identity much.”

“We can only hope her elder sister will be similarly careless in allowing her guard to drop,” Lotor muttered, so quietly that only his four most trusted allies could hear him. “Still, an opportunity should not be wasted, I will introduce myself.”

Narti’s hand on his arm stilled him as he took his first step, and she gestured, subtly, towards the castle.

The guards were here to collect their princess. Well, better then to spare her any embarrassment. He would introduce himself properly inside the castle halls, as a foreign dignitary to local royals, no real loss there. And this confirmed his suspicions: that she was sweet and naive. That she was a softhearted little fool that snuck away from her minders to play with children and flowers.

Naivety could be exploited. Who better, then, than him? He would do her no harm for being sweet and young and trusting. He would help her rise to power and be her ally and confidant, help her with ruling and her responsibilities, shape himself to what she wanted and be the dashing romantic hero of her dreams. She would be the happiest queen in the world, and he would be rightfully made king.

He arched his back and squared his shoulders, pictured himself the beautiful man of a sweet young girl’s imaginings, and strode forward.

***

The castle was opened on the day of the coronation, Altea’s people welcomed into its halls to mingle and eat and dance before the ceremony that evening. To say Lotor was unused to such customs would be a wretched understatement, but while in Altea, do as the Alteans do. He put on a charming smile and pretended he was not at all bothered by being spoken to as though an equal by peasants, was carefully neutral towards all wait staff who he overheard the paupers thanking (he would wait to see if the Altean nobility did such things before lowering himself such), and did not raise his hackles at being so crowded. How Altea’s royal line persisted at all was a mystery to him, anyone could slip in with the crowd and assassinate anyone they felt like! Ezor and Narti would have a trivially easy time removing the elder twin once his marriage to the younger was complete.

But it was a day of celebration, and Lotor had larger fish to fry (there was quite a lot of fish on offer, this being a port city on a small island). He searched for the young princess but couldn’t quite find her, the lovely lady all but invisible since he’d formally introduced himself on his arrival.

The elder twin was far more obvious, accepting nervous shows of goodwill from her citizens and schmoozy congratulations from foreign sycophants. Typically Lotor would be among them, but Hira was not his target (well, not in that way, and not tonight).

After a few fruitless hours, he made a casual, half-careless inquiry to a group of diplomats who seemed as offput by the paupers’ presence as he was, and showing it thrice as badly, “Has anyone seen the lovely Princess Allura?”

“No, and neither the Regent.”

Hm, Lotor admittedly hadn’t even been looking for him. But very well, then, he would simply have to go searching for his mark. Just as he resolved to do so, heralds announced the arrival of the King Regent, Coran, some cousin or distant relative of the late King Alfor (and that their regent wasn’t even a relation to their sovereign was. Interesting. He still wasn’t sure if perhaps Ezor was mistaken on that). Allura swaned in behind him, silent and more beautiful than the day he first laid eyes on her.

King Regent Coran gave a truly lovely speech, extolling the virtues of Hira while dancing neatly away from her vices, which the people of Altea seemed all too uneasily aware of. Hira then proved herself the rightful heir to the throne with a display of magic, her snow-white hair and ice-blue eyes glittering with energy as she summoned a flurry mid-summer, snow dancing around delighted children and a chill wind sending shivers up the spines of their worried parents. Lotor admitted he was, at least a little bit, impressed. No magic of his home country could change the weather, though many a witch lost themselves in their hubris attempting to do so.

Hira stood, proud and regal and with an all-too-familiar glint of cruelty in those ice-blue eyes, and waited as the King Regent removed his own crown, setting it neatly on a silken pillow, and lifted the coronal to place on Hira’s brow.

A knife protruded from the princess’s stomach, just barely below her ribs.

For a flash, Lotor panicked. It was too early, far too public, why would Ezor or Narti—but then the corpse fell to the floor and revealed not his own women, but the Princess Allura behind her.

The room was as shocked as he was, rising tension speaking of a bubbling panic that would seize the room in scarce moments. The guards were reacting the best, getting the regent away from the princess, others were crowding on her, but then her voice cut, clear as the day, through the whole room,

“My people!” The air itself seemed to still for her. “Forgive me! This is not how I wished for this to go. But please, please believe me when I say that this was a cruel act born out of necessity, not any pleasure of mine.”

The guards that had closed on the princess were now retreating half-steps back, warned away by the two that had joined Princess Allura on the dias. Altea’s Champion, Shiro, famed throughout the little country as being undefeatable, rumors swirling around him of how he’d defended their shores near-single-handedly from any foreign attackers from the moment the previous rulers had knighted him, one who bore a white shock of hair despite no relation to the royal line and possessed arcane magic down his right arm. Altea’s Blade, Keith, whose hair might be raven black, but could perceive magic with uncanny ability, such that Ezor could never approach him when she was invisible, his hackles immediately raised. He was less famed though no less deadly, and that these two would side with the younger princess would work marvels for her reputation amongst the people. Lotor knew all too well how helpful it was to have competent supporters.

“Whatever cruelties you feared from my sister Hira, know she intended worse,” Princess Allura implored her gathered people, the regent now quite successfully removed from the area, her hair slowly turning white from the tips up, her soft brown eyes turning colder, lighter, ice-blue. “For years since our parents’ deaths, she has locked me in this very castle and tormented me with horrible stories of what she planned the moment she had power to enact it. The beautiful magic our grandmothers and our grandmother’s grandmothers passed down for generations would have been perverted and twisted, used for cruelty for the sake of her own amusement. She would have fashioned herself a conqueror, rather than a defender, and sent our people out to die on foreign shores for the sake of her own ego. I did not do this for power, only for the safety of our people, and those she would have raised Altea’s fist against!”

It was a moving speech. Even more impressive if it was true. Lotor would hardly have blamed her for killing her sister even if she had done it just for power, he’d had the same aim after all, but her competence of speech and intellect could not be ignored. All around him, Altea’s people were moved by the lovely young princess’s words, and Lotor felt a thrill heretofore yet unexperienced at his next realization.

He had been so, so wrong about her.

Wilting, soft, naive, sweet little girl she was not. Well, sweet and soft, perhaps, perhaps still those, yes. The tears in her eyes at the blood on her hands truly did not seem feigned, and if they were she was a phenomenal actress, and he had seen her out dancing and flower braiding with children. But there was a desperate steel within her, also. Politically shrewd enough to win Altea’s Champion and Blade to her side before committing the deed. Conducting her sororicide in public, in full daylight, in front of the largest crowd she would ever get on this tiny island, rather than taking the sneaky route, he wasn’t sure if that was bravery or madness.

The white reached the roots of her hair, her eyes seemed to glow with the iciness of their new blue. The transferral of their bloodline’s magic was complete, Hira’s corpse now on the floor with strawberry-chestnut hair and eyes Lotor couldn’t see.

She staggered.

“I, wait, what is—?” she asked, now quieter, confused. The temperature of the room dropped palpably, and continued to decline.

“Wait, stop, this isn’t, wait,” she murmured, staring at her own hands in front of her, her eyes glowing in earnest now. Outside, the soft, white, fluffy clouds that Hira had summoned turned heavy and black, blotting out the sun. A harsh, bitter wind wailed down the empty streets of Atlea, through the open doors and windows of the castle, and Lotor shuddered at the cold.

Shit, Narti was cold-blooded, fuck, it was summer, they’d not brought any of her gear, he needed—

“Princess,” Shiro said, his arms outstretched, placating, while Keith kept himself between the princess and the crowd.

“No, no, this isn’t supposed to—I am its rightful heir it shouldn’t—no, listen to me, stop!” Princess Allura seemed to be arguing with her own magic, and Lotor abruptly realized what was happening as he gathered Narti close to his chest and had Zethrid crowd her from the other side.

Immense, generational, ancient, powerful magic was now in the hands of someone who had never wielded it before. Hira had learned control over her birthright from childhood. Allura was entirely new, and overwhelmed, emotions already running high, and it seemed her natural talent for the power was far stronger than her sister’s had ever been, the magic pouring out of her like a burst dam. Frost spread across the stone floors, beautiful and patterned and unwelcome, flowing outwards like a mop bucket spilled.

“This isn’t—”

Icicles formed from the ceiling, the doorways, the window sills, people screaming, some fleeing, others gathering their children under them, shielding them so their backs would take any icicles that fell, if they did fall.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen—”

The stormclouds broke, heavy, fat snowflakes pelting down in the merciless winds.

“I was meant to stop—!”

Someone screamed, and Lotor heard an icicle shatter against the stone floor. Not a body, at least. The crowd was well and truly in a panic now, people fleeing, feet stomping, shit, trample risk, the princess—

In a burst of magic, an icy arch left in her wake, the princess fled. Out the doors, into the storm, and oh things were really out of hand now. Someone needed to seize control of the situation before the body count rose higher than just the once-princess Hira. Someone should—

Lotor was someone.

“Everyone, please!” he boomed, projecting his voice as best he could, summoning all his princely presence. Maybe a little dampened by his hair smacking himself repeatedly in the face in the torrent, but he’d suffered worse indignities than this. “We mustn’t panic! Everyone, further into the castle, guards, shut the doors and windows, barricade against the wind, castle staff, light fires, we need to gather together and preserve warmth!”

Okay, the panicking at least had stopped.

“I need volunteers to go out in groups of three or four with lanterns and find those who already fled! They are unlikely to last in this sort of storm wearing only their summer clothes! Castle staff, we need winter gear, those not lighting fires go unearth coats and gloves from storage and pass them along to the search groups. Everyone not engaged thusly: blankets! As many as this castle has. Everyone not assigned a task, crowd together and keep warm!”

Slower than he’d like, but moving for him (listening to him, obeying him, heeding him, these people, his people to be, it was a heady thing), people did as he ordered.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“Champion. Blade.” Lotor approached the pair, leaving Narti between Zethrid and Acxa, “I must speak with the King Regent.”

Keith was sporting a new slice down his cheek, likely clipped by the princess’ icy exit, Shiro’s glowing arm warm and wrapped behind him, his mortal hand pressing a cloth to the wound to stay the bleeding. Meeting his eyes, the Blade’s a curious shade of purple—maybe not so bereft of magic as all that—the pair nodded.

“Thank you for your help with all of this,” Shiro said gravely, and Lotor nodded his head in acknowledgement. Shiro was of suitable rank Lotor did not mind half so much to bow or speak as equals.

He was incredibly visible. Everywhere he went, all eyes were on him. He could feel the public’s approval. In this crisis, he’d swayed Altea to his side, and if he could ride this momentum he would be welcomed with open arms and celebration as their king. He nearly shivered with it, this was incredible, the chance he’d always wanted, his heart beat with how quickly things were moving.

He needed to keep them all safe.

“King Regent, I am Prince Lotor of Daibazaal,” he greeted, bowing precisely as low as a prince must to a foreign king while on that king’s land.

“Prince Lotor, I’m told you took control out there, my apologies I wasn’t there to do so myself,” the king returned, bowing much more shallowly to him.

Still, it was an optimistic sign that he bowed at all. Lotor would win his favor, also, and his path to the crown would be made all the easier.

“Not at all, your safety was paramount. I’ve gathered the people of Altea inside the castle walls, with search groups for those that fled to bring them here to share their warmth. Blankets and fires and what coats are available have been distributed, your people will be kept safe.”

“And of the princess?”

No longer the regent or king, Coran’s face broke in wretched distress, just a kindhearted old man worried sick for his little girl.

Lotor made himself soft. Compassionate. Assuring. Whatever the King Regent wanted him to be.

“She will be alright,” he said, not knowing or caring if it was true or not, his voice gentle, and made the bold choice to cross the distance between them and settle a soft hand on the regent’s arm. “Her own magic would surely not dare harm her, you will not lose a second niece today.”

The sweet old man had tears in his eyes, and covered Lotor’s hand with his own.

“I pray to all our Ancients you are correct.”

“Your Majesty, with your permission,” Lotor said, now locking on this next wild and swift opportunity, “I would search for her, myself. Grant me gear enough for myself and my four most loyal to brave the blizzard, and we will return her safely to you.” And perhaps, in doing so, Lotor might finally win himself a blasted conversation with the elusive woman he was set on marrying.

“I could not ask this of you.”

“You are not asking. I make the offer.”

“It is deadly outside these walls.”

“The princess is not the only one with white hair.” Because she wasn’t. He couldn’t consciously use the damned magic, but he had it. He knew what his own magic did. Fortunately, it was all that it took to convince the worried, fatherly man.

“Then please, Prince Lotor of Daibazaal,” the regent said, lifting Lotor’s hand and clasping it between his two, “bring my princess home safe to me.”

Such trusting creatures, these Alteans.

Well, it wasn’t like Lotor was going to shatter such trust. Merely exploit it.

“Of course.”

He returned the way he came, passing by the guards outside the door, passing by the Champion and Blade, heads on one another’s shoulders, past Ezor, who waited invisibly for him in the hall just outside of the Blade’s range, and returned to Narti.

“We will have equipment soon, by the regent’s order. Will you be capable of facing the snow?” he asked, low and quiet.

Narti, bundled in a heavy blanket she shared with Zethrid and Acxa, nodded gravely, only once.

“Good. We search for the Princess Allura, and will bring her back here, safe and unharmed.”

“We’re gonna be heroes, boss?” Ezor asked, playful and spritely but just as quiet.

“Our names shall be remembered in the histories of this kingdom’s tomes. I continue to curry favor. The plan remains unchanged.”

Well. They wouldn’t have to kill Hira themselves. But aside from that, unchanged.

Once swaddled in coats and gloves and scarves and heavy boots, Narti’s pockets lined with magic-touched firestones and runes embroidered at the hems (it was good of them, to give her something clearly constructed for royalty (but then again, Hira wouldn’t be needing such articles ever again, now would she?)) they slipped through the doors of the castle, opened only just a crack to ward off the cold, and braved the blizzard.

If he were a sweet young princess, distressed with the blood on his own hands, terrified of the power he now freshly wielded, blindly fleeing, where would he go?

“Boss!” Acxa called over the howling wind, “Something’s on the mountain that wasn’t there before!”

His sharp eyed shooter. He could barely make out the shadow of the mountain, but Acxa had always had a keener eye than most.

He led the way.

It was not what he would call a pleasant climb. Even when the blizzarding mount gave way to magically constructed stairways and bridges, it was still a very tiresome number of stairways, uphill. The storm continued, worsened, by his measure, and at more than one point they had to catch one another from falling on the icy steps.

But eventually, many hours or even a day later, they did arrive at the… structure. It looked loosely like a castle? But only just. Less inviting. A lot more spikes.

And a horrible, snowy warden, that was rather atypical.

The beast lumbered up, made of snow and ice and trapped twigs and dirt and gravel, a shambling mass that towered and lurched. It bellowed at them, and behind him, Lotor heard Zethrid laugh.

“My turn!” she crowed, and rushed past him with her axe already out.

“Sir, what is that?” Acxa asked, rather incredulously.

“Likely just a manifestation of the princess’s magic, summoned to protect her from unwanted visitors. Acxa, Narti, keep Zethrid alive and the beast distracted. Ezor, watch their backs.”

“Sir!” the three chorused, Ezor stepping backwards and flicking invisible, the other two surging forwards, drawing their weapons as they went. Lotor, for his part, snuck around behind the thing, and entered the not-quite-castle.

Jagged, sharp edges protruded from every surface. Atlea’s castle made of ice instead of stone, and far less welcoming. Spikes and blades, icicles and whatever the frozen equivalent of a stalagmite was, shards as sharp as glass and just as clear, Lotor found himself thankful for the lent, thick boots, and navigated carefully.

He heard no weeping, so, no finding her by sound. Though, if the girl had killed her own sister so boldly, maybe she wasn’t the type to weep after all. If this castle was any indication of her mind, he might even find a kindred spirit in her.

She wasn’t crying. But when he found her, he did find her curled up in a little ball, huddled in the corner of the spikiest room to date. Her dress was in tatters, her hair a mess, her fingers trembling where she gripped herself in some facsimile of a hug.

“Princess,” he said gently, fashioning himself into a dashing hero, a suave prince, a savior, a fairy tale.

Her head jerked up with a jolt, eyes wide with fear, mouth open in a sharp breath of panic.

“Come no closer! It is not safe for you here!”

“Princess, it is alright,” he said, so gentle and placating, hands raised, face open.

“No, no, it isn’t, nothing was supposed to go this way, everything is wrong!” She clutched the sides of her head, still panicking after all these hours, her breath short and shallow.

“Breathe, Your Highness, it’s going to be okay,” he coaxed, stepping closer slowly.

“It can’t be!”

Okay, the dashing gentle angle wasn’t working. He tried commanding, straightening his shoulders and emboldening his voice. “It is your power, your magic. You must gather your wits about you—”

A sudden, heavy jut of ice erupted from the floor and struck him dead center of his chest, sending him flying backwards. On any other man, it might have killed him.

The princess wailed. “I told you!” she cried, feet kicking out against the icy floor, driving her further into the corner, “I told you! I told you this would happen!”

“I’m fine,” Lotor grit out, then coughed sorely. Alright. Not commanding, lesson learned, he would be giving the princess no orders. He rose slowly back to sitting, hand on his chest, ribs burning with ache, but he would live. It was a magic blow. It couldn’t kill him.

“Princess, I’m alright,” he said, unable to keep the pain from his voice, a smidge of irritation, but he couldn’t tell if she heard him. Her face was buried in her knees again, trembling hands tangled in her hair.

Hm. He found himself at an unusual loss for words. He could normally think of at least something, but he wasn’t sure what Allura wanted him to be, and he was making no progress on figuring it out.

He drew closer to her, not particularly hiding his footfalls, but not making any intentional noise either. Once close, he leaned his back to the wall and slid down, seated right beside her, close enough to reach out and touch.

He didn’t. One pillar of ice to the chest was more than enough for the day. But still, he found himself at loss for words.

Outside, just barely over the din of the raging storm, he heard Zethrid crow with delight and the heavy sound of some sort of impact. At least someone was having a nice time with all of this.

Dashing, gentle prince didn’t work. Commanding, powerful authority didn’t work. It was too late to play meek, and he wasn’t very good at that angle anyway. Perhaps something related to how the regent was worried about her? An assurance that her destructive powers had not caused her people any harm?

But in the end, it was not him that broke the silence. “What are you doing here?” she asked miserably, words muffled in her knees.

“Looking for you,” he answered honestly, before he could think of a more witty or poetic answer.

She lifted her head, appearing much less panicked, and looked at him—truly looked at him, as she hadn’t even when he introduced himself upon his arrival—with tired eyes and a stray lock of hair falling over her face. Lotor had never seen a woman in such… mundane disarray. Even in Daibazaal, when a noble was in a fit, they might go for a fainting couch or artful dishevelment, not this painful, miserable, tired sort of…

“Tch,” she clicked, raising a hand to swipe at her eye. “And what is a prince of Daibazaal even doing here?” she asked, a much different question from before.

Still, he answered honestly, with a small shrug as he said, “Looking for you.”

“Me?”

“I would have courted your sister, if I had thought she’d ever allow me to woo her.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he realized he said them, surprising himself with his own honesty.

She snorted, jerking, and it was an ugly, mundane sound, so fitting with the miserable, tired bags under her eyes and the shredded mess of her dress, that he suddenly found himself feeling fake. Glass facets where she was a jewel. Dead wood painted with browns and greens, carved and shredded, where she was an actual tree. There was something more real about her than even the ice and snow and stone beneath them, and his breath caught in his throat.

“No, you would have had no success there. She had no interest in… anyone, really. Save herself.”

Lotor wanted to reach out and touch her. To caress the crumpled lock of snow-white hair from her face, to touch this radiant being that was somehow so much more real than he was. It distracted him from finding words that would—impress her? Woo her? Calm her, manipulate her, puppet her? He forgot what he was meant to be doing.

“I don’t blame you for what you did,” he said, not sure what his damned mouth was doing, but he let it prattle on anyway. “I don’t think anyone does.”

“Everyone must hate me,” she said, wet and high, and tears gathered in her eyes again.

“No one hates you. They understood your reasoning, and the snow has frightened them, but none hate you.”

“I—have you…”

Lotor tilted his head.

“Have you heard any word from my uncle?”

“He worries for you,” Lotor said, gentle and soft without even trying to be. “He was nearly moved to tears with his fear for your wellbeing.”

Princess Allura sniffled and wiped at her eyes again.

“He is a good man,” she said.

“Would that I had such an uncle,” Lotor said, since, well, honesty had been the only thing she’d responded to thus far. Might as well.

“He has always been good to us. She would’ve killed him, I know she would have. Not right away, but as soon as he got in the way of her plans, she would’ve gotten ‘rid’ of him, just as she wanted to rid of me.”

Lotor reached out before his good sense could stop him, curling his fingers gently around her hand.

“You would not have let her.”

Nor would Lotor. But that wasn’t the important part, and also she didn’t really need to know that.

She squeezed his hand with impressive strength.

A silence passed between them, Lotor marveling at the touch of her. A sprawling mountain forest, holding the hand of a potted plant.

“Sorry I struck you. I didn’t mean to.”

“It will take more than that to kill me, Princess, worry not. I am merely sore.”

“I could kill you,” she said, her hand in his own beginning to tremble again. “I could—I am—”

“You could not,” he said, trying to sound firm without being commanding or arrogant. “Allura, you are not the only one with white hair.”

She looked at him again, surprised, but, yes, he did in fact have white hair.

“Oh. You are—a witch then?”

“Not quite,” he said, a little ruefully, “I might have had an easier time, if I was, but then again, I might be dead. I am what is called ‘fate touched.’ No magic can kill me.”

She made a curious sound, and in the corner of his eye, he realized the spikes and icicles were receding into the walls.

Well. Honesty was working. Time to share his secrets.

“It is as it sounds. No act of magic can kill me, no matter how powerful. I am not protected from all harm, and I do still feel pain, but I’ve survived every magical act ever laid upon me, even when others wouldn’t, or didn’t. If I am to be assassinated one must use more primitive means. And even then, an enchanted blade could not kill me any more than a magic column of ice.”

“You sound quite sure of that.”

He shrugged.

“To be stabbed by one’s sister is a more common occurrence in Daibazaal, than I gather it is here.”

Allura’s face caved with pity and horror. “Your own sister?”

Lotor shrugged again. “As the fourteenth of fourteen, I was not particularly needed, and my personality, in Daibazaal, is not quite well liked. It made manifest my magic, at the least, so now I know what this blasted hair indicates. Even though I’ve no control over it, and outside of perilous situations it does nothing.”

Allura huffed. “Would that mine was so passive.”

She stared out at the room around them, then frowned, noticing the changes.

“It seems tied to your emotions,” Lotor remarked, her hand a burning star in the brittle earth of his own. “Such magics are difficult to control, but not impossible. Is not your Champion’s much the same?”

Allura sighed. “He has a lover on which to ground himself when his mind feels lost, a steadfast, even personality from default, and far more practice than I.”

“You seem to be doing better with it now, by my measure.”

Beyond the icy walls, the sound of blizzarding gales was subsided, and the sky, though not quite visible through all the ice, felt as though it was lighter.

He’d helped. This was, at least in part, the result of his own doing. He’d helped her. Grounded her. It was a pride immeasurable, beating in his chest.

“And if I am lost to my distress again?”

Lotor turned to face her fully, twisting onto a knee and genuflecting before her, clasping her hand earnestly.

“Then we will deal with this again. It is your magic now, you cannot hide from it, only grasp the opportunity you have made for yourself and shoulder the consequences. I—” he felt unusually self-conscious, as he spoke his next words, “I would remain with you here, if you think my presence at all a boon.”

She smiled, a little wryly, and tilted her head at him, one brow neatly arched. “Here to look for me indeed.”

Lotor blinked. Oh he, well, yes. Yes, he was here to win her, but, in making his offer he’d forgotten—

“I… am not opposed, though,” she mused, staring down at their hands between them, her thumb brushing a fire-bright line over the back of his glove.

Lotor burst out laughing, his head dropping. “Princess,” he said around his own hysterics, “absolutely nothing about this conversation went as I had thought it might. There is,” he lifted his head again and looked her in the eye, submitting to his urge to reach out and caress away her stray lock of hair from her face, “something so ardently compelling about you.”

She smiled, and all remaining traces of jagged edges and spikes vanished into the floors and walls, sunlight breaking through the clouds and glinting off the pristine ice.

“I must confess the same of you. I would… like to get to know you better, Prince…?”

“Lotor,” he supplied, not even offended she’d forgotten his name.

“Prince Lotor, take me home.”

“Yes, Princess.”

He lifted her, her tattered dress and shoes like as not to be useless on the trek back down, and realized that, in the span of a single conversation, his lifelong goal had been abruptly changed.

No longer did he wish to marry her so he might one day become king.

Now he only wished to marry her.