#romantic elements

[quirkycatsfatstacks]

Review: The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradly

Author: Kaliane BradlyPublisher: Avid Reader Press/Simon & SchusterReleased: May 7, 2024Received: Own (BOTM)Find it on Goodreads | BOTM | More Sci-Fi Book Summary: Would you take a top-secret job without knowing the details first? Frequently, that’s how life goes – you only learn the details of a top-secret job once you’ve signed all the paperwork. Thus, before she knew it, our leading lady…

[infohub27]

Summary of “Verity”

Colleen Hoover’s Verity, a psychological thriller that has you questioning everything until the end! It follows Lowen Ashleigh, a struggling writer who is tasked with completing the remaining books of Verity for publishing. Brought in to finish off the final series of books from now-deceased bestseller Verity Crawford, Lowen walks into a spider web of psychological twists and turns.

The story starts when Lowen, a once successful yet currently struggling writer is approached for an impossible task. When she signs at a book store, an offer arrives so unanticipated that it would only be the conclusion to end all conclusions: end the untold series written by famous but now-bedridden Verity Crawford. Verity has been in a car accident and can neither write anything properly nor communicate effectively.    Read More…

[latest-info]

The Lantern of Kaamos

Chapter 1: The Mysterious Encounter The bustling streets of Los Angeles hummed with life as Jonna, a spirited adventurer with a penchant for unraveling mysteries, stood at the edge of the bustling pier. The salty breeze tousled her auburn hair as she gazed out at the vast expanse of the ocean, her heart filled with a sense of anticipation. It was there, amidst the chaotic beauty of the city,…

[inkskinned]

in internet posts it is easy to cut them out of your life. they are hurting you! they aren't listening to you!

they held your hair back. they lent you lipstick. they held your hand at the train station and got you home safe. they rounded on your bully, got loud, said get fucked, spitting-mad in your defense.

they also cut the hair off again. told you that you should really think twice before wearing something like that. took you for granted. took your insecurities and threw them in your face again.

you know logically it should be easy. all the internet advice comments always read it will feel better. like an equation - if a person is rotten, you just remove them. you pull the tooth that's hurting.

but it was never a big flare-up moment. you don't live in a sitcom. they never tried to take your boyfriend or steal from your apartment. they showed up to birthdays and they wrote songs about you and bring you water without you asking. once you found out they carry an emergency inhaler for you, even though you haven't had an asthma attack in years - just in case.

where is the line? people fuck up. sometimes they fuck up badly. sometimes people have raw personalities, like a powerline, and being around them is dangerous. addicting. sometimes they can't help themselves, but you know they're trying. sometimes they are just rough-around-the-edges. sometimes they don't even realize how they sounded when they said that. sometimes it's just - you've both loved each other for so long now, the way this thing hurts goes back to the root.

and that's the fucked up part. you have pushed your fingers against the sweetheart of memory. things these days are electric, tense, harrowing. they didn't used to be. there were a lot of good days in there. sometimes you want to just close your eyes and say can this be over yet? do we still need to be fighting?

doing that would give up any chance you get of getting an apology, but you don't always know that you need an apology, you love them. once they flaked on your birthday party. once they told you to get over it, people are always dying. they also let you crash on their couch for a week after the breakup, handfeeding you when you were so sad you couldn't eat. they are also judgmental about everything, occasionally react to banal statements with an attitude that is weird and fiery. they also love you like a lighthouse sometimes, so strong they cut the storm like lightning.

but the problem is that you might be storm. you might be the thing that needs breaking. what if you are two forces who are desperately, horribly drawn to each other, shaped by the other person's passions, and both good for each other and bad in equal measure.

what if you're both just people, and you're no saint neither.

just cut them off! swallowing the saltwater, you catch yourself in the mirror. you've been shaking more than usual. there's an ache in you that is oblique, loud, impossible to soothe. is this what it looks like? when life is "easier"?

your mouth will always have a hole, is the thing, if you remove the tooth.

[wanderrealms]

Home In Shadow

There was a mist between Veini and the world again. Unseen weight running over skin, holding him still. Thoughts sluggish through mind, he had to push at them to give shape to the meaning. Yet even then, he couldn’t hold on long enough to make the thought into action.

He stood still, listening to the raucous call of birds and the sea climb along the smooth stone shore of the nameless island and recede in a soft rush. The wind buffeted against the salt and weather-stained grey stone walls of the North Tower; it found cracks in the round walls and crept inside. Sending shivers up along his pale skin. The scent of kelp and stinging smell of storm filled his slow breaths.

Along the wall ran oval stones set into brass insets casting warm light, imitating the sun, yet failing to catch likeness. Amber in color, they brought a semblance of sun's rays within the stone circle that shut out the world as best it could.

The North Tower had once existed to gather starlight and weave magic from it during the long winter nights. But mages had learned to gather sun's light as well, and power from other elements. The journey here had become too costly.

And now the tower existed for its own sake. A place fit for a soft exile.

He leaned his shoulder against the dark wooden shelves which ran along the curving wall. The edge pressing through the thin, grey woolen coat and linen shirt he wore. The shelf rose from the cold floor to the circular ceiling. A few books rested on the shelf, thick tomes with paper that crackled when he lifted them slowly. Spines written in the language of mages, between them knowledge, meant only for the few who had studied magic.

Next to them stood boxes meant to guard ingredients for magic. Each carved with a symbol of what it had once held. And a box painted black as the void, inside a mask of glass, tinted blue, fashioned in the likeness of a grinning skull.

A memory from a past life. And a tool of changing.

In his pale hand he held a dark blue stone, smooth and cool against his palm. Its kind could be used to store magic, and turned into a spell, a change in the world.

This was empty. He stared at the grey wall before him, devoid, but for a mirror to the side. At the thin, dark seams and rough surface. Senses speaking to his mind, but he couldn’t react to them. Thoughts slow, he had to will them into meaning.

The smooth stone in his hand began to slip from his grasp. Cool surface slipping past fingers one by one. He could sense the motion. Grip was too lax to hold on, but his fingers wouldn’t tighten around the stone.

A click against the floor. Skittering the sound of the blue stone away from him.

He remained still. Trying to push thoughts into form, and action. Through the fog coiling around him.

“Again?” he said quietly.

The creak of a heavy door opening. Cold spring air flooded the tower, and the murmur of waves became a loud rush of water creeping upwards, failing, and retreating to gather its strength.

In the doorway stood Watcher the siren, wreathed in the thickest woolen coat he owned. Much too large for her, the black coat pooled around her feet. Dark red locks spilled from under the hood of the coat, framing the angular features of her pale face. In the depths of her green eyes burned determination. The sharp corners of her lips curved into a smile when she caught his gaze, then tensed.

Behind her, the door slammed shut. She didn’t flinch or blink. Her intense gaze remaining on him. He forced a false smile for her, then looked down at the stone which had rolled between him and her.

The stone had stopped in the middle of the tower floor. She moved with the fluid grace of sea, the borrowed coat whooshing softly along the floor. Knelt and lifted the stone.

She turned the stone in her hands. “There’s not a scrape.”

There was an undercurrent to her voice, an enthralling melody which soothed and enticed. Even when she did not sing her magic.

Outside, the rain pattered against the walls and shutters. Simple music of his element. For a moment, he thought to go outside and feel the water run along his face. As he had when he’d been alone, washing away the loneliness.

She held the stone to him. Webbing between her long fingers. Faint pattern of scales on the thin skin. Revealing her not quite human. Magic innate to her as salt to sea.

She took his hand in hers, resting her thumbs over his palm. He stiffened and tried to draw away, but she grasped his hand tighter.

"Speak to me, or I will hold you here until you do,” she said.

And she would.

Most stubborn person he’d ever met. Part of the allure.

He cast down his face to the dark blue depths of the stone, distorting his reflection, yet it seemed more familiar than the face he saw in the mirror. The blue-tinted mask of glass had changed his features as well, when it had been fused to his features with dreadful magic.

And for a moment, he’d felt the same as when that mask had been set on his face.

“…it was as if I had sunk deep, deep into myself,” he said. “Felt the stone’s surface against my palm. Moving. Slipping. But couldn’t reach my hand, a mist curling around my mind. Making thinking like pushing a weight.”

Familiar, too familiar that feeling, but from another life. He had been imprisoned in a dreadful realm, a shadow cast by this world onto tapestry of existence. Where vile magic pooled and fashioned those imprisoned into hunters. Creatures who could draw more prey into the realm. To feed the cycle of hunter feeding on prey and the realm feeding on the hunters.

Changing, he could remember the distance between himself and his body. Unable to reach himself. And then the mask of glass set over his features. Freezing them in place.

And sinking, tangled in the vile magic, changing him. Until he’d found a way to surface. The memory remained.

He turned his face away from the reflection on the blue stone. Met Watcher’s green eyes, worry in their depths, but she didn’t speak.

She had been there as well, but in a different form. A mermaid of deep seas, glowing scale and long glasslike teeth.

And now a siren. Or he hoped it was her, now reunited after years apart.

“It’s happened before,” he said. “Twice before you came here. I thought it was loneliness and fear of what might become of the last of my days. Gathering magic from starlight. Imprisoned for wrongs I’d done in the first life I can remember.”

But he wasn’t alone anymore, or, imprisoned.

The spells keeping him imprisoned had worn off. The dread realm had drawn him into another, worse prison. His jailers had found the tower empty and let the magic wane or taken what was left.

What might have his jailers thought when they found the prison empty?

Long ago, in the first life he could remember, he’d belonged to a group of mages called the Path of Guiding Light. Trained to become a mage, his element had been water. Usually associated with healing.

But his teacher had wanted him to use his magic as a weapon, ceasing the flow of blood through veins. He had practiced on those imprisoned. The Path of Guiding Light needed assassins, and he might have become one.

But he had gone to the leaders, in his guilt, admitted what he had done. And sent to exile in the North Tower. Of his teacher’s fate, he did not know, but doubtful it was harsh. A fully trained mage was too precious to waste.

An example had to be made. Watcher knew why he was here. Had accepted the first life of three…

When he had been someone he did not wish to be.

But knew little of the dread form the mask fashioned over him.

***

Watcher waited for Veini to continue speaking, but he’d fallen silent. As he often did. She would wait until he felt to speak again.

The amber light the stones filled the room with had always felt unnatural. Though they were filled with starlight, collected by the contraption on the peak of the tower. A strange thing of steel and glass. But the stones changed the light, making it hard on the eyes. It cast sharp shadows against the walls and floor. Even her own was distorted, edges too clear when they should’ve blurred soft.

But the shutters had to stay closed. And there was little light in the sky today, grey with clouds roving fast as fish driven by predator.

The scent of salt lingered in the air, seeping through cracks in the stone. The wind which had sung outside the walls, now whispered. Waves crashed against the stone shore of the island in a soft murmur. Yet all would grow stronger. A storm rose on the horizon. They would both feel it, even within the thick walls of the tower.

They had weathered many storms here. In each other’s arms. Listening to the battering of rain against stone. Lightning flash and sea rise, as if to wash away the tower. And one day it would, when the elements had worn down the walls.

The sea claimed all eventually.

As she would return, to her home south, to Song Cove.

Veini’s thick, dark brows furrowed, and eyes pale blue of a forget-me-not, held hers, though his thoughts were somewhere else. Wide mouth tense, a few times he parted lips to speak, but returned to silence.

The long grey coat he wore seemed to make him fade against the stone walls. Worn thin by time. He stood hunched over, right hand against the dark wooden shelf. Not enough to lean, but to steady himself. Or the sensation of gripping something helped his mind remain here.

She waited, her thoughts turning to the words she wanted to speak. The question worrying her mind.

Her home was far south, in Siren Cove. Not here. With sirens, luring ships to stone, everything which washed ashore was used. Those washed ashore living were killed and butchered for spells. Once it had been any who sailed too close.

Now the villages on the coastline paid for sirens to protect and leave their ships alone. Breaking only ships of raiders and other enemies.

Could Veini live among men and women who lured ships to break on hidden stones and harvested corpse and living alike for spells?

He leaned his head to the side, long brown hair sliding along his face. He shook his head before she could lift a hand to brush the strands aside. Drew a breath of salty air.

“It is nothing,” he said. “I’ve lived with such moments and will continue to live with them. Perhaps they will pass.”

He glanced at the black wooden box with the glass mask, which could change him. He’d taken it out twice after they had met.

Never placed it over his face. Or maybe he had while she was in the embrace of the sea.

His features softened, the corners of his mouth rising slightly. He stepped towards her. Taller than her, yet he hunched over and held himself, so he seemed smaller than he was. Except when he used his magic, then he stood his full height and proud. Commanding his element.

Now he seemed human, without the power of magic.

 A weak smile crossed his face. “What is the sea like today?"

Hope on his face. Dark brows arching and head tilted slightly to the side.

He wanted to leave, but…

No.

That was the answer.

The sea was still frost and floe. The traces of a winter storm drew near and though it was little compared to the true fury of storms which crossed the sea. The sky would be white and grey with wet snow. Howl of wind bury voice. And sea batter against stone, anything foolish enough to challenge it.

But storms passed. Mere days. And they would leave for land, a new home.

They would both be safer in Song Cove. The Path of Guiding Light held no power there.

If he could live among sirens.

Days, mere days.

***

The scent of rain lay heavy on the air. Patter striking stone and shutters. Few drops fell from cracks in the shutters, dotting the stone floor. But far away from the books on the shelf. Posing no threat to the old books, which held only knowledge he’d long ago mastered.

Bound in shades of blue for water magic, one in green with lettering worn away for healing magic. Wishes for life that had slipped from his fingers.

But the books had allowed him some escape, pretending he was a student in the Citadel of Light again, studying in the flickering light of a reed candle. The stone floor reminded him of the floor of the cell he’d had in the early days.

He lifted a hand to run fingers over the spine of one worn book. Musty smell of paper and knowledge wafted in the air. Almost disappearing beneath salt and rain. But it was there.

Watcher looked up at the shutters, and a shadow passed over her face. But lingered only for a moment. Light in the depths of her green eyes strengthened as always when she spoke of their element.

The magic of her voice running beneath the words, mingling with excitement. As she spoke, he could almost feel sea in the words, the sharp cold wind and rain.

"A storm rises,” she said. “It will turn the sea to foam and rage. No magic can quell it. We would be fools to leave.”

They should have left during winter. Walked along the ice to shore. Both bound to water, through magic and the very being it felt, could have found a safe route. Or he could create one, guiding rafts of ice.

He had returned from that dread realm alone. And remained so for years.

There had been a calm to the routine of the tower. Until she broke that calm. Trying to steal magic from him. If she’d been anyone else, he would’ve allowed her to steal from the Path of Guiding Light and its mages.

But he’d recognized her. They had met before in another realm and life. One she could not remember. He had returned to himself, while her spirit had set into a new shape.

Followed over frost and floe, as if chasing a common thief. Almost she’d suffered the fate of one. Freezing to death and sinking to dark depths.

He’d carried her to the warmth of the tower.

And told his tale, asked if she might remain until spring. If he was wrong and she wasn’t who he thought she was… he wanted to know her.

“You don’t speak enough of your mind to me,” she said.

“Old thoughts,” he said. “Of an old self.”

She glanced down at the box and then at him, expectant.

He opened the lid. Emptiness stared back at him from a face of smooth glass, tinted a cold shade of blue. The mouth of the skull-shaped mask in rictus grin.

He lifted the mask. Cool to the touch and smooth. A thrill ran up his skin.

There was power in the guise that went beyond his own magic.

Stronger, tiring only when magic within the mask waned and he could feed that magic by draining life.

He moved past Watcher, to the small mirror on the wall. Held the mask between his face and the mirror, a finger’s length away from his face. As he’d done many times before. Gazed at his reflection through the empty sockets.

Memories, fear and strange longing roiled within, but he remained still. Watcher’s intense gaze on him, studying him. He wanted to set it against his features. Change into that being, with strength and teeth.

Slow, regretting, he lowered the mask.

“I am… beginning to feel this face is more mine,” he said. “Than the one distorted by this mask.”

It wasn’t all a lie. Both forms were his. Both were home. Now.

But it had taken time.

He had woken on the floor. Back against the stone floor, the wooden board floor of the second floor sprawling above him. The mask was beside his face. Skin itched, white flakes sloughing off when he scratched or dressed. As if he was shedding some layer. Right-hand palm ached, as if something had pushed at muscle and tendon, and now there was an absence... when he first put on the mask. There was a ring of teeth in his palm, beneath the soft skin. Waiting for the promise of feeding.

A terrifying form, from a dreadful realm. Could she love someone in such a form?

She had once.

He hoped.

***

The large, borrowed coat Watcher had wrapped herself into felt hot. And a barrier. She shook off the thick black wool, folded it and stuck into an empty shelf. Leaving her in a loose linen shift and worn slippers. Cool air blew through the cracks in shutters and between stones, washing away the heat off her skin. For a moment, she reveled in the feeling.

It was not the sea current, but the motion along her skin reminded her of moments in water’s embrace. Where she would return to sooner or later. Again and again.

The wind had risen to a howl outside. Rain battering the wall in constant hollow tapping. The storm near, its cold breath cutting through the tower. There was a familiarity to the sensation. Home. The wind, the cold, the taste of salt all spoke of home. Even the rough stone beneath her feet reminded her of the caves her kin had chosen as dwelling.

She pushed aside her longing for the moment.

Veini had set the mask down on the shelf. Where it grinned back at her, frozen in a moment of grim laughter. There was something about it, which drew eye to run over the too smooth blue tinted surface. Hollow sockets and lipless smile of carved teeth.

She had never touched the mask. Close enough, she could feel magic pooling within the glass. Drawing her, as currents did.

 She turned away from the mask. To Veini.

“It is, fragile, the feeling,” he said, pausing for a time. “That, I am home in my skin. I can be at peace, and then, something shifts. There is a distance between my senses and where I end. As if I am shrunken and there is a layer around me. That isn't me.”

She embraced him, careful, feeling for him to suddenly stiffen in fear. But instead, he seemed to relax. Slowly, she ran her hands along his back, then up to his shoulders and down his arms. Drawing his shape.

“This is me, and this is you, where you end and I begin,” she repeated, adding notes to her voice, with little of her magic, to soothe. “You’re here and now. Beneath my hands. Beneath my touch. You might have been someone else—��

 He lifted his right hand and looked at down at his palm, memory of horror on his face. “Something else.”

She took his hand between hers, as she’d done before. When she’d found him staring down at his palm.

He’d spoken, of how the glass mask had frozen his features in place. He could not speak or breathe, his lips closed shut by the mask.

His memories clear.

She remembered only glimpses of that other life. Moving water dark as void. Instead of voice, mere gaze and touch had been enough to enchant when she willed it. The memory withering, but she remembered the heady taste of copper. Flowing past sharp teeth.

How different had she been…

Her voice held a hunger. “What was I?”

Veini’s face alight with joy, the words flowing quick and easy.

“You were fearsome,” he said. “We first met, I was weak. Fighting to keep the human I’d… dragged in the realm to feed on.. I left him go, after I began to remember who I am. You swam up to me, through the river. In truth, a wound in the world filled the void in a form one could traverse for a moment. You moved through it as it were water.”

He paused, listening to the crash of waves against the stone shore. Rain now battering stone. The stinging scent of storm on the air, even inside stone.

He pushed a red lock off her face. “You were of water, even then, but different.”

She could remember faintly, moving different through water and over earth. Without legs, instead a tail of a fish, motion not too different. Beginning at hips, up and down, continuing through leg or tail, through water, moving her forwards.

"A mermaid? I remember something.”

His voice deepened. “Of depths, scales glowing to draw prey near. And voice, not as enchanting as now, but alluring. It was your gaze which ensnared then…”

He leaned his face closer to hers.

“I remember some things,” she said. “But if I am not who you think—”

“It’s memories, faint and untrustworthy. I hoped long they were untrue, even as that stared at me,” he said, glancing at the mask. “I wish you are her, then she too would’ve escaped. And we had found each other through distance and time. Sweet thought, that love could bind so, yet… if you are her. You are not the same. I am not the same. We’re beginning anew.”

She could remember speaking words of promise to a man in a grinning skull mask. Holding hands hidden beneath gloves of dark leather. Removing the right-hand one slow and gentle, then kissing each knuckle and speaking the words of promise again.

Then nothing.

As if the memory had been cut in half, everything after that moment lost.

She had loved someone before, across time, distance, and life. Someone who reminded her of him.

She lifted fingertips to his face, trailing, closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his features. Imagined the cool glass between her fingertips and his skin. There were echoes of desire to relieve him of the fear which seemed to stagnate in his mind, as still a pool caught in stone. Of embracing him. She’d fit her mermaid self against him as best she could, then lifted a scaled tail and broad flukes over him. Some sense of protecting him from the dread, blue-tinted world which surrounded both.

The waves, sang of storm, as if each drop of water crashed against another, carried by the motion of the sea. Only to return after caressing the stone shore.

As she would.

Hopefully with him.

***

Was it her song or her touch, but Watcher seemed to draw fear away. Veini held her gentle. Though she felt sturdy in his arms, through the linen shift. He could hold on to her, until the fear passed. If only she remained.

He set his head against her red locks. Soft against his cheek. Drew breaths of her scent, salt still lingering on her hair and skin. Touched by their element. She set her face against his chest. The weight comforting.

She remained there. Listening to the storm, to the song of their element. Loud and fearsome, drumming against walls and raising sea over shore. Wind serenading over the music water made.

"Draw my edges," Watcher said. "Just run your hands over me, like I did."

He knelt before her. Hovered hands over her shoulders. With a hesitating motion, he ran hands over her arms. To her hips, pausing there for a moment, then continuing down along the side of her legs.

"So that's what I’m shaped like," she said.

She closed her eyes. He ran fingers through her hair. Trailed her cheek and then jawline. Then down to the hollow of her throat.

He cupped her chin and ran a thumb over her cheek, a lingering motion. She could feel his gaze, imagine him looking at her. Kindly and with desire. His hand slipped from her chin to the back of her head. The heel of his hand resting against the nape of her neck. Fingers arching gently run along her skin.

A shiver ran up her spine, making her lift her shoulders. She parted her lips and leaned forwards in invite.

For a moment, he hesitated. Then met her lips with his.

First, remaining in touch, unsure. Then he took her lip between his, gently nibbled, the sweet sensation making her sigh against his mouth.

He continued to caress down from the nape to her back. Then raised a hand to run fingers through her hair, fingers spread, running down in a swaying motion...

She set her hands over his upper back, feeling his muscles tense beneath. Pulled him against her, body to body, feeling his shape through the cloth separating them. Feel his chest rise as gasped when she ran her tongue over the arch of his lips. She then mirrored him, nibbling his lips with hers. Grasped the back of his head, keeping him close. Until neither sought the others kiss, instead resting forehead against each other.

She whispered sweet notes to him as he gently swayed her, as if in dance, though both stood still.

Their first kiss in these forms.

“Change for me?” she asked. “I desire to see all of you.”

He froze.

Let go of her slowly and stepped back. She watched him, brightness in the depths of green eyes. Or maybe he remembered. The narrow corners of her lips twitched in an apprehensive smile.

She’d wait. Until he set the mask of glass over his features. Before her gaze.

He turned towards the shelf where the mask waited. Smooth surface, the same cold blue, even though the light of the room was warm amber. Rictus grin of teeth welcoming him back to become something else.

But. The form was his. It might have been set over him by the vile magic gathering in the dread realm. But it was a part of him now. He had used it to survive, and save the few he could who had been drawn into the realm.

The form was his tool, and he’d use it for good in days to come.

She would see.

Perhaps remember the life they shared once

***

The storm raged outside. Futile winds striking against stone, reaching with thin fingers through cracks. The heavy wooden door whined against its hinges. Several of the lights running along the stone wall had dimmed to a dark amber.

Watcher felt the storm reflected in her. Heart beating to the thrum of waves. Wordless, she formed the song of calling a storm, but without voice, no magic. The storm would rage and fall of its own accord.

Veini lifted the mask from the shelf. Pale blue eyes flicked between him and the mask. Then slowly he lifted it.

Paused once with the mask of blue glass a finger’s length from his face.

His chest rose in the last breath he’d take.

He set the mask over his face.

A jolt went through him. He lowered his hand, palm upwards, fingers fanned. The grey coat hung off his frame oddly. He straightened himself to his full height, but somehow stood taller than a moment ago.

Black gloves covered his hands, summoned by magic shaping him. Needle thin teeth rose in rings through the torn glove of his right hand. The light seemed to avoid touching him, making a shadow run along his shape. Thin and barely there. 

When he spoke it wasn’t his voice, but low and harsh, followed by an echo of the words in a high distorted voice. The words more in her mind than on air.

“Still me.”

He tilted his head to the side, dark brown hair sliding over the glass mask in the shape of a grinning skull. Only his eyes were alive beneath the glass. Same forget-me-not blue, studying her face.

She stepped forwards. He knelt slightly before her. She ran a hand over the smooth blue surface. Eerily cold beneath her hand. Unlike the cool storm and rain brought. The material seemed to drain more than warmth from her.

“I cannot feel through the mask,” he said.

The voice stirred memories. Little doubt she had known him in this form. Even though her old form and self might be lost to time.

“If I cupped my hands in the rain,” she said. “Until it painted my hands with our element, would you then feel my touch.”

He closed his eyes and lowered his chin to his chest. “You remember.”

She carefully took his right hand in hers, thumbs resting along the edges. The leather glove felt of this realm, even if magic had woven it.

He opened his eyes, focused on her. “Would you have me in either form?”

“Yes,” she said. Then quick asked. “Both are you.”

And if he would come with her to live in Song Cove, the answer would be always yes. Without question.

But that question did remain. Would he live with harvesters of the sea?

“I’ve told you of my kind, the sirens,” she said. “We sing ships to break on stone. Everything which washes ashore is used. The dead are used for magic. Those who live are imprisoned with song.”

Few did. The sea was quick to claim life when roused by siren’s song. They could summon storm, or cold or incite hunger in sea, so it swallowed those in its embrace. The more sang, the greater the magic.

A lone siren was easy prey to those who feared her kind.

 Veini gazed at her, head tilted to the side. Dark brown hair falling over the smooth mask of blue-tinted glass. Only his eyes, pale blue as forget-me-not, seemed alive. Studying her features.

His voice echoed in her mind, low and harsh, then followed by a higher pitched distorted voice. Unnerving and familiar at once.

“You’re protecting your home and others,” he said. “I would be proud to add my strength to yours.”

He couldn’t. The song would bespell him as well. Unless this form protected him. But that was not what she wanted from him. “I await introducing you to my family. They are not afraid of magical, born of light or shadow.”

***

The storm had left strands of seaweed on the shore which the raucous birds pecked at.

Veini walked around the North Tower, head tilted back, gazing up at the weather worn grey stones forming his former prison. The storm had left its mark on the rising tower, as it always did. Sea spray reaching over smooth shore of rock to caress the walls, which knew only touch of wind.

The sun’s rays broke through the clouds now and then, painting the grey tower gold for brief moments. The streaks rain had drawn on the curving surface glowed. The air tasted fresh, as it only did after a storm washed away the old air.

A gust blew from the north, carrying the last breath of winter. He pulled the thick, black woolen coat tighter around himself. When Watcher returned, he would wrap her in the coat.

She had gone to the sea to hunt.

Tired of the stale rations, dry bread, and salted fish. She would’ve rather eaten fish raw, as a bear would. When he had asked, she had assured him the siren cooked their meals. She was just hungry.

Behind him, the seagulls cried out in alarm. Beating their wings to flee something.

Veini glanced at the curving wall of the tower. He had found nothing that required repair. He wouldn’t have to use up magic he’d collected to mend a stone.

He turned around to see what had spooked the birds.

The deep blue sea spread before him from the rocky shore of the island. Frost and floe torn away by storm. Leaving behind only the rolling velvet blue and white foam heads. Waves met shore, breaking to white lace and withdrawing.

Watcher rose from the sea. Red locks coiling in rings to her angular features. The linen dress clinging to her shape. Leaving little to memory. Her arms wide and two large fish hanging from her hands and a third in her mouth. She grabbed the fish from her mouth and grinned.

“I brought dinner!” she called over the murmur of waves.

Veini laughed at the sight.

She lifted the fish higher, the pride of a hunter in her green eyes and her lips parting into a grin. “Show me how to make something of these unless you want to eat them like a predator.”

 She glanced at his right hand. Then walked past him towards the heavy door. She and the fish dripped water. 

He raised his brows and spoke in a mocking tone. “You want to spend magic on cooking fish?”

“We’re leaving in a few days. The sea is calm enough,” she called without looking back.

Then stopped. Turned around and waited until his long strides brought him next to her. Eyes bright with joy, she grinned up at him. He ran a hand over her arm. Her skin cold and her muscles felt taut from the hunt through sea. He moved his hand down to take the fish from her, but she jerked her hand away.

“They are my fish. You are not touching them,” she said. Then added, “I hunted them.”

She chortled. The false annoyance disappearing from her face.

He took his thick woolen coat and placed it over her shoulders. Drew it around her. Then went to the thick door and pushed it open. The door creaked quietly, the sound almost lost beneath the soft song of the sea and wind.

Watcher hurried past him and inside the North Tower. He remained still for a moment in the doorway, gazing at the sea and horizon where it met. Grey clouds breaking to reveal rays of sunlight which scattered across the sea’s surface. Then back inside the tower. Where the same sunlight spilled through unshuttered windows. Giving the tower a warmth, magic could not.

He’d leave both soon, sea and tower. The place where he’d spend many lonely years. Never home, but a part of him might long to visit here. As a part of him longed for those moments he’d had with Watcher in another life.

But that was past. He could visit in memories, share them, with her.

Home was with her.

There was no question left.

[aventurineswife]

Anaxa with a reader who acts like a mitigation unit for whenever he says something blasphemous and leaves people wanting to punch him lmao

The reader is soft-spoken and gentler in disposition (much like castorice) and not exactly on par with him in terms of ingenuity, so some people wonder how they ended up together. But eh, who cares? Anaxa loves them anyways. Though, spending time with him is not good for their heart since whenever he states something outrageous, the reader will chime in with a "he doesn't mean that" and attempt to smoothen the tension, only for this dromas loving nerd to ruin the peace by spouting something like "no, actually, I meant every word I say" and the reader just stares up at the heavens, gaze resigned, and inwardly prays that they won't be stoned to death in that very moment

Bonus if they're taller than anaxa. I just think it would be cute if the reader has to constantly bend down whenever anaxa has something to say. Just the overall trope of the tall one being meek and withdrawn while the short one is feisty and outspoken

“He doesn’t mean that… I think”

Summary: You're the tall, soft-spoken partner of Anaxagoras—the infamous scholar with a talent for making blasphemous statements that nearly get you both stoned on a regular basis. While he fearlessly challenges gods and sages with wild theories and cutting wit, you're always close behind, offering polite smiles, calming words, and the occasional desperate "he doesn’t mean that." Despite your gentler nature and quieter intellect, Anaxa is fiercely devoted to you, pulling you into his chaotic orbit with unwavering affection. It’s loud, it’s intense, and your spine might just be made of divine patience.

Tags: Anaxagorus x Reader, Opposites Attract, Height Difference, Chaotic Genius x Soft-Tall Partner, Damage Control Partner, Romantic Tension, Emotional Vulnerability, Found Family Elements, Slow Burn (Implied), Philosophical Drama, “He Doesn’t Mean That” Energy, Protective Reader.

Warnings: Themes Of Death And Loss, Mentions Of Religious And Academic Conflict, Blasphemy (Fictional Context), Light Emotional Angst, Mild Language, Potential Reader Endangerment (Non-Graphic, Played For Irony/Humor), Anaxagorus being Anaxagorus.

A/N: I love this man, can you tell? 😋💚

It always starts with him saying something he absolutely shouldn’t.

The atmosphere in the courtyard of the Grove is as tense as a taut bowstring. A gathering of scholars and disciples encircle the infamous Anaxagoras, their faces twitching with barely concealed disdain, curiosity, or both. And there you are, standing right beside him like a loyal, bewildered lighthouse in the middle of an academic storm.

“…And that, my dear sages,” Anaxa declares, arms dramatically flared, coat swishing like some peacock possessed by hubris, “is why divine authority is nothing but an inherited illusion. If a god needs worship to maintain power, is it not merely a glorified parasite?”

Silence.

Not a respectful kind of silence. The "someone-is-about-to-throw-a-chair" kind of silence.

You blink. Smile nervously. And step in, gently placing a hand on Anaxa’s shoulder—he’s still mid-pose, soaking in the shocked silence like it’s validation—and clear your throat. You lean forward slightly, voice as gentle as spring rain.

“He doesn’t mean that.”

“I do,” Anaxa replies immediately, not even turning to look at you. “And if anyone disagrees, they’re welcome to explain how an all-powerful being managed to trip over the concept of mortality.”

You don't even sigh anymore. You just look up at the skies, lips silently mouthing the names of all the gods, hoping one of them has a sense of humor.

People often ask how the two of you ended up together.

You, the serene, quiet mitigation unit who wears soft colors and softer expressions. Him, the sharp-tongued philosopher whose idea of a romantic date involves reading banned texts and dismantling holy logic.

“They're not even on the same wavelength,” someone once whispered, watching you gently tug Anaxa back from yet another oncoming theological brawl. “How does it even work?”

You weren’t sure either.

Maybe it’s the way his eyes soften when you’re the one holding the scalpel during a shared experiment. Or how he lets you tie his ponytail every morning, mumbling critiques about symmetry but never actually fixing it. Or how he always looks for you in a room before he speaks—to see if you're there to watch the world burn with him.

Maybe it’s just love. Bizarre, inexplicable love.

Even if that love occasionally comes with public threats of excommunication.

You’re taller than him, of course. He pretends not to notice. But when he speaks, you always instinctively lean down just slightly, hands politely folded, like you’re giving a particularly chaotic child your full attention.

“Listen,” he says one day, post-lecture, voice low and dramatic, “I’ve discovered a correlation between Titan souls and the latent fear gods have of mortality. My next paper will be titled ‘The Cowards in the Sky.’”

You stare at him. Then glance nervously at the passing sages.

“He doesn’t mean that,” you murmur.

“I do,” Anaxa snaps, tilting his head up at you with that familiar glint of mischief and defiance. “And if I vanish in the middle of the night, assume they finally sent divine assassins. You’ll avenge me, won’t you?”

You rub your temple. “I’ll try to negotiate.”

“And you call yourself devoted,” he mutters, smug.

Still, for all the chaos he invites, Anaxa clings to you like a man who has seen too much fire and finds comfort in quiet.

When the nights are cold and long, he curls against you like he’s hiding from ghosts, his left hand resting just above yours. Sometimes, in those fragile hours, he whispers the names of people who aren’t alive anymore. Sometimes, he whispers yours like it's the only name he trusts to stay.

You don’t always understand the depth of his genius. You don’t have to.

You’re there. That’s enough.

You ground him, and occasionally save both your lives from being pelted by rocks.

“I’ve concluded,” Anaxa says one day, while reclining on your lap beneath a half-dead tree, “that your spine must be made of divine patience.”

You smile faintly, brushing a strand of mint hair from his face.

“And I’ve concluded,” you reply, voice barely audible, “that your mouth is going to get us killed one day.”

He laughs.

“You love me, still?”

You lean down slowly, forehead resting against his.

“Unfortunately,” you whisper.

And he grins.

“Good. That makes two of us.”

[themissinghand]

Solo Leveling Fire and Ice, That's Pretty Nice

Summary: In which opposites attract and the shadow army gets a terrifying mother figure. 

Or more of Jinwoo’s shadow army shenanigans.

Pairing: Igris x Ice Elf Queen Reader!

Note: Self indulgent because I can basically count all the solo leveling female characters on one hand. 

Also I like Igris >.<

This is longer than most of my other works at (7.5k words x.x)

Warnings: Violence and mother’s rage. Kind of long introduction.

★・・・・・・★

Jinwoo stood over the lifeless body of the Ice Elf King, his black blade dripping with blood. 

He tightened his grip on Kasaka's Venom Fang and exhaled, his breath turning to frost. 

"I couldn’t turn him into one of my shadows." Jinwoo muttered, almost disappointed. 3 tries, and all of them were a failure.

Ha. A wasted opportunity.

Then, he felt it.

A tremor.

The sound of countless footsteps on the snow. 

He turned to face the open field, his eyes narrowing as he summoned his shadows. 

Ha. 

An army of Ice Elves. Dozens, no, hundreds. Their blue-tinted skin and ice weapons glinted like shards of glass in the pale light.

"Backup?" Jinwoo said under his breath, his heartbeat quickening in excitement. 

"Bring it on."

But then, the temperature plummeted.

It wasn't just the cold.

It was her.

The elves parted, bowing in reverence as the figure approached. Armor forged of pure ice clung to a tall, commanding form. Frost spread from each of your steps, the ground itself cracking and freezing beneath your weight.

You carried no weapon, for you were the weapon, an entity born of vengeance and ice.

Jinwoo's instincts screamed at him. 

Danger.

Then, the ding of a system message appeared before his eyes:

[System Alert: New Enemy] [Danger! Hidden Boss] [Defeat the Ice Elf Queen]

The Ice Elf King had been impressive, but compared to you, he seemed like nothing more than a footnote in the hierarchy of this dungeon.

You stopped several paces away from Jinwoo, your piercing gaze locking onto his. Frost coated your silver lashes, and your voice carried like the howl of a blizzard.

"You killed my children," you said, the words cutting deeper than the ice of your domain.

Jinwoo froze, just for a moment. Children?

And then he understood. The Ice Elf King was not merely your ruler. The elites he had fought. the ones who had fallen at his hand, had been your offspring.

"You'll regret that," you hissed, lifting a gauntleted hand. A bitter wind howled, and shards of ice erupted from the walls, the floor, and the ceiling, spires that sought to impale the intruder who dared stain your legacy.

Jinwoo barely managed to sidestep the first barrage, his speed saving him from certain death. His eyes gleamed with mana as his black armor manifested around him.

"So, you're the real boss of this place," he said, grinning. 

"Then let's get started."

The battlefield exploded. 

You were relentless. For every shadow Jinwoo summoned, your frost overwhelmed it. Spears of ice shot from the ground, forcing Jinwoo to stay on the move, his agility tested like never before. 

Jinwoo darted forward, closing the distance in an instant. He swung Kasaka's Venom Fang with lethal precision, aiming for the gap between your ice-plated joints. But the moment the blade connected, your armor regenerated, spreading frost across his weapon like a virus.

"What?"

You seized the opportunity. Raising both hands, you summoned a swirling blizzard around him. The gale shrieked as jagged shards of ice formed mid-air, each one honed to kill.

The storm closed in.

For a moment, there was nothing but cold.

But then, amidst the storm, Jinwoo's voice cut through, calm and deadly.

"Shadow Exchange."

A dark ripple pulsed across the battlefield, and Jinwoo vanished, only to reappear behind you.

Ruler's Authority!

Your head snapped around just as the force of Jinwoo's telekinetic grip slammed into your back, sending you skidding across the ice. You caught yourself, frost blooming from your fingertips as you snarled in rage.

Jinwoo landed lightly, black smoke coiling around his feet like serpents.

"You're strong," he admitted, his voice laced with excitement. 

"But I've fought worse."

Your eyes glowed brighter, your voice now a roar of grief and fury. 

"Then you've never fought a mother."

The world trembled. Ice surged from the ground, forming massive constructs, golems of frozen wrath that towered above Jinwoo's shadows. The air grew thick with frost, suffocating and relentless.

Jinwoo grinned, though he felt the chill in his bones.

"Good," he said, raising his hand. "I was just starting to get bored."

"ARISE."

From the shadows of the fallen elves, soldiers of death began to rise.

The Ice Queen, you stood amidst the blizzard you had summoned, your piercing gaze burning with icy wrath. Each of your attacks carried not just strength, but emotion. 

Grief. Fury. Vengeance.

Jinwoo had fought countless enemies, monsters, bosses, and even beings beyond comprehension. But none had ever felt quite like this. You weren’t just a beast.

You were a mother.

"Why…?" Jinwoo muttered, dodging another spear of ice that shattered against the wall behind him. He leapt toward you, his shadowed blade swinging to strike, but your hand rose faster.

With a chilling whisper, frost erupted around your palm, and you caught his sword mid-swing. The force of it cracked the ground beneath your feet, yet you held firm, your armor regenerating instantly where the black blade had scraped through.

"Why?" you echoed, your voice trembling between grief and rage. "Because you stole them from me!"

A pulse of mana erupted from you, blasting Jinwoo back. He skidded across the ice, his boots digging into the frozen ground to stop himself. A headache throbbed in his temple, and he realized, his mana was draining.

Quickly.

What?

He glanced at his status bar, disbelief flickering across his face. His mana pool, vast as it was, had dropped significantly. When did this start?

Then he looked at you. The frost spreading beneath your feet was no longer just physical ice, it shimmered with a dark, consuming energy.

"You’re absorbing it," he murmured, realization dawning.

You advanced slowly, frost blooming with every step. The air grew impossibly heavy, laced with sorrow that hung like a weight on his shoulders.

"You are no different than the others who came before. Slaughtering for sport, for power. My children were not monsters. They were mine. My blood. My heart."

Jinwoo’s heart skipped a beat. He had heard curses and cries from his enemies before, pleas for mercy, hatred, or blind rage. But this was different.

Your grief wasn’t just a programmed reaction. It felt real.

For the first time, as he looked into the burning blue of your eyes, Jinwoo hesitated.

"Your children attacked me," he said carefully, his voice lower, steadier than before. "They were strong. Dangerous."

“And did they ask to be born here, to fight in this cold, forgotten prison?” you shot back, ice crackling at the edges of your words.

“Did they choose to face someone like you?”

Your anger was consuming the air, turning it into frost itself, and now it was consuming him. His mana continued to bleed away into the frost-covered ground beneath his feet. The realization struck him hard, this wasn’t a simple boss battle anymore. 

You weren’t just regenerating. You were feeding on his mana, absorbing his strength to sustain your fury.

His mind raced. She’s not just strong. She’s unstoppable at this rate.

You lunged, faster than before, your form a blur. Jinwoo barely managed to deflect the strike, but the force of it sent shockwaves rippling up his arms.

Think. Think.

His shadows flickered around him, faltering under your draining aura. His mana bar continued to drop, and for the first time in a long while, Jinwoo felt something unfamiliar.

Pressure.

This was no mindless monster. You were a mother with nothing left to lose.

Jinwoo grit his teeth, his mind racing as he struggled to regain control. The cold was unrelenting, his mana still bleeding away into the frost-laden ground. You stood tall before him, your ice-forged armor glimmering with an unnatural, otherworldly beauty, your fury as eternal as the chill in the air.

He readied himself to charge, but before he could, a shadow moved, an unmistakable figure leapt forward.

"Igris?" Jinwoo muttered in disbelief.

The red knight stood between you and his master, his massive sword lowered but steady. The flames of his crimson armor flared against the oppressive cold, his presence a stark contrast to the glacial frost you commanded.

What happened next shocked Jinwoo.

Igris, who had always been silent, spoke.

"Ice Queen," the knight said, his voice deep and reverberating like the echoes of an ancient cathedral. For a moment, the frost stilled, and the blizzard paused as you regarded him.

“I am Igris, a knight.”

Igris took a step forward, his burning crimson gaze locking with yours. 

“You know me,” he said, his voice steady, firm. “Or at least… you knew me, once. Another time. Another world.”

Your expression faltered, just for a second, as though an old memory had scraped against your consciousness. The ice around your fingers trembled.

“Lies,” you hissed, but there was a faint tremor in your voice, one you could not suppress.

“No,” Igris said, his tone calm but unyielding. “You know it as truth.” He raised his blade and pointed it toward Jinwoo, though the gesture was not hostile. 

“He is my liege, the king I currently serve. Your children’s suffering has ended, and under his dominion, they will not suffer again. They will rise, reborn under a new master. Under his shadow, they will be safe.”

Safe.

The word pierced through the storm raging within you. Your frost cracked, spreading hairline fractures through the ice coating your domain.

“Lies!” you roared, your voice breaking with fury and grief. “They are dead! Their souls are gone, and you dare speak of safety?”

Igris lowered his sword slightly, the flames along his armor flickering. “Your grief is not unfounded,” he said, quieter this time. “But you know this truth already, buried beneath your rage. You feel it even now.”

Your breathing hitched as his words struck deeper, clawing at the wall you had built around yourself. There was something haunting about the way Igris spoke, something familiar.

“Who are you?” you demanded, your voice wavering.

Igris straightened, his form tall and unwavering against the storm. “A knight,” he replied. “A loyal servant. And in another time, another life… we knew each other’s names.”

The ice around you splintered further, your vision blurring with conflicting emotions. Memories you couldn’t place flitted at the edges of your mind, too faint to grasp, too powerful to ignore.

“I will not allow you to manipulate me!” you shouted, your frost lashing out again, cracking the earth beneath you.

Jinwoo, who had been watching in silence, stepped forward then, his voice cutting through the tension. 

“I don’t know what you two were,” he said firmly, his black armor darkening against the pale frost. 

“But Igris isn’t wrong. I don’t kill for sport, and I don’t take it without purpose. Your children are mine now, yes, but under my command, they will rise stronger, safer than before.”

Your eyes snapped to Jinwoo, blazing with mistrust and fury. 

“And why should I believe you? The man who stole everything from me?”

“Because I know what it’s like to lose everything.” His voice was calm but heavy, filled with a weight that gave you pause.

“And I won’t let that happen again. Not to my shadows. Not to them.”

Igris turned his gaze back to you, his voice softening.

“Do you truly believe your vengeance will bring them back? Or will you let their souls find purpose under a king who knows the weight of life and death?”

You staggered, your ice-cold heart trembling for the first time in centuries. The frost beneath you crackled and broke as you faltered.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No… I won’t… I can’t…”

The blizzard around you howled, raging with the last vestiges of your denial.

Jinwoo raised his sword once more, but this time, there was no mockery or cruelty in his stance. Only resolve.

“Then I’ll prove it to you,” he said, his voice echoing across the frozen cavern. “Come at me with everything you have.”

And you did.

Jinwoo stood before you now, a dark silhouette against the shattered blizzard. His breathing was heavy, his armor battered, but his resolve remained unbroken. Your knees hit the fractured ice, cracks spidering out beneath your weight as the last of your strength bled away.

“It’s over,” he said softly, lowering his sword. Shadows stirred behind him, coiling and whispering like sentient beings.

“Kill me,” you hissed, your voice ragged and weak. 

“Take my soul as you took my children’s.”

But Jinwoo didn’t move to strike. Instead, he reached out, his mana surging as shadows spilled forth and wrapped around the battlefield. Before you could protest or summon your magic, a dark aura pulsed through the field, gentle but commanding.

“What…are you doing?” you choked, trembling as you felt it, the unmistakable presence of life returning.

The shadows moved, forming shapes that you knew too well. Small figures emerged from the darkness, their translucent forms taking on flesh and light. Your breath caught as you saw them, your children.

One by one, they stood before you, no longer bound by cold and suffering. Their faces were radiant, their frostbitten forms replaced by vitality and warmth, though their bodies bore a faint shadowy sheen, a mark of this man’s power. 

They were alive. Reborn.

You dropped your sword, the clang echoing like the toll of a bell.

Jinwoo stood silent as your other children, now shadows, gathered around, their roars echoing through the forest. Shadows danced in their footsteps, but there was no malice.

“They… they are happy,” you whispered, staring at Jinwoo with wide, disbelieving eyes. “How is this possible?”

Jinwoo’s gaze was steady, his voice low and certain.

“I gave them a new purpose. Under me, they are free from pain and death. Immortal in my shadow. I promised they wouldn’t suffer again…and I keep my promises.”

You turned back to your children, watching them roar with expressions you hadn’t seen in centuries. The rage that had burned so fiercely within you began to fade, replaced by an ache so deep it left you breathless.

But when you looked again, you noticed someone missing. 

“Where…where is my king?” Jinwoo’s expression hardened. 

“Your king has passed before I could turn him into my shadow.” 

The words struck like a shard of ice, and for a moment, you felt the grief resurface. But as you looked back at your children, free, you realized the truth, your king’s ambition had led you here.

To war. To loss.

The sword you had carried for so long, the weight of vengeance and pain, slipped from your hand entirely, sinking into the ice.

Your voice trembled as you looked at Jinwoo, no longer with hate, but with reluctant acceptance. 

You rose to your feet slowly, your frost-forged armor shimmering as it began to melt away, replaced by a lighter form. The magic still swirled around you, but it was no longer violent. 

You had been a queen. A mother. A warrior. But now, you could be something else.

“I am a swordsman,” you said softly, staring at Jinwoo with renewed purpose. “And a mage. My strength has been forged in both ice and war. You have taken everything from me…but you have also given back what I thought was lost forever.”

Jinwoo regarded you carefully as you knelt before him, frost blooming beneath you like flowers in the snow.

“I will serve,” you said quietly, “not because I must, but because I choose to. For them. For my children.”

The shadows around Jinwoo swirled with approval, and Igris, who had watched the scene unfold, nodded once, his crimson armor glowing faintly.

Jinwoo extended his hand toward you, and for the first time in centuries, you felt something other than cold.

Hope.

With one final look at your children, who danced in the shadows, you took Jinwoo’s hand. A new bond was forged, one of loyalty, of purpose, and of peace.

The Ice Queen was no more.

But you, a magic swordsman, would rise again under Jinwoo’s command.

Serving your liege had been an adjustment, to say the least. 

The battlefield, once your home of ice and grief, had transformed into something else entirely, shadows and death. Yet, to your surprise, this place felt more alive than your frozen kingdom ever had.

Your children thrived here. They trained, played, and walked among the shadows without fear. You watched them grow stronger, their once-frozen faces now glowing with laughter as they hung out with other species. 

It brought peace to your heart, something you hadn’t thought possible for centuries.

Of course, your presence brought a new dynamic to Jinwoo’s overwhelmingly male army.

The soldiers, stoic and loyal as they were, had never been quite sure what to do with you. 

They knew strength and they respected power. 

And you, the former Ice Elf Queen, exuded both. But you also had a softer side, one you didn’t show on the battlefield. When Jinwoo began adding more female shadows to the ranks, they naturally gravitated toward you.

It wasn’t long before you became their unspoken leader, a mother, a guide, and an aunt, as some of the more playful ones had teased. You listened to their concerns, encouraged their strength, and ensured they were seen. 

You were fierce, yes, but you were also nurturing. It was a role you had forgotten you could play.

Even Jinwoo noticed the change. 

“You’ve turned my army into a family.” You had simply stared ahead. 

“An army is stronger when it has a heart.”

Jinwoo didn’t argue.

But there was one member of the Shadow Army who had become an unexpected complication.

Igris.

You first noticed it on the battlefield. Igris was always nearby, close enough to intercept any attack that came your way, his crimson armor a stark contrast to your icy form. It wasn’t unusual for soldiers to protect one another, but Igris seemed overly diligent.

Then it started happening outside of battle.

You would train with your frost magic and swordplay, and Igris would be there, watching silently. You’d turn around, and he’d be standing at the edge of the clearing, his massive sword resting at his side. At first, you assumed it was a coincidence.

It wasn’t.

Whenever you walked the shadow realm, Igris wasn’t far behind. He hovered like a lost puppy, a very tall, very intimidating puppy, his crimson flames flickering softly, as if unsure whether to step forward or hold back.

It reached a point where even Jinwoo noticed.

“Igris,” Jinwoo said one day, arms crossed as he observed the red knight following you into yet another training session. 

“Why are you always following her?”

Igris paused, the glowing slits of his helmet turning toward Jinwoo. 

For a moment, it seemed like he might deny it, but instead, he simply said, “I am ensuring her safety.”

Jinwoo arched a brow. 

“Her safety? She nearly killed me, and she’s stronger than half the army.”

Igris didn’t flinch. 

“It is… a habit. I do not understand why, perhaps it is due to memories from another life.”

Another life? Jinwoo remembered that you and Igris did seem to share some connection. Even then, they must have been a long time ago. 

You, listening to this conversation with your sword planted firmly in the ground, narrowed your eyes. 

“Igris.”

The knight turned to you instantly, as if awaiting an order. Jinwoo took a step back to exclude himself from the conversation.

“Are you following me?” you asked flatly.

There was a pause, brief but telling. Then, with that same unwavering voice, he replied, “Yes.”

“Why?”

Igris hesitated for the first time since you had met him. His sword shifted in his grip as if the flames themselves were unsure. 

“Because… I remember.”

The words froze you in place.

You stared at him, memories flickering at the edges of your mind, ones you couldn’t quite place but felt deep in your soul. Another time. Another life.

“You remember what?” you demanded softly.

“I remember you,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “From before. From a life long gone.”

Your heart skipped a beat, though you didn’t know why. 

“And what was I to you?”

Igris straightened, the flames of his armor burning brighter. 

“I am…uncertain. However, you were…important.”

Jinwoo, watching this exchange with no small amount of amusement, muttered under his breath, “This is getting interesting.”

Igris's words lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth beneath the ice that had once been your heart.

“Fine,” you said finally, turning your back on him as you picked up your sword. “While I do not remember as well as you may, you can follow me if you wish, but don’t get in my way.”

Igris bowed his head slightly, as if you’d just granted him a gift. 

“As you command.”

And so, the red knight continued to shadow your steps, silent but steadfast, his presence both a mystery and a comfort you didn’t dare admit.

Your liege, for his part, had to fight back a smirk every time he saw the two of you together. “Interesting indeed,” he’d mutter, much to your exasperation.

Managing the shadow army turned out to be far more chaotic than you ever anticipated.

At first, you assumed your liege, having reached such incredible strength and commanding an entire shadow legion, had a handle on things. 

You were wrong.

His form of “management” seemed to consist of standing silently with his arms crossed while the shadows interpreted his silence however they pleased. It was fine on the battlefield, his sheer presence was enough to unite and terrify, but outside of combat?

It was a mess.

Resting areas were haphazardly chosen, shadows sprawled out like abandoned weapons until it was time to fight again. Training consisted of brutal sparring with no structure or goals. And let’s not even discuss living quarters, shadows didn’t need sleep or comfort, so he’d never thought of such things.

But you had.

So, in the absence of leadership outside of war, you stepped in.

You oversaw the construction of a proper base, a castle, as the shadows began calling it. Walls rose high, forged of dark stone and reinforced with your frost magic. 

Resting areas were organized, equipped with blackened banners, training grounds, and even kitchens (even if Jinwoo’s shadows didn’t eat, you insisted on adding them for dignity’s sake).

Jinwoo watched all of this unfold with mild amusement. 

“I didn’t think they needed this.”

“An army isn’t just swords and numbers,” you replied matter-of-factly, arms crossed as you oversaw the placement of a fountain. 

“They need purpose. Structure. Pride.”

To your surprise, Jinwoo didn’t argue. Instead, he simply muttered, “You’re better at this than me.”

You didn’t deny it.

But it wasn’t long before you encountered an entirely different issue, the shadow army was obsessed with him.

It started small.

The first time you noticed it, a group of shadows had gathered in a circle, whispering with surprising energy. Curiosity piqued, you approached, only to stop dead in your tracks when you saw it:

A statue of your liege.

It was crude, clearly carved with brute force rather than finesse, but it was unmistakably him.

“What…is this?” you asked slowly, arching an eyebrow.

The shadows flinched, clearly caught red-handed. 

“A tribute to our liege.” You sighed. 

“Fine. One statue is acceptable.”

But it didn’t stop there.

Days later, as you surveyed the newly completed courtyard, you found another one. This one was bigger. Shinier. Better.

“Another tribute,” one shadow explained proudly.

The following week, statues started cropping up everywhere, lining the training grounds, looming over the entrances, even decorating the castle halls.

Some depicted your liege in dramatic combat poses; others made him look regal, arms crossed and cape billowing as if he stood atop the world. You found one shadow carefully polishing a statue of your liege's face, its glowing eyes full of reverence.

It was absurd.

You cornered your liege about it one evening, after stumbling upon yet another statue, this one holding a disproportionately large sword.

“Do you know what the shadows are doing?” you demanded, arms crossed.

Jinwoo blinked at you. 

“Training?”

“No.” You jabbed a finger toward the nearest statue. 

“They’re turning this entire castle into a shrine dedicated to you.” Jinwoo glanced at the statue and tilted his head. 

“Huh. That’s new.”

“This isn’t new, my liege! It’s everywhere.” He stared for a long moment, then shrugged. 

“Let them do what they want. It’s harmless.” You gave him an incredulous look. 

“You’ll regret this when you can’t see the sky because of all the statues.” Jinwoo’s lips twitched into something resembling a smirk. 

“I think you’re exaggerating.”

You weren’t.

The next day, you found a group of shadows trying to carve Jinwoo’s face into a mountain.

You glared up at the giant, incomplete mural, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath, “they take after him.”

“Isn’t it grand, my lady?” one of the shadows asked eagerly.

You sighed, looking at their hopeful, flickering forms. In truth, you couldn’t find it in yourself to scold them. They were loyal. Fiercely so. And if building statues of their liege brought them joy, then who were you to stop them?

Still, there had to be limits.

“Fine,” you said, hands on your hips. “You can have three statues in the courtyard. No more. And stay away from the mountain.”

The shadows grumbled but reluctantly agreed. You knew they’d push the boundary again eventually, but for now, you’d won this battle.

Later that night, you found Igris standing silently near one of the more polished Jinwoo statues.

“Don’t tell me you approve of this,” Igris turned his helmet toward you. 

“I find it… excessive.” You nod. 

“Good. At least someone has sense around here.”

“…But it is well-crafted.”

Silence, then a sigh. You did admit at least the craftsmanship improved over time. You dragged a hand down your face as Igris tilted his head ever so slightly, his version of amusement.

Jinwoo, watching the entire exchange from the castle steps, simply chuckled. 

“You really have your hands full, don’t you?”

“My liege, you could help.”

“I could,” he replied, turning back toward his ever-growing army. “But you’re doing such a good job.”

You swore you heard Igris laugh softly under his breath as you stalked off, vowing to tear down at least one statue before the day ended.

Boys would be boys, indeed.

It started with small, almost negligible details, at least to everyone except Jinwoo.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. 

Igris was Igris: noble, stoic, and unwaveringly loyal. But recently, something had changed, and Jinwoo couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

It began when you sparred with Igris one afternoon. Your icy blade clashed with his crimson greatsword, magic flaring, and shadows gathering to watch the spectacle. The spar had been long and hard-fought, ending in a draw that left you both panting but satisfied.

“That was impressive,” Jinwoo said afterward as he approached.

Igris remained quiet, his gaze lingering just a moment too long on you as you restored your blade to your sheath with a graceful flourish.

“…Igris?” Jinwoo prompted.

The knight stiffened and turned sharply.

“Yes, my liege?”

Jinwoo frowned. Weird.

Then there were the moments when Jinwoo would notice Igris standing near you, closer than necessary, his crimson armor seemingly shining brighter whenever you were around. 

And there was that one time he caught Igris subtly handing you an ice-forged rose that one of your children had made, claiming it was “on behalf of the Shadow Army.”

You accepted it with mild amusement. 

“Tell them their craftsmanship is improving.”

Igris’ helm dipped slightly, as though he was pleased with himself.

Jinwoo, watching this from the corner of the room, blinked slowly. 

Wait a second…

The final confirmation came when Beru, as excitable and nosy as ever, suddenly burst into Jinwoo’s quarters with the energy of a gossiping whirlwind.

“My liege!” Beru hissed dramatically, clawed hands wringing together. 

“You won’t believe what I’ve discovered!” Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. 

“Is this another complaint about shadow formations?”

“No, no!” Beru waved him off frantically. 

“It’s about Sir Igris!”

That got Jinwoo’s attention. 

“What about him?” Beru leaned in, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. 

“He has a crush.”

Jinwoo blinked, then stared blankly. 

“A what?”

“A crush! On the Ice Queen!” Beru practically cackled. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes! He follows her like a lost puppy! He watches her sparring matches with an intensity I’ve never seen before! And when she talks, my liege, he listens.”

Jinwoo leaned back in his chair, processing this information. At first, the thought seemed ridiculous, this was Igris, his most loyal knight, the epitome of calm and collected authority. But the more Jinwoo thought about it…the more the pieces started to fit.

“Oh no,” Jinwoo muttered to himself, realizing the truth.

“Igris does have a crush.”

And just as Jinwoo said it, the doors opened, and in walked Igris, calm, composed, and completely oblivious to the whispers and stares from Beru and Jinwoo.

“My liege,” Igris said with his usual gravitas. “You called for me?”

Jinwoo stared at his knight for a long moment, a smirk creeping onto his face. This is going to be interesting.

“Igris,” Jinwoo began innocently, “how do you feel about the Ice Queen?”

For the first time Jinwoo could remember, Igris paused. It wasn’t a noticeable pause, just a momentary stiffness in his stance, a subtle hesitation. But Jinwoo caught it, and so did Beru, who was practically vibrating with glee beside him.

“She is an exceptional warrior,” Igris replied after a beat, his tone measured but somehow…off.

“Her leadership skills have greatly benefited the Shadow Army.”

“And?” Jinwoo pressed, feigning innocence. Igris’ helm tilted slightly. 

“…And she is a valuable ally.”

“And?”

“My liege,” Igris said firmly, clearly aware he was being cornered, “is there a point to this line of questioning?”

Before Jinwoo could answer, Beru burst out, “Just admit it, Sir Igris! You like her! You admire her ice powers! You think she’s graceful and strong!”

Igris’ head turned slowly toward Beru, the kind of slow turn that suggested death was imminent. 

“I suggest you choose your next words carefully.” But Beru wasn’t done.

“Don’t worry, Sir Igris! Everyone thinks you two would make a perfect match!”

Jinwoo covered his face with a hand, trying to stifle his laughter as Igris stood there, every ounce of his dignity being stripped away. 

The knight’s silence spoke volumes.

“Run.”

Beru flew out the door. 

Later that day, you found Jinwoo observing the training grounds with an odd little smirk. You didn’t question it until you spotted Igris in the corner, supervising recruits with an intensity that could only be described as aggressively focused.

You frowned, sensing something was off. 

“My liege, what’s wrong with Igris today?” Jinwoo shrugged, his smirk widening. 

“Oh, nothing. He’s just… dealing with some feelings.”

“Feelings?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicion brewing, but you didn’t press further. 

And in the shadows, Beru lurked with giddy delight, ready to share his next piece of gossip with anyone willing to listen.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the Shadow Army to catch wind of Igris’ crush. Beru, being the ultimate gossip enthusiast, made sure of that.

It started with whispers, hushed conversations in the halls of the shadow castle, smirks exchanged between troops, and subtle glances whenever Igris and you crossed paths.

Tank was the first to approach Igris alone.

The massive shadow bear lumbered up to the knight during a sparring session, his size making him impossible to ignore. Igris turned, his crimson greatsword in hand, only to find Tank staring down at him with an unreadable expression.

“…What is it, Tank?” Igris asked coolly, though he already sensed trouble.

Tank tilted his enormous head. 

“Sir Igris.”

“Yes?”

“Have you…mated with the Ice Queen yet?” Igris froze, his blade still mid-swing. 

“WHAT.”

“Tank, you absolute imbecile!” came Beru’s screech from a nearby shadow. “You’re not supposed to ask him that directly!”

Tank shrugged with a rumbling growl. 

“But Beru said-”

“I said implied!”

Igris turned his helm toward the two of them, a palpable aura of murderous intent swirling around him. 

“What. Are. You. Talking. About?”

Beru cackled and immediately scampered away, leaving Tank to deal with the consequences.

“Tank, run!” Beru’s voice echoed from the distance.

Iron, who lacked any and all social tact, decided to take a much more direct approach.

One afternoon, you were overseeing recruits sparring when Iron stomped up to you, his hulking form casting a shadow over everyone present.

“Ice Queen!” Iron’s booming voice startled even you, though you quickly straightened.

“Yes, Iron?” you replied with a raised brow.

“Igris likes you!”

The training grounds fell deathly silent. The recruits froze mid-swing, staring wide-eyed as the words echoed through the air. You blinked once, your stoic mask cracking slightly.

“…Excuse me?”

“Igris! He likes you! He looks at you like Tank looks at honey!” Iron repeated proudly, as if he’d uncovered the world’s greatest secret.

From across the field, Igris appeared out of nowhere, slamming his sword into the ground with such force the ground shook. 

“IRON!” Iron flinched. 

“Oh. Was that supposed to be a secret?”

You slowly turned to Igris, curiosity lighting up your expression as he stomped toward Iron with an air of absolute murder.

“Iron, you fool,” Igris growled through gritted teeth.

“Oh, don’t be mad!” Iron said, cheerfully unbothered. “The Ice Queen is strong! You’d make good mates!”

“Silence!”

You crossed your arms, watching with mild amusement as Igris all but dragged Iron away, his dignity shredded once again.

That night, as you stood at the edge of the shadow castle overlooking the vast plains, Igris approached you silently.

“You asked for me?” you asked without turning, sensing his presence.

Igris hesitated, just for a second, before he spoke. 

“I…wished to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For the… behavior of the others,” he replied stiffly. 

“Their gossip is uncalled for.”

You smirked faintly, turning fully to face him. 

“Let them talk. I don’t concern myself with rumors.”

Igris stood taller at your words, though something about his posture softened. You stepped closer, your gaze steady. 

“But perhaps you should tell me, do they speak the truth?”

For the first time, Igris faltered. His helm tilted downward, his silence louder than words.

You studied him for a moment longer before turning back to the plains, an unreadable smile on your lips. 

“Goodnight, Igris.”

As you walked away, Igris remained rooted to the spot, the chill of the night air doing little to mask the warmth lingering in his chest.

From the shadows, Jinwoo and Beru watched the exchange, the latter barely containing his squeals of delight.

“Did you see that, my liege?!” Beru whispered excitedly.

“Oh, I saw it. Poor Igris doesn’t stand a chance.”

Who knew watching his subordinate's love story could be so fun?

Igris had faced dragons, commanders, kings, and hordes of enemies without faltering. His blade had clashed against unbeatable odds, his will unwavering against death itself. 

But now, the once-mighty knight stood in a shadowy corridor, frozen in place, gripped by the strangest and most insurmountable enemy of all, his feelings.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I know! I know! Sir Igris must confess his undying love!”

The voice of Beru shattered whatever composure Igris had left. The insectoid shadow stepped out of a dark corner, his glowing eyes alight with glee.

“…Beru.” Igris groaned, instinctively gripping the hilt of his sword. “This is none of your concern.”

“Oh, but it is!” Beru exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement. “As the Shadow Army’s most socially attuned being-”

“Hardly.”

“-I am here to assist you! I have gathered extensive knowledge from hours of observing human courtship rituals.”

“…Human courtship rituals?” Igris echoed skeptically.

“Yes! Lady Jinah has been watching these K-Dramas! And I, being a shadow of excellent taste, have memorized their methods for confession!”

Igris turned slowly toward him, dread pooling in his core. 

“I don’t want to know.”

“Step one!” Beru ignored him entirely. 

“The Grand Gesture.”

And so, an hour later, you stood in the training grounds watching with a mix of amusement and confusion as Igris, in full armor, dramatically knelt before you.

“What…are you doing?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as the crimson knight extended a single glowing flower made of mana.

Igris said nothing for several moments, clearly at war with himself. Finally, his deep voice rumbled, “This is… for you.”

Before you could respond, Beru leaped out from behind a pillar. 

“SPEAK YOUR HEART!”

“Beru—!” Igris snapped, his mana flaring in irritation.

“SPEAK IT!”

Igris, utterly flustered now, turned back to you stiffly. “I… appreciate your strength and…” He paused, clearly struggling. “…you’re very… capable.”

You stared at him, blinking. 

“Capable?”

“Like a soaring falcon!” Beru added unhelpfully.

“…Right.”

Before you could respond, Igris stood abruptly, tossing the flower onto the ground like it offended him.

“Forget this ever happened.”

And with that, he stormed away, leaving Beru screeching, “Wait, you didn’t finish the confession scene!”

You watched the chaos unfold, shaking your head with a quiet laugh.

At least it was cute.

Two failed grand gestures later (including an unfortunate rain-soaked poetry recital Beru insisted on), Igris had all but given up. He found himself back in the training grounds, gripping his sword far tighter than necessary.

You approached him, clearly done with whatever weird behavior he had been exhibiting for days now. 

“Sir Igris.”

He stilled.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or are we going to keep pretending you haven’t been acting strange?”

“I am not-”

“Pick up your sword,” you interrupted.

“What?” Igris blinked behind his helm.

“You’re clearly distracted. Spar me. If you win, I’ll stop asking.”

The knight hesitated, then nodded. Sparring was straightforward, something he understood.

Or so he thought.

Ten minutes later, Igris found himself flat on his back, his blade knocked clean from his grip as you stood over him, your own weapon pointed at his chest.

“You’re distracted,” you said simply, though there was a glint of satisfaction in your eyes. “And you’re terrible at hiding it.”

Igris groaned inwardly, his pride in tatters.

“This… is difficult for me.”

“What is?”

He hesitated, then finally, finally, spoke.

“You.”

“…Me?”

“I…” He sighed, clearly abandoning every complicated plan Beru had forced on him. “I admire you. Your strength, your leadership…You have earned my trust.”

“That’s what’s been bothering you?” you asked, a brow raised.

Igris slowly sat up, his crimson helm turned toward you. 

“…It is not just trust. I…adore you”

A long pause stretched between you before you smirked faintly.

“You could’ve just been direct about it, you know.”

Igris stared at your offered hand for a moment, then took it, allowing you to pull him up. 

“Being direct was… not part of Beru’s advice.” You snorted. 

“Beru? You took advice from Beru?”

“Unfortunately.”

“…No wonder you were acting weird.” You turned, sheathing your weapon. “Next time, just say what’s on your mind.”

As you walked away, Igris stood rooted in place, feeling something unfamiliar settle in his chest, relief.

From the shadows, Beru and Jinwoo watched once again.

“Well, that could’ve gone smoother,” Beru chirped, pouting.

Jinwoo laughed under his breath. “You’re banned from giving advice.”

“No! Give me another chance, my liege!”

“Not happening.”

“Humans are confusing creatures.”

“No, you’re just terrible at romance. And shadows are not humans.”

As for Igris, he silently vowed to never listen to Beru again, unless he wanted another existential crisis.

After weeks of awkward interactions, failed grand gestures, and silent brooding, Igris had finally decided to end his suffering.

And so there he stood, outside the castle training grounds, holding a bouquet of rare, frost-kissed flowers he had painstakingly gathered from dungeons. His usually stoic demeanor was betrayed by the faint tension in his posture, his grip on the bouquet just a little too tight.

When you walked out and caught sight of him, you paused, raising an eyebrow. 

“Sir Igris?”

He stepped forward, the crimson armor reflecting the soft glow of the fading sun. Slowly, he extended the bouquet toward you, the flowers shimmering in an ethereal light. 

“These are… for you.” You blinked at the sight. 

“Flowers? You brought me flowers?”

“I…” Igris faltered for the briefest of moments, his voice lower now. “I wished to offer you something…as a sign of what I feel.”

“What you feel?” you echoed, amusement tugging at your lips.

“Yes.” He stood straighter, his deep voice unwavering despite the hint of nervousness beneath it. 

“I have admired you since the day we crossed swords. Your strength, your resolve… you. I care for you. I love you.”

The confession hung in the air, thick with weight. Igris, who had faced countless foes without flinching, now stood in front of you, awaiting your response like a man facing judgment.

You stared at him for a beat, then smiled softly, shaking your head. 

“About time.” Igris blinked. 

“…What?”

“I knew, Igris,” you said, taking the bouquet from his armored hands with a smile. “You’re not exactly subtle. The weird grand gestures? The brooding? Beru’s antics? I figured it out weeks ago.”

He stiffened. 

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I wanted you to say it yourself,” you replied, smirking. “A knight should be direct, don’t you think?”

Igris remained silent for a moment, processing your words, before the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease.

“You… are maddening.”

“And you’re dramatic, but I love you too,” you shot back playfully, while Igris froze on the spot, speechless. 

“Thanks for the flowers, they’re beautiful.”

Not as beautiful as you.

A faint glow emanated from Igris’s crimson armor, almost as if he were embarrassed. 

“I…am glad you like them.”

From a nearby shadow, Beru’s voice suddenly chirped, “FINALLY!”

Both of you turned sharply to see Beru, Jinwoo, and the rest of the shadow army peeking out from behind pillars and walls, clearly eavesdropping.

Jinwoo crossed his arms, grinning. 

“Took you long enough, Igris.” Beru buzzed with excitement. 

“Now kiss her! That’s what happens in the dramas!”

“Beru,” Igris growled warningly, mana flaring around him.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you turned to Igris. “I guess we’ll never live this down, will we?”

“…Perhaps not,” he muttered, though the hint of fondness in his voice was unmistakable.

“Well,” you said, tucking one of the frost-kissed flowers into your hair. “Let’s give them something to talk about, shall we?”

And for the first time, the unshakable knight seemed utterly stunned as you leaned up to press a kiss against the side of his crimson helm.

The resulting cheers from the shadows echoed across the entire territory.

Jinwoo let out a relieved sigh.

Who would've thought his shadows would get a relationship quicker than him?

Jinah is going to love this.

[serious-goose]

"ofmd s2 sucks because it's fan service" reviewer do you also go to mcdonalds and complain when they serve you a big mac? its a silly queer pirate show. it does what it says on the tin

[beansoup3000]

Thinking about how Fleabag says that Claire stays with Martin because he makes her laugh like no one else. And then the very next episode Fleabag makes Claire laugh so hard she disrupts the whole room. At a silent retreat. CLAIRE breaks the RULES to LAUGH at FLEABAG'S JOKE!!!

And in that episode Fleabag also says she and Claire would make a cute couple,,,, it's about setting fleabag and Martin up as oppositional forces in Claire's life who ultimately fulfill the same need, and Fleabag does it better! Fleabag makes Claire laugh. Fleabag supports Claire personally and professionally. She even provides Claire with sexual pleasure when she gives her the vibrator for her birthday (after confirmation that Claire and Martin are Not Fucking). And ultimately, Fleabag is the only person Claire would run through an airport for!! They aren't friends they're sisters!!!

[eddiegettingshot]

the eddie dating montage is one of THEEEEE most secondhand embarrassing things i’ve ever seen i physically cannot watch that scene. LOSERRRR

[902186]

"In the time we have traveled together, I have come to see how you are with one another. Closer than brothers. [...]" Minstrels, perhaps, see too clearly.

[moeblob]

So there was going to be a lot more but consider this a part 1? For OC Lore Drops.

(none of this was drawn today but because it was storming earlier and I got some rest, I feel like I really want to knock out commission work and do not have time to draw something to post today without messing that rhythm up.)

Also a little bit more: Simeon is a romance novel writer and his hobby is people-watching. His ability to sense the supernatural entities is so exciting to the hellhound who just adores /trying/ to get the jump on him but always ends up 'sniffed out' before she can.

[thegroundhogdidit]

to this day i still don't know what's confusing about queerplatonic relationships

[aq2003]

really love how throughout a lot of smith and jones martha is really skeptical and apprehensive towards ten (+ one of my favorite exchanges between them - "what, people call you 'the doctor'?" "yeah?" "well, i'm not. far as i'm concerned, you've got to earn that title."), not taking everything he says at face value, even doubting the fact he's an alien until over halfway through the episode.. And like. i really truly think the thing that wins her over isn't him kissing her or any of the other insane mixed messages he manages to send, it's this scene here, where he /earns that title/ in her eyes:

(+ david's bit in the commentary, where he says: "[the doctor] has actually sacrificed himself, and - i would say, that that final act of selflessness is what finally, eventually, welds martha to him. [...] and she now returns it. she returns that act of selflessness.")

this is what their relationship is built on. it isn't about martha being the second-best replacement to rose or a rebound or whatever. bc it isn't really about rose. it's about doctor-in-training martha meeting someone (quite literally, "the doctor") whose ideals she aspires to, and doing her best to be the same person to him as he is to everyone else. it's about ten in return admiring her intelligence and inquisitiveness and how she cares for human life, recovering his compassion, letting himself lean on her for support - and then remembering at the most inopportune moments that he's supposed to not need anyone and be on his own forever. And around in their little nightmare loop they go where they save each other over and over until one of them breaks

i've seen ppl look at martha and go "why she does she admire/why is she so in love with ten if he acts like that to her?" or something along those lines and like. it's not just the fact she's in love with him (in fact i'd argue she actively tries to push it aside post-gridlock). it's the fact that she knows he's the kind of person to put everyone else's lives/well-being over his own. she trusts him to save her when she's in trouble even though it's been like two days at most that they've known one another bc she recognizes that same "deep all-encompassing drive to help others" in him. and she also recognizes, much much earlier than him, that he needs someone to save him, especially when he's unwilling to save himself. and yeah for a bit she thinks he returns her feelings and is just playing hard-to-get, but she realizes pretty early on that this probably isn't the case, and i think that realization fully solidifies here:

(this is when she's listening to ten talk abt gallifrey). And idk it might just be me but i think this expression isn't just her empathizing with his loss. it's also guilt, for wanting something from him that he's clearly unable to give when he's wracked with so much grief. (and you see it in the next episode, where tallulah asks if they're together and martha says for certain that they're not, and that he doesn't know about her feelings for him. she keeps everything to herself bc she now knows that when he shut her flirting down at the end of 3x01 it was the genuine reaction of someone who a) isn't interested and b) is scared of getting close with someone else again)

freema described their dynamic as "she's keener than him" and i think about this all the time. martha doesn't really take what ten throws at her. what she does instead is constantly poke holes in his already-failing front of "i will show someone the wonders of the universe so i can ignore what is wrong with me". what she does is stand up and fight him when he tries to go off on his own. what she does is put aside her well-being in favor of helping someone - just like what she saw him do for the people in the hospital when they first met. tldr, that's the doctor and his doctor and rip martha you would've loved who's gonna save u now by rina sawayama

[danykindaforgotaboutdre]

The problem with jayvik

In a vacuum, there is no problem with jayvik. I like jayvik, I think their dynamic is interesting, I think they have chemistry (I think all of the characters have good chemistry with each other, actually), I think their relationship can be interpreted all sorts of ways. I think they're neat.

I also like Meljay, in fact I prefer Meljay, they have more layers that I'm personally invested in peeling back. I love how you don't know Mel's intentions at first, so the first impulse when they get together is to regard it with suspicion (I mean, I didn't regard it with suspicion, but I'm built different I guess). But then, he lets himself be vulnerable with her and they're just open hearted and good to each other from then on. There's no trick, they just earnestly care and see the best in one another. Contrary to popular belief, Mel may have had an ulterior motive for nearly everything else, but she never had one for loving Jayce, that part was always true and good even if you can't see it at first.

I also like Meljayvik, I think Jayce and Viktor have a complicated relationship and she's never shown the slightest sign of being in any way resentful or spiteful over it. Nor is she given any reason to be whatsoever. She supports Jayce fully in his perfectly understandable preoccupation with Viktor's wellness.

But the problem with jayvik, or at least a particularly loud section of their fandom is, they badly want her to be resentful and spiteful. They want her to feel hurt and betrayed, they frame whatever jayvik have going on as cheating on this woman he never actually cared about, and that's supposed to be good, that's supposed to be a W for their ship. What is actually gained from this? Why is discussing Mel even necessary to enjoy this pairing (yes, erasing her is also a problem in the fandom but believe it or not, there's a way to talk about jayvik that doesn't involve doing either, and it's really not that hard).

Also, why does Jayce choosing Viktor have to be because he's gay? (fellas is it gay to chow down on a beautiful woman's coochie?) Why can't he just choose him regardless of whether he likes women or not? Why the insecurity? Is it because if you let yourself believe he actually likes women, you have to also admit that he chose Mel for no other reason than being attracted to her? I get it, they're jokes, haha, it's not that deep, but unfortunately when the same stupid patterns emerge around every woman and especially every Black woman in fictional media who "gets in the way" of fanon, it is that deep, it's annoying af actually.

[vaguely-concerned]

lmao ok Concept: the reason everyone on the team seem to realize that ingellvar rook and lucanis have finally reached third base -- i.e. Meaningful Cake Conversations (romantic and erotic not to say marital connotations) -- even though they don't really act all that obviously differently afterwards is that the monument by the caretaker's shop suddenly and inexplicably changes to the 'Love in Life and Death' statue and can't be changed away from it. and ingellvar's ears go faintly pink every time they walk past it.

(for reference:

it's the fade bitch it's shaped by subconscious impulses and longings you can't hide from your own deepest dreams and desires here!!!! now all of thedas will know you're a simp)