#and continents will separate and others will join and and and

[allegedly-human-uwu]

Not me high on pregnancy hormones watching the olympics closing ceremony sobbing because of the concept of tectonics

[higherhell]

Popping on to say sorry for the extended absence once again and that I'm not sure when I'll be back in full capacity. To paraphrase that one old newspaper clipping about life being one damned thing after another being an understatement, The Damned Things Are Overlapping, quite a lot right now. Miss you all and I hope to catch up at some point but I don't know when exactly. One would hope soon, but everything feels like shaky ground right now, so no promises. Love you though 💜

[minetteskvareninova]

I am not on Bluesky and you cannot make me join, but if there was anything that could make me do it, it would be seeing this contrarian bullshit while procrastinating from studying on my Early Modern History exams. Because someone needs to give these historically illiterate morons a reality check.

Listen. I don't *like* Middle Ages. I don't vibe with their art, philosophy, politics, anything. But they existed. They brought something of value to the world. Over the course of the Middle Ages, Europe experienced important societal developments. Without these developments, renaissance literally wouldn't happen. Renaissance was in many ways (art, philosophy, science) a continuation of the Middle Ages, in that there really isn't hard cut between Late Medieval period and the renaissance. In other ways, it was exactly like the Middle Ages AND WORSE. The panic over witchcraft reached its zenith in the 16th and the first half of the 17th century. Lots of unscientific bullshit about medicine, alchemy etc. was still going strong well into the 17th century. In fact, 17th century really was the worst, I'd just despise it with all my heart if it wasn't for a few bright spots like baroque architecture, beginnings of the scientific revolution and the like. And are you seriously calling out medieval Europeans for their silly religious beliefs and tendency for violence when renaissance was THE era of bullshit religious conflicts?! Like, my man! Thirty Years wasn't a medieval thing! Even the thing about "going to war with your cousin" - THAT'S LITERALLY WAR OF SPANISH SUCCESSION WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT

I am not even going to talk about the 16th and 17th century on other continents, because in the Americas it was the era of LITERAL APOCALYPSE. Like how can you talk about any progress when that part of the world saw a brutality that would make the crusaders blush.

It sucks that Early Modern Era still effectively doesn't exist in the popular imagination. Its best parts are subsumed into "renaissance" and "enlightenment". Its worst parts are grouped in with the Middle Ages - not the least because they didn't actually improve that much, and in fact got worse a lot of the time. But you cannot celebrate the art of Da Vinci and just ignore the atmosphere of constant warfare between petty duchies it was born in. That's not how historical eras work. In fact, historical eras aren't really discreet categories with a clear cutoff point, but more like approximate divisions of a continuum. There is very little that separates the art of 1599 from 1600, but by 1650, you do kinda start seeing the difference.

Also! I know I keep repeating this, but Middle Ages didn't suck equally throughout their entirety. "Dark Ages" were the Early Medieval Era, which itself was a several centuries long period by most estimates. High Middle Ages were mostly as good as the Middle Ages got, you get gothic architecture, invention of universities, scholastic philosophy, the works. 14th century is when the things really start to suck again, Black Plague comes, you get wars and peasant rebellions, yada yada. But you also get the earliest "renaissance" art, so if you like that style, you can't disavow the Middle Ages entirely. And the 15th century is also mostly bad, except that one is when the renaissance and humanism period begins in earnest, so.

[ranticore]

you will have to zoom in for those maps. sorry

the six broad phocid biotypes and a size comparison. i lined them up by the point of their shoulder. any variation between these is possible as they are not separate species and can all interbreed

inland & coastal phocids' main distinguishing feature is their ability to walk easily on land. they have relatively long limbs and less bulky, cylindrical tails. they also tend to have smaller and subtler patterns of speckles and checkers. They can tackle a wide variety of environmental conditions, but struggle to live fully pelagic lives (though it IS possible) as they find swimming to be more of an energy drain than a pelagic phocid would, and they can't cruise fast enough to travel efficiently between underwater population centres, which are often very far apart due to the natural high speed cruise of pelagic phocids. fully inland "swamp" phocids are unable to swim in cold or deep water and rarely submerge to such an extent that they are not bearing at least some weight on their legs, as the inland swamps of the western continent are not very deep.

pelagics live a life entirely underwater, including giving birth underwater when the time comes. so their body shape is very streamlined, with short legs which are usually joined to the main body below the elbow/knee to reduce drag. their blubber layers are structural and form their little dorsal ridges. in cross-section their tails are actually very tall and narrow rather than uniformly cylindrical. their skin patterns are large and bold and quite variable, serving to break up their silhouettes in the water, confusing predators and prey alike. although outsiders would struggle to tell ribbon-patterned phocids apart, the pattern is unique per individual.

for a relative size chart compared to an unaltered human & other sirenians check out this chart

the most populous of these are the north mid pelagics and the spire coastals.

[muletia]

[tfp] obsessed!optimus prime x human!reader

summary: you had to go on a business trip. optimus doesn't take it too well

cw: obsessed!optimus, hardcore pinning, angst, i wanted to practice writing dialogues and it shows lmao

word count: 1800

an: i want you guys to know that i am reading EVERY reblog and comment from you swirling my hair and kicking my legs like a schoolgirl

you are so real for that anon

When you, out of your own free will, expressed the desire to join him on patrol, Optimus was overjoyed. You rarely got the chance to be together, just the two of you, always consumed by work or saving the world. And although Optimus wouldn’t dare ask you outright to accompany him on patrols (because the last thing he wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable), he deeply longed to spend more time with you alone. He knew he was feeding only his own illusions, fueling the machinery of madness, but by this point, he couldn’t stop. Not when you sat comfortably on his seat, gazing at the views outside the window, visibly content with your outing together.

He wanted so badly for this to be your everyday reality. Maybe then he could finally find some relief from his fixation, maybe you would even save him.

"Hey," you started, and his entire attention focused on you. "Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while."

Oh.

Did your feelings match his? Did you feel affection for him as well? Had you noticed his suffering? Or maybe you wanted to reject him, once and for all, to make him understand that his passion was an illusion, that no matter how much he wanted it, the two of you could never be together — too incompatible, too different. That he had developed this coping mechanism, exhausted by the war.

But before Optimus could spiral further, you crushed his hopes.

"The company I work for is sending me on a business trip," you sighed, clearly dissatisfied with the news. "It’s supposed to take two weeks, but you never really know with these trips, especially since they’re sending me across the continent."

"I understand," he replied, his tone not betraying the turmoil within. "What does this business trip involve?"

"Oh, shoot, sorry! I should have explained that right away," you laughed casually as if you hadn’t just delivered news that shattered his spark. "Business trip is assigned by an employer for training sessions, conferences, exhibitions, and other boring stuff. Kind of like a mission, but without explosions, action, or danger."

It was good to hear that you’d be safe, though you would truly be safest only at the base, under his watchful optics.

Pessimistic, ugly thoughts churned in his processor. Of all the things he expected to hear from you, this wasn’t one of them. Suddenly, he feared being alone, feared his own dreams. Because he knew you wouldn’t be there to comfort him after a nightmare, and nothing else could bring him peace.

"I am sorry to hear we will not see each other for two weeks," he said, "but I am confident you will do exceptionally well on this assignment. You are dependable, unyielding. You can handle anything."

"Oh, thank you," you answered, a bit flustered. You hadn’t expected a compliment. "It just makes me sad to leave Jasper. I don’t say it often enough, but I have a wonderful time with all of you. With you."

"Likewise, [Name]. When are you leaving?"

"The day after tomorrow. Tomorrow after work, I’ll say goodbye to everyone else."

So soon. Too soon. He’d hoped you wouldn’t leave until next week, to at least give him time to mentally prepare for the separation, but you denied him that luxury. Not that any amount of time would have prepared him for this.

Slowly, subtly enough that you wouldn’t notice the change, he reduced his speed, prolonging your shared drive.

"I’m not sure I’ll have time to write," you warned. "Unfortunately, they’ve given me a really tight schedule. But! If I can, I’ll write to the kids. Oh, and expect some souvenirs — I’ll bring something back for you all."

"You do not need to spend your valuable time searching for trinkets. But if you insist, I will cherish anything you bring me."

"Aw, don’t worry—it’ll be no trouble." You waved your hand dismissively. "You do so much for me, for the kids, for the whole Earth without asking for anything in return. You deserve something nice."

"I do not protect your planet for glory or offerings."

"I know, I know. That’s very noble. And amazing. So many years, sticking firmly to your values."

He eagerly soaked up your praise, allowing himself, if only for a brief moment, to forget the world around him, to forget his duties, unfulfilled promises, fallen brothers and sisters. He’d never describe himself as 'amazing', nor did he believe the praise his own kind gave him about his greatness. But for you, he could believe it. If only for a moment, a few seconds, so that you’d leave on your mission thinking warmly of your time together and of him.

"Thank you, [Name]. Please know that I value your words tremendously."

"Oh," you blushed, "that’s nice to hear."

Embarrassed, you quickly changed the subject, unaware that Optimus was watching you closely, curious about your reaction. For now, he pushed thoughts of your departure to the back of his processor, wanting to fully enjoy your presence. You recommended songs from the country genre, one of his favorite discoveries on Earth, which he promised to listen to later. He knew well that this would lead to more daydreaming, imagining a future that would never be. Because no matter how hard he tried, his tomorrow would not be entwined with yours. His desires would forever remain mere fantasies born out of desperation, longing, and sorrow.

A week had passed since you left. In the lives of the Autobots, not much had changed because of your absence; they went on with their chaotic schedule. The kids, however, missed you. No more evenings spent helping them with their homework, working on your reports, playing games, or simply chatting. The worst part was that no one really knew what was going on with you. You rarely messaged, didn’t have time to talk, and when you did, it was just to say, "I’m alive, it’s boring, I’ll message you on Thursday." Life continued, despite how much Miko wished she could play games with you instead of doing her homework.

Everyone managed to adapt to your absence.

With one exception.

At first glance, it seemed like Optimus, the bot with whom you shared the closest bond, hadn’t been affected by such a drastic change. Nothing in his behavior indicated any longing. He didn’t express his opinion on the matter, didn’t ask, didn’t demand. As always, he buried his feelings deep within, playing the role of a diligent leader, hiding from everyone the nightmares running through his processor, now even more intense because of your absence.

He was withering, quietly and alone.

Until now, he had been content simply watching you. He had established a routine, unhealthy as it was, that kept him going. He knew that most of the time when he returned from patrol or a mission, you would be at the base. Even if you came every other or every third day, Optimus knew that eventually, you would show up. It gave him a sense of stability amidst the chaos surrounding him. But now? Maybe two weeks wasn’t a big challenge for you, but he was done after one.

Now, he wanted to be more than a passive observer. He craved physical contact, to hold you close, to feel your heartbeat against his metal. He wanted to know you were alive, to feel your pulse under his digit, to listen to its rhythm, to understand how your chest moved against his metal. He wanted to feel, taste, touch, enter.

He kept glancing at the spot on the couch where you usually sat with your laptop on your lap or spent time with the kids as if hoping that if he looked just one more time, you would materialize there. That everything would return to normal, that he wouldn’t suffer so much, that you would give him the daily dose of antidote he needed to function without plunging deeper into despair. But no matter how many times he looked, you weren’t there, and wouldn’t be for another week.

At some point, however, someone noticed their leader’s miserable mood.

"I can’t quite figure out what kind of bond you have with that woman," Ratchet said, pausing his work to look at Optimus. Before his friend could answer, he continued, "But she’ll be back soon. And whatever she’s doing, she’ll do it well. She’s tough."

"Thank you, old friend. I have no doubt in her abilities. But I would feel better if she were stationed closer to the base in case of a Decepticon attack."

"Mm-hmm," the medic scoffed. "Sure, that’s all it’s about."

Optimus had no response to that. He wasn’t surprised that Ratchet noticed his infatuation, but he would prefer that his friend not delve into the details of their relationship. At least, not yet. Not while Optimus himself was a wreck.

"Hey, hey! [Name] messaged!" Miko yelled.

The Autobot leader immediately approached the platform, finally abandoning his conversation with Ratchet, aware that it would only spark more suspicions. But he didn’t care anymore, not in such an important moment.

He stood directly behind Miko, with Bumblebee and Bulkhead beside him, equally curious to know what you had been up to over the past week.

"She sent photos, too! Look!"

Miko turned to show the messages to the others but paused when she noticed Optimus’s helm close to her.

“Whoa,” she whispered, surprised that out of all the bots, he was the one standing the closest. She swallowed, but her confidence quickly returned.

Holding her phone firmly, she displayed a close-up selfie of you. You were smiling, though the bags under your eyes betrayed that you were sleep-deprived, probably exhausted.

Optimus felt the accumulated stress, pain, and longing of the past week slowly dissipate. Everything was fine with you. You were alive, pushing forward with a smile on your face, happy to simply exist. Admiring your photo didn’t compare to seeing you in person, but it let him vent a little easier, granting him a brief respite from worry, gnawing at him from within. It was enough. For now. For a moment.

“She sends her regards to everyone,” Miko went on, “Oh, and she also asked Ratchet to take a break and mentioned she already bought a gift for Optimus and can’t wait to come back. Hey, I want a present, too!”

Optimus couldn't be certain if another week apart wouldn’t inflict even more damage on his processor and spark, or if longing would eventually consume him entirely. But he knew he was already lost, that you held sway over every aspect of his life. He was wrapped around your finger, tethered by a leash you didn’t even realize existed. And he didn’t mind one bit.

[namfinessed]

untitled - j.jk.

genre: angst, fluff (firstlove! slowburn!) (11.5k)

summary: jungkook was your first love but first loves were supposed to end, they were supposed to be a fond memory to look back on but your first love never leaves your life, nor does he stay in it.

note: this is inspired from my first love <3

masterpost

even if years, ages, and places separate you, maybe you’ll love jungkook all over again every time.

you had met him in school, in college, on a different continent but he never stayed in your life for too long, and you hadn’t stayed in his either.

but now that you believe you wouldn’t see him again, only because you were standing next to your soon-to-be-husband, you believe your never-pausing story needed to be told.

and oh, would you look at that? it seems like jungkook has entered the venue to hear it too.

-

it was the 9th grade when you first met him.

it was simple and so innocent.

you had your new school bag resting behind you, and your shoulders kept knocking against your sisters as the bus drove on the road and abruptly stopped at a place that it never did before; down the lane from your home.

you curiously looked out and heard your bus manager faintly mumbling something about a new student joining the bus.

and there he was, a head full of bouncy hair and a smile that wasn’t exactly present. even as he walked the length of the bus with his head down, he didn’t give off insecurity, it was more like he avoided looking at most people.

he sat down, right behind you, his legs stretching could be seen under your seat and you didn’t look back just yet. you had no idea why.

your sister, sunny, turned around, hand clasping the seat, and eagerly asked, “you’re in B section, aren’t you?” your ears perked up at that, and you subtly leaned in to listen to him.

why you had been curious at all about someone whose face you hadn’t seen, is something that was beyond you but you were consumed inside out with curiosity from the beginning.

he nods at your sister and doesn’t offer another word but when you tilt your head to look back, you see him looking right at you.

that’s when it all began, there were no words at all, just a boy who hadn’t looked at anyone but looked at you as if he could draw you the very next second.

-

your sister, ever the extrovert, talked to jungkook every day, they laughed and made fun of each other, you smiled at their conversations but never contributed yourself. you listened though, and you listened well.

by week two, you knew how he sounded when he was bored.

you knew how his voice hitched when he was excited.

you knew how his voice would get low whenever he pulled a sarcastic joke on your sister.

jungkook’s eyes would dance to the back of your head, wrapped neatly in a ponytail every single morning, to see if you would turn back, to see if he could catch a glance of those small smiles you let out sometimes but most days, he would just talk loud enough for you to hear about him.

he never understood why he had wanted you to listen, but he couldn’t tell you anything directly, and he wanted to look cool, sound cool, make jokes in a cool way, in a way that would make you laugh and once he got home, he always felt ridiculous for feeling that way.

and then, as if a miracle, your sister didn’t come to school one morning, jungkook could see you alone, ponytail brushed back as always, school bag resting on your thighs, and felt a stabbing need to hear your voice, talking to him.

he settled behind you, legs stretching again and his fingers danced on his thighs as he thought of a way to talk to you, just then your head tilted slightly, as if you were trying to catch a look at him and jungkook felt his smile burn into his skin.

“why did sunny not come today?” you jumped as he fully leaned on the back of your seat, your eyes drifted to his face, “she’s not well.”

those were the first words you had ever spoken to him.

“why is she not well?” was not his best, but he needed to keep it going.

sunny was on her period.

“stomach ache,” you murmured, ignoring how his eyes twinkled with each word that escaped out of you. you hadn’t believed that eyes could twinkle up until that day, but then again you think you’ve never seen jungkook’s eyes twinkle with anyone else.

“she must’ve eaten something bad, didn’t she? she seems the type to be careless like that,” jungkook snickered and your face grew red hot, “what she eats or doesn’t eat, isn’t any of your business.”

your tone, your eyes narrowing sharply to glare at him, was a sight jungkook would get used to later, but for now, he didn’t know how to react.

he was taken aback that you had gotten so serious over a simple joke, then it clicked to jungkook that you were one of those oddly protective people. nothing else could explain your red cheeks and furrowed eyebrows.

and he grew giddy.

you were oddly protective.

a new thing he got to learn about you because he had conjured up the courage to start a conversation.

“my bad,” he shrugs into his seat, and his nonchalant response makes you feel guilty, so you sigh and turn back fully to face him.

that was the first time you saw him straight on, with no sideway glances, no peripheral view of him, just his face and nothing else.

“you have adam sir for physics too, right?”

it was something you picked up from the multiple conversations you overheard.

“um yeah?” he wasn’t sure where you were going with this, “does he come into your class with chalk on suspicious places too?”

you were talking about your dear adam sir who constantly came to class with chalk all over the front and back of his pants crotch area, everyone but adam sir himself knew about his crotch chalk.

and jungkook laughs out loud, “oh my god, yes, i don’t know whether to be horrified or mildly impressed with his lack of self-awareness,” and you laughed too.

when you stopped and looked at him once more, he was already looking at you and the smile on your face didn’t break until you reached home.

-

it was normal now, you and sunny would turn around, talk to jungkook until you reached school, and then wait for the evening, when you could talk to him until you reached home.

you were quick to anger, he noticed.

you often fought with guys in your grade with a rage that both scared and fascinated jungkook.

you were calm with people you liked, you were fun with people you liked, you were passionate about things you believed in.

you always were a bit frustrated with him, but you still laughed at his jokes.

he was sarcastic, you noticed.

he had no interest in most things.

he didn’t like drama but always knew everything about everyone.

he always looked at you after he made a joke, as if to check if you thought it was funny, if you thought he was funny.

and you would always laugh, he would always feel a seed of pride in him whenever you turned away, hiding your laughing face in your palms.

you knew he liked you; you weren’t oblivious or stupid.

you’re not sure who he told or how it even came out, but suddenly, everyone around you knew about it.

the rumors started a month after you talked to him, you had known him for six weeks which felt like six years, but you didn’t like him back.

he knew that you didn’t like him back.

but that didn’t stop him from trying to look cool to you.

something his friends never let him succeed at.

on children’s day, you were allowed to wear anything besides your uniform, and that was a very exciting thing then, you always wore your best outfits because your mom believed in looking good and feeling good.

you were standing in the middle of the ground, waiting for your friends to come back from getting food when someone tapped swiftly on your shoulder, it was one of jungkook’s friends, smiling at you as if he knew you. you didn’t know the guy; you only knew he was jungkook’s friend.

“hey, could you take a photo for us?” he mused, you almost said no, but then you peeked around him, to see jungkook with his very huge group of friends, he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at everything but you.

it confused you.

his friend’s smile got wider when he noticed you staring at jungkook, you ignored him and took the phone dangling from his hands, you watched as they all got closer and started smiling.

jungkook’s smile was so small, so invisible, so you yelled, “smile everyone!” and you tried not to smile too when his smile took over his entire face until you couldn’t see anything else.

“thanks,” his friend came and took his phone, jungkook left, eyes glancing over his shoulder where you stood, an unavoidable warmth spread through your fingers.

but you didn’t like him.

not the way he liked you.

right?

-

“he likes you, he told his friends and well, they told my friends, who told me,” sunny rambled beside you, shifting through her closet and you didn’t know what to say, “do you like him?” she turned around to you, eyebrows raised as if she judged you a little if you did, and you shrugged.

“no, how can anyone like him?”

-

you had people who admired you, liked you even, but very few were honest or brave about it.

so, when the sister of a guy who you thought was only your friend, knocked on the window of your seat, you were confused. she smiled, “this is for you,” she pushed a letter, bracelet, and chocolate into your hands once you opened it, running away before you could ask anything.

you saw your friend peeking from the corner of a bus, watching your reaction to his confession, you looked away and shoved the letter and bracelet into the front pocket of your bag.

jungkook watched the whole exchange silently, a strange jealousy settled in his stomach as he looked out the window to glare at your friend, who sadly only had his eyes on you. then, he watched you and tried to understand what you felt from the back.

it wasn’t easy.

his friend gasped and howled next to him, “she got a letter, bro” he teased jungkook loud enough for you to hear, jungkook waited for you to turn around and tell his friend to shut up and mind his own business.

but you didn’t, you didn’t get angry like you usually did.

you were hyper-focused on the bracelet resting in your bag, and jungkook scoffed at it, he could do better, he won’t, but he could.

“she got a letter and you’re still just sitting here,” his friend tutted at him and jungkook shrugged his friend’s arm around his shoulder, scowling at him.

you rested your head on your window and closed your eyes, letting the warmth of the sun penetrate you.

when it was just the two of you on the bus, he leaned forward, “he wrote you a letter?”

“yeah, he did.” it was embarrassing to tell jungkook for some reason, it felt like cheating, receiving a letter from someone else when he was right behind you, though none of those feelings held any validity.

“he gave you a bracelet and chocolate? that’s just childish,” he snickered and expected you to laugh with him but you didn’t, “we’re still kids,” you mumbled instead, and jungkook straightened.

“do you like him?”

“no.”

“do you like anyone?”

“no.”

“why?” he stood with his bag in his hands, the bus waiting for him to get down and you didn’t notice his nervous stammer then, you were too confused by the bracelet and chocolate in your bag.

“i just don’t.” he nodded and left.

you kept the letter and bracelet in your school memories box.

-

somewhere jungkook knew that you knew, but he was always grateful that you acted like you didn’t know.

but it was unbearable for him.

seeing your swaying ponytail every morning, hearing your laughter ring in his ears at times when you weren’t even around him, driving by your house a few fifty times a day to see if you were talking in the balcony sometimes because you did that sometimes, sometimes it felt to jungkook that you did it for him.

sometimes you did it for him, for him to see you.

why?

no one knows.

you and jungkook were friends, only friends.

you and him were friends, but you never talked when others besides sunny were around, your conversations were yours and his, and no one else’s.

you weren’t sure that was how friendships worked, but you thought maybe friendship with jungkook worked this way.

he had your number but he never called, you had his number but you never called.

but one day, right before your final exams started, your phone rang and your heart stopped when you saw his name flash on your screen, you stared at the screen until your phone stopped ringing and didn’t touch your phone until it was night.

you opened it to several messages from jungkook and none of them were about school or the annoying kids on the bus or his annoying friends or your annoying friends.

jungkook: i like you.

jungkook: i think you know that. but i wanted to tell you.

jungkook: i know that you don’t like me, but i like you and i’ve tried to avoid it, but i see you every day, and i can’t avoid you, i can’t avoid how i feel.

jungkook: if you somehow like me, reply to this, if you don’t, don’t. just act as if nothing happened when we see each other tomorrow.

you couldn’t study anymore that night.

the next day, you turned back with sunny and talked to him as if nothing happened, you complained about your syllabus, he laughed that he didn’t even open his books, and sunny bragged that she finished everything and helped him with some important topics.

you ignored the pull in your heart at how openly his affection showed in his eyes now when he looked at you, his sentiment was simple, he had said his bit, and he had nothing to hide anymore but you grew heavy on that seat in front of him, you had everything to hide.

sunny squeezed your hand as you looked out the window.

she knew what happened.

your eyes filled with affection too, gave it away.

-

why did you never tell jungkook that maybe, just maybe, just a small part of you, a part of you that you wanted to destroy, liked him too?

you never understood why your sentiment cowered under layers whereas his laid naked in the world.

and middle school for you, high school for him, came close to ending by the time you ever confronted your feelings.

it was the last day for middle schoolers, you had a whole event thing in the school and dressed up accordingly, you had gone to school with your dad.

but once the day ended, you got onto the bus with a shirt full of your classmates' signatures and notes, you were a little late and flushed from the sun, you plopped down on your seat and fanned yourself.

sunny pulled the scribbled shirt from your hands, “god, you really filled it up,” you pointed to each signature and note, explaining who it was from, and when a huge note from some guy in the class who liked you came, sunny teased you and jungkook glared at the back of her head.

but a knot of sadness formed in his throat, he wouldn’t see you every day after this, he wouldn’t see you sleep on the bus, he wouldn’t hear the r-rated jokes that you whispered to sunny, thinking that no one could hear, he wouldn’t hear you silently cry after a bad day.

to jungkook, today felt like the end of a lifetime.

then you turned around, with tired eyes and a shy but carefree smile, you extended the shirt to him and said, “write something good, jungkook.” he felt as if he was going to fall off his seat.

his name in your voice was something he would remember for years to come.

he asked for a pen because of course, jungkook didn’t carry a pen in his bag that had one notebook, you scoffed and gave him one and he thought for very long.

i love you, felt wrong to write on a shirt that was littered with other people’s love for you.

and as he read each note, jungkook suddenly felt small, so many people loved you, much better people than him, he couldn’t even write anything as a goodbye to you whereas others wrote whole paragraphs.

he wrote something quickly, under your watchful and expectant gaze, and handed the shirt back with a weak smile.

‘be happy, always. jk’ looked back at you and you couldn’t help but laugh at his small handwriting next to everyone else’s. you didn’t notice his dejected posture, nor his distracted gaze out the window.

“really? that’s all?” you said with a teasing smile, extremely amused by his words and he shrugged at you, playing with his hands.

but he felt it when your smile dimmed and you turned around with a silent huff, he felt even smaller as he got down from the bus, craning his neck to see you and your yellow dress, for the last time in the bus that held all his adolescent love.

you didn’t look back at him.

-

your exams ended, you joined high school in a different part of the city, jungkook joined college in a different part but his home remained down the lane from yours.

you didn’t see him as much anymore, you only saw his car drive by through your window, but he did message you whenever he could, even if you didn’t see each other, you knew every person he knew, he knew every overbearing teacher you hated, you knew every class he skipped and that he started smoking, and he still knew just how to make you laugh to make you forget about the pressures of high school.

and calling him a friend, in the midst of all that, felt wrong, it felt so wrong, you were so alone in your high school, and he was the only tie to your familiar and comfortable past, so you confessed.

it wasn’t anything grand, you knew he liked you back, and you weren’t worried about getting rejected, but still, you held your breath as you typed a message to him.

you: i like you too.

you: it took me too long, didn’t it?

his reply was instantaneous.

jungkook: what.

then, your phone rang loudly, it almost fell from your hands and your mom eyed you suspiciously, you called out a friend's name to appease her and ran off to your room, shutting the door behind you and lifting the call with shaky hands.

“you’re not joking with me, are you?”

“no.”

“so, you like me?” you heard the smile in his voice and let your head fall against the door in a blissed-out sigh.

“i do.”

“really?”

you laughed, “really.”

“really, really?” you couldn’t stop giggling at the barely contained excitement and doubt in his voice, “really, really, jungkook.”

“fuck.” you faintly heard his laugh of disbelief on the other line and stopped yourself from sinking to the floor and talking to him for hours.

“text me, my mom’s awake still,” you mumbled, and he sighed but it was happy, it was out of relief, “yes, ma’am.”

jungkook ended the call with the biggest smile on his face, his back resting on his car, slid down as he tried not to squeal and jump in the air and his friends raised their eyebrows at him.

“what happened to you?”

“she told me she likes me,” he mumbled, the words feeling so much like a lie on his tongue but it was true, it was finally true, and even if he didn’t say the name, his friends knew exactly who it was, “holy shit, really?” they crowded around him and started demanding for details but he brushed them all off.

“i have to go, i have to text her, i can’t do that when i drive, you guys will get back by yourself right?” he didn’t wait for their reply as he got into his car and started the engine, all he heard before pulling away was, “that lucky bastard.”

and he was, he was the luckiest man in the world.

-

turns out, jungkook was the luckiest man in the world for a few moments only. you were so sweet sometimes that he wanted to wax poetry about you, but he had expected that after your confession, you could date, he could call you his girlfriend, and you would go out to the movies, he would feed you popcorn and your head would rest on his shoulders.

but.

“i just think labels aren’t necessary,” he tried not to frown too deeply as your voice swam into his ears, “what do you mean?” he sat up on his bed, phone clutched tightly in his hands.

“isn’t it enough that we like each other? why do we have to call each other boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“but why shouldn’t we?”

“jungkook, i don’t know how i feel about making it so…permanent,” on the other end of his phone, your eyes gathered tears because you didn’t know why you were saying the words you were, but the idea of dating seemed so immature to you, too troublesome and dramatic, you just wanted to like him and have him like you.

“are we not permanent?” he was only so young and so innocent; the words left him with a delicate veil of terror.

why weren’t you thinking of forever? you were his forever, was he not yours?

“how could we be permanent? we’re kids,” your nervous laughter twisted his guts but he didn’t say a word, “do you not think of a future with me?” jungkook felt pathetic asking the questions he did.

“it’s not like that jungkook, i like you, of course, i do but shouldn’t we worry about us here in the present than somewhere in the future?”

it made sense to you because you were already apart, he was in college, you were in high school, he smoked now, you hated that, you grew more cynical, he hated that and later, you would only be further apart, who was to say you would stand the test of time?

but i love you, hung on his lips.

he just mumbled, “okay.” he never was okay with it and his disappointment couldn’t have been louder.

“jungkook, i still like you-“ your mom called out to you and your panic rose to your throat, “my mom’s calling, i’ll text you, okay?” and the line went dead.

jungkook fell back on his bed, his head was now heavy with you, he couldn’t help but notice that you kept saying that you liked him.

you never said that you loved him.

-

you: our school function is on the 26th, this is our chance.

jungkook: are you telling me i finally get to meet my girlfriend?

you: haha not your girlfriend but yes, you finally get to meet the girl of your dreams.

jungkook: emma stone is coming?

you: very funny jungkook, i’ll block you.

jungkook: now don’t go and do that, what will you wear?

you: you will see that day, what will you wear?

jungkook: you will see that day :D

you: so annoying.

jungkook: only to you :]

you: i’m excited to see you.

jungkook: you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to see you.

-

at the school, your palms grew clammy as you walked around with your friends, and your dress flowed with you as you walked but you didn’t feel pretty that day. like every other teenager, you had a huge breakout of acne just the night before and you had cried, you didn’t want jungkook to see you like this.

you were sure that he had higher expectations for the girl he liked and while you usually didn’t care about others’ expectations of you, you cared about his.

you knew he was already in the school but you weren’t actively looking for him, you wanted to delay meeting him as much as you could, you didn’t want him to see your face and you didn’t look at your phone.

you let yourself be completely occupied with your friends even if you see him walk by a couple of times from the corner of your eyes. jungkook, on the other hand, just didn’t know how to approach you, he didn’t know if he’d be disturbing your time with your friends or if he’d annoy you by acting too clingy, so he stayed away as well.

sunny observed the whole exchange in bits and pieces and couldn’t believe how ridiculous you two were being. as his friend and your sister, she decided to take things into her own hands.

so, as you laughed and talked to your circle of friends, she pulled on your arm, took you aside, and whispered, “dude, why aren’t you talking to him? he’s been waiting for you.”

“i thought he was with his friends,” you lied, and she sighed, “he hasn’t hung out with them, to make sure he had time with you and i don’t know what is going on with you, but your boyfriend is waiting for you and you need to go.”

“not my boyfriend,” you mumbled as she dragged you around to where he was sitting.

until you saw him, very well-dressed, with shiny shoes, a crisp shirt, and a lopsided grin, none of what you had with him felt real.

but seeing him made it real, it made your love for him take a physical form, you weren’t sure you could handle that sense of reality just yet.

romance, love, affection, all of it was easy through a screen but seeing his finger ridges in real life and wanting to hold them, was hard.

“hey,” he mused, patting the spot next to him and you didn’t sit, you hid your face behind your hair and muttered a greeting, and sunny gagged next to you, “can you please not do this lovey-dovey shit in front of me?”

jungkook was enjoying it though, his girl, not his girlfriend apparently but still his girl, was too shy to see him.

the ever-fierce, angry, witty, and smart girl disappeared and in front of him, was just a girl in love. and even if you never said it, he felt it in the moment.

“okay, i’ll go now,” sunny said, but you grabbed her arm, “stay,” you whispered to her and she geared up to start cursing at you only for jungkook to say, “stay, it’s fine.”

he realized that if sunny was around, you would at least say a few things, because right now, he couldn’t see anything but your hair.

so, sunny stayed.

and they talked, you chimed in, it felt like the first day of talking to him on the bus. jungkook observed that you were a bit more grown up now, a bit taller, only a bit though and a bit softer than when you were in school, and just like he loved the loud, rude, and angry girl, he loved the soft, shy, still angry girl, that he was looking at.

you thought he was looking at you because you looked different, uglier, and that he was contemplating just letting you go.

but that night, when you returned home and texted him, you felt like the prettiest girl in the world.

you: so emma stone didn’t come, how do you feel?

jungkook: heartbroken but another girl made it up to me.

you: oh yeah, how was that?

jungkook: it was like i was seeing her for the first time again.

you: and?

jungkook: she’s more beautiful than i remember her being.

you: jungkook, i had pimples all over, you don’t have to lie to me.

jungkook: you don’t know yourself at all if you think some pimples take away from how beautiful you are.

you: you think so?

jungkook: i spent an hour looking at you, walking here and there in the school, so i’m confident about it.

you: i felt ugly today.

jungkook: that happens sometimes.

you: i don’t feel it anymore.

jungkook: you never should.

-

it was five days after the function, on new years, january 1st, that you two broke up.

things had been going so well but suddenly, they weren’t.

after the magical night at your school, he hung out with his friends a lot, and he started drinking, you were still too young for all that, and you were dying in your high school with never-ending exams and classes. both of you had forgotten about each other while also thinking of each other every second you could.

you were supposed to meet him on january 1st, in a café that he was raving about called the terrace, you had planned a whole thing so your parents wouldn’t get suspicious, you would go with your sisters to the café and come back with them, but spend all the time there with him.

it wasn’t easy to go behind your parents' back, it always felt like you were betraying them whenever you talked to jungkook but you were also in love, and your parents took a back seat for you on that day.

you waited in the café, and your sisters constantly asked where he was and when he was coming, you told them he would come in a minute or two, which stretched on for hours and the night ended with your sisters giving you pitiful gazes and long, silent hugs.

you came back home with an anger so familiar, so out of your control that you couldn’t see or say anything else.

“where were you?”

“i got drinks with my friends, i was going to leave i promise-“ and you cut the call, you watched your phone ring again and again until it went dead silent.

jungkook: please talk to me.

you: you know how difficult it is for me to come out with my parents watching my every move, you know how much i planned for this night and i did it because you kept blaming me for never going on dates.

jungkook: typing….

you: and when i do plan for a date, you end up going somewhere else?

jungkook: you think i don’t have a life of my own?

you blinked back tears that your anger let escape from your eyes, that was the first time you felt your chest physically hurt.

you: i never said that, jungkook.

jungkook: you know it’s funny because if you weren’t such a coward, maybe i wouldn’t have to beg you to meet me, maybe we would’ve already gone on dates, and today, i could enjoy with my friends the way i want to. you don’t even let me call you, my girlfriend.

you: don’t you dare call me a coward, my parents aren’t easy to deal with.

jungkook: saying that just makes you sound like even more of a coward.

you: if i’m such a coward, maybe you shouldn’t be with me anymore.

jungkook: maybe i shouldn’t, yeah.

you threw your phone aside, you wanted him to say i’m sorry, i fucked up, let me plan the next one, but instead, he was indifferent, as if nothing mattered to him anymore, as if you didn’t matter to him anymore.

you couldn’t picture this man as the same man who looked at you with stars in his eyes and a scary thought passed through your mind, he was madly in love with you only five days ago, and now, he wasn’t.

people could change, and then hurt you, so you vowed to yourself that you wouldn’t let anyone have the power to hurt you anymore.

you: so, we’re done?

jungkook: yeah.

you: please don’t smoke anymore.

jungkook: what i do is none of your business anymore.

-

and that was that.

you blocked him everywhere and he wallowed in his self-pity for days, you didn’t know how he was, which new people he met, if he smoked two or three cigarettes in a day anymore and he didn’t know about anything going on in your class, or about the new biology subject they introduced or about your friend's antics.

it was like he was never there in your life in the first place.

right after the breakup, you didn’t cry, you didn’t feel anything, you went to high school normally the next day and smiled while telling your friends, “i’m finally single!”

they looked concerned, then they laughed at your indifference to the breakup but your best friend leaned and asked, “are you okay?” and you nodded happily, “of course i am, he’s just a guy.”

but jungkook sadly wasn’t just a guy, he was your first love, your first ever brush with romance.

so, a month passed and you called your best friend.

sitting at the edge of your bed, you told her everything you knew about jungkook, you laughed at how stupid he could be sometimes, and you cursed him out for doing what he did but then, you started crying and you couldn’t stop crying, “i miss him, i miss my friend.”

she listened as you felt your heart finally tear apart inside you.

you knew you couldn’t trust anyone or love anyone again.

this time, it felt like a lifetime ended for you.

-

two years passed and you didn’t think of him anymore, you weren’t sure if he thought of you, you would only be reminded of his existence when exes and relationships came up in conversations with friends, those always ended with you bitterly cursing him.

you hated him.

the guy who showed you how love felt, was the guy you hated most now.

you moved cities, a better, bigger city and you tried to fall in love again, you did try.

you went on dates with your newly found freedom, you tried to like them and their stories, but the only stories that held any value to you from your youth were with or about jungkook. because you felt every face of your youth, with him.

and you couldn’t possibly talk about your first love with guys whose faces bled into each other until they all became one, and jungkook remained another.

but still, you rarely thought of him.

you didn’t think of him when you went on your first date ever (technically, you never went on a date with jungkook), you didn’t think of him when you called that guy every single night and told him superficial things about you, you never told him things that mattered, you had your first kiss and ended your first ever situationship.

but you weren’t hurt at all. you never gave another person the power to hurt you because you felt it once, and you had no intention to feel it again.

and after months of living in another city, you went back home for a while and your best friend insisted on going to the same café where you were supposed to meet jungkook, on the day of your breakup. it wasn’t her fault that it was the only good café in your tiny city.

you went.

you talked and laughed with your friend.

your phone pinged.

jungkook: you’re at the terrace?

perhaps, you forgot to mention that you unblocked him a while ago, it wasn’t to talk to him of course, it was just to remove negativity from your life (you wanted to feel that young love again).

you: yeah.

jungkook: wait.

you turned to your best friend with wide eyes, telling her that there was a huge possibility that jungkook was coming and she grimaced, she never liked him.

then, he strolled in, hands in pockets, and gave you this smile that covered years of doubt, you always thought he would glare at you and hate you but he just walked in, waved at you, and sat down without saying another word.

seeing him this up close after years of watching him from the corner of your eyes and the tilt of your head, filled you with a breathless excitement because he didn’t change, he didn’t change at all.

“hello, it’s been long,” he greeted you, and then the both of you broke into giggles at his formal tone, “it has been long, yeah.” you replied with a nod, begging for your eyes to hide their reviving affection.

then, you talked.

you had years to catch up on so you told him everything, you told him about your college, your still-horrible teachers, your friends, the new places you’ve explored, and how different everything was in the city you studied.

he listened with a carefulness that you never thought he possessed.

a simple but reckless thought caught you by the throat as jungkook leaned forward and laughed at something you said.

is this how it feels to make someone laugh?

is this how a date with him then would’ve been?

did i just miss out on everything good in life?

then, he told you everything and you listened.

jungkook stuttered multiple times because he had truly forgotten how his body got when you were around, he was suddenly aware of his every nerve, and he was aware of his fingertips that were centimeters apart from you, he was aware of your legs that were right next to his under the table and he was aware of you refusing to look at anyone but him as he spoke.

not even once did either of you acknowledge january 1st from two years ago.

“it’s 6 right now,” your best friend reminded you and you gasped, “already? shit, we have to go,” jungkook’s disappointment fell like water over his head and flooded his shoulders.

“where do you have to go?” he asked, as casually as he could.

“we have to meet another friend, a little bit far from here, so we’ve got to get going,” you said, and jungkook nodded, his car keys twirled in his hands, “do you mind dropping us?”

he almost jumped out of his seat to say yes, but remembered himself and nodded once again, “not a problem at all.”

all three of you were silent as you walked to his car which turned out to be a jeep of sorts, no surprises there and your friend got in the back, you got in the front and buckled your seat belt, your chest compressed a bit more as you tried to wave all of this as something friends did.

you were friends with him, in some way.

he got in as well and you felt twitchy in your seat, your eyes took in the unfamiliar car and jungkook watched as you saw another new thing in his life with boundless curiosity.

“you vape now?” you saw the three vapes thrown in the middle of the seat and he shrugged, “sometimes, you wanna try?” you shook your head, both as a reply to him and to shake away the odd memory of january 1st, when you had begged him to stop smoking.

“do you still smoke?”

“yep.”

you didn’t say anything as your heart sank.

he handed you his phone, as if it wasn’t something that contained everyone’s deepest, darkest secrets, he told you his passcode and let you choose whatever song you liked.

and as you scrolled through his song library, you found many songs that you had recommended to him years ago, “you still listen to these?”

jungkook tensed up, clearing his throat, he answered, “sometimes.”

you didn’t probe any further.

you didn’t play the songs you recommended either, things were weird already.

on the way, jungkook talked to your friend and then you, you talked to him, played all the songs you liked and at every stop sign, you ignored jungkook looking at you with a smile and soft eyes, as you turned to talk to your friend.

when you got down, you had a brief, disgusting thought of asking him to drive you around and just staying in his car to find out everything you missed in two years.

but you didn’t, you got down, you thanked him, he tipped his invisible hat at you and smiled, and you looked away, waving at him.

“not a word from you,” you told your smirking friend as you walked away from his car.

the rest of the night, you dreamed as your friends talked and got loud, you sighed as if you had someone to miss, you checked your phone constantly for any messages from him and sighed again when you didn’t get any.

but at midnight, your phone pinged.

jungkook: never thought i’d see you in my car lol.

you: never thought i’d be in your car.

jungkook: well, i’m always there if you need me.

jungkook: for a ride, i mean.

you: i’m always there too.

you: to give you company in your big, lonely car, i mean.

jungkook: is that so?

you: yeah, good night jungkook.

jungkook: god, good night.

both of you fell asleep with hope brimming in your dreams that night.

-

so, it started again, you texted every day, you told him everything you did in a day and he did the same for you, he still had this incredible ability to make you laugh when you felt down and you still fascinated him to no bounds.

and days bled into each other, you returned to the city where you studied, feeling a bit more homesick than you had before.

you got to know that he had failed some subjects in class, “how many?” you whispered as if it was a secret that no one should know, you couldn’t imagine failing, and he laughed, “it’s only five, you don’t have to ask like that,” but five failed subjects would’ve given you a heart attack.

he got to know that you started research with your professor, “will i understand even if you tell me what it is?” and you laughed, “i don’t think so,” he would later console you when the professor steals your work, “he sounded like a dick anyway, you deserve a much better mentor,” he pursed his lips when he heard you sniff on the other end, “do you think so?” and he couldn’t believe how little faith you had in yourself, “of course, i do.”

you started talking at night too, and those conversations, well, you never thought you would think of them again because they were so raw and so true and they reminded you of things that you thought you had forgotten.

through a phone, you both laid your hearts bare.

“have you been with anyone after…” his voice was rougher than you remembered, as if age and life had worn it down but both of you were still so young.

you weren’t as young as you once were though.

“yeah, one guy. and you?” you twisted the necklace resting on your collarbones as you asked him slowly, you didn’t want to know but you also wanted to know.

“a couple of people, yeah.”

“oh.” your disappointment was only felt by the four walls holding you in your room.

“none of them worked out though…none of them felt real,” jungkook bounced the smiley face foam ball in his hand as he stared up at the wall.

you didn’t know if he said that to console you or if it was just how things went.

“why not?”

“well, it all got so physical, there was no love or affection, i mean i didn’t feel it at all,” and you sucked in a breath, trying not to let jealousy coat your tongue when you spoke, “physical, huh.”

“don’t say it like that,” he laughed, sitting up on his bed, “these days, that’s how it goes, it shouldn’t but yeah, i guess sex just takes a front seat in relationships now.”

you didn’t want to talk about sex with jungkook, you didn’t want to know who he did it with.

“maybe.” you answered dismissively and he laughed again, “ey why are you being so awkward about it? it’s a natural thing,” and you groaned in embarrassment, “can we change the subject?”

“of course,” you sighed out in relief, “tell me, have you done anything at all?” you wanted to hit him through the phone and you let him know that, “i’m going to hit you, i swear to god, jungkook.”

“you gotta catch a flight for that now, so” he whistled into the phone and you didn’t fight the smile growing on your face, there were no witnesses except the darkness in your room, you were free to do whatever.

“i’ve only had my first kiss,” and jungkook regretted asking the question.

he had always thought he would be your first kiss.

“oh yeah?” he asked, no longer interested in knowing but for you, because it was already out, you wanted to share more with him, as a friend, so you kept going, “yeah, it was in a car,” your first kiss wasn’t bad, honestly it was everything anyone would want in a first kiss.

after saying that, you realized how dirty kissing in a car sounded, so you gasped and corrected, “but it was just a kiss, nothing else happened.”

jungkook shook his head, smiling into his phone, you still sounded so young, so much like the girl he fell in love with, “you don’t have to explain anything to me or anyone, you know that right?”

“right.” you breathed out, scolding yourself for overreacting.

“but, you know,” he said, in a softer tone, as if his next words contained magic, “yeah?” you whispered, your fingers now clutching your locket with all your strength.

“i love what we had,” and your breath hitched, your eyes filled with tears, and your adolescence that loved him reared its head again, “our love was so pure.” he continued, sighing into the phone as he turned over in his bed.

he never loved anyone the way he loved you, he didn’t even know he was capable of so much love until he met you and jungkook gave up on feeling it all again.

he waited for your reply with bated breath, not knowing if he went too far.

“it was.”

he smiled again; his heart filled with something that he tried to push away.

“don’t you have class tomorrow?” he asked, glancing at the clock that shined bright with 3:34, and you yawned, “it’s fine, keep talking.”

jungkook bit his lip to stop himself from squealing in happiness, you wanted to stay awake just to talk to him, “still, we have tomorrow, we can talk later, you go and get some sleep.”

and there was silence for a few seconds before another yawn came from you, “you know what, you’re right but we’ll talk later,” you said, a bit dazed from how sleepy you were.

“i’m always right,” he snickered and you scoffed, “whatever, good night, jungkook.”

“good night.”

you couldn’t stop thinking of his voice saying that your love was pure even when you dozed off and he clutched his phone to his heart, he could only wait for tomorrow to come sooner.

-

it was nice, not knowing exactly what you guys were or acknowledging your past, it was nice to pretend that you had never hurt each other in the first place. and many days passed by with both of you together, but not together.

“what did you do today?” you hummed into the phone as you fell onto your bed, you heard shuffling on the other side, and then noises, “uh i’m out right now,” his voice came in gargled and broken.

“oh, okay.” somehow, even if you tried to not think of it, you thought of how he never showed up to what would have been your first-ever date because he was out.

“i’ll call you later, is that alright?” he sounded like he was screaming over the sound and you couldn’t help but feel dejected, even if you had no right to feel that way now, “yeah, sure. have fun, good night.” you tried your best to sound perky and the call ended.

what were you even doing?

how did you think that talking to your ex would go or end well?

and why were you even still talking to the guy who broke your trust in people?

you rolled around on your bed, not being able to fall asleep, and not wanting to stay awake either, eventually, you gave up and read a book until you dozed off.

when you woke up the next day, there were no texts or calls from jungkook the way he’d promised he would. you threw your phone aside and got ready for the day.

then you woke up the day after, still nothing from him. and the day after, the day after that, and many days which you spent frustrated and alone.

you should’ve known how it would end with him.

-

jungkook: hellooo (4:40 pm).

you: hey (8:30 pm).

jungkook: busy day? (9:00 pm)

you: pretty hectic, yeah. (10:30 pm)

jungkook: call? (11:04 pm)

you: i’m pretty tired, another day? (11:10 pm)

jungkook: tomorrow? (11:24 pm)

you: another day. (11:37 pm)

jungkook: okay, good night. (11:45 pm)

you: good night. (12: 20 am)

jungkook: typing…

jungkook: typing…

he threw his phone away.

-

you weren’t sure exactly how it happened but soon, there were no messages or calls from jungkook, you heard from sunny that he shifted from the home down your lane but you didn’t bother texting or calling him either, you held your head high during the day and missed his voice in the night.

after a couple of weeks of minimal communication, you returned home with a nervous smile on your face, you hoped no one in your house noticed how often you checked your phone or how you sometimes talked to yourself in the darkness of your room.

you went back to the same café, again it was no one’s fault that there wasn’t a better café in your city, you sat across your best friend, sipping on your hot chocolate and nodding to whatever she said, trying not to avert your gaze to your surroundings.

you’re sure you saw jungkook outside, but you’re not sure if he saw you and a nervous pit sat in your stomach at the thought of seeing him again.

why did meeting him feel like the first time every single time?

you shook your head, leaning in to hear your best friend until she got up to use the restroom, you leaned back on your chair and let out a sigh.

you couldn’t even enjoy some good brunch without thinking of his ridiculous face.

then, the door opens and you pay no mind to it, you scroll through your phone, liking and watching reels and then someone sits next to you, and your eyes immediately snap up to tell them to fuck off.

but then your eyes melt.

“hey,” jungkook smiles, one of his cheeks pressed against his fist that propped him up and you almost smile back, you almost forget everything again.

the calls he never made, the texts he never sent, how he acted suddenly too busy for you, the invisible rejection, you were ready to forget it all, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be okay with that.

“is it easy for you?” he sits up, his smile wavers a bit, “what do you mean?”

“is it easy for you to act like nothing happened? like we never fought and broke up?” you didn’t recognize your voice; it came out so stern but you felt so weak.

“but nothing happened, sure we broke up, but that’s a normal thing, everyone goes through breakups and ends up as friends.”

“are we friends?”

he does not answer, he looks away instead at the painting of a dog on the wall.

and your anger almost runs you over.

“jungkook, are we friends?”

“…yeah.” he hesitates, jungkook feels his heart in his throat as you stare at him with so much disappointment and so much hurt, he never knew that you cared about the breakup, he had always thought that you would’ve moved on very quickly but the tears flashing in your eyes proved him wrong.

he didn’t know what to do with the fact that you were hurt during the breakup, he only pitied himself and thought of himself but he never stopped to think that maybe you had enough love for him, to feel hurt too.

“as my friend, i need to tell you something then,” you gathered your courage, you were going back tomorrow so you wouldn’t have to deal with the reality of it.

“go on,” he bit his lips and tapped his fingers on the table, and your friend walked back in, she raised her eyebrows at his figure sitting next to you and then looked at you with both concern and a thousand questions.

you stared at her with pursed lips and she nodded, grabbing her earphones, putting them on, and sitting across from you, head and eyes turned away from your conversation.

“i think i started liking you again,” you still liked him, “somewhere in the middle, i got a bit confused and my feelings grew again.” you watched his reaction with careful eyes, he only looked back at you with blinking eyes.

“but i don’t like you,” came his reply, and you sucked in a breath, heartbreak fresh as ever settled in your chest.

then, why did you call me at night and tell me our love was pure?

“i know, that’s why i said it in the past tense, i don’t feel that way anymore,” but you did, you just couldn’t do anything about it anymore.

“well then, that’s good, right? we can go back to being normal.” he clapped his hands with a joyous smile that made you want to rip his head off, “no, i don’t think i can do this anymore.”

his hands fell and so did his smile, his ego returned and put a scowl on his face.

“can you make a decision here?” he thought back to all the times you corrected him when he called you his girlfriend and his annoyance grew above his head.

“i am making a decision here, don’t get snappy with me” you spat back at him, your mind flooded with every time he led you on and hurt you, “i can’t do this confusing shit with you anymore, i don’t think we can ever be friends and i don’t see a point in trying to force it.” you huffed out, falling back on your seat.

“so, we just never talk again?” he mumbled, you couldn’t read his face anymore.

“i guess so, yeah,” another lifetime of yours flashed before your eyes as he nodded, pushing the salt and pepper shakers on the table, and then he got up abruptly.

please don’t run, please make me stay this one time, you tried to beg without saying a single word.

“then, let’s do that,” jungkook nodded at you again, he nodded at your friend and left the chair as it was before he ever came.

once again, it felt like he never existed in your life before this.

“are you okay?” your best friend’s earphones were now neatly folded on the table, and you nodded furiously, “of course i am, he’s just a guy.”

-

years passed again.

he cleared his subjects from what you’ve heard, you were done with your degree, on time unlike him, from what he’s heard and jungkook was on another step of his life again.

he stared at the unfamiliar faces in his class with resignation and sighed to himself, jungkook kept lifting and dropping his phone at every notification and groaning every time he saw it was from his life insurance, his one message remained unread.

jungkook: i start my master's today. (5:00 am)

he stared at the message until his eyes grew blurry, it was noon now and you hadn't seen it, intentionally of course, and just when he put it down one more time, he heard a ping.

you: good luck. (11:45 am)

he stared at it until he grew annoyed and deleted the entire chat.

-

you were going to america to study, it had taken a lot out of you in preparation for it and after hugging your parents and family goodbye and crying for hours in the airport, you pulled out your phone and nervously hovered over his profile. you started typing with dried-up tear streaks on your face.

you: i’m going to america today.

jungkook: really?

jungkook felt uneasy about the sudden large distance between you two even if you hadn’t spoken in ages.

jungkook: all the best.

jungkook: be happy, always.

you bit your lip as you looked away with a quivering chin and tears lined your eyes again, you deleted the entire chat too.

-

a year into being on a new continent, you felt all kinds of homesickness and excitement for your new home still, you worked harder than you ever had. and as bad as it sounds, you had forgotten that you once knew a boy called jungkook or that you ever loved him with your entire being.

he had become a thing of the past, something you never talked about anymore even if your friends brought up exes and relationships, he became a ghost of sorts, and only you could see him now.

you didn’t know what he was up to, if he ever finished his masters or racked up backlogs there too and you didn’t bother yourself by thinking about it too much.

but when it came to jungkook, you didn’t have to think about him to come into your life, he just came and went whenever he wanted.

nothing else could explain why you would find him, of all people in the world, under the neon lights of a house party that you were at, on a different continent.

and you didn’t feel anything, not any residual love or even the desire to be near him, you just felt wary about seeing him again.

he also saw you and gave a nervous smile. you smiled back and disappeared into the balcony.

suddenly, your wariness grew into pain, and your pain grew into a longing that you shouldn’t feel anymore.

you slid down on the wall and brought your knees up to hug them as you laid your head on your thighs and breathed, just breathed.

the balcony door opened again.

you knew who it was. maybe you had hoped that this would happen too, but for now, you didn’t look at him.

you heard his groan as he sat down beside you, his hands and knees almost touching yours.

and that’s when you realize, in all the years you’ve known him, this was the closest he ever came to you.

was this why he had called your love pure then?

because you had never touched each other, but felt each other in every corner of your existence?

“what are you doing here?” you whispered into your legs but he still heard you, “vacation, didn’t think i’d see you here.”

“i didn’t think either.”

“kind of ridiculous, isn’t it?” he laughed with emotion you couldn’t decipher, his warmth bled into you as you leaned on him a bit.

you felt the shape of a cigarette box in his pockets but swallowed your hurt.

after years, maybe you just wanted to touch him and see what it’s like. and he didn’t question your knees knocking against his.

“that we keep running into each other? i’m starting to think you stalk me,” you teased, a small weight of your longing lifted off you.

“oh please, if anything, you are stalking me,” he teased right back, feeling himself ease into this situation with you, just like every other time.

but as nice as it was to be this comfortable, you were still so consumed with questions that haunted you. and there was no one else here, no best friends, no sisters, no parents to worry about, no one but you and him.

“why didn’t you admit that you liked me back then?” you lifted your head to stare at him, there was no malice in your question nor any accusation, just curiosity.

“so, you knew?” he cleared his throat with a sheepish smile on his face, jungkook’s eyes shined the same way they had when you were in that bus, all those years ago.

“you told me our love was pure at 3 am, it wasn’t too hard to understand,” you shrugged, as if saying it out loud didn’t take your entire heart out of your chest.

he shook his head while laughing softly, “always such a smartass,” and you smiled, “you’re just too dumb.”

that’s when he really laughed and the stars of the night came together to light his face up as he threw his head back, you stopped yourself from falling in love again.

“well,” he breathed out, jungkook’s face contorted to become more serious and you knew that whatever he said next took a lot for him too.

“you always felt too big for my love, as if i could give you everything and that still wouldn’t be enough.”

your eyes dropped at their corners.

“what?”

“i don’t know, you were always so passionate, so good to others, so fucking smart and you had your shit figured out, you always told me these things that sounded so magical but i never fully understood them. i knew i couldn’t ever match up to that, even if i loved you with all of me,” he whispered, he clenched his eyes shut to avoid looking at you as he spoke, “i knew that even if i loved you, i couldn’t love you the way someone else could, someone who could love and match up to you.”

“jungkook,” you whispered too but your voice broke, and your throat grew scratchy with emotion.

“i’m telling the truth by the way, when you said you were leaving for america, it took everything in me to not pack a bag and follow you,” then, he opened his eyes and looked at you, you felt like you were back in 9th grade, staring at him with a tilt of your head.

“why did you say you stopped liking me then?” he asked next and waited patiently for you to wipe the corners of your eyes.

“i was always afraid that somewhere i would disappoint you and the idea of our relationship. you liked me so much and i felt that i had to live up to what you liked, otherwise, you wouldn’t like me and i’d be alone again,” you whispered the last part slower than anything else, “that wasn’t your fault though, i guess i was just scared of not being who i thought we would be.”

you sniffed and stared at your feet that lined up with his.

he stayed silent beside you until your sniffs grew louder.

then, he pulled your head over his shoulder and let you cry until the sunrise came and took away everything that the night tried to protect.

you woke up in an empty bed the next morning and when you left, you saw jungkook sitting on the couch, long arms stretching over the back of it, you stopped for a second to see if he’d get up and wrap them around you, to acknowledge all the love he showed you last night, you waited for him to utter a word that would make you stay.

but he only blinks at you.

you run out the door, you don’t know if his voice calling to you was him, or a creation of your deepest, most shameful wishes.

-

several years passed once more.

you don’t know why you invited jungkook to your wedding, you didn’t know if he would even come, but seeing him enter through the same doors that your now-husband had, pierced you with something sharp. he came up the stage, his eyes never left your face, and stood next to you for a photograph.

you didn’t look to see if he smiled or not. his hands hovered over your waist and your breath got caught in your throat, jungkook handed your husband a bouquet with a polite smile, he looked older, and quieter but his eyes remained shiny as ever.

when he started to pull apart and leave, you grabbed his arm, “stay for dinner, okay?” and he nodded, giving you a playful salute and exiting the stage.

you smiled at your husband and continued to take photos.

at dinner, you and your husband sat next to him as polite hosts would and talked about superficial things; jobs, taxes, work-life balance, and life.

“i think i’ll leave now,” he got up from his seat and you got up too, “i’ll see him off and come back,” you squeezed your husband’s hands which jungkook looked away from.

outside, it was just the two of you again.

“do you love him?” you weren’t shocked at his question.

“i do.” you really do.

“but you never loved me, did you?” he laughed bitterly, but his face held years of hurt and you held back your tears.

“i did.” you really did.

jungkook had been waiting to hear those words for half of his life and now that he’s heard them, he thinks he can let you go now.

“it was not easy for me to invite you.” you admitted with a nervous laugh, your eyes darting down to the gravel road.

“it isn't easy for me to be here,” he loosened his tie around his neck and his voice now reminded you of how old your first love got and how far away you were from the bus where you fell in love.

“but god, after so long,” your voice held every bit of yearning and nostalgia you felt.

a montage of your very young, very long, and very stupid love played in your eyes and you blinked it away.

“it sucks that we didn't work out.” it didn’t just suck, if jungkook told you how he really felt about seeing you with your husband, you would slap him.

he could do better, he won’t but he could.

“maybe we were just supposed to love each other then, you know? maybe it wasn't supposed to grow at all,” you answered, even if you knew it wasn’t entirely the truth, your love growing was out of your control.

but maybe you two weren’t ever supposed to love each other so much, maybe you were supposed to love each other a little and then let it go but both of you had been stubborn, both of you clung onto the innocence of your love, something that you paid the price for, for years.

“i dont know about all that, i just know that our love was-“

“pure.” you told and jungkook smiled, shaking his head, “yes, pure.”

“i still don't know why i loved you so much,” jungkook wondered why it had started, the deep infatuation and affection he held for you, was unnatural.

“i don't either,” you never understood why your lives were entangled for so long.

“will i see you again?” there was no hope in his tone, only a simple question with a simple affection.

“no, i think this is a good ending point, don't you?”

“so i don't get to show off my wife like you showed off your husband?”

“well in that case, maybe we will.” though, you burned on the inside as you imagined another person standing next to him.

“right, maybe we will.”

a silent smile passed between you two and when jungkook left, he squeezed your hands, “thank you for letting me feel love so early in my life. i wish you and your husband well.”

“thank you for loving me so early in my life. i wish you and your future wife well.”

he walked away but he looked back.

please don’t stay with him for too long.

you gave a weak smile.

please don’t find someone else.

and then you separated, another lifetime ended but this time, for the both of you.

[shaiyasstuff]

after | sylus | sequel(?)

synopsis : You and Sylus have spent years as strangers in an arranged marriage, living separate lives without much thought for each other. But when he unexpectedly shows up at your doorstep, the distance between you starts to blur. content : arranged marriage au, non-cannon!au, sylus x non-mc, artist!reader, fluff, just married life i guess?

When Sylus had said, “Mother wants to have dinner with us,” you’d imagined an evening at home.

A quiet meal, maybe something you’d cooked yourself—intimate, simple, manageable.

Not this.

Not a private jet cutting through clouds, bound for Frankfurt, just to dine with his parents.

You glance across the cabin at him, your fingers curled loosely in your lap. “You know,” you murmur, “we could’ve just said no.”

Your voice carries a hint of nerves, subtle but not lost on him.

He quirks a brow, his lips curling into that infuriatingly smug smirk. “Are you scared of meeting my family?”

You scoff, looking away toward the window.

“Pshh. What? No…”

The lie is flimsy at best.

Because it isn’t his mother you’re worried about. You know her to be warm, even if a little mysterious. She’d called on your wedding day—apologetic, gracious, her voice genuine as she regretted missing the ceremony.

You’d told her not to worry, that it had all been a formality anyway.

But his father… his father is another matter entirely.

There’s something about the man that reminds you of a headmaster from an old boarding school—stern, unreadable, with eyes that seem to find fault even when there’s none to be found.

The kind of man who finds smiling a chore.

Sylus must have caught the tension creeping into your silence, because a moment later, his hand finds yours.

“It’s going to be alright,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m here.”

You turn toward him, caught off guard by the quiet reassurance in his voice. He’s not teasing now. Not posturing.

Just… present.

Your smile comes a little slower this time. “I can do this,” you nod, more to yourself than to him.

His smirk returns, playful again, but there’s a fondness tucked in the corners of it. “Funny. You go toe-to-toe with critics over your art, but my father’s the one who has you rattled?”

You swat lightly at his shoulder. “This is different!”

He chuckles. And you can’t help but join him.

Still, as the laughter fades, you sigh and glance down at your dress. “Why are we dressing up just for dinner anyway?”

He clears his throat. “You know how my father is.”

You hum in acknowledgment. No further questions.

Your gaze drifts back out the window, the lights of distant cities winking below.

It’s been years since you last saw his family—long before the wedding, which had passed in a blur of legalities and practiced smiles.

A formality, you’d both agreed. Something to check off the list.

And yet, here you are.

Sitting beside the man you married, flying across continents to dine with people who barely feel real in your life.

You let out a soft laugh under your breath.

“Something funny?” Sylus asks without looking up.

You shake your head, the smile still tugging at your lips.

“Just thinking how strange life is. We said vows written by someone else, and now we’re here—years later—actually doing the whole family dinner thing.”

He doesn’t respond at first. But when you glance over, you find him watching you with a thoughtful expression.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Life’s strange.”

—•

The hallway is long, dimly lit, lined with portraits that seem to follow your steps as you walk beside him.

“Now that I think about it,” you muse, “I’ve never even been here. And we’ve been married for…?”

Sylus casts you a sidelong glance. “Believe me, sweetie, I don’t come here either. Only reason we’re here now is because Mother wouldn’t stop pestering me.”

You snort, your heels clicking softly against the marble. “Still. It’s nice, I guess. I’ve missed seeing her.”

He hums in agreement.

Soon, the two of you come to a stop in front of tall, ornate double doors.

The dining hall.

Sylus glances at you, and for a brief moment, you see it too—his own hesitation.

You offer him your hand again.

And without a word, he takes it.

—•

The doors open with quiet grace, revealing a dining hall bathed in soft golden light.

The long table gleams beneath the chandelier, its place settings pristine, untouched. But it’s not the elegance that draws your attention.

It’s her.

Sylus’s mother rises from her seat as soon as she sees you, her eyes lighting up—not with politeness, but familiarity.

“There you are,” she says, voice warm, rich with a kind of fondness that surprises you. She crosses the room with easy confidence, stopping just in front of you.

You don’t have time to speak before she wraps you into a gentle embrace, arms firm, comforting.

“It’s been too long,” she murmurs. “I’ve missed you, my dear.”

You blink, caught off guard. You hadn’t expected such warmth… not after all this time. Not after how quiet things had been since the wedding.

“I—missed you too,” you say quietly, surprised to realize you mean it.

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, studying you with that knowing look only mothers seem to possess. “You’ve grown into yourself beautifully,” she says, brushing a stray hair from your shoulder. “But then, I always knew you would.”

You smile, soft and a little stunned. “You remember?”

Her gaze softens even further. “Of course I do. You were the only child brave enough to look Sylus in the eye and scold him for knocking over your crayons.” Her laugh is delicate, amused. “You were what? Five?.”

Behind you, Sylus sighs. “Must we bring that up?”

His mother waves him off, though her eyes never leave yours. “I remember thinking then—‘That girl will either be his ruin… or the one thing that softens him.’”

You look over at Sylus, who’s watching the exchange in silence, his usual mask of cool amusement tempered by something more reserved. He doesn’t interrupt. He lets her speak.

His father rises slowly at the far end of the table, far less warm in his welcome. “You’re late.”

Sylus’s voice is dry as ever. “Blame the weather. Or the wine. Or her.” He nods toward you.

You roll your eyes, but the tension eases as you both move to take your seats. His mother gestures for you to sit beside her, and it’s only once you’re settled that you notice Sylus has taken the chair on your other side.

Surrounded.

Yet… not uncomfortable.

Dinner begins with small talk—wine is poured, delicate appetizers placed before you. But soon, the conversation finds its way back to you.

“I saw your gallery feature last month,” his mother says lightly, sipping her wine. “That portrait in crimson and ash—you named it Restraint, didn’t you?”

You glance at Sylus, surprised.

She noticed that?

“You saw that?” you ask, turning back to her.

“Of course,” she replies. “I keep up with what matters. And your work always mattered to me.”

Something shifts in your chest. A quiet warmth.

Sylus watches you both with an unreadable expression, wine glass resting loosely in his hand. “And here I thought you two would pretend not to know each other.”

“Oh, please.” His mother rolls her eyes. “She was practically part of the family long before the two of you signed any papers.”

That earns a soft chuckle from you, and even Sylus’s lips twitch with amusement.

His father clears his throat. “The past is the past.”

But his mother just smiles at you like it isn’t. Like it never was.

Dessert is served—an elegant affair of dark chocolate and tart berries—and the conversation shifts again.

“How are you finding marriage, dear?” she asks, tilting her head. “You’ve always struck me as someone who likes her solitude.”

You pause, not quite sure how to answer. But before you can find the words, Sylus speaks for you.

“We’re figuring it out,” he says, his voice calm. “It’s… not what I expected. But maybe that’s a good thing.”

You turn to him, startled by the honesty in his tone. He meets your eyes with a look you can’t quite read.

His mother hums thoughtfully, as though she was waiting to hear something just like that. “You’ve always been terrible at letting people in, Sylus. Maybe she’s the exception.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward.

It’s thoughtful. Quiet. Full of things neither of you have said yet—but maybe will, in time.

As you leave the dining hall, his mother walks with you to the doors, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “Come back soon,” she says. “Next time, I expect to see your work in my studio. I still keep that sketch you gave me, you know.”

You blink. “You… still have it?”

She smiles. “Of course I do. It was the first time I saw you draw from your heart.”

And with a final squeeze of your hand, she lets you go.

In the hallway, the two of you walk in a comfortable silence.

“You drew a sketch for her? Why didn’t I know this?” he asks after a beat.

“You never asked,” you reply softly.

He glances at you, the corners of his mouth quirking. “She likes you more than she likes me.”

“Who doesn’t?” you tease.

He chuckles under his breath, then shakes his head. “You’re full of surprises.”

You glance sideways at him, a smirk tugging at your lips. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

For a moment, the tension between you fades into something lighter. Something easier.

And when he reaches for your hand again as you step outside into the night air—you let him.

Not out of obligation.

But because it feels like the first time you’re finally walking forward together.

“So,” you begin, as the two of you make your way back toward the jet, your heels clicking lightly on the tarmac. “Are we really just heading home after that?”

You throw him a look, mischief glittering in your eyes as you arch a brow.

Sylus lifts an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curving into a lazy smirk. “Did you have something else in mind?”

You tap a finger to your chin in mock thought. “Well… you’re flying back to Madrid in a week, right? Seems like a waste not to make some memories before you go.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Just watches you with that unreadable look of his, thoughtful and sharp. Then, slowly, a small smile tugs at his lips. “Say the word,” he murmurs. “And we’ll go.”

Your grin breaks across your face before you can help it. “I want dessert,” you declare. “In Italy. That little place in Rome you wouldn’t shut up about.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Ah, that place.”

He gives a casual shrug, as if flying across countries on a whim is the most natural thing in the world. “Italy it is.”

You bounce slightly on your heels and take his hand, pulling him toward the jet. “C’mon then, jet boy. I want gelato.”

—•

Once you’re safely boarded, you sink into the plush leather seat with a sigh of satisfaction, stretching your legs out with a dramatic groan. “This is nice. I think I’ll ask my dad for one of these.”

Sylus casts you a side glance, his tone deceptively nonchalant. “You can just use mine.”

You blink, turning to face him fully. “Seriously? You’d let me?”

He shrugs as if it’s obvious. “Why not? We’re married.”

Something about the way he says it—quiet, simple, unguarded—catches you off guard. The words settle in your chest, heavier than you expect.

Your lips curve into a small smile. “Thanks. And as your very responsible wife, I promise not to fly too often.”

He lets out a soft huff of amusement, shaking his head as he leans back. “There isn’t anything I can’t afford, sweetie,” he drawls, turning toward you slightly. His eyes glint, and the smirk returns—more teasing now. “Feel free to be a little reckless.”

You roll your eyes, reaching out to nudge his shoulder. “You act like we’re not from the same social circle, show-off.”

He chuckles, low and genuine. “True. But I do it better.”

You snort at that, crossing your legs and letting the warmth of the exchange linger. Outside, the sky deepens into a velvet blue, the hum of the engines soft in your ears.

—•

Rome welcomes you under a blanket of moonlight, the city glowing faintly in the distance as you step into the cab.

It’s almost midnight, and the buzz of adrenaline from the spontaneous trip has begun to fade, replaced by a quieter contentment.

Somewhere between the winding streets and the lull of the cab ride, your head finds its way to Sylus’s shoulder.

Sleep claims you gently, your breath evening out as your body leans against his.

He glances down at you, surprised at first. But then… he smiles.

It’s small. Private.

The kind of smile he only ever lets slip when no one’s watching.

He shrugs off his coat and drapes it over you, careful not to wake you, his arm sliding around your shoulders to steady you as the cab hits a bump in the road.

You shift slightly, unconsciously pressing closer to him.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move.

He just watches you—your lashes resting softly against your cheeks, the way your fingers curl slightly in your sleep. His thumb brushes the edge of the coat where it rests against your arm.

Three weeks ago, this would’ve been unthinkable.

But now, with the quiet weight of you against him, the scent of your perfume lingering faintly in the air… he finds himself wondering if this—this softness, this closeness—is something he’ll miss more than he expects.

He glances out the window at the flickering city lights, his fingers still curled gently around your arm.

And for the first time in a long time, Sylus feels at peace.

—•

“What do you mean it’s closed?”

Your voice pitches higher than you’d like, something between a groan and a shriek echoing down the quiet Roman street.

Sylus lifts a brow, amused. “There’s nothing we can do, sweetie,” he drawls, far too entertained by your disappointment.

You let out another groan, slumping slightly as you stare at the shuttered storefront. “I wanted to make cute memories with you,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

But of course—he hears it.

“Aw,” he coos, that signature smirk sliding into place. “Kitten, are you afraid you’ll miss me when I’m gone?”

You whirl to face him with an exaggerated gasp. “Me? Miss you?” You snort, crossing your arms. “Puh-lease. Keep dreaming.”

Still, your words don’t quite hit with the same bite they used to. Not anymore.

Because deep down, somewhere beneath the playful eye-rolls and dramatic sighs… the truth sits quietly.

You will miss him.

Three weeks isn’t a lot. But it’s been enough.

Enough to soften edges. Enough to blur lines. Enough to make you wish—just a little—that time would slow.

Sylus is still watching you. But this time, there’s something gentler behind his gaze, like he can sense the shift in you. He doesn’t tease again.

He just steps closer, then reaches out and pulls you in by the shoulder.

The gesture is sudden, firm, but not unwelcome.

You blink up at him, startled by the proximity—by the warmth of his body against yours.

“Come on,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “I’ve got an idea.”

You don’t resist.

You let him guide you, slowly easing into the space between you, your shoulder brushing against his chest with every step.

“Where are we going?” you ask, quieter now, your breath visible in the cool night air.

He gestures down the narrow cobblestone street, the lights of the city casting soft golden halos around each lamppost. “I used to come here often for business,” he explains. “There’s a café down the street—tiny place, nothing fancy. But it’s open 24/7.”

He glances down at you, a faint smile curving at the edge of his lips. “No gelato. But I can at least get you cake.”

You let out a soft laugh, the disappointment already fading. “I guess that’ll do.”

And as he walks with you, his arm still casually draped around your shoulders, you realize something.

You might not have gotten your gelato.

But you’re still making memories—with him.

And maybe, that’s more than enough.

The café isn’t much—tucked between a florist shop and a closed boutique, its weathered sign faintly lit by a single flickering lamp. The inside is dim, warm, quiet.

There’s only one other patron, dozing into a cappuccino near the back. A sleepy barista glances up, offering a polite nod as the bell above the door chimes.

Sylus lets you step in first, his hand lingering at the small of your back. The scent of espresso and vanilla hangs in the air, clinging to soft jazz playing from an old radio on the counter.

You shiver slightly from the night air, and without a word, Sylus slips his coat off and drapes it over your shoulders.

“You’re cold,” he says simply.

You glance up at him, lips parting to protest—but the words don’t come. Instead, you pull the coat tighter around yourself, surprised by how natural it feels.

“I could’ve handled it,” you murmur.

“I know,” he replies, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you don’t.

The two of you settle into a booth by the window, city lights spilling through the glass, casting soft shadows across the table. The street outside is quiet.

Time feels slower here, like Rome is holding its breath just for the two of you.

“What’ll it be?” Sylus asks, flipping open a laminated menu.

You eye the dessert case. “Something sweet. Preferably something that makes up for the gelato you promised.”

He chuckles. “High expectations for a midnight snack.”

“You promised me cute memories,” you remind him, lips twitching into a smile. “I’m simply holding you accountable.”

He raises both brows, mock serious. “Understood. One life-altering dessert experience, coming right up.”

You end up with a slice of tiramisu. He gets a black coffee and something called ciambellone—a soft, sponge-like cake dusted in powdered sugar.

You both dig in quietly for a while, the hush between you not uncomfortable at all. Just full of the kind of peace you rarely noticed missing until it shows up.

“This is nice,” you say softly, cutting into your cake. “I can’t remember the last time I just… sat like this. With someone.”

His gaze lifts to meet yours across the table. “You don’t do this often?”

You shrug, eyes dipping to your plate. “It’s easier to be alone when you don’t expect much from anyone.”

A beat.

And then, he speaks—quietly, but without hesitation. “That’s what I thought too.”

You glance up at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone.

“I didn’t think this marriage would become anything,” he says, not looking away. “Didn’t expect to like talking to you. Or listening to you. Or… this.”

He gestures vaguely between you. The silence. The café. The unexpected comfort of your company.

Your chest tightens, warmth spreading slowly under your ribs.

“You could’ve said something,” you whisper.

“I’m saying it now.”

He leans back, sipping his coffee, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—they’re steady, fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the room worth watching.

“You said you wanted memories,” he adds after a moment. “Then let’s make them. Even if there’s not much time left.”

You stare at him for a beat, your fork stilled halfway to your mouth.

“I don’t want a countdown,” you say softly. “I want… something I won’t forget.”

Sylus holds your gaze.

And then, with a small, almost uncharacteristic gentleness, he reaches across the table and brushes a crumb from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb.

“You won’t,” he murmurs.

The world feels quiet. Suspended.

Neither of you says anything after that. You just sit there, eyes lingering longer than they should, hearts a little too loud in the silence.

And for once, it doesn’t feel like a temporary moment.

It feels like the start of something else.

The café door clicks softly behind you as you both step back out into the night.

The streets are nearly empty now—Rome hushed under the weight of stars and streetlamps. The city feels softer like this, quieter.

As if it, too, is learning how to breathe slower.

Sylus walks beside you in silence, one hand tucked into the pocket of his coat, the other brushing against yours with every step. You don’t move away. Neither does he.

It’s not awkward. It’s just… still.

The kind of stillness that says more than words ever could.

You hug his coat a little tighter around your frame. The scent of him—subtle spice and something cooler, more distinct—lingers in the fabric. It feels oddly intimate, having him draped around you like this.

He glances over at you, his expression softer than usual.

“Tired?” he asks, voice low.

You shake your head. “No. Just… content, maybe.”

He nods slowly, his gaze returning to the path ahead. “I never thought I’d see you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Peaceful,” he says after a pause. “Like you belong here. Like this… fits.”

You smile faintly. “Maybe it does.”

Another quiet beat passes.

Then you speak, your voice just above a whisper. “You’ve changed.”

He looks over, surprised by the words. “How so?”

“You’re softer,” you say, not teasing. Just honest. “Not weak. Just… more real.”

He lets the words settle for a moment before responding. “Maybe I was always like this,” he murmurs. “Just didn’t have the right person around to see it.”

You glance at him, startled.

His gaze doesn’t waver. And there’s no smirk this time. No sarcasm. Just Sylus, standing under a dim streetlamp, looking at you like he means every word.

The moment stretches, full of everything neither of you can quite say out loud.

“You’re going back soon,” you say finally, your voice smaller than you mean it to be.

“I am.”

You nod, swallowing. “Right.”

He slows slightly, and so do you. The distance to the cab hail is short now, but neither of you seem in a rush to reach it.

“I don’t want this to feel temporary,” you admit.

He exhales, quiet. “Neither do I.”

You glance down at your shoes, then at the pavement. Anything but his eyes. “Then what do we do?”

He steps in front of you, stopping you gently with a hand at your elbow. You look up, startled to find him watching you so closely.

“We stop pretending it was just convenience,” he says. “And we stop wasting what time we have left.”

His words are steady, but you hear it—the fear beneath them. The vulnerability. He’s not just trying to stay in this moment. He’s trying to hold onto you.

You breathe in slowly, the night air cool in your lungs.

Then, without a word, you reach for his hand.

He laces his fingers through yours without hesitation.

And the two of you keep walking—through Rome’s sleeping streets, side by side. No rush. No finality. Just this quiet, imperfect closeness between you.

A beginning made from something that was never supposed to be more than an arrangement.

And now, it’s something you don’t want to let go of.

—•

“I’m actually going to miss you.”

The words leave your lips softly, without teasing, without sarcasm. Just the quiet truth.

Sylus stands in front of you, suitcase in one hand, his coat folded neatly over his arm. The sunlight from the window pools around him, soft and golden, casting gentle shadows across the room.

His usual smirk is there—of course it is—but today, it’s gentler. Dimmed at the edges by something else.

Fondness.

He doesn’t need to say anything. You see it in his eyes.

You know.

The last week had passed too quickly, slipping through your fingers like sand.

He sat with you in your studio as you edited your music, quiet and focused.

Occasionally, he’d glance over and murmur something about how serious you looked.

“It’s oddly attractive,” he’d said once, earning a swat to his arm and your face burning red as you mumbled a protest.

He’d only chuckled.

There was the baking experiment too—if you could call it that. You doing most of the work while Sylus tried not to set the kitchen on fire.

He claimed victory for “not ruining the eggs.” You claimed victory for not kicking him out halfway through.

Still, the laughter had lingered long after the cookies cooled.

And that last art exhibition.

Not yours this time, but a friend’s.

He wore black—sharp and quiet as always—and stayed close to your side as you spoke passionately about color theory and composition.

He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t even pretend to understand.

He just listened.

And when you turned to him with flushed cheeks, halfway through a rant about symbolism in modern surrealism, he only said, “You light up when you talk about things you love.”

And maybe… he meant more than just art.

Now, standing here in the doorway, you take in the way the light hits his profile.

The way the collar of his coat is slightly crooked, how his fingers tighten briefly around the suitcase handle.

You felt your heart beating a little too fast and your throat feeling a little too tight as you try to find something clever to say.

You don’t.

“So… this is it, huh,” you breathe, more to yourself than to him. Your fingers fidget with the edge of his shirt that he let you keep.

Your voice wavers—not enough to break, but enough for him to notice.

He does.

“You’re not gonna cry, are you?” he says, smirking just a little.

You shoot him a glare through glassy eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But he steps closer anyway, his free hand reaching out, fingers brushing beneath your eye. “I’ll call,” he says softly. There’s a pause—then, quieter, “Promise.”

You nod, your smile wobbly but real. “You better.”

For a second, neither of you move. The space between you is warm, intimate, alive with things unsaid.

Then, before you can overthink it, you lean up and press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

It lingers longer than it should.

When you pull back, he’s watching you with something unreadable in his eyes. Not distance. Not detachment.

Just… you.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he murmurs, adjusting the strap of his bag.

You nod again, more certain this time. “I’ll be here.”

He starts to turn, then pauses in the doorway.

“Try not to burn the house down without me.”

You roll your eyes. “I won’t, unless I decide I wanna do a Sylus cosplay.”

“That was just one time,” he retorts.

But his smile lingers. So does yours.

As he walks out the door, the air feels different—not empty, not final. Just… waiting.

Because whatever this is—whatever it’s becoming—it isn’t over.

Not even close.

—•

Week one was surprisingly easy.

He called the moment his plane touched down, his voice a little too casual, like he hadn’t been waiting just as eagerly as you had. But you could hear it anyway—the softness hidden beneath his usual drawl.

“Miss me already?” you teased, resting your chin in your palm as you leaned against your desk.

A low grumble rumbled through the receiver, but it couldn’t hide the faint smile you knew was tugging at his lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered.

You grinned. “Too late.”

The video feed wobbled slightly as he shifted, revealing a sleek, modern apartment behind him—sunlight pouring through tall windows, spilling across dark floors and expensive furniture. The skyline of Madrid glittered faintly behind him.

He turned the camera around briefly, showing you the view. “This is my place,” he said, like it wasn’t a big deal. “I’ll bring you here one day.”

Your breath caught—not because of the apartment, but because of the way he said it.

So effortlessly, so naturally. I’ll bring you.

You only nodded in response, a small, fond smile tugging at your lips. “I’d like that.”

He tilted his head, watching you for a beat too long.

Then, predictably, the moment passed.

“Alright,” he said, smirking. “Business calls. I’ll see you soon.”

“See ya,” you murmured.

He gave you a final look—half fondness, half trouble—before the screen went dark.

The silence in the room felt softer somehow, touched with something that lingered.

You exhale, turning back to your easel.

The canvas waits, colors half-mixed on your palette, brush still resting where you’d left it—abandoned mid-thought when his call came through.

But now, something’s shifted.

Your fingers curl around the brush, and with a soft breath, you begin to move again.

Strokes bloom across the canvas—deliberate, fluid. The paint feels lighter in your hand now, each color falling into place more naturally than before.

There’s a softness to this piece. A gentleness you hadn’t expected.

You don’t think. You just feel.

The quiet hum of the city filters in through your window. The sun has started its descent, casting warm golden light across your studio, just enough to set the edges of your work aglow.

The silence is full, but not lonely.

And as the painting comes together—layer by layer, emotion by emotion—you find yourself smiling. Just a little.

Your thoughts drift back to his voice, that lazy smirk in his tone when he said, “I’ll bring you here one day.” The way he’d said “See you soon” like he meant it.

You glance at the almost-finished piece, head tilted.

It’s not just a swirl of color anymore. It’s something real. Something tender. Something that carries his presence, even when he’s not here.

Your brush pauses at the bottom right corner.

Then, with a quiet breath and steady hand, you sign it in clean, graceful strokes:

Promise.

And this time, you don’t paint to let something go.

You paint to hold something close.

You hang the painting up to dry as you smile, “See you soon, idiot.” You mutter to yourself, heading to get a shower.

—•

Week three. He called again.

You were just leaving an art exhibition downtown, the night air crisp against your skin as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

Streetlights painted golden halos across the pavement, and traffic hummed faintly in the distance.

The call came in right on cue.

“You heading home?” Sylus’s voice was a familiar comfort in your ear, low and smooth with a hint of fatigue.

“Yeah,” you said, adjusting the strap of your bag as you tucked the phone closer. “Long walk though.”

“I’ll stay on the line,” he offered easily, like it was second nature now. “Unless you’d rather be alone with your thoughts.”

You smiled to yourself. “No complaints here.”

You let the silence linger between you—comfortable, not rushed—until your voice broke through again.

“So, how are things over there?”

He let out a dramatic sigh, and you could practically see the smirk on his face. “The usual. Bossing people here, bossing people there, call you, then back to bossing.”

You laughed, shaking your head as your heels clicked down the street. “Tragic.”

“It’s exhausting being brilliant,” he added.

“No one asked you to be dramatic.”

“But I do it so well.”

You were just about to tease him again when a soft sound made you pause—a small, high-pitched mewl.

You stopped mid-step, your eyes drifting down to the sidewalk where a tiny black kitten sat curled near a lamppost. It blinked up at you, red eyes gleaming faintly under the light.

You blinked. “That’s… oddly specific.”

“What is?” Sylus asked.

You crouched, shifting your phone slightly to angle the camera. “This.”

You flipped to the front camera and showed him the kitten. “Tell me this doesn’t look exactly like you.”

There was a beat of silence. Then,

“…Hm,” he muttered. “It does resemble me. But I’m obviously better looking.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Debatable.”

“Careful, kitten,” he warned playfully. “Mocking your husband’s good looks could be grounds for divorce.”

You looked back down at the feline, who was now stretching one paw toward your shoe.

“Hey, little guy,” you murmured, voice softening. “Wanna come home with me?”

On the other end of the line, Sylus’s tone changed—just a little. “You’re not seriously bringing it back?”

You smiled, sensing something beneath his voice. Not judgment. Not disapproval.

Jealousy.

Tiny. Stubborn. Undeniable.

You raised an eyebrow. “Jealous of a kitten?”

“I just think it’s suspicious how fast you’re offering your heart to a stranger,” he said coolly.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you reached to scoop the kitten up carefully, tucking it against your coat.

“I’m gonna need some company when you’re not around,” you said gently.

There was a pause.

Then, quietly—“You miss me that much?”

You looked ahead, heart tugging at the tenderness hiding beneath his question. “You already know the answer to that.”

He didn’t say anything. But you could hear the smile in his silence.

You glanced down at the kitten, who was already purring against your chest.

“Well,” Sylus finally said, voice warm now, “I guess he’ll have to keep you company until I come home.”

You smiled, eyes softening.

“He’s just temporary,” you whispered. “You’re the one I’m waiting for.”

—•

Week five. You were in your art room.

The scent of paint lingered in the air, and the soft hum of a half-finished playlist played in the background, but your focus was elsewhere—fractured, restless.

You’d been trying to work all evening, paintbrush in hand, canvas in front of you. But every few minutes, your gaze flicked back to your phone on the nearby stool. The screen remained dark.

He’d said he would call.

He always did.

You sighed, brush pausing mid-stroke again as you stared at the unmoving phone.

“He said he’d call… he would, wouldn’t he, Mephisto?”

At your feet, the small black kitten raised his head and let out a soft mewl, tail curling neatly around your ankle as if in answer.

You smiled faintly and leaned down to scratch behind his ear. “That’s what I thought.”

Mephisto blinked up at you with those vivid red eyes—so unnervingly like Sylus’s that sometimes you wondered if the universe was playing a joke on you.

The name had been his suggestion, of course.

“It’s a fitting name for a feline that resembles your husband,” he’d said over the phone with that smug, teasing lilt in his voice.

You’d snorted, called him ridiculous, but named the kitten anyway.

Now, with Mephisto curled at your feet and the evening stretching long, you let out another sigh and dipped your brush into fresh paint.

Tried to return to your canvas. Tried to focus.

But it was no use.

Every shadow felt a little too quiet without his voice in your ear.

Every silence a little heavier than usual.

You weren’t used to waiting—not for people, not for promises. But with him… you found yourself hoping anyway.

Because he always called.

He said he would.

And you wanted to believe that still meant something.

You were still staring at your phone when the doorbell rang.

It startled you—just a little. Mephisto perked up too, tail flicking as he padded after you through the hallway. You weren’t expecting anyone.

Wiping your hands on a cloth, you moved toward the front door, curiosity prickling in your chest.

A small package sat on your doorstep, neatly wrapped, the kind of precision only someone meticulous—and annoyingly confident—would bother with. There was no sender name on the label. Just your name, written in a familiar, slanted scrawl.

Your breath caught.

You didn’t need to open it to know.

Sylus.

You brought the package inside, setting it gently on the coffee table as Mephisto hopped up beside you, immediately attempting to chew the corner.

“Not for you,” you murmured, brushing him away gently.

Inside the box, nestled in folds of dark velvet, was a hardcover sketchbook—leather-bound, the cover etched with delicate, swirling patterns.

Expensive, beautifully made.

The kind of thing you always admired but never thought to buy for yourself.

And tucked between the first two blank pages was a single note, handwritten in his unmistakable style.

“For the nights you can’t sleep, and the moments you’re thinking too much. I figured if I couldn’t be there to distract you in person, I’d give you something that could.” —S.

You stared at the words for a long moment, your fingers brushing lightly over the paper.

It wasn’t just a gift.

It was a presence.

A reminder.

A reassurance.

Your chest tightened—not painfully, but warmly, a soft ache blooming beneath your ribs.

Mephisto meowed beside you, pawing at the edge of the sketchbook like he, too, approved.

You smiled, small and genuine, and sank back into the couch, still holding the note in your hand.

He hadn’t called.

But somehow, this felt louder than a voice on the line.

“Idiot.”

masterlist

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

The Keys Of Heaven [Chapter 3: His Kingdom Will Have No End]

A/N: Hi besties, I'm sorry this chapter is being posted so late! I got an awful migraine but took some meds and prayed for strength and I was still able to get it out Sunday night, hallelujah 🙏 I hope you enjoy Chapter 3!!!

Series summary: Three years ago, Father Aemond Targaryen performed a miracle. Now he is a cardinal, a media sensation, and a frontrunner to be elected pope. You are a nun who has been brought to Vatican City to assist with the papal conclave. But when your paths cross by happenstance, you must both reckon with your decision to join the Catholic Church…and what you want from the future.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), references to abuse and violence, volcanoes, bodily injury, death, peril, scheming, pining, some drugs/alcohol/smoking, Catholic trivia you never asked to learn, kangaroos!

Word count: 6.2k

🦘 A very special thanks to my Aussie slang consultant @bearwithegg and also her mum (any mistakes are mine) 🦘

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @lauraneedstochill @ecstaticactus @neithriddle, more in comments! 🥰

🗝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🗝️

All night you can’t stop thinking about him, haunted by visions like the ones the Lord used to speak to Saint Catherine of the breaking wheel, or Saint Thomas Aquinas of his eight million written words, or Saint Joan of Arc of the sword and the flames. You see Aemond’s palms on your bare thighs, clear rivulets of shower water pouring down his scarred face, molten red candle wax dripping onto your skin and drying there like the wounds of a martyr. And paradoxically, this does not feel like sacrilege, not an obstacle to your faith but something that lives alongside it: yes, the teachings of the Lord are good for me and for the world, yes, I want Aemond in a way that is instinctive and lustful and overwhelming. Is it possible to have both? Is that temptation, or is that truth?

You roll over and readjust your pillow for what is approximately the twentieth time when Rhaena snaps from across the room: “Will you calm your farm, mate?”

You sit up in your single-sized bed. “Rhaena, do you know a song called Atlantic City?” You’re in seclusion, so you can’t just look it up on Spotify or YouTube like you normally would. You keep trying to figure out how it goes, but you can’t remember. When you think of that night when Aemond left Sydney with his family, all you can conjure are whispers, and streetlights, and the look on his unscarred face as he stole one final glimpse of you, his last for twenty-nine years.

“What?” Rhaena groans, yawning.

“It’s an old song. Maybe from the 80s.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard it.”

“It’s by Bruce Springsteen.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.” You lie back down and stare at the wall, where a plain wooden cross hangs and through the window you can see the immense shadow of the brick wall that separates the sovereign state of Vatican City from Rome, filling up with pilgrims from across the globe who have gathered to pray for the soul of the last Holy Father and the election of the next one. They wave flags from six continents and hold candles with white paper bobeches so the melting wax won’t burn their hands. They are singing O Holy Night.

In the morning, you find Sister Helvi and Sister Nuru cleaning the cardinals’ rooms; it’s time for the washing, and the baskets in the hallway are piled high with sheets stripped from mattresses and damp towels yanked from bathrooms. This is Aemond’s floor. He has a room all the way at the end, a little bigger than the others, perhaps a recognition of his elevated status by whichever nun gave him his room key when he arrived; how many miracle workers live here on earth instead of in the pages of myths? His neighbor is Cardinal Bogdi Marcu of Romania, an archaic relic like the bones in the tombs of the Vatican Grottoes beneath Saint Peter’s Basilica, or the Necropolis below that, an ancient Roman burial ground believed to be the site of Saint Peter’s grave. He was crucified during the reign of Nero, although upside down at his own request. He proclaimed himself unworthy to die in the same manner as Christ.

Being an apostle was a tough slog, you think randomly. Eleven out of twelve died in agony.

Sister Helvi, originally from Finland, is in her late-forties and has a round face, white-blonde hair that is turning grey, and wide-set blue eyes that are ever-twinkling. She took her vows after she and her husband divorced and her children left for college. She still calls them every day...or, at least, she does when she is not in seclusion. Sister Helvi waves when she sees you. “We’re getting the hang of this! Sister Nuru and I will be done today in record time.”

“Good on ya,” you say. “Sister Rhaena and I can finish this floor.”

Sister Helvi shrugs and tries to decline. “We’re already here.”

“No, no, I insist.”

She gives you a puzzled look, but relents, and she and Sister Nuru—young like Rhaena, early-twenties, but far more self-possessed—carry full baskets down to the basement as you and Rhaena glide soundlessly like thieves into Aemond’s room.

Rhaena is delighted, always leaping at any opportunity to gaze in reverent fascination at his most mundane belongings: a hairbrush, a pair of shoes, the books on his writing desk. You would never tell Rhaena that you’re battling the sin of lust, not for Aemond or for any man. There has always been something rather incorporeal about her; she doesn’t speak of men in a way that reveals any knowledge or desire of sex, she seems bewildered when others use words like longing or temptation or impulses. She is worshipful of some men, of course—the late Holy Father, and Aemond, and she went through a Harry Styles phase—but from a distance, and there’s no impropriety behind it. You don’t think she would understand.

While Rhaena is in the bathroom collecting Aemond’s towels and washcloths, you go to strip his sheets; but first you examine them. You run your palm along the soft white cotton until you find what you’re searching for, a small spot about halfway down the mattress that has dried stiff. And you smile, because now you know he’s been thinking about you too.

~~~~~~~~~~

Another koi is floating at the edge of the pond, still and sightless.

“Oh, fuck me dead,” you mutter, then look around to make sure you’re alone. You paw the corpse over to you and lift it out of the water, then hastily bury it where you and Aemond hid the other one. Then you feed the survivors and wash the death off your hands. Inside Saint Peter’s Basilica, the cardinals are gathering to await the Mass that will officially open the conclave. You hurry to join them.

As you walk down the paths of volcanic tuff pebbles and then the narrow paved streets that cut like arteries through the flesh of Vatican City—white Fiat Pandas occasionally zipping by you, somber-faced employees wearing sunnies behind the wheel—you think of what Mother Maureen and the other sisters of your convent are doing back in Sydney, festivities you are not a part of for the first time in fifteen years: hanging Christmas lights, baking cookies, singing songs, collecting donated goods to gift the guests staying in the shelter, clothes and books and electronics and of course toys for the children.

You remember the women with their downcast eyes and their ashamed confessions as they anticipate your judgment: You must think I’m mad for believing he was a good man at first. You must think I’m a coward for not leaving sooner. But you always answer honestly: No, I understand.

When you arrive in the heart of Saint Peter’s Basilica—beneath the golden dome, cool winter light falling in through the windows, the Papal Altar standing in the shape of a canopy bed—Rhaena in her habit is a white speck in a sea of red. She is standing with Aemond, Lucky, Kazi, Lando, and Cam. And, as you are alarmed to discover, she is telling them stories about you.

“They arrested a priest down in Woolooware,” Rhaena is saying. Aemond sees you, smiles, looks away almost bashfully. “And we didn’t even know the man, never met him, never went to Mass there. But the reporters are awful, just shameless, taking a family’s suffering and using it to knock the whole Church. So a bloke showed up with a tv camera at our convent, and the rest of us were all inside hiding from him. But she was out getting groceries, and when she pulled up in the car the reporter ran over, and as you can imagine he was having a whinge, even though we had nothing to do with that priest and hated him just as much as everyone else for what he’d done. The reporter shoved a microphone in her face as she was carrying all these bags and—you know, like he thought he was being clever—asked what she believed should be done with priests who abuse kids, and she replied: ‘Well, I’m tempted to say they should be taken out into the bush and shot, but the Lord instructs us to be merciful. So perhaps castration with something dull and rusty would be a good start.’ And she kept on walking.”

The cardinals laugh and give you nods of approval. Kazi is vaping, which you’re almost positive isn’t allowed inside the basilica. Stone statues of saints watch aloofly from the gilded walls: Saint Veronica who gave her veil to Christ so he could wipe the sweat from his brow as he carried the cross to Calvary, Saint Helen the mother of Emperor Constantine, Saint Longinus the Roman soldier who pierced Christ’s side with a lance at the end of the crucifixion, Saint Andrew who stands at the entranceway to the Vatican Grottoes below. The droning conversations of over a hundred cardinals drown out the sound of the congregants outside in Saint Peter’s Square; you think you can just barely hear that they are singing Angels We Have Heard On High.

“But the reporter wasn’t done yet,” Rhaena continues. “He was still badgering her, what about this scandal, what about that one, and by this point she was absolutely ropeable, and she spun around and shouted: ‘The Catholic Church is the most charitable institution on the face of the planet. We opposed slavery, we fought dictatorships, we saved hundreds of thousands of Jews during the Holocaust. What have you done for anybody today? Exploiting tragedies is easy. Working to prevent them is much harder. Give it a go sometime.’ And that man stopped dead in his tracks and just watched her as she carried her groceries inside.”

Now the cardinals are clapping and Rhaena is beaming at you proudly, and you can feel blood scorching in your cheeks like Saint Lawrence was roasted on a gridiron. “I couldn’t help myself,” you say modestly.

“You are very blessed to have such a ferocious sister guarding your convent,” Lucky tells Rhaena. He is grinning, but his large dark eyes flick restlessly between you and Aemond. Aemond alternates between staring at you and at his red leather shoes, repeatedly touching the gold cross that hangs from his neck.

“Too right,” Rhaena says. “We hit the lottery. She could have gone anywhere.” Then she turns to you, curious. “Why did you choose Sydney? Brisbane would have been closer to your family in Toowoomba. And if you wanted to really get away, you could have gone to Melbourne or Adelaide, or even Perth in Western Australia.”

You’re a little startled. You’ve never considered this before. “I don’t know. Sydney was just always my plan.”

Not far away, the dean Cardinal Seaborn is weaving through the crowd, stopping to speak to a different attendee every thirty or sixty seconds. “Cardinal Saati, I just wanted to take a moment to commend you for your peace and reconciliation efforts in South Sudan. I vividly remember first learning of the particulars of your work when you hosted the Holy Father during his visit to your country in 2013, and I was so struck by your compassion and your gentleness in the face of such senseless cruelty...”

Now Lando is informing his friends what he has learned about Cardinal Jacob Green. “Jake seems very daunted by the responsibilities inherent in leading the Church. I wouldn’t say he aspires to be elected. But he definitely doesn’t want Jahoda to get it, and he has concerns about...” Lando gestures to Aemond. “That a pope so young could reign for forty or fifty years. It would be tantamount to having a king or an emperor. That makes people nervous.”

“The youngest pope was twenty,” Cam counters.

“And he was elected a thousand years ago.”

Cam sighs irritably. “This is ridiculous. They say Saati is too old because he’s in his mid-seventies, Aemond is too young, Jake is too friendly with the Muslims, do Carmo has that embezzlement thing, Jahoda is too fat and diabetic...there’s always something to complain about.”

“Is Jahoda really diabetic?” Lucky asks hopefully.

“No. It’s just a rumor.”

“We should tell people he is,” Kazi says.

“Aemo’s not a normal candidate,” Lucky insists. “He’s above this squabbling. No one else here has performed a miracle. Unless you count the immaculate conception of those children in Paris who so closely resemble Cardinal Auclair.”

All seven of you chuckle. Rhaena is gazing admiringly at Aemond, doubtlessly thinking of those fifty lives he saved on Nea Kameni.

“I would have liked to be a father, in a different sort of life,” Kazi muses.

“Children bring so much joy,” Lando agrees. Lucky nods, but doesn’t say anything. His expression is now a bit pensive, distant.

“That was the hardest part about becoming a priest for me,” Cam says, cleaning his eyeglasses with a microfiber cloth. “Giving up my chance to have a family.”

“Don’t worry, you didn’t miss out, no woman would have wanted you anyway,” Kazi says. “Did you ever think about having kids, Aemo?”

“No,” Aemond says immediately, frowning at the statue of Saint Veronica, the patron saint of laundry workers; and again you remember his bedsheets, your visions of him.

“How’s this going to work for Jake?” Kazi asks. “The voting today, I mean. Can he even write?”

Aemond looks at him incredulously. “What are you talking about? Of course he can write.”

“But...you know...the...?” Kazi holds up his right hand and curls in all four fingers, leaving only his thumb, mimicking Jake’s mutilation.

“He taught himself to use his left hand,” Aemond says.

Kazi raises his bushy eyebrows, impressed. “Perhaps Jake should be the pope.”

Cardinal Seaborn arrives, his grey hair ruffled and his zucchetto slightly askew on his head. He addresses Lando first. “Cardinal Almazan, you gave up the wealth and ease your family’s status afforded you and instead devoted yourself to rescuing the destitute from the streets. The orphanages you’ve founded in the Philippines have fed, housed, clothed, and educated countless children, and saved them from both physical and spiritual perils. I have also been personally inspired by your beliefs concerning the Eucharist, that it should be offered to all people—not only those in good standing with the Church—just as Christ ministered to even the most broken souls.”

Lando is embarrassed by the attention. “I appreciate all the guidance and support you have offered me throughout the years, Your Eminence.”

“Cardinal Louissaint,” Cardinal Seaborn continues, turning to Lucky. “You have almost entirely eschewed the material comforts the Church makes available to you, as well as doctrinal debates, to focus on disaster relief and anti-poverty initiatives in Haiti. You have helped to rebuild houses, schools, and hospitals with your own hands. You have converted many troubled youths to the Faith, redirecting them from a path of violence and misery. You were offered a permanent position here in Vatican City last year, and you declined it. Your motivations are pure and noble, and I am so heartened to see how you’ve taken to mentoring our youngest cardinals, as your influence is badly needed in the Church.”

“You were offered a job here?” Cam asks Lucky; everyone seems surprised to hear this except Aemond. Lucky smirks and shrugs, as if it is no great accomplishment.

Cardinal Seaborn’s next acknowledgment is for Cam. “Cardinal Campbell, you went to a corner of the world that has been underserved and undervalued by the Church, but there you created something truly extraordinary. By ‘whispering the Gospel,’ as you describe it, you built relationships with the Mongolian people and embraced their customs while also showing them the way to Christ through your own humble, patient example. You have mastered one of the most challenging languages by diligently immersing yourself in the culture for over a decade. You are a pillar of the modern approach to evangelization.”

“Thank you very much, Your Eminence,” Cam says. “I hope all of our brothers can one day recognize the beauty of Mongolia and its people.”

Now Cardinal Seaborn looks to Aemond. “Cardinal Targaryen, where do I begin? When we first met just three short years ago, I remember thinking that you were one of the most intelligent, articulate, academically-inclined individuals I’d ever crossed paths with. You study tirelessly, inspired by Saint Thomas Aquinas, one of the greatest philosophers in the history of mankind. You are fascinated by the history of the Church. Yet despite your gifts, you still heed the counsel of your elders.” He signals to Lucky, Lando, Kazi, and Cam. “And God has seen fit to work a miracle through you. This is a very rare thing, and it cannot be ignored. You are divinely favored. Surely God has an exceptional path planned for you, wherever it might lead.”

What can Aemond say that won’t be arrogant, self-righteous, ambitious, hungry, attributes he’s not permitted to have if he is to be the next pope? He thanks the dean for his generous compliments and his ongoing efforts here to facilitate the conclave. Rhaena is radiant, gazing at Aemond as if he is something magnificent and yet untouchable, a constellation, a holy relic behind glass.

“And Cardinal Nowak...” Cardinal Seaborn rests a hand on Kazi’s shoulder, pauses, then flushes pink as he realizes he’s forgotten what to say. Aemond, Lucky, and Cam burst out laughing. Lando is smiling, but politely bows his head to try to hide it.

Kazi puffs on his vape. “Don’t worry, Brother. You’ll think of something.”

Cardinal Seaborn is mortified. “Forgive me, I’ve barely slept, and I’ve tried to prepare a few points for everyone, over a hundred cardinals...oh yes, of course, I wanted to praise your interreligious outreach, particularly with the Jewish community in Poland. You have a conviction to modernize one of the most traditional branches of our Church, and even if your methods are somewhat unorthodox...abandoning the Latin Mass, blessing gay and trans individuals...I cannot help but admire your tenacity.”

“You forgot the drug addicts and sex workers. I blessed them too.”

“Please abstain from smoking here, Cardinal Nowak. It’s bad for the artefacts.”

Kazi sighs but tucks his vape away in a pocket of his scarlet cassock. Now the cardinals are moving to take their places in the red-cushioned pews set up in front of the Altar of the Chair of Saint Peter, a symbol of the authority of the Church, a throne older than any almost any continuous monarchy on earth. The keys are passed again and again, but the office is never left vacant. Etched into the golden frieze above the altar is, in both Latin and Greek: O Shepherd of the Church, you feed all Christ’s lambs and sheep.

“Brothers, let us begin,” Cardinal Seaborn says, and strides towards the pews. Lucky, Kazi, Lando, and Cam accompany him. Rhaena takes her place in the last pew, where Sister Penny, Sister Helvi, and Sister Nuru are already sitting. The nuns are to stay out of the way, as always, eternally vanishing into trees and wallpaper and heaps of stained, wrinkled washing.

Lucky stops when he realizes Aemond isn’t following. “Aemo?”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Aemond replies.

“Aemo, come on.”

“In a minute,” Aemond snaps, and Lucky shoots him a disapproving glance before continuing on to the pews.

Aemond stands with his hands clasped behind his back, tense and silent like a bolt of red lightning. He wants to talk to you, but he doesn’t know what to say; you understand this because you feel the same way. Part of you is afraid he can see the forbidden visions strobing in your skull, can feel his bedsheets skating beneath your palm. Part of you wants him to know.

“Aemo,” you say after a while, meaning the moniker. “Where did that come from?” You think you might have called him that on the beach, but you can’t recall for sure. It was so long ago, another hemisphere, another time zone, another lifetime so distant it could be a dream or a myth, the story of a saint no one can prove ever lived.

“From you,” Aemond replies, smiling softly. “When I met my friends here, they already had nicknames, and they were trying to pick one for me. But it was giving them trouble...Aemond isn’t so common outside of Greece. So before Kazi could decide to use Aemy or Mondo or something equally horrific, I told them I knew somebody once who called me Aemo.”

“Did I really?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not many of the details.” It’s so much like your experience with the Faith: the soul of it is greater than all its parts, components that could be entirely real or not, a truth that transcends mortal complications.

Now Aemond is reluctant. He has to confess something he’s afraid will offend you. “I’m sorry I lost your rosary.”

This doesn’t make any sense; your rosary—beads of white pearl, a gift from Mother Maureen—is safely stowed in a pocket of your white habit. “What?” Then you realize he means the one you gave him on the beach, red glass beads roped together by a thin sterling silver chain.

“Well, I had it with me that day,” Aemond says. “On Nea Kameni.”

Your voice drops low, clandestine, enraptured. “Aemond, how did you stop the lava? The tourists said you held up your hands and the river flowing towards them stopped. How is that possible? How did you do that?”

His gaze falls to your medallion, then down to the marble floor. He is standing on a blood drop of porphyry, a red volcanic stone with large glittering crystals. “I don’t know. I just did.”

Most of the cardinals are in their seats, and Cardinal Seaborn has begun the opening prayer. “We should join them.”

“I’ll see you later.”

“Defo,” you say, and Aemond laughs. He goes one way, and you go the other; you sit in the back row of pews, he sits at the very front, and all through the Mass you are searching for glimpses of him, hair that is still blonde, the scar tissue of a miracle that nearly killed him.

Afterwards, you and Rhaena walk with the procession of cardinals as they are led to the Sistine Chapel and ceremonially locked inside. On the first day of voting, there will be only one ballot; thereafter, there will be two cast each morning and two each afternoon. Hundreds of years ago, the elderly cardinals were expected to remain inside until a new pope was chosen, spending days or weeks or even months entombed in a holy prison, men dying of heat stroke and pestilence and exhaustion. Now, they get to return to the Domus Sanctae Marthae each night, and seek the guidance of God amongst the sacred treasures of Vatican City.

As the heavy wooden doors are closed, you see Michelangelo’s The Last Judgment painted on the far wall, the Second Coming and the resurrection of the dead, Christ surrounded by his apostles, Saint Lawrence with the gridiron he was roasted on, Saint Bartholomew holding his own flayed skin. And then you and Rhaena kneel outside the Sistine Chapel with your palms and ears pressed to the doors until soldiers of the Swiss Guard order you to leave.

~~~~~~~~~~

There are 106 voting cardinals. In order to achieve a two-thirds majority and thus be elected pope, a candidate must receive at least 72 votes. Here are the results of the first ballot:

Cardinal Matej Jahoda of the Czech Republic receives 33 votes.

Cardinal Aemond Targaryen of Greece receives 27 votes.

Cardinal Jacob Green of Iran receives 22 votes.

Cardinal Gideon Saati of South Sudan receives 11 votes.

Cardinal Leopoldo do Carmo of Portugal receives 8 votes.

Cardinal Valentino Parmigiano of Italy receives 3 votes.

Cardinal Orlando Almazan of the Philippines receives 2 votes.

Now dinner is being served, and the dining hall is raucous after a day of hushed rituals and contemplation, the brand new landscape being analyzed. Pope John XXIII once described how contenders bob up and down during the ballots ‘like peas in a pot of boiling water’: they rise until they can’t anymore, their reservoir of votes exhausted, and then they are cast aside in favor of cardinals who still stand a chance, or a cardinal who can serve as a consensus candidate like Pope John Paul II was plucked out of obscurity in 1978 when none of the favorites could reach the requisite majority.

There are archaic rules that are still observed here, relics of the more lawless conclaves of past centuries; there are no pies or whole chickens for example, no food in which a note could be stored and passed to another cardinal, a bribe or a threat, vote for me and I will give you fifty giornatas of land, vote for me or I will kill you. You and the other nuns are ferrying plates of spaghetti to the tables, red tomato sauce and chunks of Italian sausage and leaves of fresh basil. Sister Penny is so flustered, you wouldn’t dare stop to sit down in the empty chair beside Aemond; she wouldn’t yell at you—and she would never claw or slap like Sister Augustina—but she would worry, and she is overtaxed enough already. Still, you linger near Aemond when you serve his table.

Lando seems genuinely disturbed. “Who is voting for me?”

“First day glitch, ignore it,” Lucky says. He has more pressing concerns on his mind. “If most of do Carmo’s votes go to Jahoda, and Saati’s go to Jake, we might have a problem.”

“Where did Parmigiano come from?” Cam asks, baffled.

“No conclave is complete without an Italian,” Aemond says.

Kazi is ripping up pieces of bread to dip in his spaghetti sauce. “Parmigiano isn’t a name, it’s a chicken.”

“He’ll be gone in the next ballot,” Lucky says confidently. Then he peers across the room at Cardinal Jahoda, who somehow appears even larger than he was this morning, swollen with his impressive showing in the Sistine Chapel, his eyes sparkling and his smile broad. At his table he is joined by his ever-present companions, Auclair and Ferrari, as well as by two new devotees: Cardinal Arto Koppel of Estonia, Cardinal Viorel Nemerenco of Moldova.

“Fat pope, thin pope,” Cam murmurs ominously. This is a longstanding adage within the Church. The ideological factions tend to trade off, the balance maintained, a conservative pope following a liberal pope and vice versa; and since the Holy Father was a progressive, many will feel that a traditionalist like Jahoda should succeed him.

“The world needs proof of miracles,” Lucky says, looking at Aemond. “They strengthen the Church. They give people hope. It is only natural to drift away from God when we see no evidence of him.”

“Even Mother Teresa had doubts,” Kazi concurs, and then he quotes her: “Where is my faith? Even deep down there is nothing but emptiness and darkness. If there be God – please forgive me. When I try to raise my thoughts to Heaven, there is such convicting emptiness that those thoughts return like sharp knives and hurt my very soul.”

To your amazement, Aemond, Lucky, and Cam all seem to agree with this, nodding as if the Faith is something they pick up and put down again, become periodically estranged from, rediscover and reembrace until their next lapse. Then they notice you watching them with your hands empty and your face bewildered.

“I’ve never felt that way,” you confess.

Lando says, looking up at you: “I haven’t either.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Beneath Saint Peter’s Basilica are the Vatican Grottoes, a stone web of corridors and chapels and the tombs of ninety-one popes, as well as a handful of cardinals, nobles, and monarchs including three queens. The arched pathways—like walking beneath the arbors in the gardens—of the labyrinth are adorned with mosaics, paintings, and inscriptions, punctuated by alcoves where marble statues stare out at you with cold ancient eyes, and if they could speak perhaps they would say: Do you know what miracles I performed? Do you know how I was martyred?

You are down here because someone has to be, and you begged Sister Penny to let it be you, because you know Aemond is roaming these tunnels and you’re hoping to find him. So you flit between the tiny, pigeonhole chapels, each able to accommodate only five or ten guests at a time, small wooden pews provided so the cardinals can pray in their chosen location. You light candles on altars and replace the ones that have burned down to pools of wax, you help to guide old men who have gotten turned around and are lost in the maze. You spy Kazi in the Polish Chapel of Our Lady of Czestochowa, and he gives you a brief smile but then returns to his prayers, his forehead resting on his interlaced hands; even he is solemn here, and it’s so quiet except for soft, echoing footsteps and occasional whispers, the cardinals listening for divine wisdom or willing their chosen result into existence, the fate of the Church that has survived for two millennia hanging precariously in the balance.

You spot Cardinal Kelly in the Irish Chapel of Saint Columbanus, Cardinal Barraza in the Mexican Chapel of Our Lady of Guadalupe, and Cardinal Jahoda in the Chapel of the Patron Saints of Europe. You move almost silently so as not to distract him, and when you enter the chamber his eyes are closed; but once you’ve replaced several of the candles on the altar, you turn to see that he is glaring at you, a conspirator with his enemies, a usurper of the natural order. You bow your head and flee mutely from Jahoda’s cold, iron wrath, not something that burns anymore but that has cooled over the years until it is metallic and cutting and inflexible.

What if Aemond wins? you find yourself thinking as you follow the corridors to one diminutive chapel after another. If he becomes the next pope, what happens to us? Anything? Nothing?

You slip into the Clementine Chapel, directly beneath the dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica where you stood this morning. It is the gem of the Vatican Grottoes, closest to the tomb of Saint Peter in the Necropolis below: gold covering the walls, low ceiling, low light, red and white candles flickering on the altar...but several have burned out. You go to light them, taking a book of matches from the pocket of your habit.

There is a narrow aisle and five single pews on each side where worshipers can sit or kneel to speak to God. Cardinal Auclair is kneeling in the frontmost pew on the left side, his eyes closed, deep in thought or prayer. Cardinal Ferrari is near the back, but he’s getting reckless; you have the impression his knees are paining him. You take weightless, hushed steps as you pass by Cardinal Ferrari. Then you hear someone else enter the chapel. You look back to see Aemond standing at the beginning of the aisle; but you aren’t alone. He glances at Cardinal Ferrari, then Cardinal Auclair, then drops to kneel in one of the pews near the entrance of the chapel, either waiting for them to leave or planning to follow when you do.

You return your attention to the altar; but your heartbeat is thunderous and blood burns under your skin like veins of magma beneath volcanic earth. You can’t act like you care that he’s here. You can’t reveal what you feel for him. It’s not safe yet; you and Aemond aren’t alone.

The altar rests on two porphyry columns, red like bricks or lust or bone marrow. Behind it is a bronze cage covered with gold, through which you can glimpse the marble structure Emperor Constantine built over the site of Saint Peter’s burial. Down the aisle, Cardinal Ferrari stands, stretches, groans, and plods out of the chapel. Now it is only you, Aemond, and Auclair, seemingly unaware of your presence here, his icy blue eyes still closed.

You finish lighting the candles, then replace a red one that has burned down to the nub. You turn to leave, still clasping the piece of red candle to be discarded, warm and filled with a tiny maroon lake of melted wax. And because you are thinking of Aemond—his hands, his bedsheets, his wrath, his pride, his lust—as you traverse the narrow aisle, you accidentally bump into Cardinal Auclair’s shoulder, and the remnants of the red candle fly out of your grasp, and a streak of molten wax spills down the front of his cassock. He strikes out before you can begin to apologize, his long fingers catching on your wrist, and because you don’t see it coming you yelp and flinch away, dire muscle memories bubbling up to the surface, lava that ruptures through split stone and burns, burns, burns.

Auclair hisses: “Watch what you’re doing, girl—”

And then Aemond is here ripping him out of his pew, one hand on Auclair’s throat, another twisted into the front of his cassock, throwing him against the altar and pinning him there, a man who is two decades older than Aemond, a man who suddenly seems so thin and frail and petrified. And you know just by looking at him: Auclair has never been hit, Auclair did not believe such a thing was possible. He is sputtering and swearing in French, trying to writhe out of Aemond’s grip. The candles on the altar have been knocked over, red and white wax bleeding everywhere. And on Aemond’s face is a blind, mindless fury, numb to the consequences, feeling only a fire that consumes until nothing is left.

“Aemond,” you plead, panicked, reaching for him, your palm colliding with his chest. “Aemond, you can’t!”

Then the realization floods back into him—a pope cannot be wrathful, a pope cannot sin so gravely—and Aemond releases Auclair, who collapses against the altar and gasps for breath. He stares up at Aemond, still stunned, still furious.

“You are a monster,” Auclair whispers hoarsely. “You are more beast than man, Cyclops.”

“No one will believe you,” Aemond says, his voice dark like a storm. And that might be true, given Auclair’s well-known moral deficits; no one except his closest allies, Jahoda, Ferrari, Koppel, Nemerenco.

Auclair stands, staggers as he tries to find his footing, then stumbles out of the chapel.

“Aemond,” you say softly. Your palm is still on his chest, you realize, and this is dangerous; each time you touch him, the visons grow brighter, more inexorable, more real. “You didn’t have to...you shouldn’t have...you can’t do that.”

He looks at you, fear in his remaining eye, but not regret. He clutches for the altar as if he thinks he will fall without it, his right hand settling in a pool of spilled red wax. “I couldn’t stop.”

And when Aemond’s left hand clasps yours, you don’t resist him, you don’t even hesitate, you let him draw you in until he is kissing you and his right hand, wet with candle wax, cradles your face, staining you, burning you, drying there like a second skin, and the visions were true: it is a perfect and calamitous hunger, it is a gravity you can’t fight, and as your lips and tongue follow his you taste smoke, wine, heat, something inexplicably familiar like somewhere you’ve always belonged.

There are heavy, pounding footsteps coming down the corridor, and you and Aemond reel away from each other, disbelief stark on your faces in the golden glow of the chapel: How could we have done that? How could we stop?

Kazi appears at the beginning of the aisle. “I heard Auclair shouting, what...?”

He trails off as he notices you, candle wax on your face to match the red on Aemond’s palm. Kazi’s eyes dart uncertainly between you and Aemond. You escape before he can see anything else: the desire in your flesh, the revelations in your bones.

Kazi watches you leave, confounded, afraid. Then he goes to Aemond and asks quietly, not like a chastisement, but so he will know how to help: “Aemo, what did you do?”

You bolt from the Vatican Grottoes, up the staircase into Saint Peter’s Basilica and emerging by the statue of Saint Andrew, out into the starlight where you can hear the thousands of Catholics in the square beyond the wall singing Silent Night. You run to the Domus Sanctae Marthae before anyone can spot you, unlock your room which is mercifully unoccupied, careen into the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror, crimson wax dried on your cheek and jaw in the shape of Aemond’s hand. Then you dig your fingernails beneath the edges so you can peel it off your skin.

I have to get rid of this before Rhaena comes back. She wouldn’t understand, she wouldn’t forgive me.

But even when you wash the remnants of the wax away, you’ll still be marked by him: a redness that fills veins and arteries and the chambers of your heart, a fire that burns down to the bones.

[cindyss]

my beautiful liar

chapter 1; as a child, and with your fathers’ dislike toward each other, you and mattheo never liked each other, he would beat up your friends every at chance he got, he would mock you and humiliate you very often. however, now that you're all grown up and in your final year in hogwarts, you've learnt to stand up for yourself and a little encounter with a troll proves just that.

3.8k words

You had mixed feelings about this year; you were ready to leave and finally be free to roam into the big world, but you were also terrified.

As you stood next to Harry, one of your closest friends, your nerves started eating at you. You were not excited to go back and had to endure the Slytherin boys' mocking. They had always found a way to make you feel lower, for your mom passing away when she gave birth to you, for your dad passing shortly after because he couldn't live without her.

After a few minutes, the Weasleys showed up late as usual alongside Hermione who was scolding Ronald while he rolled his eyes in dissatisfaction.

As soon as she saw you, Ginny ran up to you and hugged you, almost knocking the breath out of you. A few moments later, Hermione spotted you and hugged you as Ron greeted both you and Harry.

"So, who's ready for this year then?" came in Dean's voice, who was followed by Seamus and Neville who were discussing something inaudible with Luna shortly behind them, holding a book and her suitcase.

You were very fond of Dean, he had always been nice to you, and at some point you couldn't deny you had a massive crush on him. You hugged him as the others caught up, greeting you.

Shortly, you all boarded the train, you, Dean, Seamus, Harry, and Ginny shared a separate section while the rest sat in the one beside you.

As you took your seats, you heard loud laughing and stomping, you could recognize them from a whole nother continent, the Slytherin boys. They walked past your section, to theirs, which is as usual at the end of the train.

The ride to Hogwarts was mostly peaceful, apart from the first years screaming simply because they couldn’t contain their excitement.

You fell asleep after the train took off and you woke up shortly after to loud speaking. You found your head rested on Dean’s, and you raised it as he looked back at you, smiling at you.

You smiled back at him before your gaze shifted to where all the noise was coming from, Draco, Mattheo, and Theodore had been standing at your door making fun of Seamus’s accent.

Harry was trying his best to calm Seamus down as Ginny barked words at the boys telling them to “fuck off” and “get going” or she’ll use her wand.

They of course didn’t bother, “what could a weaslette like you do besides use her brother’s hand me down wand and look through his old map?” spoke Draco causing them all to chuckle.

You decided earlier that this year you’d put and end to all this bullshit and begin standing up for yourself and for your friends and so you did.

You stood up from your seat, walked over to where they were stood and spoke “you speak about any of my friends again like that and i will cut your penises off one by one and seel them shut into your mouths.”

“oh look! sleeping beauty has awakened and chosen violence,” claimed Theo sarcastically laughing as the other two joined him.

As you went to shut the door in their face, Mattheo placed his foot stopping you from completely shutting it off, “You know Haworth the new act doesn’t suit you at all, you know I'd chop your fingers off one by one and make you swallow them before i let you touch my penis right?”

You scoffed at him and kicked his foot before sliding the door closed as he flashed you one of his usual cocky grins.

Mattheo had always had a thing for you, not in a good way though. Your father, previously a Slytherin, had been a very good friend of Mattheo’s dad before he snitched on him to Hogwarts and told the school about all of the Dark Lord’s plans.

Luckily for the lord, he was able to escape on time, but he never forgave your father, even after his death, and so what caused his son to hold such a grudge against you.

You sat back down in your spot next to Dean and chatted with your friends, and in no time, you arrived at Hogwarts.

You unloaded your bags and got to your rooms, unpacking everything in the room you and Luna shared.

Unfortunately, you and Luna were the only Ravenclaws of your group, which resulted in most of the time in you being split apart from the group, but for the most part you enjoyed her chill company as you shared many similar traits.

You would talk about books and your studies, about things you found interesting and remarkable things you learnt about people throughout the day, because you were both admirers in the same way. You enjoyed observing people and their movements as to not only study them, but to learn more about them.

A few hours later, most of the students had made it to the dining hall and so did you and Luna. You greeted your friends at their table before moving to sit on your own house’s.

As the sorting ceremony came to an end, you welcomed some of the new first years at your table as everyone began feasting on the mouthwatering foods and goods on the table.

As you ate your food, your gaze admiring all the people and appreciating your last first day, your eyes spotted the Slytherins, all 5 boys gathered around your friends at the Gryffindor’s table. They were talking about something inaudible to you but it was making both parties grow only more mad with time, and before you knew it, Draco punched Harry.

After that, and in a matter of seconds, the rest of the boys broke into a fight. Theodore continuously punched Ron while Ron barely managed to throw one back.

Blaise was trying his best to hold Draco back from Potter, opposing him was Seamus, who was for the most part doing the same.

That was when you spotted Dean and Mattheo, who were only screaming but being held back by Neville and Berkshire.

Before you could get there, the teachers had separated both sides and you ran as fast as you could there.

Harry’s face was now covered in blood, and so was Ron’s. Before you said anything, you escorted both the boys to Madam Pomfrey’s to get their faces fixed.

Behind you followed Ginny, Draco, Theo, alongside Mattheo.

You got there and made Harry and Ron sit for you while you called Madam Pomfrey.

She got there and gasped at the sight of the four boys. “Oh dear, what happened?” “y/n take care of the other two boys, Ron and Harry's are more severe.”

Last year, you started helping her because you wanted to learn how to be ready incase any fight like this, or worse broke out. You would help clean wounded quidditch players after their match, or cure the spells of the younglings who were just getting started with their potions.

You turned around to find the Slytherin boys sat next to each other, waiting to be attended to. Fuck me.

You walked over to them, scoffing, and grabbed a cloth with some cleaning liquid and started with Theodore. He was not as hurt because Ron barely got to punch him, he had blood on his cheeks, a slit in his eyebrows, and his lip was swollen.

You cupped his cheek with your hand to keep him steady, to which he scoffed, and purposely, you pressed the cloth on his eyebrow where you knew it would hurt.

He hissed at you and you smirked to yourself before you began moving your hand cleaning the blood off his wounds.

After all the blood came off, you grabbed a bottle which contained a serum for bruises and opened it. “Give me your hand,” to your command, Theo opened his hand and you dropped some of the liquid on his fingers.

“Now put this on your lips so it’ll be less swollen,” he did that and in just a few seconds, his lips were just again the pink color they usually were.

After you were done with him, you moved to Draco, who, unlike Theo, was more hurt.

Once again wetting the cloth and making sure you press on the spots you know will hurt. He let out a few words cursing you as you stuck some bandages on the spots which were not to be treated with the healing liquid and moved away.

You felt a gaze boring into your skull and you found Mattheo staring into your soul. You raised your eyebrows at him and he just shook his head, not wanting to discuss the matter further with you anymore.

The 6 of you left, and you and Ginny went back to your dorms whereas the boys were called to Dumbledore's.

Luna told you that she found out that per usual, the Slytherins were making fun of some first year Gryffindors when Harry had commented, which eventually resulted in a fight.

The next day, you headed to the breakfast hall, greeted your friends, had your breakfast, and all was well. 100 points had been deducted from both the Gryffindor and Slytherin houses.

After you ate, you headed to your first class with Ginny, Hermione, Seamus, and Dean. You got to potions class and stood waiting for all the other students to arrive so that you can begin your lesson.

In a few minutes, the majority of the class showed up and you began your lesson with Professor Slughorn. As he was going on, explaining the steps and ingredients needed to create an Amortentia potion, Mattheo Riddle and Enzo Berkshire burst into the room.

"A little late are we?" Slughorn spoke, "a'ght just get in and listen to what 'm sayin'" he continued.

After he finished the instructions, he decided to split you into pairs so that you will work effectively without the distraction of each other.

"Hermione and Laura, Ginny and Seamus, Berkshire and Cho, Dean and y/n haworth, Marietta and Bridget, and Riddle and Ophelia."

You got to work on your potion, heating the cauldron, crushing the Ashwinder eggs, stirring the powdered moonstone and pearl dust until the mixture turned iridescent. Dean then helped you add the rose thorns and valerian roots slowly while you were stirring clockwise, then you added a drop of a sprig of peppermint and let the potion swirl naturally.

The both of you were the first to finish as Hermione and her partner were struggling with the mixing and Ginny and Seamus were so far behind. You called Slughorn over and then he confirmed "perfect! 10 points to Gryffindor, 10 points to Ravenclaw!"

The class clapped for you, or most of it, where Matheo just scoffed as he struggled with the measurements. "Now, what do you smell Haworth?"

You came closer to the steamy potion, sniffing "I smell cranberry juice, chalk, old notebooks, pear custard pie, it's rather a very mellow and smooth scent i'd say sir" you said, looking up at Dean, you both knew whose smell that was, his.

Dean knew you liked him, you knew he liked you too, but you had come to a mutual decision to keep things professional as to not cause discomfort to each other.

"beautiful!" he said once again, impressed by your ability to create such a potion in such a short time.

"Now who else.. Riddle! Let's see what you smell!"

Mattheo proceeded to roll his eyes from crossing the room in a few long strides. He sniffed a bit before speaking, "well, I smell vanilla, uhh.. old books maybe, sweet raspberry, freshly washed hair, I suppose."

"wonderful! Now you do know what this potion does, everyone right? no? Anyone?"

You raised your hand to speak, "When you smell the potion, it triggers a memory of smells associated with feelings of affection and comfort."

"very well, now when you drink it?" he asked.

this time, Matheo Riddle spoke, "it can cause powerful infatuation or obsession from the drinker."

"that's right riddle, bravo!" With that, the class ended and you headed to your next.

You enjoyed the rest of the day, and at the end of your classes, you showered, using your new vanilla shampoo that you'd just bought earlier from Hogsmate.

You walked alongside Luna and sat on your table, quickly finishing your food as you were suddenly not feeling well.

When you finished your food, you excused yourself and got up to the bathroom, as you walked by the Gryffindors' table, Harry grabbed your wrist, "Hey, where are you going?"

"to the bathroom, I'm not feeling so well"

"want me to come along?"

"No, I'll be fine, thanks".

You made your way to the bathroom and as soon as you got there, you couldn't help but throw up everything you had just eaten.

As you were washing your place, cleaning up, you heard footsteps coming closer, and before you could even process what was going on, Mattheo was standing in front of you. "Riddle what the-"

"Listen, don't think I don't know what you're doing, but your little stupid games won't work on me."

"what-"

"don't act stupid, you're fucking smarter than that. aren't one of your house traits like super fucking smart or whatever. don't think by sneaking a potion into my food you can make me like you even the littlest bit, you humiliated me in front of everyone today, just because i smelt your stupid fucking vanilla shampoo, doesn't make me in love with you."

"Riddle, I didn't do anything! you sound ridiculous, what are you talking about!"

"stop acting dumb, goddammit! admit you did it! admit you fucking snuck the potion into my food! It can't be a coincidence, you're the only one who got the measurements right!" he was now screaming.

"calm the hell down you are honestly unbearable-"

before you could continue, you heard loud stomps coming near you, and as the sounds got closer, the ground shook from beneath you.

Before you could process, a giant troll broke into the bathroom, you couldn't help but scream, you and Mattheo both ran into the bathroom stall, the farthest one from the troll, as you shook in fear. Mattheo, however, was surprisingly keeping his calm.

In no time, the troll had broken all the stalls and gotten to yours. He broke the top off and when he saw both of you, huddled into the corner, he tried to grab you, but before he could, Matheo had used part of the broken toilet to jab it into his hand before he could reach the both of you.

You used that time to slip out of the stall and run toward the exit, as you turned around, you saw Mattheo running to you.

But before he could get there, the troll caught him, getting him near his mouth to eat. You cursed yourself for doing what you did, but you returned to help him.

You were already smacking his leg, urging him to drop Mattheo, and so, distracted by you, he did.

Mattheo landed behind the troll, on his back, coughing and struggling to catch his breath as the troll cornered you.

"Mattheo!! Help me!" you screamed begging for his help. "Fuck you! You got us into this, handle the fucking consequences bitch!" he said as he ran out of the bathroom.

Tears began trickling down your cheeks, however the course of adrenaline gave you enough strength to think quickly, and as the troll extended its arm to catch you, you jumped causing it to hit the mirror behind you instead.

The mirror shattered and the troll groaned in pain, you took some of the glass scattered on the floor, climbed on the remains of a sink that was on the troll's right and jumped onto its back.

You could tell the troll was a baby, not only because of its features, but because it was crying, trying to pick the glass off of its skin, which gave you the chance to get to where you were.

Putting your emotions aside, you jabbed the piece of glass into its hip, pulling it out, twice, pulling it out, three times, pulling it out, until it had fallen onto its stomach.

You jumped off, feeling exhausted as the adrenaline, which was your boost of energy, wore off, and fell onto the floor next to it.

You woke up, your head hurting, you touched your hand to your forehead to feel a bandage, beside you were Harry, Hermione, Luna, and Dean.

As soon as you opened your eyes, Dean gasped, "oh my god, she's awake! Someone call Madam Pomfrey!"

Luna smiled at you before she ran to call on Madam Pomfrey.

"Are you well?" Harry asked to which you nodded in return, trying your best to give him an authentic convincing smile.

"Head hurts, a lot. but I'm fine".

"I'm sorry no one was there to help you,"

what.. wasn't Mattheo there though? He helped you.

Then, before you could think more, Madam Pomfrey came into the room, followed by Dumbledore, Snape, Slughorn, and Luna.

Your friends stood up, backing away to let you talk to the teachers.

"Ms, Haworth, how are you feeling now?" Dumbledore asked,

"I'm fine sir thank you."

"We're going to let you rest for now, but when you're ready i need answers." you smiled at him nodding in agreement before madam pomfrey approached you.

"drink this dear, i don't usually use it, but it'll help with the pain quite a lot"

“thank you" you drank what was in the cup she handed you, gagging at the taste.

Then again, your friends approached you, Harry speaking "they don't know who let the troll in yet, but you did a wonderful job killing it, stabbing it over and over again, you were wonderful!"

"Harry! She just woke up!" Hermione scolded him.

"I'm sorry, I saw you doing unwell and thought it was just a bad day or something, I should've followed you, I should've been there. you shouldn't have been there all by yourself, i'm sorry you had to endure that all alone"

alone? mattheo was with you too.

"alone?"

“yeah alone, if it wasn't for you, others could've gotten hurt, but thank god you were able to stop it before it injured other than you." this from Dean.

“Was there someone else?” asked Hermione.

“No that i remember no.. i think i just need to rest and i’ll remember more clearly” you smiled at her and lay to sleep.

You could swear Mattheo was there, or maybe you were imagining?

It took you a few days to recover, and when you did, you were now sure that Matheo had been there but chose not to tell anyone.

How did you know? Well, he avoided your gaze, although he knew you were staring at him, he would avoid you completely when making fun of your friends, and no one mentioned his name alongside the incident.

If the others had known Matheo had been involved in this, his big ego would take all the pride and praise to himself.

As you were in the library, catching up on the studies you missed, Cho came to check on you and tell you that Dumbledore had called for you.

As you were headed to Dumbledore's office, you bumped into someone, you looked up to find the infamous Mattheo Riddle staring down at you, as he tried to run past you, you grabbed his wrist hard, "we need to talk" and you shoved him into an empty classroom.

He was taken by surprise by your strength but didn't complain as you locked the door, your back facing him.

Just as you turned around, you were suddenly taken back as he had caged you between his arms now, his hand on either side of your head.

"If I didn't know any better I'd think you brought me in here to kiss me," he chuckled coldly.

"Don't flatter yourself riddle, why the fuck aren't you telling people you were there! Dumbledore is asking to meet up with me right now and I will tell him that you were there. And what were you even talking about! You think I put a potion in your food?"

Just then, his eyes widened, and his hands were now wrapped around your throat, choking you slightly.

"Listen, for both your sake and mine, you will not tell Dumbledore I was there. What do you think it's going to look like? The Dark Lord's son was coincidentally there and managed to escape by chance! No! They're going to blame me, put it on me! They're going to say I let it in!"

You were now barely breathing and decided it was enough, you raised your knee, kicking Riddle in his stomach, and got away from him.

"Fuck you, you hit like a bitch Haworth”

“Maybe you did let in the troll! After all you did run away and were going to let me die! I came back for you i could’ve run away!"

"No body fucking asked you to! I swear to fucking Salazar this gets to Dumbledore and i will make sure a full grown fucking troll gets you!"

“Fine, I won't tell, on one condition, you find out who did and tell me".

"As if i would do such a thing"

"You don't have a choice do you though"

"fucking fine, i'll do that!"

"okay then, we have a deal" you said as you left the classroom.

You made your way to Dumbledore's and sat as you waited for him.

Once he entered the room, he once again wished you a speedy recovery before taking a seat opposite to you.

"So, I'm going to need you to tell me about exactly what happened."

"I was in the bathroom, not feeling very well, I mean sir it was a very tiring first day and my trip from home to here is quite long so.. anyway, I was there washing my face and hands after i'd just thrown up when I heard loud stomps.."

"okay go ahead"

"and well then suddenly he was here"

"who was?"

"uhh"

"do you need some time?"

"no i'm fine, the troll sir, he was there and i ran to the furthest stall to hide. And when he eventually destroyed all the others and got to me, he extended his hand to grab me and so i used a piece of the broken toilet to stab him in his hand and took the chance to hide under the sink"

"why didn't you run for the exit?"

"He was blocking it sir, and then he tried to grab me and instead punched the mirror, so i used part of it while he was busy crying, jumped on the sink, then on him and well stabbed him."

"and what happened after that?"

"Well, i remember him falling to his knees with me still on top, he hit the floor hard, then i rolled off onto the floor"

“Alright, one more question, how did you know it was a he?"

"Well, obviously sir, i'm one of the top students, hagrid taught us about trolls and i payed attention. You're not accusing me of letting the troll in are you?!"

"No, no, of course not. Would you like to add anything else?"

"No sir, that's all".

tags:

@aur0ral1ghts

[ukiiseikou]

rofan au where aventurine is a duke who acts as the advisor or some close subordinate to king veritas ratio and reader is a princess from another country that was kidnapped as a political hostage oh the love triangle hsjsjsjwj??

all's fair in love and war.

aventurine x f! reader x veritas ratio. thank you for the ask <333 mwaaaah xx

you're a princess of a small country caught between two major kingdoms vying for power over the continent.

you didn't go without protest and fight, but the king's men took you by force and separated you from the rest of your family. the king had hoped that by using your freedom as a bargaining chip your father would eventually cave and agree to join his side of the fight.

at the castle, you are miserable. despite the silk sheets and velvet chairs the room that they placed you in is a prison. the maids refuse to look you in the eye, doors are slammed and locked in your face, and the food is too salty for your taste. you eventually start taking matters into your own hands, refusing to see anyone, talk to anyone, and refusing to eat the food that's delivered to you every day on a silver tray.

duke! aventurine tries to make your stay as comfortable as possible to earn your complacency. he brings you flowers from your home kingdom and tells the palace cook to cool it with the salt. you make any requests, and it's granted the next day - all thanks to the duke, of course. he ignores your resistance and simply talks to you, even if it's like talking to a brick wall.

"two can play this game," he shrugs and laughs. he spends the entire day sitting in your room, watching you like a hawk while fiddling with a coin in his hand. neither of you cave.

"you will do well to stop throwing a tantrum. the king would hate to see you starve to death before you are returned to your family," he grasps you on your shoulder one evening and says to you lowly. you shrug him off.

king! veritas you see less often. compared to aventurine, who drops by everyday, the king is always in his war room or on a diplomatic meeting or meeting the council. however, when he is free for dinner, he always makes a request (read: orders) for you to join him.

you find him a little stiff and standoffish, unlike aventurine, who smiles easily, is always taking the brunt of the joke, and always crowding and intruding into your space. but you know both of them are just as sly as the other, a match made in heaven, maybe, specifically sent to torture you.

you would expect a political prisoner to be treated with more malice and cruelty, but the king steps around you like you're made of glass and deals with your complaints and tantrums with patience.

you find the king is somewhat of a intellectual, able to match your words with his own carefully thought out ones. the first time you offered your own opinion on a matter at the dinner table he had the gall to say "colour me impressed", like you aren't a princess versed in literature and diplomacy.

you actually catch him a lot in the royal library, once it's open for you to peruse (thanks to aventurine bringing it up once to the king). he sometimes sees a book in your hand and offers his own thoughts on it - and if you've finished it, he asks what you think of it.

you spend long hours talking about books, his research, and general politics. he even says you make better company than aventurine, because at least you can keep up with his thought process.

as the war nears it's end and ratio's kingdom seems to be coming out the winning side, your father finally remembers his kidnapped daughter and requests to see you . he eventually starts a process of aligning himself with the king, first by proposing a marriage of alliance, afterall, you are a princess, and surely any noble would be glad to take your hand! you know your father is eyeing the literal king himself, and through a letter he tells you to up the flirt with him. but as always, your letter is intercepted by the duke, who hasn't left your side since you've arrived, and proposes to you that a marriage to a duke is just as viable and perhaps even better! afterall, you would not have to deal with the court and the responsibilities of being a queen, and enjoy more freedom as a duchess. that is... if you are willing, of course.

a/n: writing this felt highly unethical guys please don't fall for your kidnappers no matter how nice they are. anyways who would you pick LMAOOOOO

[vanessalocke]

Britain in the Cold War

These past few days, while searching for material to write my fanfic (FrUK/UKFr), I have spent time reading about British foreign relations in the 20th century. I read from a basic and perhaps unreliable source, English Wikipedia (or rather, quite a few Wikipedia pages). However, from the way it is written, it is clear that the people who wrote the wiki pages I read are British. So, if there are any mistakes, please let me know. Please note that you should not take what I write here as fact. I just write everything based on my memory and bias. You should always fact check everything you read before you use these things for your purposes.

When I read about Britain, I learned that during the Cold War, the country that hated the Reds (as well as the Soviet Union) the most was not America but Britain. Britain was terribly anti-Soviet, and also had a more ferocious arms race than any other country in Europe when fighting the communist wave. The reason Britain maintained close relations with the United States was because the British leaders during the Cold War were extremely anti-communist and needed American weapons to fight the Soviets. They hated the Reds so much that they became paranoid, and at that time, only America could counter the Soviets. From Churchill to Margaret Thatcher, it was the same.

Meanwhile, France actually did not hate the Reds that much. From 1960 onwards (I don’t remember the exact time frame), France began to re-establish contact with the Soviet Union and recognized the People’s Republic of China. The EEC established by France was actually a declaration that Europe was not under the control of the two factions in the Cold War.

NATO actually originated from a separate treaty between Britain and France, the Dunkirk Treaty of 1947. Later, the new treaty gradually added Benelux, gradually expanding it. After this military alliance expanded, Britain worked with the United States to turn this alliance into NATO aka the anti-red stronghold, adding the United States and Canada to this alliance. That is, the information that the United States established NATO that websites often talk about is actually a fake fact, the United States was actually the one who joined later, not the one who presided. The predecessor of NATO was not to fight the reds, but it became an anti-red outpost because of Britain's will. Considering the starting point as well as the time when the alliance was transformed into NATO, the presiding one was Britain. Later, France wanted to separate from the Cold War situation, so France withdrew from the military command for 43 years.

Actually, the anti-red wave in Britain is not a difficult phenomenon to understand. Britain has Adam Smith as the father of capitalism, the industrial revolution as the premise for the means of production and the creation of the working class, the utilitarianism that people are selfish, Britain itself is an empire... that is, capitalism is closely linked to British identity. All the stereotypes that characterize Britain today started from capitalism and the glory that Britain once had was also from capitalism. I always feel strange that when people think of Britain, they think of royalty, court culture, and aristocracy, but in fact, those are things that Britain is heavily influenced by the continent (mainly from France) and are not unique to Britain. What is truly a prominent feature of Britain is utilitarianism and capitalism, which no one really cares about.

The British leaders in NATO once said "to keep the Russians out, the Americans in, and the Germans down" 🫠 Yes, you guys are right, after WW2 the British were not only anti-Red but also hated the Germans. They were one of the countries that most fiercely opposed the annexation of East and West Germany after the Cold War.

Actually, at first, Britain had the same idea as France. That is, after WW2 ended, Britain considered leading Europe with France to counter both America and the Soviet Union (still, every scenario is anti-Soviet). That is, we almost had an EEC/EU in which the leaders were not France - Germany but Britain - France. But the problem here is that at that time, Britain was bankrupt, had given up all of their colonies, Canada had exempted Britain from paying its debts, but Britain was still deeply in debt. In addition, America was eyeing the markets of former British colonies, trying to push Britain out of the Middle East so that America could get in. In the end, Britain could not bear the cost, so it let America take over all of Britain’s market share and heritage. Or it can be said that Britain went home to retire, from now on, all the family matters were handed over to his son (and if Britain did not hand it over, it would be impossible because if he did not, America would strangle the old man =)))))))) ). France saw that Britain siding with America was not good, there was no longer any pride of the former empire (and what the hell is this pride, Britain even owed their colonies and the colonies had to forgive the debt). So France said: "If you don't do it, I will." France turned to shake hands with Germany to establish the EEC.

But talking about this, it leads to another. The establishment of the EEC by France with Germany was a consequence of Britain's previous actions. It was not without reason that France abandoned Britain and went with Germany. The thing is, before the peak of the Entente Cordiale, these two countries had been at peace with each other for nearly 100 years (since 1815, after Napoleon, there had been no more wars) and during that time, the two countries became increasingly closer to each other, colonial disputes were all negotiations, not fighting anymore. But the problem here is that in this relationship, Britain was the dominant party and had greater influence. There was even a time when France had to withdraw from a territory only at Britain's request, because "Fashoda was a diplomatic victory for the British because Paris realised that in the long run it needed friendship with London, especially in the case of a war between France and Germany.". Yep, that's it, Germany was the subject that Britain used as a condition for negotiating with France. "Either you listen to me and I will fight the Germans with you, or you defy me and I will let you fight the Germans yourself."

With Germany's growing power, Britain always had a conciliatory attitude, "forbearance is better than forgiveness". The brutality of WW1 left the British with a fear of war, so in the period between WW1 and WW2, Britain actually always had a policy of concessions to Germany, while France hated Germany so much that France triggered everything that had Germany in it, always demanding to attack Germany. Just imagine the British-French team at that time, one wanted to bomb the neighbor while the other tried every way to stop his friend, making peace with the neighbor. Britain even tried to ease the Versailles Treaty so that Germany would pay less compensation, as well as telling France to let Germany occupy Czechoslovakia "to satisfy their own needs". Many people also said that actually letting Germany attack Poland at the beginning of WW2 was Britain's intention, using Poland as a scapegoat for Germany. As mentioned above, in the Anglo-French relationship at that time, England actually had the upper hand, and most decisions from the Anglo-French team at that time had to have England's consent.

After that, everyone knows what happened 🫠 After WW2 ended, Britain hated Germany so much. France, after WW2 and during the Cold War, felt that they could no longer trust Britain, so they turned to play with Germany. France's reason was that at this time, Germany still had half of their territory, and their army was prevented from redeveloping their military and waging war, so France thought that if they established the EEC with this guy, they would be able to control this guy 🫠 and as mentioned above, because the nature of the EEC was to be independent of both America and the Soviet Union, so when Britain applied to join the EEC, France said: "This is my territory, stop doing business with the Americans and I'll let you in 🤗". Britain was so upset that Britain cried (literally. The British Prime Minister was so upset that he cried after the negotiations to join the EEC). Because England couldn't give up the special relationship with America, if they did, they wouldn't have a source of weapons to fight the Soviets.

TL;DR: Britain hated the Soviet Union more than the US, so Britain's main focus in its relations with the US was to fight the Soviet Union (oh, Britain never expected that the US would never hate the Soviet Union the way Britain hated the Soviet Union. When the Soviet Union was dying, the US sent experts to find ways to help the Soviet Union, while when the Soviet Union died, Britain celebrated). Britain was angry with the Franco-German relationship because Britain had neglected to defend against Germany, which led to Britain having to confront Germany in WW2. Not only that, the war with Germany made Britain bankrupt, in debt, and had to side with America in the Cold War instead of being self-sufficient. Because they couldn't be self-sufficient, Germany later took the position that should have been Britain's in the cooperative relationship with France.

[danikamariewrites]

i’m obsessed with rhysriel x reader👀👀 could i request hc’s where we get an insight into rhys and az’s relationship? Are they in love too? Or are they just mated to reader? And if they are in love, then was it a lotta jealousy st first or did they get along/ when did they realize that they were also in love🤭 also do they have fun times without reader?👀 i imagine reader just coming home one time and they’re making out or something on the bed/sofa and they ask if she wanna join but she just wants to watch

The Other Half

Rhysriel x reader

A/n: you really made me think here anon. Writing the lil romance between Rhys and Az was so cute, I was kicking my feet giggling writing this lol.

@amara-moonlight I hope you enjoy this babes 💖

Warnings: jealous/possesive Az & Rhys, throuple, and fluff (as always)

When the bond snapped for all three of you the boys were so happy to be with you

Rhys and Azriel discovered the bond between them shortly after it snapped with you. To say they were shocked was an understatement

I think Azriel had always loved Rhys but had kept it buried because it felt like he wasn’t supposed to, where Rhys had a few male lovers when they were younger so this wasn’t entirely new for him

The new bond between Rhys and Azriel was hard for them to navigate at first

They’ve always had love for each other, they just never realized how deep the love they had for each other was

Azriel would have a hard time with this since he’s so used to keeping his feelings inside. You and Rhys were always there to comfort him though, letting him know it’s ok and to talk through what he’s thinking

With the mating bond the two males felt like they had a lot to work through

After knowing each other for centuries Az and Rhys felt like they needed to reconnect

You helped them a lot to be comfortable as mates

The two males ended up falling in love as they fell more in love with you

Watching them openly love each other melted your heart

Your mateship wasn’t always easy at first. It was a rocky few months after the frenzy

Az and Rhys would get jealous and possessive with you

It was hard to navigate spending one-on-one time together with Az and Rhys

While they wanted to spend time together they spent more time mad at each other , trying to steal you from one another

Mediating between your mates sucked

And you never understood where the animosity came from! They always got along but the bond made their relationship unstable

At one point Rhys and Az didn’t talk for a week because their jealousy was so bad

Az had just come home from a mission on the Continent and just wanted to hold you and sleep

Trudging into Rhys’s office to debrief him, Azriel was met with Rhys holding you tightly to his chest while you lounged on his lap. The sight should’ve made him happy but all Azriel felt was rage

He could’ve easily just asked Rhys if he could spend time with you now that he was home. Rhys did have you alone for days at a time after all. Instead Azriel projected his annoyance down the bond to Rhys

That night they got into their first real fight. Yelling and shoving each other. They didn’t stop until you stomped out of the room screaming, “ILLYRIAN BABIES! GOOD GODS!” Followed by the slamming of your own bedroom door

For almost a week the three of you slept in separate rooms

You didn’t want to hurt their feelings or make it seem like you were picking sides. The whole thing gave you anxiety and made you close off your side of the bond. You were especially stressed when the boys would talk to you one at a time and never in the same room

It wasn’t until you broke down crying, begging them to speak that they realized their emotions were hurting you

“I am begging you, for the sake of our relationship, to fix whatever your issues are! If you don’t I’m not sure I can do this for thousands of years because it is killing me!” Azriel and Rhys felt their hearts break at your words and tears

Azriel and Rhys embraced you, apologizing profusely promising they would work things out

After a weekend at the cottage in the mountains Azriel and Rhys came back calm and so in love you were overjoyed

Rhys showed you parts of the romantic bits of their time away. Making each other food, reading together, their long talks and sleeping in each other’s arms

He also showed you the more…explicit moments (it made you a little jealous but they made up for it when they came home)

The first time you went out leaving them home alone after they were in love was weird for them at first. The cabin was different. You went to run errands alone. One of them always goes with you

It was getting late and Rhys was getting worried. Before Rhys could tap at your mental shields he could smell dinner being made

Rhys followed the scent into the kitchen, finding Azriel standing at the island prepping food. He’s wearing an apron that is definitely yours with his sleeves rolled up. There’s a bottle of wine on the counter from Rhys’s personal collection along with 3 crystal glasses. Rhys smiles at the simplicity of the scene in front of him

He leans against the door frame, “What’s all this?” Rhys says teasingly. Az smirked as his shadows swarm him in a panic that tells Rhys he was too early. “It’s been awhile since we had a nice dinner so I thought I’d cook.”

Rhys makes his way over to Azriel, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, love.” Azriel’s cheeks flush at the term of endearment. Rhys picks up a knife and starts cutting up the potatoes

Coming home from your errands you hear their light conversation and laughter. Dumping your bags by the front door you tiptoe to the kitchen, hoping Az’s shadows are distracted. You find your boys messing around, kissing, and just being happy cooking together warms your heart

You love seeing them love each other never gets old

[timetravellingkitty]

hiii, yesterday your blog and masterposts was the first time i came across the notion that india is actually colonising kashmir and it should be made a separate country. i was quite confused ngl because this was the first i'd heard of it but i decided to research and look through all the masterposts you linked. read everything on the sources you linked but i'm still kinda confused. before you read ahead, letting you know some things so you don't come out with all claws beared. i am just genuinely curious and trying to have a civil conversation here. i am a firm hater of modi and his whole party and their fucked ideology of hindutva. i think they should all die right the fucking now. but i also know and recognise that hinduism and hindutva are different. the former is a religion and the latter is a political ideology created by v. savarkar. i was born in a hindu family but i am not a religious person and do not practice hindusism. but i also know that because there is right to religion i won't instantly hate someone due to their religion be it hindu or anyone else. this being said hindutvavadis and hindu supremacists should die :) also i wasn't celebrating the strike yesterday and calling for a war on pakistan because that is not a fucking joke and ultimately it is the common people who are going to end up suffering and dying which some people fail to understand. now coming to what i read and why i am confused. point out where you think i went wrong according to you. kashmir has always been a part of india innit? like even before partition this whole landmass that includes kashmir pakistan and bangladesh was what was referred to as india and whose liberation as whole from the british was being fought for in the whole 200 year struggle of independence, right? but then in 1947 again because of politicians and their greed, partition happened and two countries were created aka india and pakistan wherein kashmir was a part of india and pakistan had two parts- east and west which later became bangladesh. so then how is india colonising kashmir when kashmir was always a state of india? (that's like saying india is colonising any other state that's part of it like aren't kashmiris also indian in the same way haryanvis or marathis or tamilians or biharis are indians? they are indian citizens unlike palestinians who are not israeli citizens are are the ones actually being colonised which is why it does not make sense when some people try to compare this situation to that. like there is no ethnic cleansing going on here. like the word genocide doesn't apply here. aren't kashmiris indians themselves?) and then after 1947 and independence, when pakistan waged war on india, they occupied a portion of it which is the pok and when china waged war on india they also occupied a portion. so like obvs now saying pakistan is part of india and usko annex karne ka attempt karna ya uspe kabza karna will be an attempt at colonisation because it is its own separate country. it got liberation alongside india but kashmir ke liye how can you say that because it wasn't like it was an independent country jispe india ne kabza kiya. isn't kashmir a state that is part of india? unlike what israel did to palestine which some people try to compare it too. palestine was its own separate entity before zionists from europe, a whole another continent came and made a country of their own there, kicking out indigenous people. like india itself was colonised by the british who came from outside and kashmir was a part of that very colony. they didn't colonise it separately like they did sri lanka. sri lanka was never a part of india even tho it was colonised by the british at the same time. it was always a separate entity unlike kashmir.

i come to you genuinely curious so i hope you'll answer like that.

rapidly summarising: j&k was a princely state that was given the option of joining india or pakistan when the british left and they chose to remain independent but then a few months later the maharaja was made to sign the instrument of accession when it was under attack and he asked for assistance (which happened after the poonch rebellion against him). nehru promised that a plebiscite would be conducted but it has not happened. when it went up to the UN a referendum calling for pak to withdraw its military presence and for india to keep its military presence to a minimum, which also never happened. the election that took place in 1987 (two years before the insurgency started properly) was rigged by india. the very last maharaja of kashmir was widely despised by his muslim majority subjects because of his policies that impoverished them + his complicity in murdering muslims in jammu. this is only a part of it but it's not fair to them at all

[paeliae-occasionally]

Hello! Intro Post.

Hi, so I’ve been hanging around for a while now, but I have recently started posting more so I have decided to write an intro.

Online I go by Pae, (or Pae pae) I am non-binary. (they/them) and I write and draw.

Current WIPs

Blue Posts are the essentials of you want to send me an ask , or if you just want an intro to the blog.

Pink are my personal favourites.

Scenes

Memory and death

Marsh Prison scene

Lore stuff:

Magic

Magic Systems

The history of the runes

More runes lore

Culture

The mages immortality lore

The death realms

The gardens

Languages

The Druids

The Mulai’Kaleppi

The Opyri

The Tiel’Drysar

(More Necromancy)

The lighthouse keepers

Laith’Zairel

Gods Culture

History

The blood wars

Blood wars 2

The mist war

The Separation, Dissolution and Accords

Maps

-Laith’Emeris 1

-Laith’Emeris 2

-30BD map

-Laith’Zairel

-How I make maps (continents)

Join the Tag List~

Summaries:

Paeliae - Magic politician

A mage living in the period when the god vs mages war starts. (8 BD, before dissolution) He is a politician, despite having no patience for the ages old elvish mages who currently run the council. He is obsessed with leaving a lasting legacy even if that means dying today. As such he is vehemently against the concept of immortality, During the war he helps negotiate with the gods to come to a truce. 27, He/Him.

Xaeren - Runic Inventor

Xaeren designed 42 of the 47 runes and uses them to protect himself from the vengeful goddess Schaeres. When she finally attacks him, Xaeren realises there were very few limits to what he could do with the runes and sets out to kill Schaeres, both as payback and just to prove that he can. But some things can’t be done alone…

Xaeren lore 1

Xaeren lore 2- (This is a bit old so some of the Kell stuff has changed)

Xaeren lore 3

Kell - Magic Student

Xaeren rescues her from a small dock town and gets her a place at the Lysandri school of magic. Kell is thrust into a world of magic and has to keep up with the help of Xaeren’s tutoring, but as she begins to fit in with the mages there, her loyalty to the criminal godkiller Xaeren comes into question.

Tyro - Traumatised Sorcerer

lives in the modern day (about 1500 PD, post-dissolution). They have recently escaped from the abusive cult that adopted them as a child, with their adoptive brother Apollo. They are a sorcerer, so have born magic, but were also taught to use runes by the cult. They never used them because of trauma but they could if they wanted to. They are currently running from the cult and trying not to be noticed by the government, who take in all sorcerer children so they can have a monopoly on magic. They have found a family in some other sorcerers living in an abandoned manor outside the city. 17, They/them

Apollo - adopted older brother of Tyro.

He took care of them and the others in the cult, despite being abused severely himself. Despite the trauma he is a very powerful runic. He is currently being attacked by, and looking for other cults like the one he was adopted into to help other children like him. 21, He/They

Ez and Rin (~1000 BD)- The gay bois, who definitely don’t start the apocalypse.

Ez (short for Ezemhaziel) is the god of refined magic. He falls in love with Rin when he is researching to create the runes. He is somewhat of a Prometheus figure, as he brings the first magic to mortals by teaching Rin.

Rin is a gardener working for one of the altic kings, who equally loves Ez for his magic and creativity. Ez and Rin end up working on the runes together. The other gods get mad that Ez gave magic to a mortal, and they let the mortals murder Rin. Ez is mad. This will spiral and cause the start of the godly war, which then ushers in the godly mages war, where 3/4 of all mages die and the gods are removed from the world.

Ezemhaziel lore

Daimion and Marsh - the regretful and the merry murderer

Daimion and marsh grew up together being trained for an elite military unit, which they both got into. While in the unit they are ordered to fire on civilians and they do it, but later Daimion regrets killing innocents and leaves the unit without notice. He goes on to find the daughter of one of the people he murdered that day and the woman who has been taking care of her. He protects them fiercely and tries to make up for what he did. Marsh however, fully commits to the ‘I kill people as a job, I might as well enjoy it’ and ends up being so recklessly violent that he is imprisoned in the highest security jail in the country, which he later breaks out of to commit a massacre, then returns to his cell like nothing happened. This occurs a couple of times until Daimion has to go get him. - Marsh intro - Marsh lore

Just a brief overview of some of the things I am currently working on. I plan to post more about the magic systems and historical events of the world. I also post maps.

Feel free to ask me about this, and tag me in games. Interact here to join the tag list:

Tag List~

Thanks for visiting, feel free to stick around <3

[dragonridersandhighlords]

Valraithe War College

The Aretian Chronicles

Summary: Xaden and Briar decide that the continent needs a new war college, one that encourages one unit instead of individual ones.

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x OC! Briar Veyloren

Notes: 

Warnings: none

Word Count: <400

Masterlist | TAC Masterlist

Briar was the first to suggest opening a new war college

“They need more than what we had.”

Xaden knew who they were as he leaned back on the Tyrrish hillside behind Riorson House.

“Basgiath trained weapons. It broke us until we learned how to be steel. We can't build the future on that kind of blade.”

“What do we build instead?” He asks and Briar answers. “A place that teaches strength and softness. Magic and discipline. Riders, yes. But also healers, scribes, infantry, and fliers—every piece working together. No more silos. No more shame in choosing a path that doesn’t hold a blade.”

Xaden knew she wasn’t only talking about their kids

Lyra was fifteen years off from her Conscription Day, and though he had the right as Duke to not send her, he knew his headstrong little girl would go anyway.

Liam was barely a month old, but Xaden knew it would be the same situation with his son.

But there were also the younger marked ones, who would still be subjected to the cruelty within Basgiath’s walls.

So they decided to open their own school, an official one, instead of the temporary solution they used during Briar’s third year.

Valraithe War College. Designed specifically for the Tyrrish and Poromish citizens. 

They partnered with Basgiath, cadets from every quadrant doing bi monthly rotations to take certain classes taught at the other school.

But while Basgiath treated their quadrants separately, Valraithe had their classes intermixed with the quadrants, ensuring that everyone would work seamlessly together.

Jesinia was the head of the Scribes Quadrant. Brennan the head of the Healers Quadrant. Cat and Maren slit the Flyers Quadrant. Basgiath sent a head for the Infantry Quadrant, while Sloane was the head of the Rider’s Quadrant.

Dain volunteered to be the Commandant, and Mira was promoted to Commanding General of Valraithe.

The school became exactly what Xaden and Briar had dreamed it would be

When it was time to send Lyra and their daughter chose the Riders Quadrant, they were terrified

But she thrived. As did Liam when he went in 5 years later.

But that’s another story

Everything Taglist: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans @bookwormysblog

Aretian Chronicles Taglist: @harryssyndrome @ladybirdbeetle7 @sorrybaeeeeee @lagrandeourse @littlepippilongstocking

Comment, send an ask or PM to join taglist!

[concernedlogic]

Wings of Fire Headcanons

Pantala Edition

(and Nightwings because I forgot to put them in the last post oops)

Silkwings (my favorite)

Silkwing males are smaller than their female counterparts. This becomes more obvious after metamorphosis, with female wings being larger as well.

Silkwing antennae allow properly taught dragons to “feel” out a space. Much like a sound-free echolocation.

Silk comes in five varieties: Smooth, Soft, Sticky, Structural, and Sun for flamesilks. There are kinds in between, but these are the four most used.

Origami is a traditional part of silkwing art, right beside tapestries.

During the reign of Wasp, all Silkwing “matches” were required to have 2 eggs to maintain the population, with the exception of flamesilk matches.

In the Northwest of Pantala is a cave where glowing silkworms reside. An ancient Beetlewing religious site lies here that was used by Silkwings for spiritual practices up until the tree war. Around this site are the last of the pre-war temperate trees remaining on the continent, which were left there as a promise to Queen Monarch. Instead of cutting down these trees, Wasp instead put the entire part of the continent off limits.

Silkwings can be fluffy.

Vegetarianism is deeply rooted in the silkwing culture, leading them to create tofu and other unique dishes. The pure fruit and vegetables diet we see in the books is due to the danger of having any cooking implements in the webs and the disappearance of flamesilks.

Hivewings

Hivewings are the smallest of all the tribes.

Unlike most tribes, Hivewings fly by beating their wings extremely fast, leading to a low humming noise.

Some Hivewings are born with elytra (the bug kind not the Minecraft kind).

The hivewing tribe was formed approximately 500 years after the death of Clearsight, and the separation was mostly religious in nature, regarding the nature of Clearsights abilities.

Hivewings can very rarely develop modified moon-based powers (Before the move into dark hive hatcheries). Specifically, they can get a spider-sense like feel when something bad is about to happen, and get Fatespeaker-like impressions of what people are thinking or feeling.

Leafwings

Leafwings, like Rainwings, have scales that allow them to gather energy from sunlight. Unlike Rainwings, however, these scales are localized to their backs and the tops of their wings, making them well suited for long periods of daytime travel without rest.

Because of Leafwing’s inherent connection to the plants around them, their wing shape tends to reflect the trees they were hatched near.

The sail and wing membranes of Leafwings can be dyed much easier than other tribes, additionally, they can naturally change color due to diet.

Not all Leafwings were happy to join the Leaf-Silk republic. Belladonna led the disgruntled Leafwings (both Sap and Poison) and made a separate faction in the southwest of Pantala.

Nightwings

Nightwing wing scales match the stars under which they were born. Because of the island, the scales have become slowly duller over time.

After the exodus from the Night Kingdom, the Nightwings initially settled on the border between the Sky and Mud kingdoms, but after a brief couple years and the decision to bury the truth of Nightwing powers, they found the island.

The first eruption of the volcano happened 30 years before the War of Sandwing Sucession. Then another about 5 years before.

Nightwing religion has changed the most of all the tribes. First centering around the moons, then shifting to focus on the stars after the wiping of real powers from history. Finally, religion and spirituality slowly faded from Nightwing culture. You can still find some, but it is not common.