#Balanced Parenting Approach

[aakhilrana]

Which Parenting Style is Most Encouraged in Modern America? Parenting in modern America has evolved significantly, adapting to the challenges of the 21st century. With increasing awareness of children’s mental health and overall development, one parenting style stands out as the most encouraged: authoritative parenting.

[taraxippos]

My dad was very against me getting a dog and then IMMEDIATELY fell in love with her. Like he absolutely adores her. He started off like 'uggh I don't want to end up having to take care of it' and now he REQUESTS to babysit her every couple weeks or so just for fun. He will just sit there petting her and chuckling and saying "She just makes me laugh :)" to himself. He calls himself her 'grandpa'. The bond between an aging father and the pet he didn't want is probably the deepest love on earth.

[edwardseymour]

tudor authors being scared of #real incest and not just like tudor typical incest is so weak why haven't i got my henry fitzroy x mary novel or even fanfic it's objectively a fascinating concept😞(tbh i think more people should explore the incestuous dynamic of mary and henry esp in the tudors but i have given up on that)

on one level, we really should be conscious of popular tudor representations of sex and sexuality, and specifically the sex negative attitude of popular tudor history, and thus the reliance on sexual humiliation and degradation — including incest. on another level, feudalism and patriarchy makes white people brains go B̴̭͎͓̀̀̋͂̂̾̆͌̚̚͠R̶̼̲̫͈̭̯̹̉̿̍̃͌͛̒̔́̕R̸̗̮̗̲̈́̃R̷̛͈͎̫̻͕͔̞̞̩͛ͅR̴̦̘̭͎̆̽̚͠ͅR̶̨̢̥̰̥͚̼͍̃R̸̡̢̧̙͈͊͆͐R̵̡͉̒Ṙ̷̢͉̫̠̜̩̦̝̣̩R̶͔̍R̷̬̮̖̂̌ and i can think of nothing more fitting for a bunch of inbred aristocrats than unfortunate levels of intimacy with each other…

[paigemathews]

Who did you think would win in a battle?

Wyatt Halliwell or Hope Mikaelson?

Definitely Wyatt Halliwell! Mostly because I haven't actually watched a single episode of any of the Vampire Diaries shows yet, so I have no idea who Hope is. (The main character in Legacies, I think?) (Don't worry, it's on my to watch list, my watch list is just really long atm.) I will say though that Wyatt is gonna be my answer for most situations. (Also thanks for the chance to do a little meta about Wyatt and his powers.)

From an objective standpoint in regards to powers, Wyatt wins against pretty much anything. I've said before and I'll say it again, I believe that Wyatt managed to break the Grand Design in the unchanged future with the exposure of magic, and I think that means he was able to kill some beings that he should not have traditionally been able to, aka the Cleaners and maybe even the Angel(s) of Destiny. (Which also loops into one of my now favorite headcanons that prophecies are made as a warning that a witch capable of breaking the Grand Design is coming.)

The catch, and how I'm able to write Wyatt in literally any conflict in my next gen fics, is that he has a critical weakness: he is terrified at the possibility of what he's capable of. (I have also mentioned that interpretation before, in connection with how Billie unintentionally makes it worse.) That kind of power is a lot for one person to handle, and Wyatt outclasses quite literally everyone around him by a large margin. I think that in a sense, his own fear serves as a kind of limiter on his power because he won't use them to the fullest extent. This is partially because he doesn't fully know what he's capable of because he doesn't experiment with his powers or push boundaries the same way that Chris does. While Wyatt has that kind of power, he lacks a greater amount of control and precision because he doesn't practice.

In a situation where Wyatt does go full-out, however, I think that he wins, no question. It's incredibly rare for him to do so, but one of his primary powers (projection) is a version of reality warping, y'know? That's not even getting into the fact that he has energy waves that can flat-out incinerate enemies without even trying. The challenge is getting him to a place where he doesn't hold back.

[vimbry-moved]

god I live for media that drags a dry and stoic character out of their depth into a scenario where they're dangerously on the cusp of looking silly or flustered. put that phlegmatic little person in a situation immediately.

[momatosfashion]

Nurturing Young Minds: The Key to Holistic Kids’ Education

Introduction

Education is more than just books and exams—it’s about shaping young minds, fostering creativity, and preparing children for a bright future. In today’s fast-changing world, a well-rounded education ensures kids develop not just academically, but socially and emotionally too.

1. The Importance of Early Childhood Education

The foundation of learning begins at an early age. Studies show that children who receive quality early education are more likely to succeed in school and beyond. Interactive learning, storytelling, and play-based activities help develop cognitive and social skills that set the stage for lifelong success.

2. Blending Academics with Creativity

A child’s mind is full of curiosity, and education should cater to that! Encouraging arts, music, and hands-on experiments alongside traditional subjects allows kids to explore their creativity while building essential problem-solving skills. A balanced approach helps children retain knowledge better and develop a love for learning.

3. Technology in Education: A Boon or a Bane?

With digital learning becoming a norm, educational apps, e-books, and interactive games have revolutionized how kids learn. While technology makes education more accessible, excessive screen time can be harmful. The key is balanced usage, where digital tools supplement but don’t replace real-world experiences.

4. The Role of Parents in a Child’s Learning Journey

Parents play a crucial role in a child’s education. Simple habits like reading together, engaging in educational conversations, and encouraging curiosity can significantly enhance a child’s learning experience. Creating a positive and supportive learning environment at home boosts confidence and motivation.

5. Encouraging Emotional and Social Learning

Education is not just about grades—it’s also about emotional intelligence, communication, and teamwork. Teaching children empathy, resilience, and problem-solving skills helps them navigate real-world challenges with confidence. Schools and parents must work together to foster emotional and social growth.

Conclusion

A well-rounded education prepares kids not just for academic success, but for life. By combining traditional learning with creativity, technology, and social skills, we can help children grow into confident, capable, and curious individuals ready to take on the world!

#momatos.in

[aakhilrana]

What is Authoritative Parenting? How It Helps Kids Grow Strong and Confident

Choosing the right way to parent can make a big difference in a child’s life. One style that many experts say works best is called authoritative parenting. This approach combines warmth, support, and clear expectations, creating a positive environment where kids feel safe, valued, and guided. In this article, we’ll explain what authoritative parenting is, why it’s effective, and how it can help children grow into confident, successful adults.

[kids-worldfun]

From Fun to Functional: Leveraging Screen Time for Critical Growth in Children

Children are instinctively attracted to the screen-be it a game, an educational app, or a video. Hence, while much debate goes into how much is too much in regards to screen time, it is very important to delve into how this, when done with purpose, can actually breed critical growth in children. It’s about cognitive development, literacy, or better problem solving; there is an equal…

[argumate]

So, reports of an unprecedented egg “shortage” are exaggerated. Nonetheless, egg prices — and egg company profits — have gone through the roof. Cal-Maine Foods — the largest egg producer and the only one that publishes its financial data as a publicly traded company — has been making more money than ever. It’s annual gross profits in the past three years have floated between 3 and 6 times what it used to earn before the avian flu epidemic started — breaking $1 billion for the first time in the company’s history. All of this extra profit is coming from higher selling prices, which have been earning Cal-Maine unprecedented 50-170 percent margins over farm production costs per dozen. Taking Cal-Maine as the “bellwether” for the industry’s largest firms — as people in the egg business do — we can be pretty confident that the other large egg producers are also raking in profits off the relatively small dip in egg production.

High persistent profits are an anomaly for the industry. Historically, egg producers have responded to avian flu epidemics—and the temporary rise in egg prices that often accompanies them—by quickly rebuilding and expanding their flocks of egg-laying hens. “Fowl plagues”—as these epidemics used to be called—have been with us since at least the 19th century. Most recently, large-scale avian flu epidemics hit egg farms in 2015 and 1983-1984. The egg industry responded to both of these destructive events by sprinting to rebuild and expand the egg-laying hen flock — something which checked price increases and ultimately made sure prices went back to pre-epidemic levels within a reasonable time.

As Cal-Maine Foods explained in its 2007 Annual Report: “In the past, during periods of high profitability, shell egg producers have tended to increase the number of layers in production with a resulting increase in the supply of shell eggs, which generally has caused a drop in shell egg prices until supply and demand return to balance.”

This time around, however, that’s not happening. Despite high profits, the egg industry has somehow maintained a stubborn deficit in egg production capacity. Hatcheries — the firms that supply hens to egg producers — have throttled the pipeline of hens instead of expanding it. According to the Egg Industry Center, the size of the flock of “parent” hens — the hens used by hatcheries to produce layer chicks for egg producers — plummeted from 3.1 million hens in 2021, to 2.9 million in 2022, to 2.5 million hens in 2023 and 2024.

Meanwhile, hatcheries have been hatching significantly fewer parent chicks to replace aging ones — nearly 380,000 (or 12 percent) fewer in 2022 compared to the year before, and even fewer parent chicks in 2023 and 2024 — leaving the parent flock older and more likely to produce eggs that fail to hatch. That could explain why, although hatcheries reported producing 125-200 million more fertilized eggs to the USDA in each of the last three years compared to 2021, the number of eggs they’ve placed in incubators and the number of chicks they’ve hatched from those eggs has either declined or stayed basically steady with 2021 levels in every year since.

As for egg producers themselves, you may be surprised to learn that they have added between 5 and 20 million fewer pullets to their farms in every one of the last three years than they did in 2021. As the USDA observed with some astonishment at the end of 2022, “producers—despite the record-high wholesale price [of eggs]—are taking a cautious approach to expanding production[.]” The following month, it pared down its table-egg production forecast for the entirety of 2023 on account of “the industry’s [persisting] cautious approach to expanding production.”

In other words, the only thing that the egg industry seems to have expanded in response to the avian flu epidemic is windfall profits — which have likely amounted to more than $15 billion since the epidemic began (judging by the increase in the value of annual egg production since 2022), and appear to have been spent primarily on stock buybacks, dividends, and acquisitions of rivals instead of rebuilding and expanding flocks. When an industry starts profiting more from *not* producing than from producing, it’s a sign that something isn’t right. It could be an innocent bottleneck. But when it lasts for three years on end with no relief in sight, it's usually a sign of something else that’s pervasive in America — monopolization.

As the coming installments in this series will detail, the fundamental problem in the egg supply chain today is the simple fact that every industry involved in turning an egg into a chicken and turning a chicken into an egg—from the breeders and hatcheries that create the hens to the producers who use the hens to make eggs—has been hijacked by one or two financier-backed corporations, with the incentives flipped from competing entities seeking to produce more eggs to an oligopoly trying to restrain the production of eggs.

On one end of the egg supply chain, you have two companies who control chicken genetics, the billionaire-owned Erich Wesjohann Group and the private-equity-backed Hendrix Genetics. Headquartered a short car trip apart in Cuxhaven, Germany, and Boxmeer, Netherlands, these private firms have systematically gained control over the supply of egg-laying hens to American producers over the past two decades by buying out or suppressing rivals and challengers. Today, no egg producer in this country can expand the number of hens in its flock — or even replace the hens it already has when they age out or die — without the cooperation of this duopoly. And, since the value of hens rises with the price of the eggs, when the price of eggs is high these two barons have a clear interest in keeping the supply of pullets to producers on a tight leash — so the high prices stick.

On the other end of the egg supply chain, you have the largest egg producer in the country and the world, Cal-Maine Foods.

Matt Stoller from his monopolisation/cartel report; something that has clicked recently is the way that business seeks to maximise profit margin over volume, which often leads to reducing production, brittle supply chains, high prices, and ultimately shortages.

in principle this isn't supposed to happen under capitalism, because someone earning high profit margins should be outcompeted by new entrants willing to earn slightly lower profit margins, until (in the perfect frictionless market) the rate of profit should be whittled down to the rate of risk free return (government interest rates?) plus epsilon (a little bit).

obviously this does happen in reality for a number of reasons, and the Problem of Profits is a fun question to dig into, but the problem of persistently high profits is a more concerning issue and appears to be growing across multiple industries.

antitrust law is supposed to prevent market concentration that leads to this outcome but has been toothless since the '90s, allowing dramatic consolidation across dozens of old industries (groceries, agriculture, pharmacies, television, newspapers) and of course new industries (tech giants).

government regulation often ends up favouring incumbents, but it seems that contractual arrangements between suppliers and industry bodies and buying agents to form tight cartels are a bigger problem: if egg prices are high you might think to start an egg farm, but you need to find someone who will sell you chickens and someone who will buy your eggs, when the industry is using every means at their disposal to cut off market access to new entrants.

and of course if you have access to the gargantuan amount of capital required to attempt a serious challenge to an established cartel, why exactly would you want to start a price war with them when you can instead find some other unprotected industry to buy up and establish a cartel of your own?

capitalism seems to have entered a phase of its development equivalent to WWI, where defensive operations by incumbents are more successful than offense by new ventures, keeping the battle lines frozen in place (presumably the soldiers dying in their millions would be workers and consumers in this analogy).

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

Tintin Tarot - A Fool's Journey, Part One. A collaboration with @josephscoat who knows a lot about tarot and other spiritual and cultural topics. They're a very talented writer too, so go check them out!

They first pointed out how perfectly the Fool tarot card mapped onto Tintin himself, and it led to me illustrating the Major Arcana as Tintin characters. I'm surprised Moulinsart hasn't released an official Tintin tarot deck yet, though knowing them if they did they'd probably just reuse existing art...

I wanted this set to reference the Rider-Waite tarot deck, as it's iconic! I tried to keep as much symbolism from this deck as possible, while incorperating a lot of appropriate Tintin references. It was important to us that none of these felt like a stretch, so we tried our best to find the best fit for each card, including the card's reverse meaning!

The Fool - New beginnings, taking risks, embarking on a new adventure, independence and blind faith. He even has a little white dog. Of course Tintin is the Fool! The yellow tights indicate he moves forward with self confidence, even if forwards means off a ledge. He carries a white flower, symbolising purity.

The Magician - Manifestation, creation, resourcefulness and inspired action. Calculus's inventions behind him are a nod to each element - the shark submarine represents water, the moon rocket represents fire, the sound weapon represents air and the white roses he creates for Castafiore represent earth! On the table we have Didi's sword, a bottle of Loch Lommond whiskey, a pentacle and King Ottokar's sceptre. This card is my favourite!

The High Priestess - Mystery, intuition and the subconcious mind. Madame Yamilah was the obvious pick, being canonically psychic! I incorperated the curtains from the theatre she performs at, as well as the columns Haddock knocks over, now in black and white to represent light and dark.

The Empress - Motherhood, protection, femininity. There aren't many parents in the Tintin universe, probably by design. Mrs Wang came to mind. I used phoenix motifs in her headress as in Chinese culture they are symbols of femininity, and are distinct from the fiery immortal birds from Greek mythology.

The Emperor - Fatherhood, authority, structure, control. Mr Wang runs a crime fighting organisation and is Didi and Chang's stern father. Dragon motifs represent masculinity, and I referenced ancient Chinese armour as a symbol of protection.

The Hierophant - Tradition, conformity. The Prince of the Sun sticks closely to ancient laws and traditions, but like the card's reverse, is open to new approaches, such as when he takes in Zorrino. I gave him some elements of the priest's clothing to symbolise the Prince's role as a religious leader.

The Lovers - Partnerships, duality and unity! Despite being identical, the Thomsons aren't related. They in fact come from different countries - one is from France and the other is from Switzerland. Me and my friend confirmed this fact at the Herge museum in Belgium! The card's reverse meaning, disharmony and loss of balance, is also very much in line with the Thomsons. I included the internet famous Gay Lions in the background!

The Chariot - Direction. Control. Willpower. These are the perfect descriptors for Arturo Benedetto Giovanni Giuseppe Pietro Arcangelo Alfredo Cartoffoli, the Italian driver that helps out Tintin and Haddock in the Calculus Affair. He may have only appeared for a few pages, and I may be the only person to get this reference, but he is a perfect fit. He drives.

Strength - Compassion, bravery, endurance. Not only has Chang demonstrated these qualities in Tintin in Tibet, he's had to endure a lot of hardship throughout his life, being orphaned, swept up in a flood and watching his home get torn apart by imperial forces. He still comes out the other side patient and compassionate, being one of the few people to recognise a form of humanity in the Yeti, and possibly being the one to change Tintin's entire political journey! Chang is draped with juniper berries.

The Hermit - Laszlo Carreidas is a lonely and isolated millionnaire who goes through a huge personality change. Being drugged with a truth serum makes him more honest and open. His base personality before his development fits with the card's reverse - isolation and a loss of direction.

Wheel of Fortune - Alcazar and Tapioca's conflict is an endless cycle of war for political control. The Wheel of Fortune represents cycles and inevitable fate. Reversed, it represents a lack of control - both Alcazar and Tapioca cycle between having absolute power and no power at all. I dressed Tapioca as Anubis as a nod to the original card!

Justice - I picked Miarka to represent Justice as she and her community are wrongfully accused of crime due to being profiled. Instead of a sword she weilds the golden pair of scissors she is accused of stealing, and the gemstone representing a third eye is the Castafiore emerald. The owl, a symbol of wisdom, and the magpie from the Castafiore Emerald sit beside her.

[science-hoes]

Taste

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: FILTHY smut, lactation kink, unprotected sex, language, canon typical medical drama, mentions of addiction

Description: Robby is fighting nicotine withdrawals, but the reader has something sweeter to curb the cravings.

Michael Rovinavitch Masterlist

—

Robby sipped on the beer that Donnie had tossed him before leaving the usual post-shift hangout. He used to stay longer, maybe even have two beers, but now he had you and Eliza. That was much more rewarding after a grueling day in the Pitt.

Especially after today. Three kids ended up in his ER following a “chicken pox party.” They had been given aspirin and developed Reye’s syndrome, each being sent to the pediatric ICU after Robby evaluated them. What a surprise that anti-vax parents also didn’t know the contraindications of aspirin. The parents were sent with them, but not without a scathing lecture from the chief attending. The selfishness of those parents refusing to immunize their children bewildered him in general, but now that he had a baby girl waiting at home for him, who didn’t have a full immune system yet, it made his blood boil.

As he walked home, he could smell the intoxicatingly thick smell of cigarettes as he passed by strangers with the vice between their fingers. His eyes nearly rolled back at the aroma, wishing he could relieve his stress with a long drag. Just one, that’s all he would need. But cigarettes were seductive, and he could never have just one. Instead, he reached into the side pocket of his backpack and popped a piece of nicotine gum out of the aluminum packet. Not nearly enough of the drug compared to a cigarette, but it kept him clean.

Robby approached the small but beautiful house you had picked out together just a month ago. Only a few blocks from PTMC, making it an easy walk to and from work. That was the main selling point, along with the somewhat spacious backyard for Eliza to play in as she grew up. He juggled his keys, finding the new house key, and unlocked the door carefully.

“Hey, kid. I’m home.” He called out, but not too loud, just in case the baby was sleeping.

After there was no response, he shut the door quietly behind him. His backpack dropped to the floor, a physical metaphor for the burden that fell off his back the moment he smelled the warm vanilla scent of the candle you had been burning. Even while on maternity leave, you found time to make the new house feel welcoming.

Robby stepped out of his New Balance sneakers and padded across the hardwood floor to the living room. There he saw you on the couch, cradling Eliza in your arms, as she drifted off to sleep. The sight was truly beautiful. He couldn’t hide his smile even if he wanted to.

You looked up to him and smiled. “Hey.” You whispered.

He sat down next to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his nose into your shoulder. A heavy exhale left his lungs while he watched his daughter. Eliza’s eyelids fluttered as she dreamed in her mother’s arms.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day.” Robby mumbled into the fabric of your shirt. His shirt, actually.

You tilted your head slightly until it rested against his. “Long day?”

“Mmhmm.” He murmured.

“Do you want to put Eliza down? Then we can talk about it?” You asked.

That was the routine in the Robinavitch household since Eliza was born three months ago. Robby would come home from his 12 hour shift, but the baby would already be asleep. So, you let him put her down in the crib, always taking a few minutes to absorb her snuggles and kiss her before letting her rest until she woke up in the middle of the night. He would always get her before you could register her cries, just for the chance to see her while she was awake.

Robby sighed heavily and shook his head reluctantly. “No. We had some kids come in today with Reye’s syndrome from chicken pox. I don’t want to touch her right now just in case.” He answered, and you could hear the disappointment in his voice.

You turned your head slightly to press a kiss to his temple. “Okay. Let me put her down then.” You offered.

Robby didn’t answer but let go of your waist. As you slowly made your way to the nursery, he couldn’t help but watch the dancing flame coming from the candle you had lit. Almost taunting him. The same tiny burst of light that used to burn his tobacco for him. He rubbed his eyes to alleviate his thoughts, jaw faithfully chewing the gum that was supposed to be curbing his desire.

You walked back into the room and noticed his distress. “What’s wrong, love?” You asked as you sank in the couch next to him.

Robby’s hands moved from his eyes to scratch his beard. “You know it’s days like this that I really crave a fucking cigarette.” He muttered.

Your hand reached up to rub the back of his neck, fingertips kneading into the wrinkles there. “You don’t want to break your clean streak. Is the gum not helping anymore?” You asked.

He leaned into your touch and closed his eyes, indulging in the comforting movements. “I’m going through a pack a day.” He admitted.

“What about Zyns? That’s what Langdon uses.” You suggested.

He huffed and opened his eyes just to roll them. “Yeah, because he’s the poster child for making good drug choices.”

Your eyes narrowed, massaging hands stopped. “Michael.”

Robby scrunched his face at the use of his first name and nodded. “Sorry, that was mean.” He confessed. He held his hands in front of him, watching the way they trembled. “I’ve gotta do something. I’m fucking shaking. I can barely run a simple stitch. This plus the caffeine…it’s getting to be too much.”

After his apology, your nails began to scratch the freshly buzzed hairline at the base of his neck. “Maybe it’s time for one of those nicotine nasal sprays?” You offered.

He just nodded in agreement, leaning back into your touch. He would have fallen asleep right there on the couch like that, with your hand in his hair, but your tiny moans of discomfort pulled him back to reality. “What’s wrong, love?” He asked, sitting up a bit.

You pressed your hands to your chest, pushing against your breasts to relieve some kind of pressure. “I’m gonna have to pump again.” You grunted.

Robby put his hand on your back as you shifted uncomfortably. “How many times today?” He questioned.

“Eight.” You admitted.

His brow furrowed with slight concern. “Eight?”

You nodded. “I’m gonna have to start taking some of the frozen milk to a bank. We don’t have enough room in the freezer for anymore.”

Robby watched you for a moment, gears in that genius brain of his turning, jaw grinding on the nicotine gum. Without a word, he got up and walked to the kitchen. You heard him spit the gum out in the trashcan before he returned. He shrugged of his navy hoodie and tossed it on the ground. He sank onto the couch again, legs sprawling naturally, and patted his thigh.

“Come here.” He ordered.

You watched him with skeptical eyes, but followed his lead as he guided your legs until you straddled him.

“Robby, I need to-“

“I’m gonna handle it.” He cut you off.

Before you could answer, he’d pulled that baggy old shirt of his off your upper body, leaving you in nothing but your pajama shorts and maternity bra. His coarse hands ran across the luxuriously smooth skin of your waist, thumbs brushing against your shriveling stretch marks from pregnancy.

Your cheeks reddened as you realized his intentions. “Oh.” Was all you could say.

His fingers trailed across your skin until they reached behind you, unclasping your bra. The silky straps slid down your shoulders, and you tossed the bra behind you. Robby groaned unconsciously as your breasts dropped to your chest and a smirk played at his lips.

“What immunoglobulin is found in breast milk?” He asked.

Your eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. You grabbed fistfuls of his black scrub top, pulling him forward. “Don’t you dare quiz me right now.” You hissed.

Robby’s smirk turned into a devilish grin, and those brown eyes darkened with blown pupils. “I’m your attending. It’s my job. Plus you have boards coming up soon.” He replied.

Your glare could have sliced through marble, but your husband was a force to be reckoned with. “Breastfeeding isn’t on the board exam.” You grumbled.

He chuckled and winked at you, that fucking charming man. “It could be.” He teased.

Your breathing was becoming labored as the fullness in your chest increased. “Michael Robinavitch, if you do not help me, I will report you to the Board for sharing unauthorized board exam content.” You threatened.

But he knew your threats were empty and driven by madness, and that diabolical grin remained on his face, smile wrinkles deepening around his eyes. He tilted his chin up to where his lips ghosted against yours. “I would answer the question if I were you.”

His fingers began to trace your shoulders, moving down but not close enough. You shoved him back against the couch, his hospital badge clacking against his chest. “IgA.” You finally answered through clenched teeth.

“Good girl.”

Robby’s large, freckled hands moved to your engorged breasts, massaging them gently. The sound that left your throat was animalistic. You grasped his forearms, trying to guide him to what you needed.

“What is the sympathetic innervation of the myoepithelial cells in breast tissue?” His voice was unwavering.

Your face scrunched as the fullness began to become overbearing. “Robby…” You growled.

His thumbs hovered above your aching nipples. “Come on, pretty girl.” He beckoned.

You struggled to sort through your medical education as his hands kneaded into your chest. “T1 through T5.” You responded.

Robby chuckled and moved his lips to your breast, his beard adding a rough sensation. “Yes, ma’am.” He affirmed, beginning to kiss your skin.

His fingers began to tweak your nipples, eliciting a moan of painful pleasure from you. Your hips rocked once against his absentmindedly. “Michael, please.” You begged, grabbing the back of his head to guide him.

Robby paused all of his ministrations to look up at you with those big brown eyes, glistening in the dark. “Last question.” He mumbled against your breasts. “What hormone initiates the let-down reflex?”

Your chest heaved in anticipation, and your grip on the back of his head tightened. “Oxytocin.” You answered like your life fucking depended on it.

He smiled and wrapped his lips around one of your hard nipples. Your mouth dropped open as he suckled gently and kept his fingers on your other breast. His free hand moved to your lower pack, guiding your hips to rock against his. You could feel his hardness teasing against your clothed pussy as you grinded.

Then that familiar pins and needles sensation rushed through your chest. You shuddered as the let down reflex ran its course. Robby hummed against your breast as the first drops of milk graced his suckling tongue. Liquid pearls slowly dribbled down his hand that tweaked at the other nipple. The rush of oxytocin seeped through your whole body, and you finally relaxed in your husband’s embrace.

Your fingers massaged the back of his neck like you had earlier, rewarding him for his assistance. His rapid, small suckles began to turn into longer, deeper pulls as the flow became continuous. Your other breast began to leak freely, a small river of cream streaking down his hairy forearm. He breathed loudly through his nose in between swallows, indulging his new favorite dessert.

“What does it taste like?” You breathed, enamored by the sight before you.

Robby took a long drag at your nipple before sitting up and pressing his mouth against yours without a word, pouring your own nectar onto your tongue, the rest spilling in between your chins. It was sweeter than you expected, and you understood why he hadn’t come up for air in several minutes.

“Jesus, fuck, I’d swallow poison if it tasted like you.” He mumbled against your lips.

You pulled away to look at him. The beads of white meshed into his beard, peppering it further, and his lips were swollen from suction. Your husband had never looked so viscerally attractive. You reached at his waist and hiked up his scrub top, tossing it behind you.

“Can I please ride you?” You asked, desperately chasing your oxytocin high.

Robby chuckled and leaned back against the couch for a moment to shift out of his scrub bottoms and boxers. “Can’t say no when you ask so nicely.” He teased.

You giggled and shimmied out of your pajama shorts that had a wet stain already. Without a moment of hesitation, you sank down on his massive cock, the familiar stretch that still made your back arch. He took advantage and latched onto your nipple again, groaning at your tightness before he began to suck.

You bounced on his hips, adding to the suction patterns he pulled on your breast. He continued to tug at the other nipple, the milk spraying across his bare chest, scratching the itch in your sensory neurons. His thrusts grew stronger, and your release drew closer.

“Robby, I’m gonna-“

Before you could finish your sentence, Robby fisted both of your breasts, squeezed them together, and enveloped both nipples in his mouth. You held back a scream as he swallowed hard around them, determined to get every last drop.

Your eyes squeezed shut as the white hot explosion of your climax shot across your nervous system. Your body went limp, draping your arms around his shoulders. His grunts became more frequent as his hip thrusts faltered at the feeling of your pulsing walls. The only time his mouth let go of your breasts was to grunt as he came. You rocked gently, working him through his orgasm, pulling every last bit of cum he had to offer.

Robby slouched back against the couch, and you enjoyed the view. His soft upper body glistening with sweat and tributaries of milk. His face and ears flushed with exertion. His lips swollen from half an hour of suckling. The pearls of milk still nestled into his beard.

“You’re hot.” You teased, resting your hands on his biceps, tracing his tattoos.

He let out a strangled chuckle as he caught his breath, and a content smile played on his lips. “You keep me young, kid. You know that?” He asked.

You smiled and leaned to give him a sweet, soft kiss on his puffed lips. “Good. We need you around for a long time.” You replied.

Robby lifted his hand to caress your face. “I’m gonna be. Not gonna miss a second.” He assured you.

You raised an eyebrow. “That means no relapsing on cigarettes.” You lectured.

He sighed and nodded. “I know.” He replied, looking down at his forearms that were still streaked with milk. “But I think I found something to distract from the cravings.” He winked at you as he dragged his tongue across his veiny forearm up to his wrist, gathering every last drop.

You couldn’t help but blush through your laugh. Carefully, you lifted off his lap and pulled your pajama shorts back on. You used the old t-shirt that you had been wearing to clean up the mess on your chest and his.

“Hey! That’s my shirt.” Robby complained as you wiped his upper body.

You shook your head. “It’s our shirt.”

He rolled his eyes and hoisted his boxers and scrub pants back on. Just as he was about to make a snarky comment, tiny cries came from the baby monitor that sat on the table next to the couch.

You smiled slightly. “Go see our girl. She’s missed you.” You said.

He hesitated for a moment. “I saw those kids today.” He said.

“You don’t have your scrub top on. Use the hand sanitizer next to the changing table. You’ll be alright, doc.” You replied.

Robby chuckled and headed to the nursery. Within seconds, the crying stopped, and you heard his smooth voice singing a Hebrew lullaby to Eliza. He reentered the living room with your baby girl tucked into his elbow like a football. She was so tiny compared to his large frame. You walked over to him and rested your head on his shoulder. Eliza’s big brown eyes stared at her father’s identical ones.

“Did you have a good day with Mommy?” He cooed.

She reached for the sparkling pendant at his neck, and he held her closer to put it in her grasp. Her tiny fingers wrapped around the Star, pulling it to her mouth.

“She’s gonna start using that to teeth pretty soon.” You mused.

He smiled. “I know. She’s getting so big.”

You felt an unusual ache in your heart. “I know. I hate it.” You admitted.

“I’ll stay up with her a little longer. You get some sleep. You’ve been working hard today.” He offered, pressing a kiss to your head.

You stifled a laugh. “You’re the one who worked a 12 hour shift.” You reminded him.

Robby met your gaze, his eyes shining in the living room glow. “You’re with our daughter all day. Taking care of her. Loving her. Making our new house a home.” He leaned down to kiss you sincerely. “You’re giving me the world, kid. That deserves some rest.”

You hugged your husband tightly, tears stinging your eyes. “Thank you.” You whispered.

“Thank you.” He repeated. “Now, go. I’ve got our girl.” He assured.

You kissed Eliza goodnight before walking to the bedroom. As you neared the room, you heard Robby’s voice carrying through the hallways as he sang his Hebrew lullaby again.

—

A/N: Thank y’all for humoring my pathetic Dr. Robby thoughts. As soon as I came up with this idea, I couldn’t stop writing until it was done. I can’t wait to write some more smut for him.

[fastlane-freedom]

A Balanced Approach: Nurturing Children Without Overscheduling

In the fast-paced world we live in, parents often find themselves caught in the struggle to provide their children with enriching experiences while avoiding the pitfalls of overscheduling. The pressure to enrol children in numerous extracurricular activities can be overwhelming, yet purposeful parents are increasingly recognizing the importance of a balanced approach to child development. This…

[khunwriting]

[Visions of You]

Synopsis: Jade knew that he was going to have a land wedding when he first met you.

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Jade Leech x Reader

Weddings on land were vastly different compared to those of the sea. They were more extravagant and costly, but Jade knew he would eventually have a land wedding when he met you back at NRC. 

You, the little human from a world completely different to that of Twisted Wonderland. 

You, the magicless student that stayed in that dinky Ramshackle dorm during your school years.

You, the prefect who approached him after Azul’s overblot with a beaming smile and curious gaze. 

You, the one that took his shielded, beating heart and carried it gently in your loving hands.

Jade knew you were the one for him since that day. It was just a matter of how he should play his cards to make you fall in love with him, and the eel-mer would gleefully boast about how quick it was for you to fall for his charms. Though, you often joked that you would’ve fallen for him sooner if he didn’t kick you out of your dorm or harass your friends within your first few meetings—To which Jade sniffles with crocodile tears and begs you to forget about his barbaric actions. You always rolled your eyes at his jests, but he could still see the cute smile you poorly hid.

When the two of you started dating, it just felt right. It was as if two puzzle pieces slotted perfectly together, like a match made in heaven. You both complemented and balanced each other out, and even your skeptical friends warmed up to the relationship just as easily as his side did. You got along swimmingly with Azul, his parents absolutely adored you, and, more importantly (if Jade was being honest), Floyd had long accepted you as his new sibling-in-law; his family beyond elated upon hearing the news that Jade wanted a future with you. 

So, it took little time for Jade, a sudden romantic in his blooming relationship, to question the details of your wedding day. What color suit would he wear? Should he use that glittery eye makeup and have his hair done the same way as that one wedding you both attended in Sunshine Lands? What kind of makeup would you put on? What sort of hairstyle would you don? 

Oh, what would you wear? 

Just the thought of you dolled up on their wedding day was enough for Jade to collapse onto his bed with a dreamy sigh. Floyd was always sure to throw a pillow with expert precision at his head paired with a playfully disgusted groan.

His twin’s actions never stopped the daydreams that flitted about in his mind throughout his day. Even in class, he’d imagine himself standing across from you. His usual close-lipped smile would be replaced with a toothy grin as he celebrated their nuptials with friends and family, basking in the day in blissful euphoria.

Even when he's struggling on his broom during PE, Jade imagines how your cheeks would turn red as he dipped you low to grace his lips with yours before the officiant even finished the pronouncement that the husband (him!) could kiss you.

Even when he's carrying a tray full of dishes to a table during his shift, he imagines what the reception would be like. Jade was certain that you’d be swept up in a dance with his beloved twin before Floyd inevitably decided it was the groom’s turn to be spun around.

Needless to say, Jade was overly eager for his wedding day to come. 

Yet, as he stood at the altar, staring into the same colored eyes as yours were, Jade couldn’t find himself sharing the same love that reflected back at himself so brightly. Even as he stood across from his soon to be spouse, he envisioned it was you standing there instead.

The person in front of him had some similar features to you, same color hair and eyes though not as appealing. The skin tone was close, but blemishes you had were not in the same spots. Their eye shape and nose were comparable, but your lips were completely different. Unfortunately, he’ll take what he could get, even if it was barely enough to pretend that it was you. 

You both had broken up. Though, was it really a break up if neither of you ever said those words? Regardless, you were no longer with him, despite the tender love you both cultivated and nurtured throughout the years at NRC. Now that love, though still persisting in his heart, has wilted from your missing presence.

Unable to handle the aching void where you had once filled, Jade was forced to find something else to get rid of that gnawing emptiness. And the best stands across from him, a human that looked slightly like you with vaguely parallel mannerisms. They should’ve eased the pain, but it just feels like two puzzle pieces forced together, scraping at the edges and disfiguring the original shapes in the process.

It feels wrong. 

In fact, everything feels revoltingly wrong. Jade’s stomach churns and the disgusting feeling of his own suit and human flesh makes him want to scream. He wants to peel everything off, clawing deep streaks into his body. He wants to destroy the hideous altar beside him, break every expensive chair and table in sight, shred those ugly, stupid flowers till they crumple into the sand beneath his shoes. He wants to disappear back into the comfort of the Coral Sea and hide away in a dark cove with his brother at his side. 

But he can’t, so Jade forces the rising bile and deep rage back to the little caged box where his fractured heart sits next to the love and memories of you.

Instead, he’ll stand there, neat and gentlemanly as he always was. He’ll repeat the vows he doesn’t mean. He’ll slip the ring that was supposed to be yours onto somebody else's finger. He’ll lean in and kiss lips that make stomach acid crawl up his throat. Then he’ll walk down the aisle with his newly married partner, ignoring the grieving frowns his parents and Azul carry and opting to stare at his brother, who sat between his father and Azul, instead.

Floyd still doesn’t look at him, and that hurts more than Jade would like to admit. 

He knew his family wasn’t happy, but what could he do? It wasn’t like you were going to suddenly appear before them and demand the ceremony be stopped. You weren’t going to steal him away from this offensive wedding, grabbing his hand and running away like those silly dramas he used to watch with you. As much as he would’ve loved to see that happen, it wouldn’t. 

After all, nobody has seen you in years, not since his final year of NRC. You had up and disappeared with no goodbyes. Not to your friends. Not to Grim. Not to him. He was forced to hear that you returned back to your world by Crowley of all people. 

The headmage had been suspiciously tight-lipped about how he had returned you back home, and Jade was convinced that you were pushed into the mirror by Crowley—He was sure of it! You loved him as much as he loved you. You wouldn’t just leave him behind…Right?—Alas, there was no proof and no amount of tears shed will let you return. Not to mention, the decade-long research stint has continuously turned up empty and there’s only so many failures Jade could withstand. The day he gave up looking for you had led to the biggest fight Jade and Floyd had in their lifetime.

But again, Jade couldn’t take the pain anymore. He couldn’t stand waking up to a cold bed and wet tears every morning. He couldn’t go through his daily life by himself when everything reminded him of you. Since that day, you had left him alone. That day, his heart shattered into millions of pieces in front of that damn mirror with only recollections and once-vivid visions of your shared future as keepsakes from his time with you. 

Because he had given you his shielded, beating heart, Jade was forced to pick up each cracked piece with bleeding fingers and hoarse sobs. He was forced to reassemble as a broken man. He was forced to find comfort in another’s embrace with your name still filling his lungs and soul. Because you won’t come back, no matter how much he cries or begs. 

No, he’ll remain stuck in this loveless marriage on land because it reminded Jade of what could’ve been if you stayed home with him.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hello darling.

Could I please request some driver (doesn't matter who) and his daughter just elarned how to walk. So she is always trying to run away? It's all very amusing to the drivers!

Thank youuuu

She's a runner, she's a track star

The paddock had its usual hum of activity—mechanics adjusting parts, engineers discussing strategies, and drivers casually hanging out in the team areas. But today, none of that mattered to Yn.

Sixteen months old and freshly in love with walking, she had discovered the absolute thrill of being on her own two feet. And naturally, that meant exploring every possible direction she could waddle to.

Her parents, Carlos and Rebecca, had long accepted their fate. There was no stopping their daughter from marching off on what she believed were grand adventures. So instead of controlling the chaos, they simply kept close, always ready to step in when she ran out of steam.

"She doesn’t walk. She sprints," Rebecca murmured, watching their daughter toddle a few meters away with an enthusiasm that rivalled a pole position victory.

Carlos, seated casually at a table with his friends—Lando, Charles, Pierre, and Alex—leaned back, sipping his coffee like he had all the time in the world. "She’s got my racing instincts," he joked, taking another slow sip.

Rebecca scoffed. "She’s sixteen months old, not a Ferrari."

Carlos smirked, completely unbothered. "Still faster than half the pit stop strategies we’ve seen this season."

Lando snorted. "I think she’s onto something, actually."

Charles leaned forward, watching Yn play with her dolls nearby. "She’s gonna make a break for it any second now."

Yn, blissfully unaware of the discussion about her speed, was deeply focused on her toys. But then—just like the men had predicted—the urge to move struck her again.

Without hesitation, she abandoned the dolls, stretched her tiny arms out for balance, and with absolute determination, began her escape.

"Here she goes," Pierre grinned.

"You can see the confidence," Alex added, watching with amusement.

Carlos, still relaxed, only glanced at his daughter briefly before turning back to his coffee."

Rebecca folded her arms, eyeing her husband suspiciously. "Are you going to let her roam the entire paddock?"

Carlos shrugged. "She’s testing her limits."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Testing her limits or testing your patience?"

Carlos chuckled. "Both."

Yn was now fully engaged in her mission, her tiny feet padding determinedly against the pavement. In her mind, she was flying. The paddock was hers to conquer, and nothing could stop her!

Except, of course, her own exhaustion.

After a solid minute of relentless waddling—which felt like an eternity in toddler-time—Yn slowed down. Her little legs wobbled with effort, and finally, she plopped herself down on the pavement with a tiny, dramatic huff.

Max, who had been watching from a distance, chuckled as Carlos finally stood up, still extremely relaxed.

"You’re really just waiting until she tires herself out, huh?" Max mused.

Carlos took another slow sip of his coffee before setting it down. "Efficiency, my friend."

With unhurried steps, Carlos strolled over to where Yn sat, her chubby hands resting on her knees as she caught her breath.

When she saw him approaching, she immediately lifted her arms—the universal toddler signal for pick me up right now.

Carlos crouched in front of her, his voice soft with adoration. "You tired, pequeña?"

Yn beamed up at him, entirely unfazed by her failed escape attempt.

Carlos wasted no time, scooping her up and holding her close, pressing dozens of kisses to her chubby cheeks. "Such a strong walker! So fast, mi amor!" he praised, his voice filled with warmth.

Yn squealed with delight, gripping onto her father’s shirt.

Rebecca approached, shaking her head with a knowing smile. "You let her think she won, didn’t you?"

Carlos grinned, pressing another kiss to Yn’s forehead. "Confidence building."

Lando, Charles, Pierre, and Alex watched the scene with amusement.

"You’re ridiculously soft for her," Lando pointed out.

Carlos didn’t even try to argue. "And I don’t care."

Pierre laughed. "Honestly, that’s fair."

Carlos shifted Yn so she was more comfortable in his arms, rubbing her back gently as she nestled against him. She was still beaming, incredibly pleased with herself for her grand adventure.

Rebecca smirked. "She’s got you completely wrapped around her tiny fingers."

Carlos pressed one last kiss to Yn’s cheek, completely in love. "And I wouldn’t change a single thing."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

-💚🐍

[saetiate]

FORSAKEN BY ALL THE GODS.

info: prince!kaiser x f!reader, enemies to lovers, fantasy au, arranged marriage, eventual smut. afab reader w she/her pronouns. reader has an established backstory and is not weak, reader’s appearance is nondescript. reader calls him “mihya” as they get closer. oliver and karasu are bffs in this lol. maybe some angst if you squint. happy ending!! plot is balanced with comedic moments. 

synopsis: You will be killed by the one you love most. That line from his prophecy has haunted Kaiser his whole life. Against it all, you stand before him. Will you be the one to rewrite fate itself?

word count: 14k (please don’t let this scare you, i promise my writing is efficient) 

a/n: this might be my magnum opus, i promise i poured my best dialogue and writing into this and it shows. if you consider reading like so seriously i will love you forever. also the smut is huge just like his cock <3 or my heart. ao3 link

Kaiser has been forsaken thrice fold. First, by his parents. His mother is said to be a beautiful woman that captured the hearts of all. His father could not bear her ultimate betrayal: leaving, causing him to wither away to nothing.

Kaiser guesses that this aspect of her runs in his blood after all.

The second and third time he is forsaken happen at once.

On the night that Kaiser is, by royal decree, anointed successor to the throne, he does as tradition dictates. He approaches the golden temple at the top of a mountain and mirrors the prophet within, sitting cross-legged in front of them.

The prophet gazes into the distance. And then, like a man possessed, they speak.

Lone Emperor who covets the throne, You will be killed by the one you love most.

Kaiser swears he feels even his heart stop at that. Cold rushes through him, the chill of it colder than anything he had felt at the front lines of war.

Forsaken by all the Gods —

The prophet stops, staring into the distance with a frown.

The silence is deafening. Noa, despite tradition, interrupts the ceremony and approaches the prophet, clicking his fingers in front of their face.

“The prophecy?”

The prophet’s eyes widen with fear. “I- I cannot.”

“What, are you afraid?” Kaiser scoffs. “The prophecy is bad as it is, it can’t get much worse than that.”

“No, I mean I cannot. The — the Fates! They’ve stopped speaking to me!”

“Excuse me?” Kaiser’s scowl is evident, and Noa swears that in any other situation, Kaiser would’ve moved for his sword and set his blade ablaze.

It speaks volumes that all he does is stare right at the prophet, fear barely contained in his eyes.

The prophet grips at Noa’s hand, forcing his gaze. “My lord, please believe me. This — in the history... it has never happened before. I swear it.”

Noa whistles, and the guards outside come rushing in. “Seize them,” he commands, and they stare at each other for a moment.

To seize and capture that  which is considered holy? Is that not blasphemy?

Noa cares little, almost removing his sword from his sheath to do it himself. “What are you all waiting for?”

“My lord! I swear to you!” The prophet grapples towards Noa in spite of their hands being held behind their back, the guards barely catching them from falling to their knees. “The fact that I would admit this at all shows my loyalty to you!” The prophet gasps, breath coming fast.” I could have pretended, could have given a false prophecy. I did not. That’s the choice I made. That is all the proof you need.”

It’s convincing enough that Noa hesitates, taking a deep breath in. But he sees in the corner of his eye Kaiser’s state, sitting in the kind of stillness that you see before a battle, bent over at the bottom of the altar. 

At that sight, Noa makes a single motion with his hand for the prophet to be taken away.

The room clears.

“Kaiser, I —” 

Whatever comforting remark Noa might have made dies in his throat, because Kaiser laughs, a bitter and broken sound, that he would in the future rarely have his walls down to ever reveal again. He hides his eyes behind his hand and he laughs.

“Of course, my prophecy would come to something like this.” He drags his hand down across his face. “Forsaken by all the Gods.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Noa says it with conviction, and it’s enough for Kaiser to face him.

“Master?”

“You will still be the successor to the throne. As is your destiny.”

“My destiny?” Kaiser jabs a thumb to the now-empty seating. “We just heard my destiny.”

“What the gods have declared has nothing to do with me. I declare you the next to rule. That is all.”

Noa presses a hand to the crown of Kaiser’s head. “No one will know what transpired here. A tragic prophecy is a given. It is meant to be a trial of sorts, after all. Mine, too, was unpleasant. Though not nearly as dire.”

“What was yours?”

Noa breathes in deeply. “A twisted rivalry with a twisted man. One that was to be all-consuming to me.”

Kaiser scoffs. “A rivalry. Just train and win.”

Noa lets the comment pass, staring out of the temple and past the mountains. “The rivalry came and went. At the time, I felt it was the worst. I could not eat, sleep, or breathe without the thought of what he would do next on my mind. But I was lucky, that it passed.”

He motions for Kaiser to take his arm, bringing him back up to standing. “Yours will pass too, I’m sure of it.”

Kaiser waves his hand, gesturing at Noa to let go of him. It’s easy to say, easy to have faith when it is not your life that balances on the precipice.

Forsaken thrice: once, by his parents. Another, by the Gods. And third, by his own future lover. Kaiser curses the Gods and the Weaver for such a fate, for something possibly worse than death is looming over him.

You will be killed by the one you love most. That line has haunted his very being to this day.

~

The people do not know what causes their successor to turn so cold, as biting and harsh as winter itself. His quicksilver smile rattles bones, his sword is cutting like blood in snow.

The prophecy is on a need-to-know basis, and Kaiser has never been crueler. He trains, harder than ever. Enough that when an unmovable sword is found at the rocks of the ocean, he trains until he is able to pull it from the bank, wield it with one hand. Rumor has said it might take three men to carry, or that the night sky that shimmers across it is strong enough to kill even a god. His sole retrieval of it is proof to the people of his strength and stature, but compassion and love are rarely a topic of conversation with his name.  

He focuses on his work. He does not take lovers. He barely sees others as friends. And he most certainly does not take a bride.

~

You appear before the throne and you do not bow. The scowl on Kaiser’s face at this says enough.

“You dare-”

“You have the sword.” You ignore Kaiser entirely, setting your sights completely on Noa.

The silence that follows is as large and wide as the ocean, but your gaze is sharp and keen, never faltering once until Noa speaks.

“Water sorceress,” Noa addresses you coldly, “or that’s what you told our people.”

“Yes.”

“You are not the only sorceress of water. Yet your power is second to none.” Noa stands, stepping down the stairs with heavy, thumping footfalls until he’s standing right in front of you. “They call you the water’s mistress, in the neighboring lands.”

“They do.”

He begins to circle you, like a hunter might before striking a deer. Standing next to you, his deep voice clear right next to your ear, he eyes you curiously. “They’re all wrong, aren’t they?”

You don’t answer. Noa takes that as answer enough.

“A power like that. Do you think me stupid?” He observes you, checks you visually for weapons, watches your hands to ensure you don’t call magic forth.

“Demigod.” He about spits the word from behind you, and yet all you do is tilt your head to catch him in your eye’s view.

“You are as well-informed as they say.”

“I am as logical as they come.”

“We are the same in that regard, then. So let’s get straight to the point.” 

Noa returns back to the throne, seemingly satisfied with his observing, gesturing at you to continue. 

“You have something belonging to me. A sword, heavier than most. Ancient, yet sharp. It is said to look like it contains a night sky.”

“The blade you’re speaking of was found by us, it is ours to keep.”

In the short silence that follows, Kaiser swears there must be irritation on your end, but you don’t show it. Instead, you take a deep breath in.

“The blade was thrown out of the heavens and spat out into this realm during a war between Gods.”

“Is that so? And how can you prove it’s yours?”

“I can wield it, unlike your people, who do not have the means to wield a sword as such.” You state simply.

Like rose grown blue, the impossible becomes possible. You can feel the divinity and the power that comes off the sword in waves the minute it’s unsheathed, your eyes widening. The ring of it is as familiar to you as your own skin, how could you not have felt its presence sooner? But Kaiser is fast, much faster than you expected, faster than he should be with a sword of that weight, that magnitude. Before you can turn your head, cold silver kisses your neck.

“This blade, sorceress?” He comes around from behind you, stalks around you just like his Master had, sword pointed like it may just draw blood from you at any moment. When you finally see his face, his sneer is wicked.

He takes pride in your wide-eyed gaze, your sharpened attention, but the lack of fear on your part grates at him. God-killing, they had called the blade. Yet you don’t shy away at all.

“Say we return the sword to its rightful owner,” Noa calls back your attention, “what would you offer us in return?”

“Offer in return? This sword does not belong to you. It is returned, as it should be.”

“This sword, with its divinity, could harm even a god.” Kaiser presses the blade closer to your neck, gleaming metal against your skin. “It protects this nation. What if the gods forsake us? If we return it to you, what would protect us against them then?”

“For what reason would they do such a thing?”

Kaiser barks a laugh. “Of course, there would be no criticisms from one of them. Water sorceress, demigod. Tell us, who are you, truly? What do your people call you, up there? No matter.” He lowers the sword, but leaves it unsheathed, its heavy weight balanced in his palm. A threat that at any moment, he may change his mind. “Those titles mean nothing to me. I have been forsaken, demigod. So know, I trust not even the gods.”

You sigh. Foreseeing a troublesome future has its cons, you suppose. Your queen would smile if you told her such.

“You ask for something with power in equal to or more than the blade. You asked me for my titles. I shall give you both.” The sleeves of your dress shimmer as you move them, and it’s in this moment that Kaiser notices they are not sleeves but water itself, cradled around your wrists like armor. “The Gods had bestowed on me the title Sword Maiden, and I offer myself and my services to you until the end of your line.”

That shocks the room like a bucket of cold water.

You turn to Kaiser, who stands beside the throne. You step forward once, and water rushes underneath that step, descending in waves over the floor as if it goes through it, a magic they have never witnessed prior. “You say the Gods have forsaken you? Let my presence be proof to you that they still watch over you.”

Kaiser scowls, “What sort of cheap trick is this?”

“My domain is truth. I cannot lie.”

“Oh, please.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “Would it help for you to press your sword against my neck once more?”

A goddess who cannot lie. Noa’s faith lies in logic, but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. His gaze flits between Kaiser and you before he seems to settle a decision in his mind.

“Until the end of Kaiser’s line.” Noa negotiates.

Kaiser’s gaze snaps to Noa. “You’re taking her up on this?”

You almost frown. “Fine.”

Noa quirks an eyebrow at you. “That simple?”

“Human lives move quickly.”

Kaiser eyes you curiously. “What happens when you lie?”

You blink at him. Once. Twice. Is that… almost a flustered look you have on?

He readjusts his grip on the blade. “Speak, sorceress.”

“Wh-What do you want me to say?!” You grip at your dress nervously, and that has him even more curious.

“I’m waiting here,” he sing-songs playfully.

“Before the lie can leave my voice, my neck swells up like a balloon, and chokes me.”

He smiles wickedly. “Demonstrate.”

Gods, if it wasn’t immoral, you could wring his neck right now.

You think, for even a moment, a simple lie. And in seconds, you’re almost suffocating on nothing, and Kaiser laughs. Laughs. A full laugh, bending at his knees.

“Oh gods, you’re like a pufferfish!”

You let go of the lie, taking heaving breaths. “Just because I have water capabilities does not mean I am a fish.”

In the midst of the conversation, Isagi leans against Noa’s side, a soft conversation full of worry.

“You’ll have to explain her presence to the council,” Isagi tells him, blue eyes wide with hesitation.

“Right, and your suggestion?”

“I have thought about it, considerably. If you say you hired her, with a force as powerful as her, the other nations may think you are to wage war. So… Given the heir’s… reputation,” Isagi’s gaze flits nervously between you and Kaiser. “If he is willing, she may be a good fit.”

Noa sighs. This, this exact theory, has been a conversation with the other members of his team for months. That a wife by his side would make him seem less chilling, make the transition to a new heir easier on the public, prevent outroar. It is one thing to feel that Kaiser keeps a nation safe, and another to love him as a ruler.

It’s an easy decision, but a hard conversation.

“Kaiser.”

He whips around, ceasing his antics quickly. “Master.”

Noa looks like he is about to say something to him, but hesitates, turning to you instead. Isagi nervously steps away from the dais, returning to his position.

“Goddess,” this time, there is no malice behind Noa’s words. “I accept your offer. However, your presence in this nation and in this castle must be explained appropriately. Should I bear you the title of my successor’s betrothed, would that be a title you’re willing to bear?”

Kaiser’s back straightens. “Excuse me?” he utters low.

“You do not have to bear children,” he specifies. “And you do not have to truly be wed.”

A goddess, to be betrothed to a mortal, as princely as he is, is a serious affair. Kaiser slides his gaze to Isagi, with the audacity to even suggest such. And yet, you seem to ponder it like a simple question.

“I see. As long as the sword is in my presence and protection, how you communicate with your nation is none of my concern.”

“So be it, then,” Noa agrees quickly. “I’ll have our people show you to a room.”

You nod, and are whisked away. The throne room, as if knowingly, empties quickly, guards rushing out to leave Kaiser alone with Noa.

“You made this decision for me,” Kaiser spins to face Noa, spits his words through gritted teeth. “I have been clear. I will take no brides.”

“You believe the prophecy made a choice for you.”       

“The prophecy bears no mercy. Or do you wish for my death so eagerly? If so, take your sword out and do it your damn self.”

Noa lets him speak, heave his words out until there’s silence once more.

“She cannot lie,” Noa says softly. “She cannot lie to you, Kaiser. And she is a goddess, a divine being.”

“Demigod,” Kaiser corrects.

“She is divine, and she cannot lie. She is correct, to this end – that as long as she is here, the prophecy cannot come to be. For she has not forsaken us.” Forsaken you, goes unspoken. “She could be good for you, if you allowed her to be.”

Kaiser lets out a canned laugh. “Ha. How can the divine ever understand us?”

Noa stands. “You’ll have plenty of time to find out.”

Kaiser taps his hand against his sword hilt. “You really will not move on this?”

Noa shakes his head. “She is too valuable to lose, and you have a reputation for cruelty. The solution is nothing short of perfect.”

The logical comes above his feelings. Kaiser knows this, even if he hates to come face to face with it.

Noa walks out of the throne room, leaving Kaiser to his bitterness.

“Shitty master,” he mumbles under his breath to no one.

~

It’s jarring to all the guards, the way you don’t even stand let alone bow when Noa knocks to enter your room. But Noa cares little for things like that, if you’re truly offering what you’ve said.

“Perhaps I was too hasty, in presenting the solution before giving you the facts.” He hesitates before you in the reflection of your vanity. You don’t respond, barely even look at him as you unclasp your jewelry, laying it on the table.

“He will not love you.” Noa tells you after a breath, his surefire eyes finally meeting yours.

You give him a curious gaze. “That is likely for the best. I would outlive him, after all.”

“It is, truly, on a need-to-know basis. To tell you this-”

“The prophecy, I presume you’re referring to,” you interrupt, turning to face him.

The shock rolls quickly off him. Divinity does have its mysteries, he supposes. “You already know.”

“I asked the water, why he is so quick to believe he is forsaken. They told me that he lives under the burden of a prophetic trial. That is all I know.” You stand, moving to unzip your dress only for Noa to hastily pull a partition screen across the room and turn around.

“The water, it speaks to you?”

“It does. Though it’s worth noting that it does not make me all-seeing.” Your voice carries over the partition with the ruffle of clothing. “The queen of the Gods, who sees all fates – she is the only one who is truly all-seeing.”

You come out in a nightgown, folding the partition back. He chucks you a robe that you catch easily.

“You should learn the ways of this world if you want to pass as a simple water sorceress, especially before the banquet.”

You frown. “The prince is my betrothed, is he not? Will he not handle it all?”

The idea you present sparks in Noa’s mind. “Brilliant. I’ll have Kaiser and some of the other members of our team show you the ropes. Good night, sorceress.”

You nod to him, and the door clicks shut.

~

“She’s a what?”

Oliver slams his metal cup of beer down, rolling the dice once more.

“A demigod, Oliver. Gods, are you that drunk already? Keep up.” Karasu grabs at the dice as Oliver moves his pieces.

“Can you all shut the fuck up? What happened to need-to-know basis?” Chigiri slinks himself over to their table.

“We’re need-to-know.” Karasu jabs a thumb at himself and Oliver.

“They are, actually, need-to-know.” Isagi puts a gentle hand on Chigiri’s shoulder, settling down next to him. “Because she’s never been human in her life.”

“And now we’re supposed to, what, teach her to be human? Is that a thing we can do?” Chigiri twirls a strand of hair between his fingers, tapping the end against Isagi’s cheek.

Oliver snorts. “What, like a class? Some of us have never sat in one of those, you prissy little shits.”

“She can’t dance, for one.”

“Get Kaiser to teach her. Isn’t he her betrothed?”

That has Oliver almost spitting out his drink, choking on it in coughs. “He's her what?”

Chigiri scowls in his direction. “Dude, are you listening at all?”

“If she’s really his betrothed, none of us should be teaching her.” Oliver warns genuinely. “He’ll cut down everyone here, before he lets us touch her.”

“It’s just an excuse,” Isagi waves his hand, pulling out a leather-bound bind of notes. “They’re not actually together.”

“Oh, you actually got that motion to pass. Shit.” Karasu remarks admirably.

“It must be so tiring,” Bachira sighs happily, falling into place next to Isagi, “to have to actually care about what other people think.”

“The optics, Bachira,” Isagi smacks the end of his pen across Bachira’s nose, and he makes an oh! sound in response.

When Kaiser walks in, the room almost goes silent. He’s used to it, of course. Hearing only the way his footfalls come heavy, boots thumping into the stone floor as a drink is placed right in front of him immediately.

The room slowly fills back with noise as he shoulders off his coat, wrapping it around the chair before sitting. But only his table is still strangely silent.

He flits his gaze over the group. Usually, they’re the first to kill the silence in the room, yelling about the game or a duel. He looks at Isagi, specifically, who seems the most nervous. “Something you wanna say to me?”

“Uh…”

Chigiri sighs, killing the tension. “We’re deciding who gets to teach her how to dance.”

Kaiser quirks an eyebrow. “The demigod?”

Chigiri nods, and Kaiser takes a long gulp of his drink, popping it back down and twirling the top of it with his fingers. “I’ll do it.”

“What?” It’s Isagi’s turn to be shocked, sitting up straight.

Kaiser exhales audibly. “None of you could handle her. She could cut you with water the moment you accidentally step on her.”

It’s not an insult, really. They know this too. That this is Kaiser’s brand of protection, to add insult to injury just to keep others out of harm’s way. But they play his game.

“Think we can’t dodge fast enough? A bit demeaning, don’t you think?” Oliver’s grin is wicked, making straight eye contact with Kaiser, who only draws his eyebrows in at his direction.

“You think that god-killing sword is gonna save you?” Karasu asks.

“I don’t have the sword anymore.”

“What?”

It stings more than it should, he thinks. The sword that he thought chose only him, so quickly released from his grasp. But his strength is his own, he holds fast to that. 

Kaiser glances at Karasu. “Those are the terms. She marries me, she gets the sword.”

Ness rests his cheek on his hand. “Man, that sounds like she wins twice.”

Chigiri scoffs at that. “She’s a demigod. Being down here is probably like being in the sewers to her.”

Kaiser stands abruptly, pushing his drink aside, his coat billowing as he wraps it over himself once more.

“Where are you going?” Isagi yells, but he doesn’t answer.

“He gone for real?” Oliver elbows Karasu. “I’m too drunk to tell.”

“Yeah, man. He’s gone”  

“Great.” Oliver slaps a piece down. “I’ll bet 50 bucks right now they get married for real.”

“What the fuck?” Chigiri tilts his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling like it might give him some reprieve.

Karasu laughs, “Okay, I’ll play. I’ll bet 20 that they try to kill each other.”

“You’re just a hater.”

“Nah, I agree,” Reo leans back in the booth. “Kaiser’s a lot of things, but a loving husband is a bit much.”

“She’s a goddess. He’s literally already betrothed to her.” Oliver takes another swig. “Y’all ain’t gonna marry a goddess if she was given to you? Damn, put me in his place, I’ll do it right now.”

~

Kaiser trains, every morning, from sunrise to noon.

You only know because most of the rooms in the palace outlook to a self-contained field. You see him, often, because of this, even if he doesn’t speak to you. As you walk down the corridor, in your classes with Isagi about the current climate of the nations.

“It is useless for me to learn this,” you tell him. “In a few short millennia, the border of the nations will undoubtedly change. And we will have to relearn it all again. What is the use? Why war at all over something so insignificant? Just have a conversation about it.”

Isagi makes a pointed, bored expression at you for this, and then pretends like you didn’t say anything at all.  

At the end of class today, you press your elbows to the open windowsill.

Kaiser is there, sparring with Ness. Ness is quick, agile, fleet-footed and runs circles around Kaiser so much so that it almost makes it difficult to keep up.  

Kaiser approaches him at bone-breaking momentum, launches strike after hardened strike. He’s shirtless, bandages wrapped around the bottom of his torso, and his body is streaked with sweat. He’s strong, clearly. Broad shoulders clear now from when they were hidden under layers of clothing the first time you met him, the muscles in his arms flexing and relaxing with each step of the friendly duel, hair dipped in saltwater blue.

You know what he looks like, now. You get a sense why Fate brings you here.

He looks like a hero.

The kind that Gods covet, watch from their merry clouds. It’s no wonder that he’s burdened by a prophetic trial, with a face as cutting as his sword, his hair framing his face and flowing. 

He takes one look to the side of him and his eyes find yours immediately. It must be some sort of fighter’s sense, you think. For him to have done it so easily.

You give him the space you think he might be asking for. You turn away.

~

He approaches you one night, just before sunset. Karasu had just finished an etiquette lesson with you, setting away forks and knives. Whatever he sees on Kaiser’s face makes him move quicker. He nods once to Kaiser, and then hastily leaves.

“You’ve been making yourself quite at home here, demigod.” Kaiser traces the lace outline of the tablemat, every ridge under his calloused finger.

“I vowed myself to your kingdom to the end of your life. I’m simply doing what is asked of me.”

“And you’re all ready for the banquet, I’m guessing?” The sentence is almost mocking as he approaches you.

“It’s just a ball, is it not? I’ve been told I’m just to stand there and make pleasantries.”  

Kaiser chuckles, more bared teeth than sweet. “It is, arguably, the worst part of being so-called royalty.”

“You’re taking this much better than I thought you would.”

"To say no to a goddess' proposal would be the greatest blasphemy, no?" 

"From what I've seen, you have not minded sacrilege much at all."

“Marriage means little to me. Disillusioned, perhaps, with the prophecy.” He waves his hand like he speaks of something meaningless. But you see it clearly. Before he had even allowed himself the thought of love, it was taken from him. “Your power is great, your presence ensures the continuation of myself as an heir and successor. Even I can reason with that.”

He's right in front of you now, so close you can feel his body warmth.

“Does it bother me?” He shrugs. “Sure. As far as I’m aware, you are no wife of mine. But a protector of this nation? For that, you are an indispensable ally.”

He looks out the window, towards a coming sunset. Something indescribable on his face, like grief and guilt all in one. He takes a deep breath in and out, inhaling the peace and exhaling the heaviness of his heart, before facing you again. “A war is coming. No one believes me, but I can feel it, as steady as a river’s current. Until then, I’ll make my peace with you.”

You nod. “So be it, your highness.”

That has him stepping back, more incredulous than you’ve ever seen him, body tensed and frowning. Maybe he should’ve expected it, given the way he’s just dismissed you. “Your highness? You hadn’t questioned my lineage before, but now you dare to do so?”

You stare at him blankly. “You are a prince, are you not? Isagi says that’s what princes are called.”

One side of his mouth upturns in relief, and he bursts out a bright laugh. “Is that what they teach you in those lessons Isagi gives? Oh,” a hand runs through the front of his hair, “I thought my own wife-to-be would dare insult me.” 

You scoff. “I have no need for that.” 

“The title ‘your highness’ doesn’t apply to this nation because strength is valued most. I am heir to the throne not because of the blood running through my veins, but because Noa deemed I the strongest — not just in body but in mind, not just in physical strength but in adaptability.” He says it proudly, like fact, like a knowing so deep within him that it turns pride into faith. “A title like that is something used by the Itoshi brothers, let’s say,” he comments airily. “Their throne is carried by a bloodline.” 

He turns on his heel, only looking back when he realizes you don’t follow.

“You don’t know how to dance yet, do you?”

You lean your hip against the table. “I can dance.”

“Come, then. If you’re to be my wife, it’ll be an embarrassment if you don’t at least act like it.”

You follow him to a ballroom – a stunning, wide area with a looping chandelier, curtains that weigh down in arches over each floor-to-ceiling window.

He swoops you from your distraction with a hand around your waist, and the physical contact shocks you so greatly that orbs of water swirl in your hands.

Kaiser only raises an eyebrow at you. “This is a dance, not a duel. Or do the gods do it differently?”

For a man who was so passive to you, he holds you so close that your chest to chest, you can feel each breath he takes against you. When he steps with you, his movements are slow and deliberate, never inefficient. He moves not with fluidity, but with each sure step. Pulls you forward, then pushes you back. Circles you, spins you around.

It’s exactly like when you see him train. Like steps to a kata.

“I thought you said this was not a duel.”

“These are steps to a classic waltz, demigod.”

“You have no fluidity to you.”

Kaiser scoffs. “Should I apologize? With the prophetic curse hanging above me, I haven’t taken a dancing class.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Hm?”

“The prophecy. It doesn’t have to be a curse.”

He stops, separating himself from you, scowling.

“This session is over.”

“Kaiser-,”

“What?” He snaps. “You, of divine nature. You want to tell me how to view my prophecy?”

“I do not say this out of pity, or out of some sort of higher knowing.” You say it with conviction. “As heir to the throne, a throne that is currently being held by Fate itself, maybe I shouldn’t be saying this at all.”

“And yet?”

“To know your fate is to be able to defy it.” And maybe it’s just an effect of your divinity, but it rings like a bell, like truth itself. “Your prophecy may have made a wound, but you are the one who cuts it open. You are a man who wields a sword that cannot, should not be able to be wielded by anyone but the divine. Does that not say something? About you, about your capabilities?”

“And yet you took it from me.” 

The silence that follows is thick with indecision. Kaiser lets the uncomfortableness sit, rejects every heartwarmed statement you make with a roll of his shoulders, like water off a smoothened rock, replaced with only his anger. “I trained for weeks before I could lift that sword out of the riverbank. Yet it is yours, now, simply because you are supposedly its rightful owner.” 

Conflict runs through your face so clearly, he wonders that even if you could lie, whether it would mean anything at all. He watches as your hand reaches into a conjured puddle of water that floats in the air, and out comes the divine sword.

You hold it in your hand with an ease that he has spent months capturing. It strikes envy in him like a branded sear. 

“My role here is technically to secure the sword. I have no need to wield it.” You hold it at the bottom of its handle, directing the top of it to him. “If you swear you won’t lose her, I can set a compromise of sorts.” 

“You think I’d agree to a compromise?” 

You open up your palm, and a bracelet appears. “This will help you keep the sword in a pocket dimension we can both access. If you’re willing to place it there to secure it when you’re not using it, I’ll return her to you until the end of your line.” 

Huh. A safe-keeping place is a more neutral proposition than he had thought you’d come up with. To have her back kills the fight in him, and he accepts begrudgingly, testing the magic in his hands until it becomes natural. 

“For the record, Kaiser, I have not always been worthy of it.”

Something about the way his name slips off your lips has him keening. “Worthy?”

“I stayed true to my course. I was given a title. And then I could wield the sword, presented to me by my queen.”

“Your queen. Heir to the throne.” He laughs bitterly, knowingly. “You’re a princess.”

“Despite your mocking tone, I’ll have you know that title of mine is of the highest regard. I don’t take it nearly as lightly as you do with yours.”

“That’s why you didn’t bow or kneel. You take what’s meant to be yours without a second thought. Not because you’re unknowing, or because of some godly pride, but because you have never been lesser.” He flicks a finger between your eyebrows. “What a spoiled thing you are. Can you even fight?”

Something in Kaiser takes pride in the way you frown more deeply, it’s almost like a pout. It’s almost… 

“Well, I definitely wasn’t sitting idly in the war between Gods.” 

“I’ve never seen you train.” 

“That’s because you’re always on the training grounds.” 

“Oh? You won’t show me?” 

“I’m giving you space. I’m no wife of yours, no?” There’s a sting to it when you say it, having his words thrown back at him. 

“Duel with me. Tomorrow.” He spins you, lets you out of his hold before bringing you back in. 

~

He begins to meet you, day after day. A duel first, and then a dance. The dichotomy would be distasteful to any other, but you of divine blood do not even flinch at his request.

He may be displeased to have you, but his mouth cracked as wide and wicked as a cat’s at the prospect of a fight.

“Go on, then.” He takes a blunt, wooden sword, throwing it in your direction. “Or do you only fight with magic?” He teases. 

You swing the sword, rotating your wrist with ease. “Do you forget yourself, prince? I am half divine, you will surely lose. Are you sure you want to go through with this anyways?” 

His mouth widens, more teeth than smile. “Bring it.” 

You know, the moment you defend against his first strike, that a singular hit from him on the battlefield must be deadly. He is surefooted, his whole weight bears down in every move. He doesn’t let you breathe once, much faster than you would’ve thought with someone of his size and height. 

Kaiser was almost right about one thing, that the divine adds to your magic more than your physical strength. With enough training, in just simple hand-to-hand combat… He might have the potential to beat you. 

But not today. Today, you have him pinned to the ground, makeshift blade to his throat. 

“You’re awfully close,” he gasps out slyly. And it’s in this moment that you notice, too, how right he is about that, how you can feel his heartbeat underneath yours, his chest against yours with each exhale. 

“What?” He grins wide, “afraid you’ll miss?” 

By all the Gods, you want to knock the living daylights out of him. He notices your anger in that hesitation, your conflict between doing what is right and what you want, and flips you over, swapping your positions until his hips are pressed against yours. 

Something about your shell-shocked face makes him stir. 

“First rule of fighting, sweetheart,” he runs a hand through his hair before planting it next to your head, leaning into you close. “Never get distracted by your opponent.”

He’s closer than he was before, admiring the way you look under him, your hair splayed along the ground and the sweet fire of irritation in your eyes. Is the heaving of your chest from your anger towards him, or from something else entirely? 

“When Gods fight, there is not nearly as much prattling.” You grit at him. He smells like the grass of the field and the winter air and the heavy musk of sweat, and when you shove him off, it feels like your hand meets the hard rock of an unruly ocean. 

~

It is during dances that he speaks to you. Not at first, but slowly, like a river that streams into the ocean. You tell him tales about the Gods, about your friends, about wars and petty arguments. And he starts to answer you, more often than not, with every question you might have. 

“I have wondered about something.” 

“Hm?”

“The sheathing. It prevents even me from detecting the sword’s divinity.” 

“Huh, so Nagi really wasn’t lying.” 

“Nagi, who is always with Reo?” 

Kaiser nods. “They say Nagi was once sought upon by a god for his talents, a god who was constantly sending him dreams. But he grew tired of it, so he found a material that prevents even the gods from finding him so he can sleep in peace.” 

The conversation often leads to the prophecy, a bitterness like licorice on his tongue. Even if he skates around the topic, you don’t let him hide from it, cutting straight to the heart of the truth.

“You can live in the cold bitterness you’ve put yourself in, Kaiser,” you tell him, one of these nights. “Or you can live, and maybe even possibly die, warmed by a life you truly felt was worth living. Your own choices. Not because of a prophecy, or because of Noa, or even in spite of me.”

But despite it, he doesn’t move away. Because it is the only time he has you to himself. He sees you, always, with Isagi and Oliver and Karasu and Chigiri. How you have molded into their lives with simplicity, sit with them at meals and have easy conversation despite knowing nothing, in a way that he has never once allowed himself to enjoy. What does it say about Kaiser? That he can't stand your presence but he can't stand your absence even more? That he would rather have a biting argument with you than leave you to your own devices? 

It's during duel and dance that he comes as close as he can to touching you. If he did anymore, it would become something he doesn't have the heart to name without unease settling in his gut.

~

On the day of the banquet, Chigiri sits you down in your vanity, braiding your hair back in his hands.

“The queen of the Gods, her lover, a friend of mine… He used to do this for me too.”

Chigiri silently appreciates that you don’t ask him why it is him that helps you with this. That divinity doesn’t hold the same notions this world does.

“He would-,” you laugh softly to yourself. You’re stunning like this, Chigiri can’t help but notice. A goddess, most casual as can be. “He would say that I was useless at it, actually. You two might’ve been good friends.”

“Me? Friends with a god?” Chigiri finishes the braid, tilting your head in his hands to admire the way the braid crowns around each side.

“Of the Fae, actually. A beautiful man he is. You would fit right in.”

That stops Chigiri, has him taking a sharp intake of breath, smiling at you through the vanity’s reflection. “Thank you, princess. Though you would do good to be more careful during this banquet to compliment anyone.”

You smile softly back. “Ah, yes, my betrothed who will not love me might get jealous. Gods are not so different than people, in this regard.”

“Is that so…”

~

It’s when you meet the Itoshi brothers at the banquet that you begin to understand why Isagi gave you all these lessons.

Where Kaiser is muscle and sword first, more fighter than prince, Sae and Rin are the opposite. They have a grace befitting of royalty. Instead of heavy footfalls that you can hear even in the blanket of snow, they are light-footed, conscious of it in the echoed ballroom.

Though you suspect, from the way Sae grips Kaiser’s forearm as they shake hands, from the way Kaiser regards Sae, that he is somehow just as strong of a fighter. That royalty is an illusion Sae and Rin put on, for peace’s sake.

Something indescribable flits over Sae’s face as you curtsy in front of him, but it’s gone in a moment, replaced with his nonchalance.

“The betrothed of the banquet. We are most pleased to make your acquaintance.” Sae bows his head to you, and Rin follows in his stead.

You smile, something beaming and sweet. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“Would you mind, Kaiser?” Sae’s eyes only leave yours for a glance, to check in at Kaiser’s now furrowed look. “I’d like to take your wife-to-be for a dance.”

Kaiser’s back straightens, a hardened gaze with gritted teeth. But he says nothing. You swear Sae almost grins.

“I’ll return her back to you.” He says it like a favor, and Kaiser is only held back by Karasu’s hand on his shoulder.

“It’s just one dance, Kai,” Kaiser looks at Karasu, then to you, and then back to Sae. He barely nods once.

“Are you sure?” You ask him.

He scowls. “What do I have to be worried about?”

Well, it’s not like you want to anger him further. You let Sae take your hand, leading you to the floor.

“I almost didn't think you were who you said you were, when I saw you,” Sae tells you, breaking the quiet of the dance. 

You lean back so you can see his whole face, your confusion clear. “Your highness?”

“When I had heard of you, they told me that waves flowed off your dress like water itself holds you sacred. Yet here you are, as regular as can be.”

Sae twirls you away from him, then brings you back into his arms. “They say you shook the earth with a single step. Where is all that power you were said to hold?” He holds you close, watching your every reaction with his crystal gaze. “This place. They’ve placated you, tamed you.”

He brings his mouth to your ear, the body warmth of his entire chest seeping into yours. “If you were mine, I would never force you into a box you didn’t belong. I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of Kaiser, even with his god-killing sword.” He spins you again, capturing your waist. “If you were mine, I wouldn’t be afraid to demonstrate your power to the world.”

“Sae.” He looks at you in a way that feels meaningful. You don’t know the pleasantries of this nation or his in-depth, but you know, somehow, that this feels like this is something you should shield from. 

“Oh? No honorifics already? We’re that intimate, are we?”

To fight is one thing, but this is something entirely different. Being able to hurt others with a play instead of a sword, you’re not sure if you can shield others from something like that.

As the song ends, Sae takes your hand, brings it to his mouth to kiss the back of it. “Consider my proposition, princess. Before your marriage solidifies, and becomes something you can’t escape from.”

With his hand on the small of your waist, he brings you back to Kaiser dutifully. Kaiser links his arm with yours immediately, before any of you can spare a goodbye.

“What did he say to you?”

You hum. You get the sense that maybe…

“Nothing of importance,” you tell him instead.

“Hm?” He tilts your chin up to meet you eye to eye. “Is my own betrothed keeping secrets from me?”

“He said I don’t seem all that powerful.”

That makes Kaiser smile, not something sweet but with teeth bared, like a wolf. “He hasn’t seen you in action.” He pulls you in, hand wrapping to the back of your neck, a slow and deep whisper. “Do you want to show them?”

“Weren’t we both told that’s inappropriate? Isagi said the optics could make your allies scared.”

Kaiser rolls his eyes. “Isagi this, optics that. Our country has always been about the brawl and brave. Let the nations fear us, then. I, with my cruelty and a god-killing sword. You, a sorceress second to none. It’s a pretty picture, is it not?”

He straps his sword to his back and brings you to the middle of the room, and as the guests of honor, the crowd gives you both a wide berth. He circles you, just like you practiced. Makes you center stage.

“Go on then, princess.” He lets go of your hand and bows, sweeping his arm out. “Show us who you really are.”

“Kaiser,” you whisper. “We have very clear orders-”

“I make the orders, not follow them. So make your choice, princess. Wasn’t it you who said that it is worth living a life warmed by your own choices? Tell me, then. Do you want to show them? Or do you want to play nice?”

This play, to have ego and pride dive head-first into a situation, is so very human. And yet-

You let water overcast your body from your waist, let it roll off in layers like waves into the floor. Anyone who has had experience with magic can see your ultimate control over it, how the floor isn’t wet at all, how the water was conjured from nothing. Your hair is silken with dampness, framing your face like gloss. Gasps and awes from the audience makes Kaiser grin even wider.

“There we go.” Kaiser reaches behind him to unsheath his blade, and the galaxy within swirls. He spins it in his hand, and it’s almost like he’s never been happier.

In seconds, he strikes at you. Your hands move up instinctively, blocking the blade with a stream of water. The sound it makes, divinity against divinity, is like a low bell. The floor beneath you shakes with the strength of the strike, water dispersing around your feet in cascades to cushion the impact. You hear screams of shock, a glass breaking.

“Kaiser,” you grit, but all he does is widen that wicked, quicksilver grin.

And then he laughs, stepping away and sheathing the blade back. He holds one hand out to you instead.

“Next time, I want a duel in front of everyone. But this time, I guess a dance will suffice.”

You exhale gratefully, taking his hand in yours and retracting your water. “Let us dance, then.”

And with none of a prince’s grace, with movements that feel more fight than dance, he drifts along the floor with you.

~

Isagi collapses into the booth, a palm pressed to his eyebrows. “Our allies thought they were about to fight each other.”

“Can I cash in on my bet now?” Karasu rolls a skewer stick between his fingers. “Because they might’ve almost killed each other.” 

“Nah,” Oliver leans back. “I think that’s just foreplay.” 

Isagi opens his eyes to find Chigiri and Bachira standing before the booth. Chigiri’s not meeting his eyes, his mouth perching to one side in a way that squishes one of his cheeks. 

“What happened?” 

“They’re gone.” 

“Ha?” 

“We had one drink. One.” 

Oliver has the audacity to laugh, hand over his mouth. “Don’t worry, Isagi,” he pats him on the back. “I’m sure they’re just fucking around.” 

In another corner of the hall, royals speak in low tones. 

“We can just take her if you like her,” Shidou tells Sae with the sweetest smile a man like that can muster. “No need to ask poor little Kai-Kai.” 

Sae says nothing, eyeing you quietly as you step out of the hall. 

~

You are sitting at the edge of the ocean, letting the slate-crested waves wash over you, when he finds you. 

“You can dry me in a moment’s notice if I am to sit with you, right?” He says it almost reluctantly, even though he’s here anyways. He’s dropped his off coat somewhere along the way, and there’s something so naked about seeing him in just a shirt. He almost seems softer, without the harsh lines of battle-ready clothing or the fur that drapes around him, relaxed in a way he wasn’t in the banquet hall. 

You smile. “I can keep you dry whilst you're sitting.” 

He relents, then. Allowing the strangeness of sitting on wet sand without getting wet. 

“Was the banquet up to your expectations, then, Kaiser?” 

Expectations. He’s had none of a party like this. Being allowed to dream is a privilege, and privileges were not granted to him.

“You are officially my wife-to-be,” he says instead. “Shouldn’t you call me something a little more intimate?”

You gaze out into the horizon for a moment, and something in your eyes unfocuses, like you’ve gone somewhere else and then returned. “Very well. I shall call you Mihya.”

It strikes a chord in him, like a teaspoon hitting a glass. “Mihya? Where did that come from?”

“The water.”

“She speaks to you?” 

“She says in another life, you are given a nickname like that.”

“Another life…” He lies down in the sand, watches the streaks of sunset in the blueing sky. 

“Ask then, Mihya,” you lean over him slightly, until all he can see is the sky and the way your features soften. “The question we both know is on your mind.”

He almost wants to reach out, hold your cheek in his hand. It’s a foreign feeling to him, so foreign it almost feels like unease – to want to extend a gentleness like that to another person. “Won’t you just tell me?”

You breathe in the sea-salt air, and breathe out a heart-warmed truth. “The prophecy does not hold you captive in another life.”

Kaiser, for once, lets himself dream. Of a different life, where he is unburdened by a prophecy, and burns brightly.

~

“It would seem strange if you weren’t together, with all the other guests in the palace.” That’s what Oliver tells you as he gestures for you to take his arm, leading you to Kaiser’s room. 

It’s both plainer and more furnished than you thought, like someone who isn’t him had chosen the furniture and the color of the walls. But the items in the bookshelves seem well-loved, items taken out and put back haphazardly, scrolls and books placed back half-way. The bathroom door opens with a flood of light.  

“You’re here.” It’s rare to shock Kaiser in a way that doesn’t make him immediately reach for his sword.

You turn to look at him, taking in his half-dressed state. “Were you expecting some other woman?” 

“Oh, so you’re the jealous type?” 

He almost wants to laugh at the clear discomfort on your face. Gods don’t tease, he’s guessing? 

The bed gives way to you as you take your place. “I hear it’s common for princes to take many lovers.” 

The moonlight spills over the bedsheets as the room darkens, and you summon the sword to float right above you, looking into it. He joins you, wanting to see exactly what you’re seeing. 

“It’s not a night sky.” Your voice is so soft in the blanket of night between you both. 

“Hm?” 

“Inside the sword. Your people say it looks like the night sky. It’s not. It’s a galaxy.” 

He reaches his hand out, tracing over the glass along the middle of the weapon, a silent remark for you to continue. 

“At the beginning of all worlds, the first-ever contract was made between the first-ever forces, and with it, this sword was said to be conjured out of the galaxy. And so, a part of the galaxy at the beginning of all worlds was contained in this sword.” 

The stars in the sword move within like they’re responding to your words, borne witness to all the events. But instead of watching them, you turn to him. 

“You have held and wielded a primordial piece of this world. It has allowed you to hold it, granted you its blessing.” 

Blessed. That is not a phrase Kaiser would have ever used to describe himself. But coming from you, he can almost believe it. Almost hope to have a little more than he’s ever had. 

The sword disappears with a movement of his hand, and he rolls to lean over you. Silence drops like a curtain. The only sound he knows is your breath and his. 

During a fight, his feelings can almost be mistaken for adrenaline. But even under the shadow of the moon, with the cushioned silence between you both, the way you cut straight to the truth rings like a silver bell.

He can’t hide from you. Or maybe. Maybe he’s tired of hiding at all.

He is a man who has only known war and battle, was born and bred into it. War-forged, is what they call men like him. His hands know weapons, know how to kill.

He does not know if they know how to love. And yet-

He cups your face, and drinks you in.

He kisses you with caution, like you might melt from his grasp if he held too tightly. Presses his lips against yours slowly. He runs his hand gently over your hairline as he parts from you. 

Is this okay? He wants to ask. But instead, he says: “Tell me what you want.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, your lips brushing against yours when you answer: “You.” 

And then he kisses you like a man starved, never known by this feeling that gets caught up in his throat with every noise of yours he swallows. 

“Is this… is this what you want?” You try to ask as you part from him for air, but he presses his mouth to the space behind your ear instead, laying kisses down your neck. “Is this a decision that you are making for yourself, by your own hands? That is entirely for you?” 

That makes him stop. But when he looks at you with a surefire gaze… 

He knows it, undoubtedly. That this, for once, is his. 

“There are no lovers,” he tells you between kisses, to your shoulder, down your collarbone, to your breastbone. 

“What?” 

“I take no lovers.” He unclasps your bra, lets the material fall from his hands to cup your supple flesh. “I’ve never been princely, after all.” 

“You- Kai-” 

He runs his thumbs across both your nipples, admires how they perk up at his administrations, flitting his gaze between them and your face as he brings his mouth down over one of them. 

He presses kisses down your body, cups your heat in his hand like he’s begging you to respond, like he’s saying let me have this. The inside of your thighs is soft as cream under his calloused hands. His thumb moves along the outside of your underwear, from your slit up to your clit with his fingers pressing tentatively against the fabric until you’re grabbing at his wrist. 

“You’re so tense,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Want me to take care of that for you?” He runs the knuckles of his hand over your clothed slit, bumping into your clit with his thumb until your breathing gets heavy, your hands gripping his shoulders. 

“Kaiser,” you breathe, and he clicks his tongue. 

“That’s not what you call me, baby. Not anymore.” 

“Mihya.” 

“Mm,” he slides his fingers into your panties from the side, a huff of breath leaves him at the wetness he finds. “Good girls get rewarded, you know?” 

Heat coils hot deep in your stomach. He can’t take the restriction, pulling your panties down and revealing your core to the cold air. He lets his slickness pool on his fingers, collects it before bringing it to your clit. It’s like a drug, watching the way your face gives way to pleasure, how your body arches into him. 

“Mihya,” you gasp again, like a chant, a prayer. Is this what the gods feel like, to be asked of? 

“Let me watch,” he says it like a demand but it aches with desperation, a thing he won’t admit outside these four walls. He presses with more confidence now, slides one finger into you, then two. There’s little resistance with the way he’s riled you up, long fingers pressing into you until he reaches something that has you making a broken moan so pretty he can’t help but tilt into it again. 

“I want to see it,” he tells you. This is something he makes happen to you, with his own hands, his own words, his own body that shares its heat with yours. That notion alone runs arousal straight through him. Your panting breath, the way your body shakes with each swipe against your clit. 

“I want to see you fall apart in my arms.” He whispers, and you respond in kind. You always do to him, don’t you? He’s been seen too surely by you, now it’s his turn. Your body tenses entirely, tightly, gripping him as he grants you reprieve. A soft whine leaves your mouth along with something like his name, and the rough pad of his thumb circles over your clit until you crash, coming around his fingers. 

He swipes a thumb over your cheek, allows himself the gentleness that he’s held back for so long with you. 

“One more, okay?”

Your eyes widen. “Mihya,” this time it’s like a warning, but the way you say his name is so breathy it has him pressing a hand over his pants. 

“Yeah, say my name just like that.” He shuffles down until his mouth is pressing to your stomach, just above your mound. Then again to the inside of your knee, trailing up until the inside of your thigh, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there. 

“You’re-, wait, we just- I just” 

“Mm, and you’re gonna give me one more.” He kisses your clit first, like a promise, and then he laps at your core generously, from the bottom of your slit all the way to your clit, his flat tongue against the whole of you. Every drop of slick from your previous orgasm is taken in by him with each moan he makes against your core. If he had known this feeling was going to enter his life, that it would’ve felt like this, maybe he would’ve readied himself better for it. Instead, he finds himself starving at the table where it’s served. The taste of you on his tongue wraps him in a heady pleasure, but it’s every sound he takes out of you that has him pressing a little more insistently, tongue laving over you. 

“Pl-please,” your words break between gasps, and it has him lapping into your clit with more pressure. 

“I can never say no to you, can I?” he mumbles between your legs. And then he’s flipping you over, hoisting you onto your knees and skimming his hands over your rear and thighs before diving in again. Your face is pressed into the pillow, hands grabbing the sheets. Kaiser almost seems dazed as he moans into your cunt, swollen and wet like a siren’s call, hands wrapped so tightly around your plush thighs that it feels like it might bruise. 

“Let me taste,” he mutters, mouth still lodged into your cunt, like that isn’t what he’s already doing. “Come on baby, give it to me. Let me taste it on my tongue.” 

Your hole clenches and flutters around nothing as another orgasm rocks through you, your breath coming short as you break apart on his tongue with a whine. 

He flips you over again, and the look on his face takes your breath away. Your slick shimmers on his mouth as he trails his tongue over his lips, like he’s addicted, like he can’t get enough. He tilts his head with a grin so cocky that if you weren’t so blissed out you might just punch him. 

“There something you want, pretty?” He leans over you, hand to the bedpost, and how broad and tall he is becomes that much more obvious. You let yourself look, at the way his tattoo drapes over his arm, run your hands over the muscle of his torso down to his v-line. You hear a sharp intake of breath as your hand moves lower, running under his loose sleep pants to the base of his cock. 

He grabs your hand in his, bringing it over your head and circling both your wrists. “Ask.” 

“You-,” your eyes narrow and you huff at him, but it only makes him smile. “Won’t you just-” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“I could cut you down here.” 

He drops his pants, pumping his cock once and then sliding it along your slit. “You could. And then who’ll give you what you want?” 

You want to roll your eyes, but then he has one hand tapping against your clit, the other gripping either side of your cheeks. 

“You begged so pretty for me earlier when I had my mouth on you,” he rasps. “What happened to that?” 

The harsh look you give him under those fluttering lashes of yours makes something stir in his gut, arousal shot through his veins, pupils wide. He plays with you, warm hands against your skin and between your legs, the soft skin of his cock sliding between your thighs until you’re gasping in his hold again, grinning like a battle won. 

“Please, Mihya,” you sigh. 

“Mhmm. Please what?” 

“Please- please fuck me.” 

He gets off on it, watching you yield to him, spreading your legs, dripping your hot slick onto his cock. He presses the head against you, petaled folds opening up to receive him as he slides into you slowly. Just the first few inches is so thick inside of you that your hands wrap around the muscles of his arms, nails digging in. 

“Shh, baby, you can take it,” he hushes your little whines, tracing your hairline with such gentleness it contradicts the way he pulls out of you just slightly only to push in again. 

“You’re- oh,” your body gives into him, even more so when he brings his hand down to tap on your clit, his mouth over your neck, to the side of your mouth, until he’s kissing you and taking in every noise you make. It’s almost a distraction, helps your body to relax so he can press into you deeper. You think you feel every inch as it enters you, all the way until the hilt, until the head is pressing deep inside of you and his hips meet yours.  

He lets out a rough, deep moan against the expanse of your neck, breath coming short as your walls tighten around him. 

“Fuck, baby. You gotta let me move.” Your arms wrap around him tighter, a whimper falling from your lips as he tilts his hips up to plunge into you again. It’s hard and slow and deep and if it wasn’t for his grip on you, you might’ve hit the headboard. But he’s careful about it – more than you might’ve thought he’d be. Pressing your body into the bed as his hips meet yours again and again. 

“It feels so good,” you tell him, and it has him pressing a kiss to your cheek in return. Makes every moan you make that much sweeter, to know it’s out of your pleasure, to know it’s because of him. 

“Good girl. Tell me again.” 

“Feels- you’re so big, so- please, I need-” Your walls can barely clench down onto him with how he feels inside of you. Chest to chest with him, the contact of skin on skin-

“You drive me insane,” he grumbles it into your skin; a confession, exacerbated with each thrust of his hips as he picks up the speed, until he’s slamming into you with a kind of strength that has you seeing constellations behind your eyes. He wants you- needs you to feel the way he feels. Needs to have you lying in his bed, thinking only of him and how he makes you feel. Heat pools in your core until you’re arching your back, and he knows it now – knows it like the back of his hand. 

“Give it to me.” It’s a command, a need, if you listen closely enough. “Come around my cock. Show me.” 

“Mihya, it’s so much, it’s so so much.” It’s treacherous, the way it works through your body, being on the brink. 

His thumb is slick over your clit, pressing just a little more, until your thighs are tightening under his unrelenting body. “Come for me.” 

You chant his name until the words start to become nothing in your mouth, until you’re breathless, until your whole body tenses under him and his hold against you gets that much rougher and your walls clamp down and then your body shakes as you come. You almost scream, only silenced by his lips on yours. He comes quickly after that, his eyes never leaving yours, taking in how you look underneath him as his cock gets more sensitive and paints the inside of your walls. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow until he feels your body start to relax under his. 

You can barely process coming down as he’s kissing you again, deeply and with force, like he’s etching the memory of you into his mind and onto your lips. 

For once, he lets himself recognize – how tiring the emptiness has been, to be devoid of this feeling and instead be filled with the fear that it’ll be turned against him. For once, he lets himself feel – to have something that is wholly his. to know and be known. To give and know you will receive. Not an offering at an altar but a hand in his, not a prayer but a soft word spoken in return. Kaiser does not want something as untouching as approval or attention from the divine. But he does want your waist in his arms, your forehead against his.

“Just like this,” he whispers it, a kiss placed to your forehead. You don’t know what he means, too tired to ask. 

This is exactly what he’s always wanted. Just like this. 

~

Not unlike a parent, Noa notices the closeness of your relationship. In touch, in stolen glances, in longing. A private conversation with him over afternoon tea is not unique, but the heaviness that weighs on him is. 

“As the goddess who cannot lie, I have to ask you.” The hardened look on his face makes you straighten your back, putting down your teacup. “You know, that I have to ask.”

Silence sits between you both like a shoe about to drop. 

Noa yields. “Has he truly been forsaken by all the gods?”

You are strangely silent as you look at him, then away, then back. 

“Answer me, demigod.”

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I. Don’t. Know. I have told you before, that I am not a seer, or an oracle. Water holds memory. I can see the past, I can even see other lives parallel to ours, but I cannot see the future. This is the limit of my power.”

“You are of divine nature.” 

“I had said what I said at our first meeting, and that has not changed. As long as I am here, the Gods have not forsaken him. For I have not forsaken him. Is that not enough? How many Gods would travel to your realm, vow themselves to a human kingdom? Even if it is I alone that stands before you, is that not enough?”

Noa sighs, more exasperated than you’ve ever seen a serious man like him. “He deserves more, that boy. For what he has been put through.”

“All greatness comes with a price. All heroes face tragedy. He, no matter how much you may care for him, is not the exception to that.” You tilt your head, like a cat with curiosity. But unlike that sweetness, your words are cutting. “You made him a ruler. You made him a hero. So, stand by that. Or does it make you uncomfortable? To consider the role you, too, have played in his life?”

Noa, of course, has thought about this too. Had he not chosen Kaiser to rule, would he have had the prophecy weighing on him like a second shadow? 

“If the prophecy holds true, you will inevitably leave him.” Noa swallows, hand flat against the table. “He will inevitably be forsaken, even by you.”

“Then why,” you ask, genuinely, “did you ask me to stay?”

~

In the weeks that follow, you learn exactly why. Like Kaiser had predicted, talk of battle comes. 

“We suspect a neighboring nation wishes to wage war with us.” Noa looks out to the slate-blue ocean from the window of the war room. 

“A man who wants control of this whole world,” Karasu huffs. “There’s never a lack of them, is there?”

“He thinks himself a god. Or that’s what Sae has told us.” 

“You’re sure Sae’s information checks out?” 

“Shidou and Otoya like to visit neighboring nations for uh… fun, let’s say,” Chigiri rolls his eyes, then plants his face in his hands. “He said something along the lines of “you don’t wanna know how they found out” and “Shidou sleeps with both men and women, so it’s been cross-checked too.”” 

“And then we asked him about war,” Isagi throws his notes down on the table. “He said, and I quote, ‘I already have more land than I know what to do with. What could another few acres give me? What a hassle.’” 

“The enemy are bold to come for us first.” Kaiser frowns considerably. They are possibly the one nation blasphemous enough that would not blink at the thought of fighting a god. “There’s something we’re not seeing.”

Isagi nods in agreement. “We still don’t know the reason they’re coming here first. It could be the sword, or the goddess.” Isagi frowns. “I told you not to make a scene at the banquet.”

Kaiser gives him a curious look with a smile he fails to hide. “The point of a banquet is to wow the people. The people were wowed, were they not?” 

“It could be, it could not be,” Noa kills the conflict there. “That information would have been made public regardless of the spectacle. It could even simply be the throne itself they seek. An army like ours could parade into the neighboring nations and lay waste, our people are used to much harsher weathers.” 

“Or maybe he means to make a statement,” Karasu shrugs. “If he wants to be a god, maybe he means to punish the disrespect we’ve shown.” 

“What do we actually know?” Chigiri taps the map of this nation splayed across the table.

“We know he wants to take control of this world, and we know his plan includes something from us.” 

“He knows once he controls the world, he has to take care of it, right?” Oliver rests his jaw in his hand. “As in, it’s not just about buying the house, it’s about cleaning it too. The plan – it has to be bigger than this, no?” 

“Won’t happen once we kill him here. So as far as we know, there are three things we have that he could want: the sword, the goddess, the army.” Chigiri holds up his fingers as he counts. 

“So we’ll meet him with all three at the front lines. Fear does not wield us, after all. Only strength.” Kaiser says it like a mantra. You suspect it might be exactly that. 

~

“What a pleasant surprise to see you again so soon, princess.” 

As an ally, Sae arrived on the day of battle without question. He is much different from the first time you saw him, chainmail armor wraps tight and sleek around his body, clearly of a weight underneath his clothing. He stands straighter, shoulders broader, badges clipped to his outer jacket. It’s clear to anyone who looks at him, that it’s almost like he was born into them – meant for them. 

“You’re both on the front lines then?” 

“Idle hands,” Kaiser starts.

“Devil’s workshop.” You finish. You hear a horse galloping, then a voice. 

“There’s something wrong.” The people give a wide berth as Oliver arrives, with a sleek black mare that’s obedient as can be. “The majority of the enemies’ troops are not in front of us.” 

All of you turn to look, but it’s on the front lines that makes it most difficult to tell where the crowd begins and ends. 

“I did a rough head count from the tower. This isn’t the count we had observed just the other day. They’ll die easily, like this, against us. And I don’t mean that from an egotistical standpoint. I think these men are here to die, meant to die. It serves to mean –” 

“This is a distraction.” 

Karasu appears at your side, with an utmost silence only he is capable of. “They’re headed for the main castle, from around the edge of the border.” 

You and Kaiser look to each other with a whole silent conversation, and Sae sighs. 

“Go on, then.” 

You turn to Sae immediately, with a seriousness he doesn’t expect. “You’ll be unprotected.” 

“We chopped liver to you, girl?” Shidou sneers. 

Oliver drops down from his horse. “I’ll take over here.” 

“Your care for me is truly touching, princess,” Sae’s voice lilts touchingly, almost revealing how much he likes it. “But you swore a vow to this kingdom, so go fulfill it.” 

Even in the middle of a war, it gets Kaiser all worked up, his chin jutting as you both run back to the palace. But Sae understands duty, stands by it. It’s what makes him worthy of his own title in his own kingdom. 

Oliver waits until you’re both out of sight before turning to Sae. “Did you really plan to steal her?” 

“Well,” Sae shrugs. “Did you plan on letting her go so easily?” 

~

Your water runs in cascading waves through the whole of the palace, like the ocean itself comes rushing through the walls. It knocks all the soldiers down as you and Kaiser run through, and he picks up any stragglers with ease.  

“The throne room?” Kaiser slams the hilt of his sword into the guy behind him, and he collapses instantly. 

“It is the safest room.” 

“That makes no sense. If you knew anything about our people, you’d know we never hide ourselves there in a battle.” 

“Go anyways,” you tell him, as another man gets thrown off his feet. “Go, Kaiser!” 

He takes one final look at you, at the strength that you hold in your hands, and then he runs. 

The man he finds sitting on the throne has black hair cut blunt to his chin, a white mask over one side of his face. Kaiser unsheathes his sword, pointed straight and true. 

“That throne doesn’t belong to you.” 

“It will. Along with that sword you’re holding.” 

Kaiser chuckles, the kind that has madness interlaced in it. “If you wanted the sword so bad, you could’ve asked for a one-on-one combat duel. I haven’t had a satisfying fight in a long time, I’d be happy to lay the sword as a winning prize.” 

What must be the man’s most elite fighters drop down from the ceiling, crowding in on all sides. 

“Ah, I see,” Kaiser stands straighter, reaching behind him to unsheath his second sword. “It is your capabilities that do not match mine.”

When they come for him, it’s clear to even the heavens that he is exactly as he is fated – a force to be reckoned with. He moves like a spider-spun silken web, capturing each of them blow by blow. His swords cut like butter through them with impressive speed and strength. His breath comes fast and hard when he finishes, sweat dripping down his back. 

“I see now, prince,” the man approaches him, and it’s closer up that he realizes he’s simply in a suit, no armor. “Why they praise you, despite your blasphemy. You, a prince famous for cursing divinity at a whim’s notice, are a powerful ally. Kneel before me, then, and I’ll cease this all – let you join our cause in a war against the gods, in stealing their divinity from them. I’ll even forgive this transgression of bedding one.” 

“Me? Kneel?” The canned laugh that Kaiser lets out echoes. “I kneel to no god, let alone a man who wants to become one.” 

“So be it, then.” 

Kaiser hears something above him. By the gods, what’s with this guy and ceilings? Is that why he wants to fight here? A dust of something shimmers down, he pulls his cloak over himself- 

From the doorway, you throw your water across the room, shielding Kaiser from whatever it may have been. And in the same moment, a poof of shimmer bursts over your own head and tumbles down around you. 

“That’s the problem with you gods, isn’t it? You always think you’re infallible.” 

You cough, falling to one of your knees. Dread fills inside of you, like a faucet you can’t turn off. You can’t move. How is that possible? 

The man taps two fingers to the top of your head, and your world goes dark.

~

When you blink your eyes open, the first thing you’re aware of is the way your vision swims. Your mind feels clouded, stuffed with cotton. You press your palm to your head, and even that feels muted. 

“I’ve made her mine now. She’ll do exactly what I say. Does that make you upset?” Is what you think you hear, through the ringing of your ears. “Let’s see you put that god-killing sword to good use then, shall we?” 

“It’s. Magic.” You spit out the words as your hands press into the ground. Your legs cramp from the way you’re forcing them to stay down. “Mihya. Run, please.” 

“Awh, worried about me?” Kaiser teases as he logs the odds. There is no water that swirls around you, so it begs to reason – you can’t call it. The only weapon you have is a dagger. 

Kaiser tilts his head until his neck cracks. “Have some faith in me, princess. I’m not afraid, even against you.”

He breathes, in and out, until the calmness of battle seeps into him, raises his sword pointed right at you. “I’ll win, even against you.” 

And then he reveals that cocky, surefire smirk. “You should worry more about not dying yourself.” 

When you launch at him, it is without mercy, makes him realize how your kindness seeps into the way you fight. His weapon is bigger, larger, and he uses it to keep you at arm’s length, to wrap around towards the enemy. But he sees his problem almost immediately. Like a puppet on strings, you’re protecting the enemy. 

He knows it, the moment the prophecy solidifies into place in his mind. That feeling of being lost on a path, gone with the reigning down a light. The final puzzle piece in the picture. 

You will die by the hands of the one you love most. So, it truly was this feeling, after all. Love. An aching thing, something so undoing. An open wound that can only be tendered by you. 

For once, the prophecy is not a curse but a guiding starlight. He corners you with strike after strike, until you’re as close as can be to the enemy. And then he approaches you with no defense, lets you strike at him. In the same breath, his sword lands behind you and takes off the enemy’s head. 

None of the fight felt as clear as this moment, when your blade presses into his heart. 

He collapses, right in front of the throne with you on top of him. The throne that should be undoubtedly his, belonging to him as heir. Tears fall from your face before your mind can clear. Like you know, soul to soul, as his lifeform slips through your fingers. He brings his hand to cup your cheek, as he had wanted to do when you laid like this above him in the sand. 

“I did not expect a death so gentle for myself.” 

His smile is so bittersweet that it aches all the way to the bottom of your heart. His hand slips down from your face as you finally come to. 

“You will not die on me.” You gasp out, a statement said with so much conviction that the silver bell of truth rings in return. You call to your water immediately, a stream so fast it cuts into your skin but you don’t care. 

A magic that can only be done once. You take the divine sword from the ground, aim the blade carefully at yourself – your own soul. Only this sword can make a cut like this, with the hand of the divine. You slice your wrist, and instead of blood, pure golden lifeforce pours out. 

You separate your divinity from yourself, and you feed it to him. It will not turn him divine. You are only half-divine yourself, after all. What you can give is not nearly enough to turn a man into a God. But it will hold his soul in this world, let you do an unspeakable magic: an exchange of divine power for life, a process long enough for the water to heal his heart back together again. The hand you lay against his mouth shakes more and more with each second that your golden blood pours into him, but your other hand lays steady as ever over his heart, until you feel it beat once, twice. Hear him spurt out a breath. 

You collapse on top of him before you can see him open his eyes. 

~

“I see the prophecy has been completed.” 

When Kaiser wakes, there’s a split second where he thinks he might’ve just ended up wherever souls go at the end of their line. There’s what must be a full-fledged goddess standing right over him. It’s only your warm body splayed across his chest that tells him otherwise. His hands are lightning quick, sitting up and moving to your neck to check your pulse, only exhaling and relaxing once he feels it. 

Golden threads extend down the sleeves of the goddess’ arms. He’s seen the paintings. Fate itself stands before him. 

“How could you do this?” He makes his disdain clear, lacking any respect one might give to the queen of the gods herself. 

“I am sorry.” She answers immediately, and that makes Kaiser’s eyes widen just slightly. “Your grievances, you may relay them to me, if you wish. There is a bigger picture at play here, bigger than you or the water sorceress or even myself. The threads of fate are not woven selfishly.” 

“You gods up in your clouds play with the lives of mortals. That has always been written in history. But to her? To one of your own?”

“She is more one of mine than most. The heir to the throne of the Gods, I would’ve entrusted her with my life. It’s why she complies with Fate in every life, without complaint.”

“So she lends you her loyalty, and you take advantage of her. And you dare put yourselves above us?” 

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Heavy too, are my hands, that weave the golden threads. You and her are one of many that have suffered by my hand. For that, there is no apology I can give. What I can give, well… Would you like to hear your full prophecy, prince?”

Lone Emperor who covets the throne, You will die by the hands of the one you love most. Forsaken by all the Gods but one, Re-emerge, awaken, as the ruler you are meant to become.

In any other circumstance, he would be eager as ever to finally hear the full prophecy. But his eyes are only on you, your slumbering state as he holds you in his arms. 

“What will become of her?” He asks quietly. 

“She will be a water sorceress, as she had initially been.” 

“She will die, then? Like a human does?”

“All things die, hero.” Hero. That’s what he is now, having been trial-passed. The title burns like bourbon down his throat. “Even the divine dies. But yes, she will die as a human, and be reborn again as the cycle permits.” 

“A life of such simplicity is not befitting of a woman like her.” 

“Who says it would be simple? Besides, she has gone through the trial of the divine once before. Don’t you have faith she could do it again?” 

The trial of the divine. He had not known such a thing prior to you. But if anyone could pass it, it would be you. 

“I will make her my wife. I care little for the words or respect of the gods, even a queen like yourself. But it is my duty to inform you. If she will have me, I will wed her as has been planned.” 

“The prophecy is complete. What happens now is too inconsequential for me to put effort into. However…” she watches you, teartracks streaked down your cheeks. “I’m quite fond of her. I hope for her an easy life.” 

In a blink, her form disappears. 

“Kaiser!” Oliver’s voice echoes through the halls, taking big leaps with Noa to his side, skidding to a halt when he finally finds you both. 

“The goddess-” 

“She lives,” Kaiser cups your head into his chest. “Though she is goddess no more. A trade. Not a fair one by any means.” His thumb traces across your cheek, a state of his so vulnerable it renders Oliver speechless. 

Noa approaches the threshold where Oliver does not dare. He rests his hand on the crown of Kaiser’s head. “Another chance at life is the greatest gift, and she has granted you as such. That is a debt you’ll never be able to repay her for..” 

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying, then.” 

~

It’s only in the aftermath, that you find out how deep in you truly were.

Kaiser takes a big inhale of the winter air. It’s fresh and cold. And with him, the nation breathed a breath anew, and the trial laid in ashes under his feet.

You’re facing the horizon of the sea when he finds you. 

In the catch of the light, sometimes he swears he sees the divinity that had shimmered off of you before. It’s almost hard to believe, with the ring of water that floats around you, that it had ever left you at all. 

“What are you doing?” His voice is soft, as it always is with you now. 

“Relearning the water.”

“What does it say?”

“That I am still its mistress. Still a sorceress,” the water around you drops into the wet sand. “That its loyalty with me is not dependent on divinity.”

He places a hand to the back of your neck, easing out the tensions there. “But?”

You smile weakly. “I have to strain to hear her now.”

“Guess we can’t do that spectacle again for our wedding.” He cracks a smile, something to ease the ache. “Water holds memory, right?” 

“That, it does.” 

He grabs your hand, pulling you up and towards the waves. You yell for him, but the ocean crashes loudly around you both, and he drags you into the water anyways. Once you’re deep in enough that the waves drape over your knees, he pulls you in close. 

“Let her bear witness, then.” He whispers it against your lips, brushing your hair away from your face. He kisses you, deep and with so much heart you might burst from it. 

A prophecy unfolded, a fate changed, a life saved. 

There’s a part of you that can feel an oncoming future. A sheathing that can block even the eyes of Gods. God-killing weapons that have descended from the heavens themselves. A potion that can cause madness in the minds of the divine. A war between mortals and Gods is coming, you’re sure of it. 

But not in this life. In this life, you are a water sorceress, and he is a trial-passed hero. And like in every life, you find your way back to each other, every time. 

author's note: ohmygod THANK YOU FOR READING PLEASE tell me what you think!!! this is my longest fic ever so i really hope you enjoyed

extended author's note -- know that this is an incredibly realistic note about the perception of love that will take you out of the fantasy lovey-dovey space. it's a disclaimer for the parts of the fic i romanticize and how u should not romanticize them in real life, as well as some notes about kaiser's characterization if you're interested

[nerdygirlramblings]

really want to write more about Oz, but the omegaverse worms keep entering my brain

cw: attempted accents

previous

Price clocked your reactions this afternoon. He isn't stupid. He knows that being a woman, and an omega in particular, puts a target on your back. The prejudice against both your primary and secondary genders means you need to be so much better than your peers, and you are. You are outstanding in your field. Extraordinary. He's not surprised some other task force hasn't snatched you up before now.

Thankfully, he got you to agree to dinner with the team, so he has help in convincing you to join them as a teammate. And once you're on the team, they can work on convincing you to join the pack.

Two hours after you left his office, and with your parents' words ringing in your ears, you're in the mess, waiting alone at a table in the back. You're usually in the mess alone but try not to linger long. An unclaimed omega alone around so many alphas is practically asking for trouble. Just as you start worrying about Captain Price and the others, he walks in flanked by the largest man you've ever seen in your entire life, his face hidden by a mask with a painted skull on it. Price is big, but the man next to him is taller and almost twice as wide.

Price is looking around the room, but the masked man leans towards Price and points in your direction. When he sees you, Price breaks into a grin and starts heading your way. As he and the large man in the mask approach, you're able to see two smaller - in comparison - men behind them, moving with a purpose that lets you know this is the full 141. Besides Price and the mountain, there's a stocky white man with a mohawk and a beautiful, lithe black man.

When they all stand in front of you, you can smell Price's autumnal scent along with another alpha whose scent is layered in something sharp, like ginger, onion, and garlic. It's a smell you associate with Mum's cooking, but you know many find it off-putting. There's a scent of saplings or fresh snapped greenery mixed with the mellow smell of a warm day: a spring scent coated in beta. The last is another beta, but this scent is crisp and brine, the ocean made flesh. You wonder whose scent is whose.

Price steps forward, offering you his wrist, his scent, again. As you take it and bring it closer to your face, he smiles and says, "Glad ya came." You dip your head in a slight nod and drop his hand, and he takes the seat across from you. He introduces the rest of the pack task force in turn, each man politely offering their wrist before sitting down. You recognize the informal scenting ritual common when joining new groups. You did the same with your squad when you first came to base.

Leftenant Simon "Ghost" Riley is the other alpha. He is sat next to Price. Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish smells like the ocean, and Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is spring. With your permission, the sergeants are sat on either side of you.

"I wan'ed ya ta be able to put faces to the 141 before ya made yer decision," Price tells you. "This way if ya wan'ed ta see what are trainin' looks like or ask about anything, ya'd know who ta ask." Then he surprises you when he suggests you go with the sergeants, the betas, to grab trays for everyone.

"Gaz and Soap know wha' we like," he says, pointing between him and Ghost. "They can get ours while we hold the fort." He must read the confusion on your face, but he only smiles in response. This was not the behavior of an alpha trying to prove his worth to an omega. This was a Captain letting you converse with members of the task force equal to you in rank without superior officers around.

As you make your way to the food, you see Soap eyeing you. You look back a few times, clearly puzzled and a little off balance, until Gaz finally elbows him and says, "Either spit it out, mate, or stop gawkin'."

Soap grins almost manically. "Aye seen ye running th'other morn. Yoor form neyver waivered. Was a sight," he sighs. You remember someone complementing your form after a run about a week back.

"Oh, tha' was you? You were quick!"

"Nae as quick as yoo, lass. I saw yoo pass the barracks foor times. An' aye could tell yoo'd been runnin' a fair bit befoor aye saw ye. Aye cannae run tha' consistently." He doesn't miss the way you blush as his compliment.

You stand in line behind Soap with Gaz at your back. They aren't alphas, but it's hard to miss how their presence calms you, and that's without them projecting their scents for you. Simply knowing you aren't here alone, that people are here who have your back, is enough.

next

series masterlist | main masterlist