#{ thank you very much for sending this!!! ^.^ }

[hoe4hotchner]

Hi!! I hope you're doing well! I've been watching wildlife rescue shelters videos all day and that led me to have this idea for a small fic and I immediately thought of you! Okay so imagine reader is dating Hotch and she's working at one of those shelters and so she always sends him cute videos of all the tigers/leopards/lions etc. she's taking care of! And like he'd be so proud of her for doing that job but also low-key scared because she's literally cuddling a giant tiger there (you can also include the other BAU members' reactions!!)

No worries if you don't feel like writing this I just thought it could be fun/cute!

Okay have a nice day/night bye!!!

Wild at heart | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!reader | WC: 0.5k | CW: Mentions of potential danger.

Hotch's phone buzzed on the table with a new message, and despite the never-ending paperwork in front of him, he reached for it immediately.

🐅 From: Y/N

“Look at my new cuddle buddy!! 🥰”

Attached was a video of you lying on the ground, absolutely dwarfed by the massive Siberian tiger curled up beside you. The big cat let out a slow, contented huff as you scratched behind its ears, your laughter ringing out softly. Hotch exhaled sharply, torn between admiration and sheer terror.

Morgan, sitting across from him, raised an eyebrow. “You okay, man? You just made a face.”

Hotch turned the screen toward him. “She sent me another one.”

Morgan leaned in, then burst out laughing. “Oh, hell no. She’s basically using a tiger as a pillow? That’s insane.”

Emily, overhearing, walked over with her coffee. “Wait, let me see.” As soon as she caught a glimpse, her jaw dropped. “That’s either the coolest thing I’ve ever seen or the most reckless. How are you not having a heart attack every time she sends you these?”

“I am,” Hotch admitted, rubbing his temple. “Every single time.” He sighed

JJ peered over his shoulder, shaking her head with a smile. “You have to admit, it’s adorable. She looks so happy.”

“I know.” He did. That was the problem. He couldn't take that away from you.

Rossi strolled by, glancing at the phone. “You do realize that’s a predator, right?”

“Yes, Dave, I’m aware,” Hotch sighed. “But she loves what she does.” And as much as it terrified him, he loved how passionate you were about your job.

Another buzz.

🐅 From: Y/N

“Also, here’s my baby leopard learning how to pounce!!”

The next video showed a clumsy little leopard cub attempting to pounce onto your lap but misjudging the distance, tumbling forward into your arms instead. Your giggles were audible as you scooped it up.

Hotch’s heart clenched.

Penelope appeared out of nowhere. “Oh! Oh! Are we looking at Y/N’s daily ‘How To Give Hotch a Heart Attack’ update?” She squealed.

“Apparently,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Reid, curious at what everyone was watching, peeked at the screen. “Statistically speaking, working closely with large wild cats poses significant risks, even in controlled environments.”

Hotch shot him a flat look. “Thank you, Reid. That helps.”

Morgan chuckled. “What’s the over-under on him showing up at her work in full-on protective detail one of these days?”

“Very funny,” Hotch muttered, but they weren’t entirely wrong. He had considered visiting just to see the safety protocols himself.

Another message.

🐅 From: Y/N

“Love you! Don’t worry, the tigers love me too!! ❤️”

Hotch sighed, shaking his head fondly. He typed out a quick response:

To: Y/N

“I love you too. Please be careful. And tell the tigers they need to share.”

Morgan saw the text and grinned. “Man, you’re whipped.” Hotch didn’t even deny it, cause it was no use trying to pretend not to be in a room full of profilers.

[seyvith]

“ PERMISSION TO REST ”

OBSESSED WORSHIPPER — an angel who doesn’t know how to be loved, only how to kneel . . .

requested / gender neutral reader / emotionally fragile angel x reader / intense fixation / devotion laced with fear / touch starved beyond reason / unhealthy comfort / aching vulnerability

masterlist | intro post | character info . . . a/n: finally finished a post, yay!! been super busy with grad, so take these quickly written abrin headcannons as a little gift. i'll write proper fics with my full writing style once i have more time!

The first time you opened your arms to him, an invitation so simple, so achingly human, Abrin didn’t understand. What you meant as comfort, he mistook as a test.

Without pause or hesitation, he dropped to his knees before you, eyes wide with frantic devotion. He pressed desperate kisses along your legs as though in worship, trembling with a feverish need to prove himself. “Tell me what to do. I’ll be good. Please. Let me deserve this.”

You had to kneel with him, gently guiding his face into your hands like one might calm a frightened animal. To him, your embrace wasn’t a kindness, it was a divine trial. The thought that love could be given without condition had never once occurred to him.

When you finally drew him into your arms, his body resisted the moment. He didn’t know how to soften, how to yield. He sat stiff and trembling, his muscles coiled tight like strings drawn too far. Beneath your touch, his pulse fluttered, thin and frantic, as though his very heartbeat feared being held.

His hands hovered, barely brushing the air near your body. “Can I...?” he whispered, as though asking for permission to exist. When you said yes, the breath that left him shuddered out like it had been trapped in his lungs for years.

Cautiously, like a creature unsure of its own shape, he leaned in. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, not out of peace, but surrender. And when the sob finally tore through him, it came with whispered fragments of gratitude, broken and trembling: “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

Holding Abrin is not just cradling an angel. It is gathering the scattered, shattered pieces of something holy and hurt. He fears he is too much: too scarred, too cold, too far gone to ever be worthy of warmth. Yet he yearns for it all the same, as if your arms were the last place left in the world where he might still belong.

His wings bear the worst of it. They are torn, crooked at the joints, marred with breaks both ancient and new. And yet, when you hold him, it’s his wings he wants you to touch most. Every stroke of your fingers along those ruined feathers sends a jolt of pain through him. But he leans in, never away.

He clenches his teeth, eyes glassy with withheld tears. To him, the pain is sacred. Your touch is sacred. A quiet proof that you see all of him, even the broken parts, and still choose to stay. Sometimes, in a voice tight with emotion, he murmurs, “Please don’t stop. It only hurts when you let go.”

The longer you hold him, the more he melts. Slowly, hesitantly, like snow thawing in early spring. His shivering eases. His breath deepens. Eventually, with the carefulness of a child touching something beautiful for the first time, he rests his head against your chest. He listens to your heartbeat as if it were the music of the stars, the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

He always needs to hold something when he’s in your arms; a fold of your sleeve, a corner of your shirt, your hand clenched tightly in his. He anchors himself to you like a dreamer afraid of waking. It is as though he believes that if he’s not tethered to you, he’ll vanish. Or worse, that you will.

Sleep comes to him only in pieces, stitched with hesitation and fear. But in your arms, he wants to try. Still, his voice is soft with worry each time he asks: “May I sleep here? Will you stay?” The question hangs fragile in the air, like frost waiting to melt.

When you say yes, he settles into your warmth with the carefulness of something half starved. If you shift or pull away, even for a breath, he freezes, his body going still and cold like a candle just extinguished. So you stay, holding him until his breathing evens into something that resembles peace.

Once sleep finds him, it’s as though the world’s grip loosens. The tension in his brow fades. The sharp lines of his grief soften. Sometimes, if the night is kind, a faint smile touches his lips, so fleeting, it feels like a secret only you were meant to see.

When he wakes, something in his eyes has changed. The way he looks at you is no longer just grateful, it’s reverent. Disbelieving. He traces the line of your wrist with shaking fingers, as though still expecting you to vanish. “Does it hurt?” he sometimes asks, voice faint. “To touch me?” He believes there must be a cost.

His tears come often in your arms, and he despises that they do. He buries his face against your chest, sobbing in quiet, aching gasps. “I don’t know how to be held,” he whispers. “I don’t know how to be loved.” But you ask nothing of him. You never ask him to change. That, more than anything, undoes him.

He prepares for your embraces as if preparing for prayer. If he knows you’re coming, he straightens the place where you usually sit, changes into something cleaner, gently presses his ruined wings into order. Not because he thinks you expect perfection, but because he does. Because your arms feel holy, and he wants to meet them clean, even if he never truly can.

On days you don’t hold him, he grows quiet—not bitter, never that. Just quieter. Fainter. He watches you with eyes full of longing, but says nothing. And when, hours later, you finally reach for him again, his entire being crumbles. He folds into you without a word, like a man emerging from deep water who’s only just learned how to breathe again.

Yet even this begins to change. Little by little, you see him shift. The wariness softens. The tension loosens. He starts to believe that maybe your embrace isn’t a test, nor a trap. That perhaps not all softness is followed by pain. That love, once offered, might not be torn away.

One day, with his cheek nestled to your chest and his hand curled gently over your heart, he whispers the truest thing he’s ever let himself believe: “I think I was born just to be held by you.”

a/n2: can't yap too much at the front or my post layout will cry but omg when I first read your request, I got so scared at the "you need to time back your writing" part... until I finished reading and realized it was a compliment 😭 thank you sm anon, you're too sweet!!!

[rooksamoris]

Helloo amoraa! i really love your writing and always looking forward for more fanfiction you write. But may i send a request this time? To be honest this is my first time requesting, so hopefully i didn’t break any rules. I would like the overblot gang x fem reader (if you don’t mind) who eats lemon and lime like it’s an orange. Not lemonade, just straight up lemon (i love anything sour 🙏🏻🙏🏻😭). Perhaps reader is a kind person and always wanted to share her lemon and lime with the characters even if they don’t want it. Thanks a lot amoraa, have a great dayyy

SHARING SOUR SNACKS !!

💞 — featuring; riddle rosehearts, leona kingscholar, azul ashengrotto, jamil viper, vil schoenheit, idia shroud, malleus draconia. 💞 — gender neutral reader. no warnings. i changed the reader to gn because it was inconsequential for this piece. hope you enjoy!!

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS.

🩷 — The first time you did it, Riddle was very quick to tell you that raw lemons had a high acidity which could burn your throat and cause an acid reflux. 

🩷 — He understands the health benefits, of course, but usually lemons in that case are used diluted in warm water or in a cup of tea. Overall, he's kind of concerned, lovingly so.

🩷 — When you do offer him a lemon, he accepts it because he is a gentleman, but he will have it made into a pastry. 

🩷 — Riddle has a strained relationship with food generally because of his mother, so he does find it kind of nice that you just eat what you like, even when it is literally a lemon that you peeled as if it were just an orange. 

🩷 — When Cater comments about his friend has a strange diet, Riddle is quick to say that it is perfectly fine, so long as you were happy and healthy.

He took the lemon you offered him, you even went through the extra effort of wrapping it in a pretty little bow, with a polite smile, “Ah… thank you, my dear,” he said. He asks Trey to bake it into something for him, and later in the afternoon you both are enjoying your respective lemons over some tea in the rose gardens. 

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR.

🩷 — Honestly, Leona does not care that much. So long as you’re taking care of yourself, he does not care what you eat. He has his preferences and you have yours.

🩷 — He does think the smell of lemons and limes clinging to you is quite pleasant and it also makes you very easy to find in a crowd of people. 

🩷 — Whenever you do offer one to him, he declines. Respectfully, he does not really want to eat raw lime the way you do. If you continue to insist, he just takes it. I imagine the Sunset Savanna has some East African politeness rules that he grew up adhering to as it pertains to gifts.

🩷 — He’ll probably end up tossing it into the kitchen for someone else to enjoy.

🩷 — Overall, it makes no difference to him what you eat. It’s a little odd, yeah, but there’s no judgement coming from him.

“I know you’re there, kidege,” he said, not opening his eyes as he laid with his hands behind his head. He was laying out in the field, beneath a tree. It was a nice summer afternoon, with a breeze and heat that was not too unbearable. The wind brought with it the familiar scent of lemons and limes. He opens a single eye, “Come with more gifts? I can smell them on you.”

AZUL ASHENGROTTO.

🩷 — Azul thinks it's odd, but he also assumes that would make it easy for him to sell you some lemonade or other sour drinks sold at the lounge. 

🩷 — He also assumes it must be a strange human thing. He and the twins grew up with completely different forms of food back in the Coral Sea, and there are plenty of acts committed by humans that he still thinks are odd. He has yet to completely assimilate to the world away from the ocean.

🩷 — When you try and order your usual plate of lemon slices, just lemon slices, he tries to offer you some lemonade instead and you just smile and repeat you just want your lemons. 

🩷 — Azul will provide, regardless. He likes having another customer just as any other business owner would. Still, he can’t help but ask the humans he knows on this issue.

“You’re here for your usual, yes? Worry not, I will personally bring it to you,” he said, before disappearing behind the kitchen. He brought your usual drink and a plate of lemon slices. He sets them down before furrowing his brow a bit. Oh, well. If you damaged your teeth enamel, he would be there to swoop in with a deal to get you sent to a dentist. 

JAMIL VIPER.

🩷 — Listen, I fully believe Jamil grew up with his parents telling him that lemons and honey were the cure for everything. All he needed to do was make some tea with ginger, lemon and honey and boom, all of his ailments would be healed. Sore throat? Lemon. Runny nose? Lemon. Broken bone? Well, most things could be healed with a good ripe lemon. 

🩷 — When you ask for lemon slices during a visit to Scarabia, he thinks that you might be feeling unwell, and obliges, bringing you some honey and warm water to.

🩷 — But then you don’t have the honey or the water and just start rawdogging the lemon slices like their oranges. He’s a bit off put by it, staring at you, waiting for some sort of reaction. 

🩷 — At first he assumed you were trying to catch him off guard on purpose, but soon he realizes it’s just some quirk of yours. 

🩷 — Now he slices extra limes if he hears you’ll be visiting Scarabia.

You were sitting on one of the ornate divans, leaning on one of the cushions. One of the other dorm members led you in when they saw you waiting outside and alerted Jamil. Eventually, he walked in, carrying a tray with some mango juice and a plate of sliced limes, “I heard you were coming to study. Eat first and then I’ll share my notes with you.”

VIL SCHOENHEIT.

🩷 — Absolutely not. He’s all for the benefits of having a slice of lemon or lime with your breakfast, but the thought of just eating them like they were oranges was just a no for him. 

🩷 — He’s very worried about your enamel and the possibility of the dreaded acid reflux. He will not enable your behavior and if you are in his presence, he will try to prevent it. If you come by to Pomefiore asking for lemons, you will have to have it in lemonade form. So sorry.

🩷 — He thinks it’s strange, but he’s done stranger things for his appearance and discipline, so there’s little judgement in that sense.

🩷 — Vil is just worried about your health, honestly.

🩷 — Overall, he likes that you make a habit of incorporating a nutrient dense item into your food, he just does not like the amount you consume, and the manner in which you do it. You will have to dilute your limes into water in his presence.

“Ah–ah,” Vil clicked his tongue as he gently tugged the lime slice away from your hand. You brought yourself some lime slices in a little plastic bag. His immaculate brows were knitted as he walked over to bring you a glass of water, shaking his head, “What did I tell you about the acidity in these? You have to dilute it so that you won’t damage your teeth. You’re almost as stubborn as Epel.”

IDIA SHROUD.

🩷 — Bro, how in the world did you sneak a fruit this close to him?

🩷 — Idia sticks to that which comforts him when it comes to food. He likes his brightly colored candies, his crunchy chips and his highly caffeinated drinks. He is not interested in foods which are too complex or have mushy sorts of textures. 

🩷 — His patience is thin and I doubt he's very interested in cutting up fruits. The rare times he actually sees you in person, whenever you’re dropping something off at Ignihyde or picking something up, you always have some sour treat in hand. You offered it to him once, and took anxious to tell you no explicitly, he accepted.

🩷 — It was not a good reaction. The texture of the lemon slice bothered him greatly, the ridges where the juices spilled especially, and that was not even considering the taste. Safe to say, his expression embarrassed him greatly.

🩷 — He avoided you for a while after that. Sour gummy worms, sure, but raw dogging a lemon is not for him.

“U–uhm, yeah, here. Your phone is… is fixed,” he muttered, looking up at you from his desk as he held the device out to you. You were picking up your phone after he dealt with some virus issue you came across. He was still getting around his embarrassment from the lemon slice incident. Gently, he pushed a bag of sour gummies your way, “... want some? They… uh— they’re better than the limes…”

MALLEUS DRACONIA.

🩷 — Malleus did not think it was weird until he saw other people react to it. You just like lemons and limes, just as he likes shaved ice and popsicles. Sure, you seemed to like them excessively, but it was kind of cute. 

🩷 — He sees Sebek gawk at you as you peel a lemon and take a bite out of it and then he realizes it is weird. To others, of course, not to him. 

🩷 — When you offered him one of your lemon slices, he was flattered. It was sweet of you to share that which you enjoyed with him. He accepted with thanks, but tells you that it would have probably been more pleasant as a frozen sweet treat.

🩷 — One day a local grocery stores finds themselves graced with the presence of the great Prince Malleus Draconia of the Briar Valley.

🩷 — That very night he comes to you with a little carton of lemon flavored ice cream and two freshly polished spoons to share it. You shared your treat with him, and now he was to return the favor.

“I believe I much prefer the lemon in this form,” he said, thinking very seriously about the ice cream, comparing it to the lemon slice you shared with him the day before. This was sweeter, and he liked how cold it was. His glimmering green eyes shifted in your direction and he tilted his head to the side, his raven hair falling forward slightly, “And what do you think, child of man?” he asked.

©rooksamoris 2025. do not steal or translate my work!

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[nogutsnogloria]

summary: month by month memories made during your pregnancy.

andrew pope cody x reader

warnings: bad writing, pregnancy and everything that goes along with it, fluff, a touch of angst, kinda implied smuttyness - they don’t boink in graphic detail but it is implied it is about to happen. smurf evaporated? and it never explains where went (choose your own adventure) these two really love each other and it’s so gross (affectionate)

a/n: i promise the next thing i write will be something from the requests. thank you to everyone for their patience there.

month one

not telling people has been the hardest part. especially when you feel nauseous and tired all the time but you still have to pretend everything is normal in your day to day life. you want to tell people so that they understand when you send your class to recess that you need to lay your head on your desk for a couple minutes and breathe through your nose to get the nausea at bay, or when you get home from work and lena is full of afterschool energy she needs to burn you take her to the park but all you want to do is lay down on the couch instead. still you are more than happy to feel the fatigue because this is exactly what should be happening to your body.

it worries andrew. it worries him when he has to hold your hair back in the bathroom every morning after you finish your glass of orange juice. it worries him when you fall asleep with your head on his lap every night before lena is even in bed. you do everything to reassure him that this means the baby is healthy. that your energy is being used to create life right now but he’s still going to worry. he won’t let you lift a finger at home. you fight him on this because of course you would. “i can make dinner, y’know? fully capable. the baby only adds to the housewife charm.” still he sits you at the kitchen island with a glass of water and a snack you can tolerate today. “you can help by sitting here where i can see you, if you’re good maybe i will let you mix something, no chopping though. too dangerous.”

month two

coming back inside after making sure lena got on the bus fine andrew hears the frustrated groan coming from the closet. he heads down the hallway to investigate. “is everything alright in here? you need any-woah” you turn to him and the shirt you have on is accentuating one of his favourite things about you in a way that he very much notices today. “nothing fits properly anymore, my boobs are too big and it’s all your fault.” you playfully throw another failed option at him, you let him stare though because between the sickness and the fatigue you haven’t felt sexy in a while, and with him being so on edge that you’re going to break all the time his staring was more of a protective watch these days, so the ogling was a welcomed change. “are you sure i think this fits just fine?” he finally peels his eyes from your chest to look you in the eye.

“you would-because you are such a boy. i can’t wear this to work, i would accidentally pop right out of it, and you know the principal already doesn’t know where to look when a woman is speaking to him. so looks like i’m stealing one of your hoodies today and you can’t do anything about it.” you pull your favourite off the hanger in the closet, take off the other top giving him a bit of a show, pull on the hoodie and waltz out the closet past him. he blinks to gain back the composure you just so easily knocked out of him, before he follows you into the kitchen. “you look great in that too by the way, always have.” he leans against the counter. “you’d make a trash bag look sexy.” you look down at the lunch you are packing up with a smile, and blush too because even though you’ve been together for a while, when he decides to openly flirt with you it’s devastating.

you pack up everything you need for the day before indulging yourself in a cuddle into his chest while he rubs his hands up and down your back for a minute then you tilt your head up to meet his lips for a kiss goodbye. “i will see you later.” you tell him, with a seeming promise that he will see a lot of you later. making sure he knows he’s left you a bit worked up, if you asked him - you started it.

month three

the day is finally here. you have an appointment with the obgyn for the first ultrasound that you have (im)patiently been waiting for. after you finally get to tell lena. keeping this from her has been harder than the morning sickness, but you wanted to make sure everything was fine before giving her the news.

andrew hasn’t let go of your hand since you got out of the truck and into the doctor’s office. you give his a comforting squeeze and he looks down into your eyes. you smile up. it feels like you are the only two in the waiting room. that is until your name is called kind of loud by the tech who takes you back. she tells you to lie back and to lift your shirt while she tucks in something to protect your pants. she works on getting some preliminary scans to give to the doctor and taking some pictures before the doctor will be in. she leaves you two with no information which makes you a bit anxious, andrew can sense this so he places a kiss to your temple and rubs his thumb on the back of your hand when she leaves the room.

the doctor comes in, she is a warm middle aged woman who instantly brings you some comfort. “let’s take a look shall we” she adds more gel to your stomach and starts moving the wand around. “looks like we have one happy, healthy little baby growing in there, measuring approximately eleven weeks and three days. do you want to hear the heartbeat?” you look up to andrew for his confirmation and nod to her letting her know you’re interested in that. she plays around with the volume settings on her machine and goes in to find the best spot to get a good heartbeat. the steady sound plays out and you can’t help the relieved laugh that comes from your lips. you smile and look up at andrew and again with tears falling from your eyes. he wipes them away and gives you a kiss on the forehead.

“sounds like we have a strong one in there, mama is doing a good job keeping them safe.” the doctor smiles at you while she says that. easing all the fears you didn’t even know you had before you got on the table. “they will have pictures for the fridge up at the front desk ready for you.” she winks as she takes the towel to wipe the excess off of your stomach.

in the car you immediately open the envelope to look at the scans while andrew drives to lena’s school for pick up. before you get there you stash the envelope back in your bag and watch as andrew waits on the sidewalk for her. she comes running up, he picks her up and makes sure she’s all buckled in to her booster seat. she is excited to see you, a rare sight at pickup as you’re usually at a different school teaching. “you came to pick me up too?” she beams at you like it’s something so special. you can’t help but mirror her smile. “i had the day off at my school today, so i thought i would come with. even got uncle pope on board to stop for dessert before dinner.” she gasps. “no way, uncle pope really?” he laughs at her excitement. “yeah kiddo, really.”

the three of you get situated with your ice cream and have found a picnic table down closer to the beach to enjoy, you sit next to lena while andrew sits across from the both of you. “lena uncle pope and i have some special news to tell you.” she looks up to you and nods. you pull out the envelopes with the ultrasound pictures and lay them on the table to show her. “these are pictures of the baby that is in my belly right now, and they are so excited to meet you when they come out.” lena blinks at the picture processing what you just told her. she looks at andrew and then back to you. “like a little brother or sister?” she has absolutely no idea how much that comment is a relief to you that she sees this baby as a sibling. “yes lena, a little brother or sister who is already so lucky because they have you as a big sister.” you smile at andrew who seems to share your relief at how lena took the news. lena shifts a bit to give you a hug. “i will be the best big sister, i promise.” you can’t hold the little tear that you shed at this “i don’t doubt that at all.” and when you look over to andrew with lena in your arms you swear his eyes are a little misty too.

month four

“the beach house will be up for grabs pretty quick if anyone wants it.” craig looks at pope like he has three heads when he says that. “why you guys moving away or something?” pope kind of wishes they were but lena likes her school and you like your job. “no, we just needed a bigger place with more rooms one for lena, one for a nursery and a yard to play in.” he looks up with a proud smile he doesn’t even bother hiding waiting for the boys to hopefully clue in. “no way man! is she pregnant?” deran of course was the first one to clue in. the news even causes a rare smile from j. “yeah, due five months from now.” craig leans in to give him a very aggressive brotherly hug, deran following up. “holy shit, dude she’s going to be the best mom, and i think you won’t do too bad yourself in the dad department, lena is turning out pretty great.” pope just nods at this. “she already is the best mom.”

the movers just placed the last box of your things in your new home. a two story with the kitchen and living room on the bottom with the bedrooms upstairs and a bonus room you have big playroom plans for. it’s everything you wanted, including the back yard with the beautiful garden the previous owners had started, and room for a treehouse. andrew was at the old place handing the keys over to craig so you thought you would get started unpacking the boxes labeled kitchen.

that’s where andrew finds you standing on the step-ladder putting away things on the top shelf. he grabs you by the hips and places you gently on the ground “get down from there.” you roll your eyes at him and grumble. “i was putting things away, im pregnant, not elderly.” he shakes his head at you, he can’t even be mad you’re so cute, so he compromises. “you can put the things away that you can reach, plus you got dizzy the other day getting up from the couch.” you look away from him, glad that he didn’t bring it up when it happened but embarrassed that he still caught you. “there’s lots of blood pumping all over my body, i apparently don’t know what to do with it all.” you say quietly he has to strain a bit to hear you. he pulls you into his chest and rubs your back. “i know, i watched a video explaining it, that’s why i didn’t panic.” something about his admission to watching what to expect when expecting videos makes your stomach flutter. you look up at him pouting your lips for a kiss, he obliges. “okay now get to work, you have wine glasses to put away on the top shelf.” you say as you give him a little pat on his ass. he laughs and gets to work “aye aye captain.”

month five

you’re back at the obgyn office, this time for the anatomical check up that will also tell you the gender of the baby. you were so excited for this one, and andrew was too.

the technician went over and took your vitals much like the first time. your doctor who you have come to really enjoy after seeing her for all your monthly check ups is in next. she flicks on the machine. “okay are we ready?” you nod. “very.” the same steady sound of the babies heartbeat mixed with yours is heard again. she’s running the wand around to make sure everything is measuring and there is nothing obviously wrong. “baby is growing like a weed in there, good job mama. everything looks great. i was able to see the babies gender, was that something you were looking to find out today? i can tell you or we can put it in an envelope.” you looked up at andrew, you had both discussed that you wanted to know, but you also wanted to do it more intimately. “in the envelope please, we have someone special at home we want to share the news with.” it’s not totally a lie but you and andrew plan to find out the two of you before doing a small reveal with lena. your doctor smiles at that. “of course. it will be in the package with your updated printouts. i will see you back here in four weeks for the regular check up.”

this was a morning appointment so you had a bit of time before andrew went to pick lena up. he drives the both of you home and parks the truck. you turn to him. “can we open it right now. i don’t even think i can wait until we’re inside. it’s burning in my hands.” he laughs at that and how you are basically bouncing up and down with excitement. “sure let’s do it. right here, right now.” you pull out the envelope from the package and hold it in your hands and look at him then back to the envelope. “okay, yeah, wow it’s just right in there, y’know the news.” now you seem nervous.

“do you want me to do it?” he can sense your hesitation. you thrust the envelope into his hands. “yeah good idea, you do it.” he smiles at you and opens the envelope and unfolds the piece of paper. it has the transcription of the ultrasound findings but at the bottom in bold he can read fetus is presumed female. he feels himself getting emotional when he looks into your eyes. “it’s a girl” you gasp at that and reach to give him a big happy kiss. “good thing you’ve been practicing your ballerina bun” you say on his lips. he laughs at that and pulls you in by the back of your head for another kiss because he can’t help himself.

when you finally make it inside you get to work on the surprise for lena. choosing to just bake some cupcakes and hide coloured frosting in the one you’re going to give her after dinner tonight. andrew and lena arrive home as you are just finishing up putting sprinkles on the top of the seemingly plain vanilla cupcakes with vanilla frosting, you set the special one aside for later because now they all look the same. when lena comes in and is excited about the cupcakes you almost want to throw all plans of making her wait until after dinner, but andrew is the fun police and tells her that the cupcakes are for dessert and she has to have dinner first.

like most nights you help her with her homework at the kitchen table as andrew makes dinner. once everyone has eaten and the dishes are cleaned up. you plate the cupcakes for dessert.

before lena can take a bite andrew stops her. “lena there is a special surprise in your cupcake. there is blue or pink frosting that will tell you if you’re having a little brother or sister, so don’t inhale it this time.” she looks even more excited about the cupcake then before. you sit beside andrew and squeeze his hand as you watch lena tentatively take a bite of the cupcake. you can see the pink on her nose and she looks up at the both of you with big eyes. “it’s pink, does that mean i get a sister?” you smile at lena. “yeah lena a little sister, she’s going to be so lucky. she has the best big sister to share toys with.” lena puts her cupcake down and runs to the both of you for a group hug. “thank you, i know i was supposed to love a brother too but im really happy it’s a girl” that makes you and andrew laugh. she lets go of you and enjoys the rest of her dessert you dig into yours too, and because you forced the issue by just putting one in front of him, andrew eats his too.

after dinner the three of you are sitting on the couch watching tv, lena is leaning against you when suddenly there is a hard kick coming from the inside that she can feel. she gasps and looks up at you. this is the first time that anyone has been able to feel a kick besides you. “was that her pushing me?” lena asks andrew quickly goes to move his hand to your stomach you grab it and place it exactly where the baby is kicking. “she wanted to say hello to her two favourite people, and she’s letting us know she really enjoyed her sugar rush from the cupcake.” andrew snorts at this “of course she enjoyed her cupcake, she’s already her mother’s daughter.”

month six

you step out of the ensuite after finishing up your nighttime routine in the bathroom and take a seat on the bed, you’re about to start your new nightly routine of moisturizing and oiling your bump when you hear andrew walk down the hall. he stops and leans on the entry way. crossing his arms as he watches you with your stomach exposed rubbing in the moisturizer. “you know if you took a picture it would last longer” you change your focus from your belly to look him up in the eye but on the way to his eyes you get a bit distracted, you don’t think he’s ever looked better. he’s leaning there so casually, the worn out t-shirt he has on is stretching over his chest just right and his arms crossed against said chest are very muscular and very veiny, the arm holes of the shirt are holding on for dear life against them. when you finally do get to his face it appears you have been caught checking him out, he has one eyebrow raised at you and a sexy smirk letting you know that he knows you want him, kinda really bad at this point. how did he turn the tables that fast, wasn’t he just the one staring at you a second ago? you blame your hormones, your currently very depraved hormones.

“do you want to help with the oil?” you’re trying anything for the upper hand here. he walks over and kneels beside the bed his hand lingering in yours as he grabs the oil out of it. he’s looking up at you from his lowered position and driving you crazy. he gets some of the oil in his hands and starts to massage them over your stomach. you bite back a moan when his hands are finally on you and you can see him smirking again. “getting all worked up princess, aren’t you?” he wipes his hands on the towel and is now standing towering over you. you grab his shirt and drag him down “just shut up and do something about it already”

month seven

you are so glad the school year is almost over your back has started to ache from the added weight and being on your feet all day teaching doesn’t help. the baby is now taking up space shared with your lungs so you get winded very easily as well, you’re back to first trimester exhaustion levels, and andrew is back to the first trimester levels of worry.

“you already turned your report cards into the principal, can’t you just skip school for the last couple of weeks, get a sub?” andrew is chasing you around the kitchen while you get ready to leave. “i can’t do that, this is when the fun is all planned.” he knows this, he also knows that the fun brings more risk of danger, and he can’t be there to catch you. you reach up to put a hand behind his head rubbing your thumb back and forth where his brows are pinched together. “i will be fine, there is so much added supervision, most activities are going to be with the other grade one class, i have a student teacher until the end of the year, and my regular teachers aide won’t let me lift a finger, you should see the way she has my chair all set up. i seriously could take a nap if i wanted.” andrew lets out a sigh, wraps his arms around you and lays his head down in your chest in defeat which makes you laugh. you scratch the back of his head. “i promise you will be my first call if anything does happen, but in all honesty that these last couple weeks are just going to be me sitting there and giving the occasional ‘stop that’ to the little stinkers” that seems to subdue him for now.

you get home from your last day of school and you look so wiped, lena’s school ended a week ago so andrew was home all day with her. you walk into the kitchen, put your bag down and sit at the island leaning over it to stretch out your back a bit. “is something wrong?” andrew is quick to your side. “everything just aches” you sniffle tears starting to form. your stupid hormones are back in a frustrating way this time. andrew leans down and kisses the back of your head before his fingers start to work magic on your lower back, exactly where you need it. if lena wasn’t just around the corner the moan you would have let out at this would be obscene. “is that good, any spot im missing?” you shake your head. “no that’s really good, perfect even” when the majority of the tension is gone you sit back up and turn in the stool to look at him. “i feel like i could have a nap now.” he smiles at you. “then go take one i will wake you up for dinner.” he won’t say anything to you about it, but he’s so glad school is out and he can watch over you these last couple of months.

month eight

it’s eleven pm and andrew still hasn’t come to bed, you know exactly where he is so you climb out and head over to the baby’s room. you stand at the door and just watch as andrew puts together the crib you picked out, he’s sitting on the floor, and his back is to you. this is the last step in setting up her room, between all the furniture he built and all the decorating you did. “you know i think that’s easier to do with the instructions” you finally make your presence known.

he huffs out a laugh. “i’m almost finished. what are you doing up?” he turns to look up at you from his spot on the floor. “she can’t sleep without daddy there, she’s moving nonstop.” at that he gets up and lays his hands on your stomach, his thumbs brushing over where the indents of her tiny feet mark against your skin. he leans down to give your stomach a kiss. “hey there bug are you kicking mommy? she has done nothing but take the best care of you. you should take it easy on her.” that earns him a swift little kick to where his mouth is and you both laugh. he straightens up to give you a kiss and is showing you to the rocking chair so you can have a seat while he finishes up with the crib. you put your feet up and rub your hand over your stomach while you watch him work. he wasn’t lying about being almost finished, he’s done building in about ten minutes before he’s unpacking the little mattress to go inside. once it’s all set up he turns to you and pulls you up off the rocking chair. you lean into his side. “we put all this work into this and she’s not even going to sleep in here for months.” he laughs and plants a kiss in your hair. “she’s worth it though, come on time to go to bed.”

month nine

thirty-seven weeks and three days. that is how far along you are when you are woken up by some cramping at 1:07 in the morning, and you can already feel that this is different from the braxton hicks your body was practicing with the past month. you slowly get yourself out of bed and head into the living room knowing you probably only have an hour tops before andrew comes to find you.

he does come to find you, he finds you leaning over the back of the couch swaying side to side through a contraction. he’s rubbing a hand up and down your back. “are you okay?” you nod face pressed into your crossed arms on the back of the couch. “yeah I think we get to meet her today.” you smile up at him and he matches it. you both know the majority of this will be an all day affair, so andrew shoots deran and craig a text telling them that it was time and they need to come get lena as soon as they see the text.

lena wakes up and andrew feeds her breakfast. you try to hide what is happening to your body from her, but it is getting increasingly difficult because now you have been in labour for about seven hours and things are moving more steady and more strong. you thank god that deran wakes up early to usually take in the morning waves. he is at your door ready to pick up lena by eight in the morning. you start to get a bit emotional when you go to say goodbye, this is the last time it will be just the three of you in this house. you hug her as tight as your stomach lets you “i love you lena, your baby sister is so ready to meet you.” you wipe tears from your eyes and andrew picks her up in a tight hug. “love you kiddo we will see you soon.” he passes her to deran and hands him her overnight bag. “i got her man, we will come see you as soon as you give the go ahead. my phone will be near by if either of you need anything.” he looks at you while he says that. you and andrew stand at the door and watch as they drive away.

“if you told me that was the hardest part about having a baby i wouldn’t have believed it.” you sniff. andrew rubs your shoulders and leads you back inside. you spend the next few hours labouring at home, the contractions are now about six minutes apart and last about a minute each time. after a call to the obgyn’s office you are instructed to head to the hospital to have your baby.

when you get there you are immediately checked over and given the news that you are seven centimetres dilated which is a relief to you, you don’t know how you would have handled the news of being anything less than a six on your first check.

andrew is perfect, being everything you need. he has ice chips when you ask, counter pressure on your hips when you don’t even ask and in between he is saying all the right supportive things that get you through every contraction that goes through your body. before you even know it you are being set up to push and your doctor is in the room with her comforting presence once again.

“okay mom, your body knows exactly what to do here, so just follow those instincts and we will be here to help if you need it.”

you only have to push for thirty minutes before your baby girl is being placed on your chest and letting everyone know how well her lungs work. you immediately sob and look up to andrew who also has tears falling from his eyes. he leans down to kiss your lips and press his forehead againt yours. “she’s perfect, you’re perfect thank you so much.” you lean in to kiss him again. “i love you” you both lean down to look at your perfect girl. around you things are still happening but the three of you are in your own little world.

the night goes on, you spend time doing skin to skin and have the first feeding, before you hand her off to andrew so you can get some rest. he is in heaven when the nurse helps to set him up so he can do skin to skin as well. he spends the whole night watching over his girls. his mind drifts to the one girl missing in this picture he checks the time and that problem should be resolved soon he thinks to himself. deran had texted him to let him know that they were here. he leaves you and the baby to go and get lena to bring her up to the room.

you start to chat with your baby in your arms. “you are about to meet the most special girl, you are so lucky that she’s your sister. she’s going to show you everything, how to have a tea party, how to play with barbies, she’s going to show you where we hide the cookie jar, im so excited for you to meet her she already loves you as much as mommy and daddy do. you hear andrew and lena approaching. “the baby might be sleeping so we need to be quiet.” you smile hearing her little voice, you missed it for the day she was away. “i can be quiet.”

andrew gently pulls the curtain back and you almost cry seeing him with lena in his arms. you shuffle over so there is a bit of room and andrew sits her down next to you. “lena this is your sister” you watch as her eyes scan over everything then she looks up at you. “can i hold her?” you smile at her. “of course you can let’s get you all set up.” andrew helps get the three of you situated so that lena can hold her sister, you have one arm behind lena while the other helps support the babies head. you really can’t help the smile on your face watching as lena takes it all in. you smile up at andrew and he drops a kiss to your forehead and all that he can think is how his life can’t get much better, but he knows you’ll find a way to prove him wrong.

[posttexasstressdisorder]

'Boys of Baghdad' relive Gulf War broadcast

http://i.cnn.net/cnn/2003/US/01/16/cnna.shaw.arnett/shaw.jpg

Ex-CNN Anchor Bernard Shaw, left, spoke Thursday with Wolf Blitzer.

 

WASHINGTON (CNN) -- Former CNN correspondents Bernard Shaw and Peter Arnett marked the 12th anniversary of the start of the Persian Gulf War by appearing Thursday on CNN and recalling their days as the only journalists -- along with the late John Holliman -- to provide live reports from Baghdad, Iraq, as war erupted.

Known then as "the Boys of Baghdad," they shared their opinions with CNN's Wolf Blitzer on two other topics -- the possibility of a second war with Iraq and Pentagon plans to allow journalists to accompany military units in the field should they fight.

SHAW: In war, one moment you're alive, the next moment you're dead, and I made my peace with the fact that at any moment I could die, and I just decided to focus on doing my job.

ARNETT: The bombing of Baghdad was something I'd never before experienced. I had been in situations where bombs were being dropped, and suddenly I was in the biggest bombing campaign in history.

Sure I was stressed. I was concerned. But also I was pretty much convinced that the U.S. Air Force would not target the Al Rasheed Hotel where we were.

The U.S. government knew the media was in that hotel, and thank goodness that belief did prevail, and we got through that evening and -- in fact -- I got through the rest of the war without being hurt. ...

BLITZER: Peter, bring us up to date now. You were most recently in Baghdad. You're heading back for a National Geographic Explorer special you'll be working on. Is there going to be a war?

ARNETT: Certainly, the Iraqi authorities feel there'll be a war. My sense was being in Washington for the past week. I'm here [Thursday night] going on a German television program to talk about the war. Many other people in the world think there's [going to be] a war. I think it's up to the president of the United States whether there will be or not. He apparently hasn't made his decision yet. But many people I know believe there will be.

http://i.cnn.net/cnn/2003/US/01/16/cnna.shaw.arnett/arkett.jpg

Former CNN Correspondent Peter Arnett recalled the Persian Gulf War via satellite from Berlin, Germany.

BLITZER: Peter, when you say that it's up to President Bush, a lot of officials here in Washington ... [say] it's up to Saddam Hussein. If he comes clean, there won't be a war. But if he continues to stonewall, there will be.

ARNETT: Well, I don't want to get into the president's mind here. I get the feeling though that -- the Iraqis keep saying they do not have these weapons of mass destruction. ... It used to be said that of some famous political figure, you know, don't listen to what I say, watch what I do. But in the case of President Bush, he's saying that he's not satisfied with Saddam Hussein and he's doing, by sending so many troops to the Gulf region. So it seems to me, the fix is in.

BLITZER: Bernie, when you take a look at the current situation right now, compare it to where the U.S. was a dozen years ago. [There are] significant similarities but also many differences.

SHAW: Oh, there are a lot of differences. Are you referring to journalists and...

BLITZER: Both.

SHAW: ... the impending war?

BLITZER: First, journalists.

SHAW: Well, I'll tell you, I'm very troubled. The idea of journalists allowing themselves to be taken under the wing of the United States military to me is very dangerous.

I think journalists who agree to go with combat units effectively become hostages of the military, which can control the movements of the journalists and more importantly control their ability when they file their stories.

And also I'm troubled by the fact that -- in my judgment -- the military should not be concerned about the safety of journalists. That's not their mission. ...

-------

12 yrs before, Bush 1.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hello! I read your Ghost NSFW alphabet and it was amazing!! (Actually I've just been reading a bunch of your posts for the past 3 days your writing it amazing!!) I was wondering if you can do an NSFW alphabet for Cpt.Price please!

Thank you so much, anon! I really appreciate that. Of course you can have a NSFW Alphabet for Price! Enjoy!

written w/ gn!reader

Word Count: 900

nsfw alphabet template

CoD Headcanons / AUs / Quick Writes Masterlist

A = Aftercare

A staunch cuddler. Price enjoys snuggling after sex, acting as a weighted blanket. He’s all about lazy touches and slow kisses, sprinkling you with soft words of affection as the two of you come down.

B = Body part

An ass man. No question. Price either has his hands on it or touching in some capacity. Positions that allow him to palm your ass as he fucks you are his favorite.

C = Cum

Enjoys seeing the aftermath. Watching his cum leak out of all your holes flames his ego. Spread those legs and/or cheeks. Open your mouth and show him your tongue. He wants to paint you with it.

D = Dirty secret

During his first experience with bondage, Price confidently said he could use rope, but totally lied, and stumbled through it to the point that he gave up and had vanilla sex. (He’s much better at it now.)

E = Experience

Very experienced, and he knows what he wants. Price isn’t afraid to tell you how he likes to be pleasured, and he’s not shy about asking you what you like, or exploring new things with you.

F = Favorite position

Any position that allows him to view your ass as he fucks you. He’ll even take a position that allows him to grip your ass if he can’t view it.

G = Goofy

During sex? No. Price might tease you a bit, but it’s always flirty. He wants you to smile, to enjoy yourself, but when it comes down to it, he’s all business.

H = Hair

Well-groomed but hairy. He has a lovely dusting of dark brown hair across his chest and down his stomach, thickening slightly around his navel where it transforms into a healthy happy trail and a decent bush around the base of his cock.

I = Intimacy

Incredible at intimacy, especially in the moment and during foreplay. The lead up to clothes coming off is hit or miss, but in the act, Price has his full attention on you. Lots of praise and appreciation for your body.

J = Jack off

Not a chronic masturbator, but certainly jerks himself off if you’re not available to take his dick.

K = Kink

Praise, primal, daddy, some forms of impact play, situational public sex

L = Location

A traditional man that likes to be at home while doing the act, but he won’t let an opportunity slip past him. He’s down to fuck at work if it’s a quickie, or take you in the back of his car.

M = Motivation

Physical affection gets him going. Wrap your arms around him, tease the back of his neck with your fingers, trace circles on his back. Intimate touch sends all the blood in his body down to his dick.

N = No

Piss play. Not into it.

O = Oral

Certified muncher/sucker. Price is a giver rather than a receiver though he won’t tell you no if you want to go down on him.

P = Pace

Price is the fast and rough type when he’s the one in charge. He might say sweet things to you, but you can bet he’s fucking your brains out at the exact same time.

Q = Quickie

Always down for a quickie. Hardly matters the time and place. Don’t need to say anything either. Present a hole for him and Price is diving right in.

R = Risk

Totally down to experiment as long as both parties are agreeable to the risk. Price is willing to try anything once but he won’t try something if you’re not into it.

S = Stamina

Decent stamina. He can go a few rounds but give the man some room to breathe between sessions.

T = Toys

Price does not own any toys. If he acquires any, it’s because you bought them, or you were insistent on trying some out. He won’t go out of his way to purchase them.

U = Unfair

Can be a bit of a tease, especially if he feels like edging you, but all of his teasing is really to get you going and turned on.

V = Volume

Price isn’t loud, but the man is a grunter/moaner. When he’s about to come, his eyes are closed and that man is moaning/groaning, completely lost in it.

W = Wild card

Dom!Price enjoys purchasing customized collars for his sub for all occasions. Real leather. Real metal. Engraved. Maybe some gems or diamonds.

X = Xtra

At first, Price didn’t understand the appeal to wearing a mask during sex, but after a few experiences with it, he grew to enjoy it, especially with how much you liked it. But he won’t ever admit that to Ghost or anyone on his team that he tried it out.

Y = Yearning

Price yearns for you all the time. No matter the time of day or night or the day of the week, Price is always thinking about you, and will accept any advances you send his way.

Z = Zzz

As a staunch post-sex cuddler, Price will absolutely crash out after sex quickly. Expect snoring, his arms around you, and don’t think about attempting to wiggle away from him. Any movement will only result in him pulling you close again. Won’t even wake up either.

CoD Headcanons / AUs / Quick Writes Masterlist

[deerspherestudios]

Askbox is open! 📬

I've finally whittled down the inbox to a manageable amount so it's back open now! As per usual check out the FAQ, masterlists, and have fun!

I can't answer every single ask, but please know I very very much appreciate the thought and effort it takes to even send me them! Thank you and have a nice day/night! ❤️

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: You are meant to be a sacrifice to Nikador, but when you gain the attention of the wrong god, you learn firsthand why mortals are not meant to trifle in the affairs of the divine.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Phainon x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 14.9k

Content Warnings: mentions of human sacrifice, mentions of abuse, it’s going to get violent and whatnot i am sure, blood and whatnot to be expected, obviously an alternate universe, an ending i would say is bittersweet??, not really 1:1 with the myth of bellerophon however if you know the myth you will definitely see a lot of similarities in the general progression of the story, phainon is a god, like fr, so ig you could consider it a problematic age gap SKHJF but more so power imbalances in general, phainon is a catfisher for a bit lowkey, vaguely ancient greek/rome inspired but in the way canon is (so loosely + i make most of it up), i have played maybe HALF of amphoreus !! so characterization may be spotty (#powerofau), uhh idk what else i will try to add it in here if/when it comes up ig

A/N: hihi all of you i am so sorry that this has taken me so long to get out!! i have been on vacation the past two weeks so writing time has been sparse (i wrote…pretty much this entire part on my phone whenever i had a free moment or two to open up google docs LOL) but it is finally here!! as before, here are some additional notes on the chapter that you can feel free to look at whenever <3 thank you all for reading and being patient and not sending me asks harassing me about this HAHA you all are the best

During the Silver Age of Man, in a time long before Phainon, Nikador, too, had sat alongside the other gods, brave and revered, the sagacious warrior who raised their lance in Kephale’s name and struck down all who crossed the heavens. In that time, they had been worshipped by all who went to war, and so they were impartial to individual conflict, their shadow hanging over every battlefield, looming and dark as they waited to see whose blades struck true, whose shields were sturdy and whose men did not falter. Only to those chosen few would they grant victory and spoils; the rest had to fight with their own merits, or else turn to softer gods who might yet give them favor.

Back in that time, before the city on the mountain was as widely regarded as it is now, it was but a small kingdom, prosperous but contained, ruled by a kindhearted king who guarded his most precious treasure with a fierceness: his daughter, a girl so beautiful that Mnestia sang when she was born. The king knew, as all possessed with something so precious do, that there would always be those who would try to take her from him — an empire to the north, a nation of war-beasts to the west, and a nest of serpents in his very own court — so he prayed to every god he could think of, hoping for even one that might hear his pleas.

Yet none of them listened, and with every cruel answer to his prayer, the king grew more and more desperate. Great Georios desired the girl, but the king was not willing to give her to the father of giants, whose progeny would have torn her apart if they took; wise Talonton would not save her, for there was no justice in it, in allowing something so ethereal to remain mortal and unmarred; fair Thanatos promised to take her into their abode, but warned that the king would never see her again if they did, not even in death. 

Finally dear Mnestia appeared and told the king that there was only one god who could save his daughter: Nikador, the just, the furious, who even the greatest of warriors would not dare cross, whose stalwart defense could deter gods themselves.

And the king wept, for he had heard the tales of Nikador’s madness, their thirst for violence, but Mnestia held firm, unmoved by his tears, telling him it was the only way before disappearing. So the king slaughtered an entire herd of sheep and called upon the god of battle, who was so intrigued by the summons that they really did appear before him, and as soon as they lay their eyes upon the princess, they felt something stirring in their heart, something not unlike bloodlust but gentler, tenderer.

They swore to defend her, and never again did they bless another kingdom, for those of the mountain were so beloved to them that they could not bear the thought of any other’s victory. The hearts of men turned against them, and after the princess fell to Thanatos, as all mortals must, their own heart, too, grew cold — but their watchful gaze never left that mountain, for its stones were the last to hold her memory, and although it had been years upon years, they could not let go of her yet.

“Everyone knows that story,” you said when Phainon finished with great flourish. His smile, so proud in the telling, dropped immediately, replaced with a frown.

“How can it be? Do you know the labors Mnestia had me undergo before they told me that Nikador loved that girl?” he said, showing you his palms, the lines of which shone gold beneath his skin. “You mustn’t say it was in vain!”

“Well, I did not know they loved her,” you said. “That king was my ancestor, although it is his son I am descended from, not the daughter. We were always taught that Nikador admired the spirit of the mountain and so chose it as their residence.”

“Then you did not know the story!” Phainon accused, his expression indignant for all of a moment before relaxing back into the earlier grin. “My labors were not for naught. I am pleased to hear it.”

Were you not frightened of offending him, you might have rolled your eyes or made some remark, but instead you only nodded, wondering to yourself how long he would walk at your side for. He was tireless, keeping pace with your pony’s amble, striding along near your leg and speaking without so much as pausing for breath; it was all you could do to pray to Nikador, although you sensed they had no interest in saving you, not this time.

“What does it mean, that they loved this princess so well?” you said. “It isn’t as though I am her.”

“No, of course not,” he said. “But if they have loved once before, then they can do so again, right?”

“Perhaps, but it’s not as though I’m the sort of beauty which could soften their heart,” you said matter-of-factly. It was an objective thing, an honest assessment — a woman who could soothe even Nikador was the sort of person that could only really be found in legends and stories. If ever she did exist, she was long since dead and would not return so easily.

“I think you are,” Phainon said, and he spoke with such beguiling earnestness, gazing up at you with those gold eyes, as honest as daylight, that you almost believed him. But then you remembered that he was a god, and one using you for his own entertainment, no less, so you only huffed and raised your nose in the air, the only show of disdain you could be permitted.

“No matter how you flatter me, it doesn’t change the reality,” you said. Phainon pouted, and internally you scoffed at his petulance, how mundane and mortal his little mannerisms were. You wondered if he had to think about them, or if they still came to him naturally — for unlike the other gods, he had been a man once, and perhaps he still recalled in the back of his mind what that meant.

“It’s not flattery,” he insisted. “You will believe me when I bring you before them, I am sure.”

“And when do you plan on doing that, exactly?” you said, pulling your pony to a stop, for it was beginning to grow dark and you had no intentions of riding through the night. Sliding off and tying him to a nearby tree, you shook out your meager blanket, ignoring Phainon, who watched you curiously.

“Ah, it’s difficult to bring a mortal to the heavens,” he said. “You must be patient with me. But I swear I will!”

“I have nothing but patience,” you assured him. “There is nothing left for me — thanks to you, I have been cast from the mountain and the Grove alike, so I travel now to Okhema, in the hopes that I may at least find a quiet place there to live out the rest of my days.”

“Okhema! Wonderful, I can accompany you there!” he said as you lay on the ground, kneeling in front of you. “Mnestia does not guard their people as zealously as Cerces, and anyways they are fond of me, so they will turn a blind eye to my presence. Besides, Okhema is large enough that even if we did have some quarrel, I could still avoid detection without resorting to as many measures as I did in the Grove.”

“Wonderful,” you repeated with perhaps a quarter of his enthusiasm. “May I sleep now, my lord, or do you have more tales to spin?”

“You may sleep,” he said. “But won’t you be cold?”

“Certainly,” you said. “The nights are always cool, and to I who am used to the bedchambers of a princess, it is less than preferable, though I have grown used to it well enough.”

His expression was not smug when he leaned close to you, and his voice was as ever — soft, composed, clever — yet somehow you could feel it in his words, that teasing, that delighted mischief.

“I can embrace you tonight,” he said. “I promise you will be warm then.”

You sat up immediately, holding the blanket up to your chest, sputtering as you did so. “You — you most certainly can not!”

He burst into laughter, and it was a handsome sound, as befit him. You stared at him, waiting for his mirth to fade, but it took some time before his humor petered into a sigh and he shook his head.

“I didn’t mean in this form,” he clarified, although you had an inkling he very much had and was only saying that to save face. “Is this better?”

You would never grow used to the ease with which he changed shape, nor how unsettling it was when his body melted into something new. Now he was a large dog, his eyes shining, a collar winding around his neck and sinking into his thick white fur. He wagged his tail at you, and although you knew, logically, that he was still that same infuriating deity, you could not help finding him so sweet in this form, and before you knew it you were shifting to make space for him.

“Alright,” you relented. “However, you — you had best be a dog when I wake, or so help me, I shall give myself to Thanatos at once!”

He panted happily, a black-lipped, pink-tongued expression which resembled a smile, his small ears pricking as he trotted towards you and, with an exhale, flopped atop you stomach.

“Hey!” you snapped, shoving him off, earning you a dramatic, injured whine. “You are far too heavy and badly-behaved for that! You sleep at my side or go back to the heavens, but do not presume that I am enjoying this, or that I have forgotten who you are!”

It was easier to rebuke him now that he was not in the shape of a man, and especially so given that he did not argue or fight back, only licking his nose contritely and then tucking himself to your right, just close enough that the tips of his fur brushed your arm if you moved, but not so close that you had to touch him if you did not wish to. The arrangement was acceptable if not ideal, and he was as warm as he had promised, so you fell asleep quickly, without fuss, and better than you should’ve given that you were in a field alongside the road to Okhema, with the god of the dawn as your only companion.

Phainon was still asleep when you awoke the next morning, which begged the question of who had dragged the sun to the sky if not him — but these were mysterious things, and you supposed the explanation would’ve been beyond you anyways. Allowing yourself the moment of weakness, you stroked his forehead lightly, finding the fur to be like silk under your palm, moving so quickly that you doubted he would notice yet luxuriating in the soft feel of him, which was even more fine than your mother’s best gowns.

Yet almost immediately, his tail began to thump against the ground, and he lifted his head, cocking it when you withdrew your hand like you had been burnt. He nosed at your wrist, and you swatted him away, standing and beginning to fold your blanket brusquely.

“Enough with that,” you said. “You aren’t fooling me by playing the part of puppy. Become a man again at once, and enough with your innocent act.” 

“If that is what you will,” he said agreeably, wearing the same white armor as the day before, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. “I did not know if you preferred me in this form or the other.”

You almost told him you preferred him in neither, but his eyes were gold again, resting directly on you, and although you knew it was not his true divinity, it felt as if it might be the closest that you would ever see with your mortal form. A reminder, then, and one you heeded well, any traces of fondness or levity vanishing in an instant as you remembered once again that he was Phainon, god of dawn, god of the denied, god of deliverance.

“It is your choice, sunbringer,” you said. “It matters not to me.”

“You ought to just call me Phainon. Speak as if we are friends,” he said as the two of you set off again, you on your pony and he using his divine power to match your pace effortlessly.

“We are not friends,” you said, not unkindly. “I am a sacrifice who might, if you have your way, worship you one day. What friendship is that, where I kneel at your altar and beg you to bless me?”

“You wouldn’t need to beg,” he said. “Whatever you asked of me, I would grant it immediately.”

“That doesn’t change what I said,” you said. “You are a god, and I am mortal. Let us not pretend otherwise — it does neither of us any good.”

There were stories of gods who took what they pleased and left the rest; although such stories did not exist of Phainon, you were still wary as you waited for him to muster a response, half-expecting him to drag you from your pony then and there, to use the power he had been granted by Kephale to have his way. But he did no such thing, only nodding contemplatively, like you had said something profound.

“Very well, o sacrifice,” he said. “I will be a god for you.”

You did not ask him what he meant by that. You did not think you wanted to. How much more of a god could he be than he already was? What else was he planning? But knowing would not change the outcome, so you decided you would forgo your uncle’s teachings and, this one time, choose ignorance.

“You do not trust me because of Nikador, right?” Phainon asked you when you had been traveling for some days. Every night, he wore the guise of a dog and slept by your side; when dawn rose, he became a man anew, although he still followed you around as if he were a hound, tilting his head when you did something he could not understand — and there were many of these habits, for he had not been a man for an age and had not been a woman ever — and beaming if you offered him even the meagerest of praises — which typically amounted to a thank you for leaving me alone again every morning and nothing more.

“In some sense,” you said. You had, through the course of gour travels, grown accustomed to his presence, although you could never bring yourself to accept him fully. You were looser with your speech now, though, and less afraid, more indifferent when it came to the god. He had not hurt you yet, and although you did not doubt his capacity for it, you supposed there was no harm in letting down your guard the slightest bit. What other choice did you have? For he insisted on remaining with you, although the world and the heavens were his to do with as he liked.

“Nikador,” he groused. “They have always held this grudge against me! As if it’s my fault Kephale chose me to replace them.”

“It’s not as though you don’t do your part to antagonize them, if the stories are to be believed,” you said. “I admit that there must be some bias, but certainly the priests have never spoken of you favorably.”

“I would strike all those priests down if I could,” he said, quite seriously. “Yet even I know that that would be an act of war, and I am not quite so foolish — despite what you may think.”

“I don’t think anything,” you said, fighting to keep your voice neutral, without any hints of distaste.

“It’s such a silly thing,” he said, shaking his head. “Even if Nikador resents me for taking their place as the general of the gods, that doesn’t mean you must despise me as well.”

“I am loyal to my lord of strife,” you said levelly. “I have followed them for my entire life, and I shall not betray them now.”

“You love them,” he said. He stated it plainly, like it was a fact, but the way his brow furrowed implied a question more than anything. You shrugged, braiding a lock of your pony’s mane to busy your hands, which had grown lax, idle.

“Of course I do,” you said. “I have never had a father, for mine was too willing to relinquish his every duty to the High Priest — and so they were my father. I have never had a brother, for mine spent more time in war camps and temples than he ever did in the palace — and so they were my brother. I have never had anyone to believe in, for the priests show me their true faces, which I find hideous — and so they are my constant. Now, I shall never take a husband nor lover, I cannot, so whether or not you are successful, they will play that role for me, too. This is what it means to be the god of a people.”

“I see,” Phainon said. It must’ve been foreign to him, the concept of patronage, for although he had hymns and temples alike, he had no home, no sweeping city or towering mountain which claimed him as theirs. He was young for it, and anyways, who would want him? Because to have Phainon’s favor was to draw Nikador’s ire, and even though Nikador was no longer a proper deity of the pantheon, everyone knew that they were the granter of victory, so no one dared risk it. 

Besides, a god so impulsive that they even answered your brother’s wavering summons could not be trusted with stewardship of a kingdom. He would bring it to despair, and he would do so with that same glimmer in his expression as he wore now, finding humor in that downfall, delighting in their misery as much as he did their supplication.

“Is that why you wish to be their bride?” he continued. “Because you have already pledged yourself to them, and want to be theirs in full?”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. He must have heard already, in some form or another, when you had explained to Anaxagoras why you had done what you had done. So why was he asking? Did he long for some excuse with which to punish you? For now, at least, you were defenseless, exiled from Cerces’s protection and far from Nikador’s. If you told him the truth, if you told him it was because you were frightened of him, then he might take offense, and you shuddered to think what his displeasure would mean for you. 

“Yes,” you said. “I will never know another. Can you fault me for this one longing?”

“You could’ve married a mortal,” he pointed out. “Any number of princes or kings, I am sure. Were you so concerned with longing, I could have even breathed life into a statue for you and made a man exactly as you wanted.”

“Well,” you said, for you had no doubts he would’ve found pleasure in doing that, in moulding with his own hands the husband he thought you desired, demanding only your devotion in return. “But a man is not a god. A prince is not Nikador. I cannot love any other but them.”

“True enough,” Phainon said. “I have not yet conceived of a way to convince them, but I will. I consider it daily, I promise!” 

“You are rather dedicated,” you said. “Why don’t you search for another worshipper? There are many who would be overjoyed to receive attention from one such as you.”

“I don’t want any others,” he said, patting your calf for emphasis. “If you had asked me for something simple, I would have left you with it, but you have presented me with such a challenge I cannot help being consumed by its completion. Anyways, think of it from my perspective — the bride of Nikador, praying to me. Oh, how it would infuriate them!” 

“And you wonder why they dislike you,” you said.

“It’s what they deserve,” he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “They would do the same if they could! Had I a lover, Nikador would surely torment them. Miserable, rotten old god. In truth I pity you, o sacrifice, for you will be bound to them for eternity!”

“Save your pity for those who ask it of you,” you said. “As for me, I shall discover for myself exactly what kind of god Nikador is when you bring me to them.”

Okhema was a distance from the Grove, although closer from there than it was from the mountain, which was inland and thus removed from the seaside capital. Still, you and Phainon traveled for a long time to get there, and over the course of our travels you learnt the god’s peculiarities with more intimacy than you ever would’ve wanted to.

He called you sacrifice, and yet he fussed for an entire day when he heard someone slaughtering a bull for him, saying he much preferred flowers and sweets to be burnt upon his altar. He was the bringer of the dawn, and yet he slept well into the morning, always whining when you told him you had to leave for the day. He bore the power of worlds, and yet instead of tormenting you with it, instead of toying with you and yanking you along at his whim, he followed your orders rather willingly, even happily.

“Do you ever laugh?” he asked you once. You frowned at him; he tried on the expression, which looked strange on a face that only ever darkened on the rarest of occasions. “This one is not so nice.”

“I laugh quite readily, when I have something to laugh about,” you said. He mulled this over, even nodding like it was something terribly philosophical.

“You did laugh at me when I was a bird. Shall I drown myself again for your amusement?” he said.

“It’s not amusing when I know it’s you,” you said. “It’s just ridiculous. What business does a god have flailing about in a bath?”

“By Kephale! My apologies, o sacrifice, for trying to raise your spirits, low as they were when you came to the Grove,” he said. “You forget I walked with you as a man and saw your shoulders droop lower and lower with every passing day.”

“That was because you made me lead you around like a child learning to ride a pony!” you said.

“As I recall, you are the one who insisted,” he said.

“You might’ve said no,” you said.

“I tried,” he said. “You refused.”

“Only because I thought you were truly a man in trouble,” you said after a moment, scowling at how weak the rebuttal was, for after all he was correct. Noticing that you were suddenly sullen, he snickered, knowing he had won this argument.

“I’ll give you something worthwhile,” he said. “I’m the god of good humor too, though most people don’t realize it, so how can I have such a serious devotee?”

“How many roles you play,” you said. “Dawn and good humor and the general of the gods. What relation do any of these have?”

“They are all things I used to love,” he said, so simply you were taken aback, shifting in your saddle to look down on him with a furrowed brow. “When I was human, I mean. I don’t remember much from that time, it was long ago and my memories have since burned away, but there are small things I can still recall. The feel of morning dew under my bare feet. The creases around my father’s eyes when he laughed at a clever joke. The sound of my sword clashing against a rival’s. I could’ve been the god of anything, but when Kephale granted me divinity, I only wanted to keep those close to my heart.”

“Oh,” you said, for you had been expecting some sharp, witty answer, as quick as he always was. You waited for him to continue, to laugh as he was prone to and tell you he meant it in jest, but he did not. He only stared ahead contemplatively, face set, the corners of his mouth curving downwards. “I thought you would say something more foolish.”

“Hm?” he said.

“That what each of these things has in common is you, or something,” you said, and you did not smile, but you looked at him and waited, for you found you did not like it very much, the sight of Phainon so pensive. If he was the god of good humor, then ought he not remain in high spirits? He glanced up at you in confusion, and then his eyes widened before his countenance became oddly soft — not exactly amused again, but kind in a way, grateful.

“There is that as well,” he said, and then he did that thing he was fond of, touching your leg as you walked along, lightly, shyly, like he was reminding you that he was still there — as if you could ever forget.

You smelled Okhema before you saw it, the air growing lush and heady with salt and sand, lemon trees lining the road and drooping with bright fruit, perfuming the path with their sweet blossoms. Phainon plucked one and held it out to you; when you gave him a look of barely-disguised horror, he shrugged, transforming it into a golden apple and biting into it with abandon.

“I will have to remain your hound while we are in Okhema,” he said as you approached the city gates, his head swiveling around, his eyes keen. “Mnestia may not chide me, but for some reason, I don’t know that I can say the same for their followers.”

“What can mere followers do to you?” you said. “You are a god.”

“Cause me enough trouble that I get into a fight with the Lady of Romance, who, although admires me, is temperamental to a fault,” he said. “Now, I can do battle for you if you’d like, but as you said you’re trying to find a peaceful life by the sea, it might be counterintuitive.”

“Yes, please do not ruin things for me here as well,” you said. He sighed at you but returned to the dog form you had grown accustomed to from your nights together, although he did bark at you rudely once he had, his ears flat against his skull in reprimand. “Come along then, and don’t bark too much, or they’ll shoo you away for disrupting the silence.”

Okhema was a city made of marble, white and gleaming, the stones polished until one could all but see their reflection. Phainon found inordinate pleasure in trotting along and leaving gold prints behind; you had not walked in any mud, and anyways you had never seen dirt which shone like ambrosia, meaning he was doing it entirely on purpose. When you gave him a look, he only cocked his head innocently, prompting you to click your tongue, wondering if he was the god of horrible jokes as well.

There was an order even to the bustle of the city, everything in its place, the people’s voices lyrical and hushed, never abrasive, never ugly. It was so opposite to the mountain, where everyone crushed together in a muddle of shouts, pushing and shoving and cheering in turn, everything done in extremity. How beautiful that cacophony was, how pleasant, and how uncomfortable you found this tidy quiet, where wandering eyes could not help but settle on those who intruded.

“Oh, miss, is that your dog?” 

You were halted in your tracks by two small children, a boy and a girl, with bright eyes and shy voices. You glanced at Phainon, willing him to answer in some way, but he only peered back up at you, like he was daring you to say something.

“He’s been traveling with me for a while, but I wouldn’t call him mine, exactly,” you said finally. “We go now to meet with the Council of Elders.”

��They won’t let him into the palace,” the girl said, squinting at him. “He’s a dog. Elder Caenis thinks they’re all dirty.”

“Then he’ll either go back to where he came from, or he’ll wait for me outside, I expect,” you said, not deigning to mention that it was just as likely he would take some other ridiculous shape so that he could stay with you — a bird or a beetle or something else like that.

The two children exchanged looks before the boy took the ball tucked under his arm and held it out in front of him, blushing and avoiding your eyes.

“He’s very cute,” he said. “There aren’t many dogs in Okhema, and all of the ones we do have are small or mean. Could we — I mean, while you’re on your business, would you mind…?”

“We want to play with him!” the girl completed, all in a rush. “But you can say no if you like, he’s yours after all.”

“So that’s why you approached me,” you said, tapping your chin as you tried to come up with some way to explain to them kindly that if they tried to make Phainon fetch their toys in some sort of game, he might actually turn them into insects for the disrespect. “Ah, well, he’s not mine, so I don’t want to—?”

“Puppy!” the boy squealed as Phainon pounced on him, taking the ball in his mouth and then wagging his tail. The boy did not even fight back, instead busying himself with petting along his back and hugging his neck. Your jaw dropped as, instead of smiting them, Phainon sat on the ground with his tail wagging and his eyes closed, allowing the two children to flit about him. “Fetch, puppy!”

“Don’t — what?” you said, for in a stranger turn of events, instead of refusing, Phainon bounded after the ball, catching it in his mouth and then trotting back to deposit it at the boy’s feet. “What is wrong with you, sunbring—Sunny?”

Phainon barked at you. You glared at him. The boy clapped in delight, and the girl's eyes grew to the size of saucers as she tugged at the hem of your shirt.

“Can we please watch Sunny while you’re gone? He’s so adorable and sweet and wonderful!” she said.

It wasn’t possible for dogs to look arrogant, but somehow Phainon managed, and you almost wanted to tell him he might as well just take these children for his budding cult, since they seemed so willing. But you would not condemn the two to that when their intentions were naive in nature, and so you only nodded slowly.

“Yes, alright,” you said. “As long as he doesn’t mind, you can play with him while I’m gone.”

“Yay! Thank you, miss, we’ll be sure to take good care of him,” the boy said.

“Right,” you said, still somewhat at a loss for words, the sight of the god being fawned over like any other mutt more than a little disconcerting. “As for you, Sunny, you — you had best behave yourself!”

The palace of Okhema had a name in the tongue of the sea, something elegant which you could not remember as you approached the grand staircase. Your pony, too, was nervous as you came closer and closer to the imposing building, and you stroked along his neck to soothe his prancing, although it did not do much. Eventually you dismounted altogether for fear of falling, taking the reins over his head and leading him behind you until you could flag down a stablehand, who was hesitant in accepting until you showed him the letter Medea had given you for Elder Caenis.

A pretty slip of an attendant came to fetch you from the entrance hall, her creamy dress swishing behind her as she motioned for you to follow along. Her footsteps were light and her walk magnetic; you wondered if they were trained in this way, to be so uniform, as much a part of the decor as the towering pillars and archways. She did not ask for your name, nor did she offer hers, only bowing and telling you that the Council awaited you in the meeting room.

You lingered for a moment, toying with the scroll you had kept close to your breast for the entire journey. Time and time again, you had been tempted to open it, but you always stopped yourself before you could. Whatever Medea had written, you thought it might be better if you did not read it, especially not before Phainon, whose reaction to your tears you could not predict.

Phainon. You wished he were with you, you realized; you were frightened, and instead of longing for Nikador’s gaze, it was Phainon who you wished to come to your side, Phainon with his charm and lightness and his uncanny ability to understand even what you could not say to him aloud. It was a betrayal of the highest order, but you could not help it, could not help looking towards the window and waiting for him to appear in some form or another. A bird or a beetle or a ray of sun, even, as long as he was there. As long as he was with you. As long as you were not alone.

“They tell me you have a letter from Medea,” Elder Caenis said when you entered. She was the council’s sole representative, which was both more and less nerve-wracking than if you had been faced with the entire collective. Her hair was a knot of clotted spiderwebs tied at the nape of her neck, and her eyes were the bland color of dead halcyon feathers, devoid of anything resembling light or life as they settled upon you.

You nodded, handing the paper to her. “Yes.”

“You’re Anaxagoras’s niece,” she remarked, unfolding it. “A wonder you are here, and not still in the Grove.”

“I am sure Medea’s letter explains it,” you said. Elder Caenis hummed.

“And so it does,” she said, putting it down and pressing her mouth into a thin line. Her eyes narrowed, twin slits of ice cutting through Okhema’s heat and into your core, chipping away at your soul with a steady cruelty. “I understand the situation. I shall deliberate over it with the rest of the councilmen today, and tomorrow, you will be summoned to hear our conclusions.”

“Yes, Elder. Thank you,” you said with a bow. 

“An attendant will be along to take you to the baths, after which you will be escorted to your quarters, where you are to remain until further notice,” she continued. “I hope you’ll understand.”

“I do,” you said, even though the taste in your mouth was bitter, sour. Yet you had no other choice, not when her glare didn’t lift for even a moment, not when an attendant was at your side in an instant, taking your elbow in a hand whose size belied its strength. 

The Okheman baths were as beautiful as their acclaim suggested, but you could not enjoy them when the water was soiled with the stench of your fear, the attendant hovering over you the entire time, offering you help with pleasant words that you did not believe for a moment. When she realized you would not accept it, she took a step back, and there she stayed until you told her you were finished.

Your guest chambers were far closer to what you had known for your entire life, sumptuous and decorated with an attention to detail that spoke to a true love of refinement and wealth, as was to be expected from the seaside capital, which had earned that title as verily as it had fought for it. Sitting on the windowsill was a white squirrel, and in the entire room filled with vibrant paintings and rich fabrics, you found it was the most beautiful thing, with a gold stripe running down its back and tufted ears swiveling towards you when you were ushered in by the attendant.

“You’re here,” you said, unable to stop yourself from sounding relieved as you nodded at the squirrel, resisting the urge to take it and hold it close to your heart. The squirrel — who was not really a squirrel but Phainon himself — chirped, and then when he was sure the room was empty, he sprung back into the form of a white-armored man, beaming at you in greeting.

“My sacrifice!” he said, and for a bizarre moment you thought he was about to embrace you, so, swallowing, you turned and busied yourself with inspecting the bed, which was as perfect as everything else. “Of course I am. How could I leave you so soon?”

“Perhaps you found better worshippers,” you said. “Ones who actually worship you, for example.”

“That would be boring,” he said. “Anyways, what did the Council of Elders say?”

“They will consider my fate and inform me tomorrow what they decide,” you said to him. “I am not to leave my quarters until then, and especially not without an attendant.”

“No matter,” he said. “If you have any need for anything, just ask me. I’ll bring it to you in a heartbeat.”

“I’m not going to treat a god like a messenger-boy. The mere prospect ought to anger you beyond belief,” you said, pulling gauzy curtains over the window to ward away insects, lighting oil lamps to stave off the encroaching darkness of the night. 

“It doesn’t,” he said. 

“Why not?” you said. “Like I said, it should. Doing these things for a mortal woman, letting her speak to you with such insolence, it should madden you, and yet you allow it — encourage it, even! Talonton or Phagousa or Mnestia or any of them, they would’ve turned me to some beast by now, if not stricken me down entirely. Why doesn’t it infuriate you?”

“It just doesn’t,” he repeated as you slipped into the bed, though you did not lie to sleep, instead waiting with your hands folded for him to do — you weren’t sure what, exactly, but something. “I don’t mind it so much. I’m not like the others, anyways, as they are so fond of reminding me.”

You smoothed the space beside you, motioning for him to sit. He furrowed his brow, but you shook your head wordlessly, and so he crept to the side of your bed before, all in a rush, hurling himself atop it, laying his head on your lap and slinging his arms loosely around your hips, exhaling as you finally allowed him to lie with you as a man. You raised your eyebrows but, biting your tongue, did not push him away this time, instead letting your hand hover above the place where his hair curled around his ear, too shy to touch it but suddenly feeling a great and inexplicable desire to.

“They don’t like you much,” you said rhetorically. He opened one eye to peer at you; when he noticed how close your palm was to his face, he tugged your wrist down until your fingers met his pale, warm cheek. You drew it back immediately, like you had been burnt, which prompted nothing but a dry chuckle out of him, as though he had expected nothing less

“Who?” he said. 

“Anyone,” you said. The corners of his lips curved, although he did not quite grin.

“Not particularly,” he said. “But you meant the other gods in specific. It’s okay — you can speak ill of them if you’d like. I will defend you.”

“Yes,” you admitted, finding you trusted him to keep this promise, although maybe you shouldn’t have. “I meant them.”

“It is not as though they hate me, necessarily,” he said. “Some of them even like me well enough — Mnestia, for example. But many of them do resent me. I am a man who became a god; I was never born to divinity the way they were. Once, I was just like you, and gods do not take kindly to those who rise above their stations. It changes the natural order of things, and they are so reliant on that constant to maintain their power.”

“Just like me,” you mused. “I cannot imagine what kind of a man you must have been.”

“I looked much as I do now,” he said, rolling off of you, sprawled on his back with his limbs askew as he stared up at the painted ceiling. “The same hair, the same nose, the same expression — although Mnestia tells me my smile was once crooked, endearing, not as perfect as it is now. Other than that, though, you should not have any difficulties picturing me as I once was.”

“It is difficult,” you said, moving so you could lie on your side and face him. He turned as well, and in the flickering light of the oil lamps, his irises were alive, dancing and mad, twin coins reflecting gold and greed as they bored into you. “How terrible your eyes are in this celestial form. I cannot imagine a mere mortal to possess such a gaze.”

“They were different,” he acquiesced. “I can’t remember what color they were back then, but it wasn’t this. These are a color only a god can don.”

“Yes, it must be so,” you said. “You really can’t remember?”

“It was not just years but an entire age ago that I was a man,” he said. “I told you already, most of my memories drifted away when I ascended to godhood, and time has only thrown a veil over those that are left. I could ask Oronyx for their aid, but I think it’s better I don’t remember. It would make what I do have hurt even more.”

“Hurt?” you said, and then you frowned, because you didn’t want to keep prodding at this newfound wound, even if Phainon might not have minded. “Well. By the way, it was good of you, what you did earlier.”

“Hm?” he said drowsily, although he did not appear to be tired, and neither did he need rest in the same way you did.

“With the children,” you said. “Obliging them and all. You might’ve punished them, but instead you played along and let them treat you like a dog instead of a deity. I didn’t expect it. I mean, who’s ever heard of a god that plays fetch with little boys and girls?”

“It made them happy,” he said, and then slowly, carefully, he extended his hand so that it rested on your jaw and he could trace his thumb along your face. You almost flinched away, but he was so mild, like a butterfly along your skin, that you could not bring yourself to. It was so different from any touch you had ever known, the priests or your mother or anything, that you found yourself leaning into it, found yourself wishing he would never stop. “I was also a child before. This, at least, is something I still recall — how it felt to be a boy, with no knowledge of what would one day become of me.”

He stroked along your bones like he was trying to memorize their shapes, their angles, and he lingered in odd places: the hollow under your eye, the bow of your mouth, the arch of your brow, with no rhyme or reason to it. The repetitive motions were soothing, and combined with the lush bed, it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but you fought it back, giving in to your curiosity when the conversation seemed like it would take no other path but this.

“Was it painful when you became a god?” you said, punctuating the statement with a yawn. He pressed his index finger on your lower lip, halting you in the midst of it and answering your surprised look with a snicker that did not quite reach his eyes. Another joke, then, but one only meant to deflect the question, and so one you did not deign to acknowledge. “You keep mentioning your time as a man, so I was wondering.”

“Because it will happen to you, should I find success,” he completed knowingly. “Because in order to marry Nikador, you will have to become a goddess.”

“Right,” you said, although it wasn’t the case. But it should’ve been. You had no reason to feel genuine concern for him, to care for how he had become what he now was. He was still Phainon, still an ill-tempered and badly-behaved god who would just as soon take you and turn you into a rabbit for his troubles as he would grant your wishes. No amount of playing with children and touching you how you wanted would change that; no amount of tragedy or terror would make that fundamental part of him different.

“It’s not,” he said. “Painful, that is. The physical process is easy, and besides, after that pain is…different. You can’t quite understand it in the same way, so it matters little. I wish I could say the same for the rest of it.”

“Do you mean your injuries from the fight against Aquila?” you said, referencing that final, terrible battle, wherein Phainon had defeated the maniacal god by holding the sky upon his shoulders until Kephale could trick Aquila into taking back the burden. Human as he was, Phainon could not survive it, his body withering away from the weight, but in recognition of his sacrifice, Kephale granted him godhood and made him their general for his bravery. “I’ve only heard the story a few times, but it sounds so awful…”

“I had a horse,” he said. “Pegasus. He was as white as a shooting star and scared of his own shadow; I was the only one he allowed on his back, so sensitive was he.”

“He sounds beautiful,” you said, more than a little bemused by the change in topic.

“He was,” Phainon said, dreamily, wistfully. “He was the first one I lost. Colic, I think it was. They put another man on him and it set him to thrashing about and that was when I learnt that it is far worse to watch Thanatos embracing another than it is to meet them yourself.”

“Oh, no,” you said, a pit clawing open in your stomach, your chest heavy with an invisible burden as Phainon nodded slowly. You wanted to tell him to stop, but this was something you could not look away from, could not avoid, and so your mouth refused to move any further.

“My mother was next. She was assaulted, killed for pleasure and silence, and although I struck down those petty thieves, turned them into pigs as was befitting their nature, it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t bring her back,” he said.

This story you knew as well, though you had never heard the whole of it. You were only ever told on the mountain that in all the hot-blood of youth, Phainon had once turned a pair of beggars into pigs and laughed at their squeals. You swallowed, because you did not think he was lying, but it was so at odds with what you knew that you weren’t sure how to reconcile it.

“After that was my father,” he said. “Old age took him. I fought with Thanatos—”

“For five nights,” you completed. He raised his eyebrows, and you hugged an extra pillow to your chest, hiding your face in it. “They say you got in an argument with them and the two of you dueled until Cerces intervened.”

“Yes,” he said, his hand on the back of your head now, petting along your hair. “Cerces told me even I could not fight fate, and if I continued as I was, they would be forced to bring me before Kephale and have my divinity stripped away. I nearly agreed, but the gleam in Thanatos’s eyes at the prospect was so wicked I could not bring myself to.”

“Then the story of you flooding an entire empire?” you said, your voice muffled by your bedding and exhaustion alike.

“They dared to kill a man I once considered my dearest friend,” he said. “And planned on pillaging his kingdom and enslaving his wife, who was always so meek, who always gave me little sweets when I visited and told me she was glad her husband had someone like me to defend him. I could not do anything for him in the end, but at least her, at least I could save her in his name…she scorned me, you know. When I appeared before her and told her what I had done, all she could do was weep and curse me. What sort of a god are you? That was what she asked. He prayed to you before he left, and you abandoned him. His kingdom revered Nikador, and still he chose to put his faith in me, but that very faith was what cost him. I’ll always wonder if it might’ve been different, had he been like you, had he remained loyal to strife. Would he have lived a little longer? Would his wife have hated me less?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” you said. “He still would have died eventually, and she still would have hated you. Only gods are immortal.”

“And that is what you will come to learn,” he said. “In time, indifferent as you are now, you might find me to be your greatest ally in the pantheon. I am the only one who can ever understand you, after all.”

Perhaps it was his words, or perhaps it was the late hour, or perhaps it was the last vestiges of the dying oil lamps, but you found yourself asking him to close his eyes. He did so at once, always so willing, always so obedient, and for a second you thought to yourself, what have I ever done to deserve him? But you chased it away immediately, because Phainon was your bane, because you did not want him and certainly did not think of yourself as unworthy of him — if anything it was the other way around, for you surely did not deserve to have to endure his presence as much as you did.

“They must have been blue,” you said after a moment of deliberation. His forehead creased, but he did not speak, only waiting for you to elaborate, and so you did. “The color of the sky right after sunrise. Bright and lovely. The kind of color that is impossible to refuse. I would have been very fond of them, I think.”

“Would that I could make them that shade,” he said, and then he opened his eyes to reveal that same gold, not the blazing blue you had pictured and loved. “Would that you could be fond of me as I am now.”

“I am sorry,” you said. “But—”

“Nikador,” he said, and then he rolled over so that his back was to you, wide and sturdy and perfect, so perfect, like an artist had made him with loving hands, like he had been crafted, not born. “I understand, o sacrifice, you needn’t explain further. I am sure that learning the fate of my friend has only fortified your resolve.”

To this you had no response, so you only turned your back to his, and thus you slept alongside him, dreaming of a man who resembled him greatly — but with a crooked, dimpled grin and eyes like wildflowers, shining in the faint light of dawn as you offered him something sweet in the hopes he might accept it. 

The next morning, you were summoned to the meeting room once more, for it was said that your fate had been decided. Phainon rode along on your shoulder, a small bird tucked into the curve of your neck as you walked behind the attendant to where Elder Caenis awaited you. When nerves caused your hands to tremble, you would reach up and run your finger along his wings, which would earn you a delighted coo that you thought would alarm the attendant but in fact went ignored each time. Phainon, for his part, seemed to have forgotten his sorrow from the previous night, waking up in good cheer and even pecking your palm sweetly when he became a bird and you lifted his fine-boned body in the air, asking him to come with you.

It was easier to face things with him there, even though the prayers in your mind were meant for Nikador alone, as they always were. You did not know if your esteemed lord would answer you, not with Phainon so near, but even the words were enough to calm your thrumming heart, so that when you came before Caenis, it was with a steady mind and blank expression, giving away nothing.

“Niece of Anaxagoras, former princess of the mountain, you have come to Okhema in search of refuge from the god Phainon,” Elder Caenis began. “Medea has explained it well, so you needn’t clarify further. As a favor to an old friend, I will accept you, but on one condition.”

“Anything, Elder Caenis,” you said. “I have no qualms about working and staying in sparse lodging — I don’t demand nor expect comfort.”

“Good, that makes this easier. As of late, the Okheman countryside has been plagued by a new terror: the Khimaira, a terrible beast with the body and head of a lion, the bust of a goat sprouting from its back, and a serpent for a tail. It can breathe fire, and it has been burning crops with such prolificness that a famine has gone from unthinkable to a genuine consideration. You are from a nation of warriors, so surely you should not mind slaying it for us?” she said.

“If I say no?” you said.

“You will not like how I answer that question,” she said. “This isn’t a choice, girl, it is a compulsion. You will agree to it. You will ride forth, and you will slay the Khimaira or you will die trying.”

“Haven’t you army-men to send?” you said. “Why must it be me? I may be of the mountain, but I don’t have any experience with fighting, and certainly I am no hero who can kill even monsters without batting an eye. That age is over; men like that aren’t born anymore.”

“The soldiers have attempted and failed again and again,” Elder Caenis said. “But setting aside the matter of Phainon, you carry Nikador’s blessings in your blood. They will certainly assure your victory, as long as you pray to them well. That is all; you will be brought to your horse and given a weapon with which to do battle. The Council of Elders wishes you luck, young princess. May fortune smile upon you someday.”

You thought it strange that people only ever called you princess when they were bidding you farewell. The High Priest, Elder Caenis…they wielded the title you once had as a mockery, as a way to cut into you with unfounded cruelty. Neither they nor you could ever escape the knowledge that a princess you were no longer, and they took such pains to remind you of it with every breath you took.

“Oh, Phainon,” you said, a single, terrified sob escaping you as soon as you were in the stable alone, a knife in your hand and your pony’s reins in the other. “You heard her! They’re sending me — I’m meant to — this beast, how am I supposed to defeat — with only a dagger!” 

“You aren’t,” he said, jumping from your shoulder, a man once again, tightening the straps of your bridle so that it would not slip. “Medea sent you to Okhema to be killed. You know that, right?”

“No,” you said. “My uncle, he would never allow it, surely there is some mistake!”

“Your uncle was outvoted,” he said, lifting you by the waist and setting you in the saddle before leading you forward, your pony prancing along behind him. “Six against one. The Sages were too cowardly to do it themselves, as were the Elders, so they have come up with this way of ending your life blamelessly, without any chance of angering Nikador or I — make no mistake, this is an execution order nonetheless.”

“What am I meant to do?” you said. He looked at you over his shoulder.

“Ask me for my help,” he said. “I will come to you, o sacrifice, and I will save you, as I have promised so many times before. Become my devotee and I won’t let anything harm you. You won’t fall to the same fate that my friend did, that my mother and father did. As long as you ask it of me, I will guard you from even Thanatos. But you won’t, right? No matter what I say or do, no matter how I entreat you, you won’t.”

“It is Nikador,” you said. “I must — I cannot anger them; the savage king who bears the lance of fury, they who vanquish all enemies and who are with me in all my battles, they must befriend me in this mine hour, or else I will not see victory.”

Phainon’s expression turned a peculiar version of mournful, desolate, and for a moment you thought he would say something, but then panic flitted across his features and he vanished, like he had never even been there in the first place. Your pony pinned his ears, but you did not nudge him forward, waiting for Phainon to appear again with one of his jokes, to tell you he would stay with you until you found the Khimaira. Yet he did not, so eventually all you could do was continue as you had been, your muscles turning tauter and tauter the farther you grew from the golden city.

“I suppose in the end, you are my only constant,” you said, hugging your pony around the neck. Your pony, who had set out with you from the mountain and remained steadfastly at your side ever since; indeed, he was at this point your oldest and longest friend, the only one to never spurn you, the only one to never demand anything from you in return.

Your hunt for the Khimaira was long and lonely. Phainon did not materialize at any point, and if the Khimaira had ever been near to Okhema, it had long since flown to the countryside, far from the capital. You rode for longer than you ever had, with your pony as your only company, your orisons to Nikador and the song of hoofbeats on the road the only sounds to cut through the desolate, foreboding silence.

You missed the god most in the nights, for it became colder and colder as the year stretched on and your distance from Okhema increased. What you wouldn’t have given to lie with him, to have him embrace you and ward away the omnipotent chill you suffered from. But you refused to call upon him as your deity, refused to kneel for any who were not Nikador, and so you suffered alone, sleeping against your pony’s side, his body shielding you from the wind, his warmth meager compared to Phainon’s but better than nothing.

Many times you thought of running, but where would you go? Who would have you? Cast from the mountain and the forests and the seaside alike, there wasn’t a village that did not know your face, that did not turn silent when you begged for asylum. They did not dare anger the Sages or the Elders or the priests or their deities, and no amount of disguising yourself or invoking Nikador’s name was enough to fool them or change their minds. 

You were marked by Phainon — therefore, the gods who had quarrels with him took it upon themselves to bring misery to you, too, for he was untouchable and you were so delicately, breathtakingly mortal. Georios caused the earth to shake when you tried to become a nanny in a small riverside town; Thanatos sent a plague to the foothills until you were chased from them by a crowd of frightened men with sick on their breaths; Phagousa brought a great wave from the sea when you sought refuge with a family of fishermen, who even after this retribution told you you could stay and only allowed you to leave when you pretended you could not stand the smell of seaweed which clung to every available surface in their home. 

You pleaded and pleaded to Nikador — defend me, please defend me, why won’t you defend me? — but they did not so much as send you a sign, let alone protect you from the torments of their brethren. Deaf to your begging, they left you with no other choice, no other recourse but to seek out the Khimaira in the hopes that you could one day return to Okhema, where Mnestia’s protection could be enough to hide you from the rest of the pantheon.

Eventually, in the course of your travels, you came across a dying woman, blood around her mouth and a baby wailing in her arms. She was saying something, and you knelt so you could hear, gathering the baby without thinking and holding it to your breast, cradling its soft head against your heart as you rocked it, trying to soothe its fretful tears.

“Lady,” she coughed out. “They took everything from me — my son, please take care of my son—”

You didn’t bother asking what happened to her. It was obvious enough, and anyways you didn’t want her to waste her precious last breaths explaining something that could not be undone, so you only stroked your hand along her temple, not sure who you meant to comfort more, her or the child or yourself. 

“I don’t know how to,” you said, your voice breaking as something caught in your throat and stuck there. “I’m sorry, madam, but he will have such a terrible existence with me anyways, and I do not even know how to cheer him…” 

“Sing to him,” she said. “As your mother did to you when you were a baby. Do you remember the song?”

“Of course I do not,” you said. “But it must’ve been one for Nikador, I am sure.”

The woman shook her head, and then she lifted a crimson palm to your cheek, leaving a slender, wet handprint behind. Everything about her was limp; you held her hand to you, crushing her bones in your grip as your vision swam with tears that did not fall and the baby’s damp cheek pressed against your own.

“They chided her for it,” she said. “She tried every ode to war, but it never ceased your sobbing. There was only one song which could quiet your tantrums, only one god whose name could mellow your irascible temper. Don’t you remember? That hymn you never learnt but know in your heart, the one you loved so well as a child…call upon it once more, darling princess.”

“What?” you said, and if you were not so entirely distraught, you might’ve noticed the sparkle in her eyes, which should not have been that type of gleaming when she was supposedly so near to death. “A hymn I never learnt but know in my heart?”

She smiled at you, mysterious and cunning, but did not explain further. You thought and thought, but you could not understand what she might mean, until she began to hum to you, soft and slow and sad, her voice so like your mother’s you nearly began to bawl yourself, nearly crawled and lay your head against her stomach so that she could pet your hair as your mother had in your youth.

“How, then, shall I sing of you?” you said, following the dips and crescendos of her humming, allowing her to lead you through it as the baby quieted. “For everywhere, Phainon, is beholden to you, over the mountains and across the isles, from high-sloping foothills to beaches canting seaward. Do I sing of how you were born a man amidst golden furrows, and how you then rose to become the joy of mankind itself? Hear this, Earth and wide Heaven, surely he will have his fragrant altar and precinct, and he shall be honored above all; as for me, I will carry his name close to my heart, and I will never cease to praise that white calamity, o shining Phainon, god of every dawn.”

Suddenly the weight upon your shoulder lifted, the baby dissipating into nothingness and an immense light enveloping the woman. You stumbled backwards as she stood, no longer a wan, bleeding figure but robust and tall, angular and pointed in construction, wearing flowing robes and a melancholy expression on the most beautiful face you had ever seen.

“Hello, child,” they said, and you covered your mouth with your hand, waiting to be struck down, waiting for the latest tragedy to befall you in the name of Phainon, in the name of some feud or another. “Do not be frightened. I have no quarrel, with you or with that dear boy. You do not recognize me? But it is my own city you ride forth from.”

“Mnestia,” you said. They smiled at you, bending down to caress your face, combing their fingers through your hair and kissing your forehead. How warm it was, how maternal, and you found yourself reaching for them, clinging to their skirts like a child might cling to a mother’s dress, enveloping yourself in the safety of their watch, the closest to repose you had felt since Phainon had left you without a word.

“Phainon was right,” they said. “If only you had been born in Okhema. You would’ve been my most treasured priestess, you lovely little thing. What a shame that another has staked his claim upon you, and a greater shame that you were born to Nikador, who would never allow me to so much as look upon their mountain and steal you away first.”

“Thank you,” you said. They placed their palms on your shoulders firmly, pulling you to your feet, and although they were a goddess, no less than Phainon or Nikador, you could not bring yourself to be afraid. For a moment, their expression flickered, and you swore you saw your mother looking upon you, that same lined smile, that same furrowed brow, and instead of terror, it was only grief you could muster, grief for the life that had been wrenched from you the day you were exiled from the mountain.

“You are not so far from the Khimaira,” they said. “Soon you will stumble upon it, but as you are now, you will lose.”

“I know,” you said. “I was never meant to win, was I? You should know better than anyone, as it is your own cult who sentenced me.”

“I am sorry,” they said. “I cannot control them any more than I can help you. There are too many factors at play, too many gods who find pleasure in this turn of events. Even meeting you now is a risk that I am taking, but at my behest, you called upon Phainon, and so he is protecting us, shielding us from the gaze of the other deities.”

“Phainon,” you said, swallowing and wrapping your arms around your own torso. “I…”

“I know,” Mnestia said. “He longs for you as well, child. All he does is sit by the heavens’ looking glass, staring down at you so forlornly that even Zagreus has grown concerned.”

“Then why won’t he come to me?” you burst out, all at once, ashamed of it but spurred onwards by the desperation which had built and built in you since he had left. “Why did he go without any explanation and refuse to return?”

“Do you think gods can appear to mortals without consequence?” Mnestia scolded you, their voice resounding with the clamor of a thousand avalanches. “He has broken every one of Kephale’s rules so many times over! He struck one of Cerces’s Sages, he came into my holy city, and he has watched over you, who does not even offer him sweet words. It is not allowed! Perhaps Kephale might’ve turned a blind eye were it one of the others, but not him. Not Phainon, who is kept in such contempt by half the pantheon. If he were allowed to continue to accompany you without so much as a sincere plea falling from your lips, if he were allowed to continue to trample on other deities’ domains without care, the heavens would’ve been thrown into mass upheaval. It would’ve been war, and so Kephale has chained him to his throne in the sky and banned him from the mortal realm.”

“Then…if I ever want to see him again, I have to pray to him? But what about Nikador? They will hate me if I turn to him now,” you said.

“Do you truly love them so well?” they said. “Phainon tells me you wish to wed them. Is it so? You will be miserable if you do, you must know it. They won’t love you, child. Not how he does.”

“Nikador has never betrayed me,” you said. Mnestia sighed, and then they took a step back. You meant to chase them, but some force rooted you in place, holding you there as they grew more and more distant.

“Is it not a betrayal that they have left you to this fate?” they said. “Is it not a betrayal that they allow their kin to toy with you? Make no mistake: you may have once been the princess of the mountain, but even in the eyes of Nikador, you belong to Phainon now. In some sense, you always have — your mother knew it, I know it, and more than anything or anyone, he knows it. You only need to call on him, child. He will come as soon as you do.”

“I will do no such thing,” you said. “You lie. Nikador would never — they would not leave me like this, they would not forsake me to Phainon — it isn’t true! I am of the mountain, I am their daughter and sister and devotee, I have spent my whole life as such — you cannot say that they have thrown me away as easily as their priests did — you cannot, you cannot—”

“Whether you believe me or not, that doesn’t change the truth of the matter,” Mnestia said, and then they sounded so exactly like your mother that you could only close your eyes and pretend that they were affording you that final farewell the High Priest had robbed you of. “Goodbye, child. May the path you tread be ever peaceful.”

Only when their imposing presence vanished did you allow your lower lip to tremble, tangling your fingers in your pony’s mane as you remounted him, leaning forward and burying your face in his crest. He continued onward steadily, ignoring your shuddering breaths, which were not exactly cries, unaccompanied by tears as they were, but came very close. Yet you refused to cross that threshold; you were brave, strong, you could not crumble over something so meaningless. Nikador was still with you. Phainon was the one who, in his fickle whims, had abandoned you, had grown bored of your constant refusals, and this was what you had hoped for, wasn’t it? You didn’t want Phainon to look upon you ever again, you were glad he had moved on, and when you had begged Mnestia it had only been a wavering moment of longing for the familiar comfort he brought you, nothing more.

You knew you had found the Khimaira when ash began to stick to the air, a light film of grey settling over your surroundings, turning the sunrise dim — as if Phainon could not bear to witness this final moment, as if he were close his eyes to this last brutality which would be your end. The withered trees were sticky with residue, and every village you passed through was deserted, hollow, the white stone walls streaked with black ash and dried, flaking red, the smears turning brown around the edges. 

Bile rose in the back of your throat, scratching and burning and wicked when you pushed it down, clenching your fist around the ritual knife you had been given in Okhema, your only weapon against the monster. It was a pretty instrument, the hilt painted gold, the blade nearly white and engraved with a prayer to Mnestia, but it was only meant for slaughtering lambs at the altar, who were small and shy and would not fight back. Perhaps it was some sort of a joke, a tongue-in-cheek reminder of why you had really been sent on this errand, of the fate the Sages and the Council of Elders had decided for you, but you could not resent it enough to throw it away, not when it was your sole defense against the world.

Your pony’s instincts were as keen as yours, or perhaps keener, for just as he had in Okhema, he swelled with nerves, and this time you could not quell them. Yet he continued onwards steadily, trusting in you more than himself, and this was such a great source of dismay for you that you nearly leapt from his back and turned him loose. How could he? After all this time, after all he had endured, his coat growing dull and his ribs sharper than you ever remembered them being on the mountain, he still remained loyally at your side, such that he would even accompany you to your death. Perhaps you would ride him into the underworld, too, and it was selfish but it soothed you to believe you would not be alone in that final descent, so you steeled yourself and directed him onwards.

Great Georios must have warned their child that you were coming, for the Khimaira was eerily still when you emerged from the forest onto the cliff where it awaited you. The sire of all beasts, they thought of Phainon as a troublesome, calamitous being, and so they held no love for you, either. At times, you thought of giving them some offering or another in supplication, but then you remembered the stories you had heard of the earth god and grew frightened, deciding you would rather suffer their casual irritation than their proper rage. In truth they were as jealous and mean as Phainon was said to be, but far more powerful than he, slower to anger but erupting suddenly and violently when they did.

The Khimaira stood slowly, languorously, the lion’s head eyeing you and your pony with shrewd eyes like volcanic glass, blank and unfeeling. Beneath you, your pony shuddered, and you knew you were in no better shape, your breaths quick and short like a hare’s, the knife slick in your grasp, teetering on the edge of falling more and more with every passing moment. You wondered, suddenly, in a stroke of clarity, how it had come to this, how you had gone from an esteemed princess to such a ragged, pitiful girl, who only had death left to welcome her — and not even fondly, for Thanatos hated you as well as the rest! How learned you had been once, how happy and adamant, and now you were miserable and helpless, abandoned by divinity and humanity alike.

As quick as lightning, the Khimaira opened its enormous, gaping maw, a dying lamp in the back of its throat flaring to life as fire built in the span of instants before spitting out at you, licking along the browned grass and turning to tall, towering columns that scraped at the reddening sky. Your pony squealed and bolted, the whites of his eyes showing as he tried to storm back into the forest, but in his fear he missed the path, ramming into a tree whose boughs gouged into his flanks and left them dripping with blood. You tried to shush him, to take back the reins and guide him properly, but he was beyond reason, his pain and fear blinding him as the Khimaira advanced with a piercing roar, the serpent of its tail lunging at you, your leg only escaping its translucent fangs because your pony shied sideways, dancing towards the edge of the cliff and whinnying shrilly in vain challenge.

You had known as soon as you saw it that it would kill you, and you had known for longer that this quest was meant to be your execution, but despite how long you had had to come to terms with it, you were surprised to find that you were still so petrified, that as your pony’s back hooves scrabbled against the edge of the cliff and the knife balanced precariously in your fists, you still clung to him desperately, still clung to a final chance at life you knew would not come.

Nikador, you thought to yourself, please, where are you? Why do you not aid me? You have left me! Grant me victory, what must I do for you to do just that?

Every prayer, every ode, every hymn to the lord of strife, they all ran through your mind like an elegy, haunting and anguished and imploring. You could speak them aloud, as you had been every day since you left Okhema, you could attempt to force them to listen — but would they? Mnestia’s words rang in your ears as your pony’s hindquarters gave way and you began to slide down the cliff, sweat darkening his neck, white lather bunching under his mane as he scrabbled for purchase.

Is it not a betrayal that they have left you to this fate? Is it not a betrayal that they allow their kin to toy with you? They won’t love you, child. 

And so, when your pony collapsed and you shrieked out a name, it was not Nikador’s which fell from your lips. You abandoned them then, abandoned them as well and truly as they had abandoned you; it felt like death, too, this invocation, for with it you could never go back to who you had once been, could never again be the princess of the mountain who was loyal only to her god of war. 

“Phainon! I will give you anything — my body, my loyalty, flowers and sweets and a thousand songs in your honor — but come back, please come back, please, I need you—”

You belonged to him now, or maybe it was as Mnestia said: maybe you always had, and it was only in this moment that you were realizing it, this moment in which it came to fruition, that prophecy which your mother had unwittingly woven with that very first lullaby she whispered to you, that very first story of the sunbringer she sang you to sleep with.

Your pony’s slack, tangled limbs straightened in midair and his coat turned the shining white of a shooting star, all of his many wounds knitting together before vanishing entirely. Feathers sprouted from his heaving sides, large wings coalescing and churning at the air, leaving howling gales in his wake as he climbed towards the sun, far from the furious Khimaira’s reach, prompting a proud trumpeting sound from him as he soared over the forest you had come from.

“Pegasus,” you gasped, for he had in truth transformed into a winged version of Phainon’s horse from his mortal days, that silvery, wild thing which had died when it lost him to godhood. Yet here he was, born again, winged and immortal as his former master, but beholden to another this time, still possessed with your pony’s steadfast, undying allegiance to you. Flicking an ear back, he banked slightly, allowing you to catch your breath. “Ah, what?”

Flashing with a surge of lightning, the hilt of the ritual dagger became a scalding temperature, and then it melted in your palm, reforming into a sword made of moonbeams, the crossguard a heavy bronze that your arms strained under until hands curled around your wrists, fingers closing over yours and helping you heft it. It was not just any sword, you realized when you stared at it longer, but the very one which heralded the dawn, the blade of the worldbearer, a heavenly weapon which only one other had ever wielded: Phainon, whose invisible presence was the only reason you did not plummet from the burden of its divine authority.

Go, he said, and when you twisted in your saddle you saw nothing, but you could feel his heat surrounding you nevertheless, could feel the tickle of his breath against your ear when he whispered against the shell of it, the firmness of his body as he steered Pegasus towards the Khimaira. Slay that vile thing.

“I can’t,” you said, your voice bordering on hysterical. “I can’t, it breathes fire, I can’t, I—”

You can. Something fluttered against your cheek, a kiss like a sunbeam, and then it was gone, so quickly that you might’ve imagined it. I promise that you can. I am with you. I am always with you.

He steadied your grip, an invisible thumb soothing over your knuckles, and then Pegasus dove towards the Khimaira with his muzzle pointed at the ground, weaving in between bursts of fire like a child playing in the streets. Then Phainon nudged your upper arms, and before you knew it you were raising the sword in the air so it could catch the light, squeezing your eyes shut and aiming it at the Khimaira’s heart.

That’s no good, my sacrifice. This beast doesn’t have just one heart, you know. Wait.

Right when you thought Pegasus might crash into the ground, the Khimaira leapt at you, evidently tired of toying with its prey. Pegasus pulled up sharply, and you hesitated, but Phainon had no such reservations, maneuvering your hands into place and then humming as the tip of the sword stuck into the top of the Khimaira’s gullet.

Pegasus landed on the ground with hooves tearing at the mud, gnashing his teeth as he galloped under the still-airborne Khimaira, the power of his stride dragging the sword through the beast’s underbelly and ripping it asunder, its molten innards spilling out in a splattering trail. Smoke and flame billowed about you, but you did not breathe in even a wisp, and Pegasus’s brilliant hide remained untouched, like there was a shield protecting you both, rendering you invulnerable to all which might cause you harm. 

The Khimaira landed behind you in a heap of mangled flesh and steaming remains, and Pegasus skidded to a stop, snorting in approval as the sword of dawn sparkled back into nothingness, leaving the innocuous dagger to rest in the ruined weeds. You dismounted on shaky legs, fisting the cloth of the saddle pad to remain standing, and then you waited for his wings and starlit pelt to vanish, leaving behind your dull, simple pony. Yet seconds turned to minutes and still he remained, wings folded against his sides, dark nose nuzzling at your pocket in search of a treat.

“He will not return to his mortal form,” a familiar voice said. “My first and only son, born from my blood and your sweat — such creatures can only be made like that, after all. He is a demigod now.”

You had not known until you saw him how deeply your sorrow had run, but as it was, you sank to the ground and wept, your face in your hands and Pegasus standing behind you protectively as Phainon appeared to you once more, white-armored and golden-eyed. He did not bid you to bow or greet him, only crouching before you and taking you to his chest, allowing you to sob against the smooth curve of his throat and stroking your back, your hair, any part of you he could touch, like he could not quite believe you were real. And for your part you were the same, clinging to his neck, tangling your fingers in the hair at his nape, almost assuredly wrenching at it in your quest to hold onto him as tightly as you could, in your refusal to be yanked from him once more.

“Don’t leave again,” you said. “What do you want from me? Anything, I promise I will give you anything, but don’t leave me again, I was alone and they kept hurting me and I was cold, so cold, I wished for you every night, I did not realize at the time but I did, I thought of you until I ached from your absence—”

“I never wanted to leave you,” he said. “I did not think Kephale would call me back so swiftly, or I might have said something beforehand. Even sending Mnestia to speak with you was beyond difficult, and I am sure they will demand recompense from me for a century or two, but I couldn’t let you think I left of my own will. It was the other gods who demanded it, Thanatos and Georios and Phagousa and the rest; even Cerces and mad Aquila spoke against me, I have come to find. It was abrupt for me as well, and prolonged for your stubbornness. How torturous it was, to know that if only you asked, I could rejoin you in an instant, but to also know you never would.”

“Still you saved me,” you said. “After everything, after how many have left me, you never did. You came when I called, and you saved me.”

“Yes,” he said, gathering your face in his hands and touching his lips to your forehead. “I never expected you, o sacrifice, and so many times I tried to understand what it was about you that moved me to hold you so dear. An exiled princess who constantly spoke ill of me, who praised Nikador to the point of asking to wed them…what business do I even have with you? But it remains that from the day your brother offered you to me, you gave my purposeless existence meaning. Curiosity, desire, warmth…these things which I have not felt since I became a god, you made me remember what they are like. In truth, I could not ignore your summons any more than I could ignore Kephale’s; perhaps you are not my sole devotee, but you are the only one to understand me, and so I will die without you regardless.”

“Mnestia told me I have always been yours,” you said, finding yourself otherwise unable to respond. “Is it true?”

“I do not know,” he said kindly. “Nikador’s mountain is not a place I can look at very frequently. Sometimes, I would hear the faintest murmurs of my hymns, but until the ritual to sacrifice you, it was never enough to justify my appearance.”

“But that is why you were listening on that day,” you said. “That is why you took me before Nikador could. Because of those very murmurs.”

“Yes,” he allowed. “It is so.”

“Then they were right,” you said, closing your eyes and leaning into him once more, allowing him to trace his index finger along your dusty face, as he had such a penchant for doing. “All along, I have—”

A stomp from Pegasus was the only advance warning you got, and then something dark crept into the corners of your vision, a malevolent presence which dulled even Phainon’s celestial light. You almost asked who it was, but then Phainon tensed, his voice coming out as a growl as he held you tighter than ever before.

“You,” he said. “You dare show your face now?”

“Is it not my right?” said the newcomer, their voice deep, commanding. 

“You forfeited any rights when you ignored her every call for help,” Phainon said. Pegasus nickered in vehement agreement, pawing at the ground for good measure, but this new god was undeterred, only chuckling at a display they surely found childish.

“Just because I do not coddle her as you do does not mean I have been ignoring her,” they said. Peering over Phainon’s arm, you saw that the figure was that of a tall, bare-chested man in a red-plumed helm, a spear in their right hand. You knew them at once, and although you could not see their eyes, you wagered they softened with something like delight when they understood you recognized them. “How could a woman unable to handle such petty disagreements ever hope to be my bride? I have never allowed her to face anything she could not manage, and she has in turn proven her mettle many times over. You chose well, brat-god; I am thoroughly impressed. She is beyond compare, beyond a mere, paltry sacrifice, and thus she is truly worthy of standing beside me.”

It was Nikador.

taglist (comment/send an ask to be added): @urrluverrr @itseightamineedsleep @s4turnx1 @qwnelisa @sugilitez @sweetstarfalls @celestial--atlas @beli-eve-ing @monicahar @emperatris-rinaka @lsunncy @mokonosenpaiposts @cusp-du-aureate @rinaataruu @vskhn016 @kaisaiisanewknight

[croquettish]

I'm curious, wdym Hans always fall in love even when we dont romance him? I love your metas so much 🩷 or maybe it was already post about it and I didnt find it. I've got so many questions to ask you coz my autistic ass often dont catch non verbal emotional expressions so you post clarify me things I don't undestand 🥺 Love you 💕

You sending me this made me realize that neither I nor anyone else (that I'm aware of) has actually gone into detail on all of this! So thank you for that!!

I want you to consider Hans' behavior throughout the games. Regardless of whether you read him as bisexual or a comphet gay man, we are dealing with a queer man who has no idea that he's queer. He's grown up sheltered and in many ways unloved. He hasn't seen any models of what love should look like in real life and only knows to interpret the world through what he's learned and read in history and literature. We know this not only because he makes it painfully obvious to anyone with eyes who sees him interacting with Henry, but also because the option to romance him exists at all. The queerness is there, it just has to be coaxed out with the promise of safety.

We also know that Henry is devilishly easy to fall in love with. See here: everyone keeps falling in love with him. And, as we've previously discussed, there is a good reason for why Hans falls in love with Henry to begin with.

Hans is already sweet on Henry and checking him out in that hot tub in KCD1 (reminder that they are canonically naked here) or at the very least finds him attractive:

In other words, Hans just needed to be given a nudge in the right direction. And Henry absolutely gives him more than a few nudges. Like, Henry. You can't just say shit like this and not expect Hans' knees to buckle:

And, as we know, Henry can compliment Hans in Italian even without the romantic context, and Hans loves it even if Henry butchers it, which none of the other love interest appreciate!

Accordingly, we see Hans' slow descent into madness... for the purposes of this meta, I deliberately ignored any and all romance scenes and instead focused on the hints we get outside of that that exist regardless of whether or not you romance him.

The list that follows is meant to serve as individual pieces of evidence that prove that Hans is in love with Henry / falls in love with Henry over the course of KCD2:

Hans is incredibly jealous. The first time this crops up is at the dinner at Trosky:

And then, famously, with Sam:

This, of course, including the conversation we can overhear several times between the two of them. And then later on, if you callously leave Sam behind and he dies, we can get confirmation from Hans!

2. He tries so hard to make Henry jealous:

THIS GIRL DOESN'T EXIST!!!!!! Not only based on this clownery on Hans' part, but also because there is no woman named Karolina in Bohunowitz to begin with.

3. He repeatedly sings Henry's praises to his face:

4. He pays close attention to Henry's state of mind and then acts on that information because he wants to see Henry happy:

5. Hans loves to cut himself off when he notices that he's getting a bit too intimate and panics:

6. Hans outrightly admits that he wants Henry to stay home at Suchdol where it's safe instead of going to meet Erik:

7. And as soon as he hears Henry volunteering for the suicide mission, he volunteers as well:

8. He's heartbroken when Godwin implies that they're going off to die. Not just that, he wavers on what he's saying at all, something that generally doesn't happen with him. He usually just says what he's going to say, he doesn't have stray ellipses showing up out of nowhere like he does here:

9. He'll take on tasks for Henry that no one else will while putting him into the position of a noble.

10. He turns to Henry when he's panicking about the wedding.

11. He is desperate to be worthy of Henry and doesn't think himself worthy at all to begin with (as evidenced by him instigating the divorce arc to begin with).

12. The claustrophobia meta is still applicable even if you're not romancing him. He still has to come to terms with his feelings for Henry, and still comes out on the other side having come to terms with it successfully.

And speaking of, then there's this whole speech:

Not just the prayer (tho jesus christ @ that) but also the bit about the tunnels. Thank Christ for tunnels because they saved Henry?? Taking the claustrophobia : homophobia parallel into account??

13. We still find the buck's blood potion and gay poetry book under his bed at the Devil's Den. (Which you could argue, as per my tags here, was possibly written by him)

14. He could still be argued to be panicking about Godwin discovering his feelings.

15. He still tries to keep the news of the engagement from Henry.

16. He thinks of them as a unit at all times, even while divorced. And this is a running theme for them! He always wants to be by Henry's side and anticipates this being the case of the foreseeable future, like when he talks about how he wants to see the holy land with Henry.

Or when he talks about how he anticipates Henry not only living at his castle, but doing so as castellan (a very prestigious fucking position!). Additionally, he would add a forge just for Henry (recall, again, that Hans' love language is gift giving!):

This similarly crops up right before they're set to torture the guy at Trosky:

He even brings this up to Henry!

There was also a lovely post that I came across a few days ago about how characters act when they're in love but terrified of it. (Many of these don't apply to Hans as far as we know in the game's canon, but that's because they literally can't—the list is meant as a reference for writers and thus is somewhat limited in the scope of its application. This isn't prose and we're not in Hans' head. But I think if you look over the list you'll find that there's a lot of overlap here.) And knowing the risk involved in a confession, it makes sense that Hans would be reluctant.

Finally, I wrote up a whole post about how Hans falls in love with Henry (and when!) that might be of interest to you here as well!!

Thank you so much also for your kind words 🥺 I should say that my evidence for things is almost never rooted in facial expressions, in part because (outside of cutscenes) we can't rely on them. There are a handful of gestures and expressions baked into the game by default. Like the beloved pointing gesture that our dear John is so fond of. It's why I always use dialogue as evidence. You can rely on tone of voice a bit more because our boys act with intent, but even that is something you can read into. Dialogue is concrete and hard to argue with. Even if it's "hey let's overanalyze this ellipsis." At any rate, I hope this proves helpful/insightful!!

[donvampiro]

headcannons for seducing law? in a flirtatious way <3 can be pre-established relationship/feelings or not, whatever you choose !!

hello @jkthiighs ! hope you're doing good. oh, seducing Law, you say? sounds like an arduous task... i see that you like challenges >:) thanks for your request, and hopefully these HCs will live up to your expectations! Love <3

MASTERLIST - Welcome

***

Seducing him

Trafalgar D. Water Law x gn!reader HCs

man you’re in for an adventure bc i feel like this dude can be the most perceptive just like he can be the most oblivious to your flirting

buckle up!

is he interested in you? bro you’d never know. at least, not very explicitly.

but if that’s the case, he may be the type to send you discreet signals, through things that might differ from his daily behavior. i.e, sharing with you moments he usually prefers to spend alone, opening up a little more about his interests or his thoughts in general. but he would always do it with the same flat tone and expressions as usual lol.

he'd never be openly flirtatious, so it’s up to you to pick up on these signals so that you can send them back to him and let him know that you’re into him too :P

indeed, Law isn’t really the most interested in a relationship at first. at worst, he thinks he doesn’t have time for this or that it’s not for him. at best, he contemplates the idea with curiosity; and perhaps longing as he watches you go about your business with that endearing smile and gentle look of yours — uhm, well, that’s how he interprets it at least. but he’s not much of a man of feelings, he guesses.

he’d rather wait for you to take the lead when it comes to initiating flirting, if not a relationship. so that’s good if you want to seduce him ig (¯\_(ツ)_/¯). Law is a shell that is far from empty, but nonetheless struggles to open easily — and can close off at any moment if things seem too confusing.

it’s an art. a game of subtlety while knowing how to be direct enough for him to understand your intentions. otherwise, it will often fall flat.

‘isn’t it a little bit too hot here?’, he’d ask, frowning as he waves his hand.

— ‘maybe it’s because of a certain person…’, you’d mouth coyly.

— ‘why are you blaming me. it’s not my fault if the AC is broken.’

— ‘Law–’

Law’s not that oblivious though, he’d figure you out at some point. but bro would also get a certain amount of pleasure out of driving you crazy lol

still, to really seduce him, you’d have to prove your determination and, above all, your honesty in your feelings, and this over the long term. Law’s not interested in playing cat and mouse with you if he’s not certain that you are playing this game fairly and sincerely, by which he means, that you too actually want what can happen as a result of the said game.

but how to seduce him? well, imo he’s not a complicated man in that respect: be yourself. yes, really.

be sincere with him, don’t hesitate to give your opinion, even when you disagree with him — especially when you disagree with him. Law is interested in people with a different point of view and who challenge his thinking.

‘... and that’s why we’re going to proceed this way’, Law concluded, before lazily looking up at the crew. ‘any questions?’

— ‘i don’t think it’s a good idea. like, s’not the right logic to adopt.’, your voice echoed in the room, and his eyes, attentive, turned towards you. 

— ‘oh, really?’, he smirked, crossing his arms against his chest as he leaned slightly against the wall, waiting for your answer with more impatience than he cared to admit. ‘and what should we do then, professor (y/n)?’

— ‘just you wait’, you grinned back, and your gaze had this glint of challenge that always made a slight shover of determination run down Law’s spine. ‘don’t worry, i’m getting to my explanation.’

don’t be afraid to share your interests, or at least to embrace them completely, without worrying about what others think. Law has no prejudices about people’s hobbies overall. the worst he can do is tease you, but he never really means any harm, he’s just trying to get a reaction from you. on the contrary, i think Law has a thing for people who embrace their hobbies and he might even be the type to geek out a bit about your interests so he can have a conversation with you.

be kind and patient. he knows that he’s not always a very nice person, rude even sometimes; and i think that while Law could certainly appreciate a person with a slightly similar personality to his, he wouldn’t actually date them. he’d be seduced by your ability to adapt to people and act accordingly, by the smile you manage to draw on their lips almost automatically — just like with him. you’re an attentive and understanding person, and Law likes this a lot. it’s one of the various traits he admires in you. it’s the one that flusters him the most too 🤭

[ghwostcult]

Recap

Paring: Lando Norris x reader Summary: Sometimes Lando needs some help understanding larger words luckily you don't mind simplifying it

Lando wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t the smartest person in the world and he knew that, and yes, he struggled to remember certain bigger words, but that didn’t mean he was stupid. He just needed extra help.

That was something he loved about you. If he needed help with something, you were there. You, his girlfriend, the best person he had ever met, would help him with the simple tasks that he struggled to do.

Such as cooking certain foods. Everyone had seen the monstrosity that was Lando’s eating habits. He struggled to remember to eat, and when he did, he was stuck to a diet that had many complicated meals Lando had no interest in cooking. But you had gotten used to his awful dietary requirements and had learned to cook most of the meals his trainer had requested. Some you didn’t touch because you didn’t think you could stomach them.

That was your and Lando’s relationship. You would help him out with things he needed, and in return, he would do... be Lando? Okay, so he didn’t contribute much in that part of the relationship, but in reality, Lando was the clingy one.

He would spend hours with you, acting as if he was attached with super glue, peeking over your shoulder as you worked, questioning the different things that popped up on the screen. He would do all of this with a smile, something you would pay thousands for.

Today wasn’t very different from every other non-race day for the two of you. You were sat on the couch reading through an email you had received regarding your work, and Lando’s head was leaning on your shoulder.

Reading over the same email, from what he understood, something had happened and you needed to go into the office to hold a formal meeting about it. What was the incident, you may be asking Lando? He had no clue. The words mentioned were long, extremely long.

You worked a simple office job, though recently you had moved to working online, which had been the only thing holding you back from moving in with Lando. Unfortunately for the two of you, it still meant that when there were meetings like this one, you had to go into the office, abandoning Lando. His words, not yours.

As your eyes scanned over the email, occasionally nodding along, Lando laid next to you looking at you, then at the screen, then back at you like a dog who didn’t quite understand your remark.

You had failed to notice the look from your boyfriend as you typed a reply to the email, only pausing to reread it to make sure it made sense and everything was correct. You went to hit send, but before you could, you felt a gentle tap on your arm.

Looking over at Lando, who looked up at you with gentle eyes before speaking, “What’s the meeting about?” he asked with a smile. You shook your head before reading over the email out loud, explaining what was going on in greater detail.

“Basically, Jessica needs me to come into work for this meeting being held by the executive advisor about the performance of one of the other employees in hopes we can achieve a high benefit from her.” As you spoke, Lando opened his mouth and shut it again before looking around the room.

His voice was soft and quiet, slightly ashamed of what he had asked. “Can you say that again, but take all the words bigger than two syllables out for me and simplify it?”

You nodded with a smile before repeating your words. “Jessica wants me to meet with her boss about another person’s work habits.” As you explained, you could see it click in Lando’s mind as he nodded along.

“Ahhh that makes so much sense. Thanks, love,” he said, looking down slightly and hiding his head into your shoulder, embarrassed that he didn’t understand the first time.

Noticing his mood, you gently pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Anytime, darling,” your voice was muffled by his curls, but he could hear you clearly. You could feel the smile take over his face as he replied, kissing your shoulder.

[euporiez]

BENBARO REAL. NEVER KILL YOURSELF.

[echantedtoon]

Oh, okay, so how about.... Jealous cookies ?

Like, we were doing how own thing, (they were not too far away from us) then a cookie started to flirt and our (dear) husbands arrived saying "we're leaving now."

And sorry for disturbing you again !! Sometimes drama get over me >_<

Its ok. Don't apologize. Sorry for taking so long with this, however please read the rules before sending anything. Usually I don't do requests but I'll do yours cuz I like some jealous cookies. I'll be using the same cookies from my last post hope you're ok with that. Warnings for harassment.

ELDER FAERIE COOKIE:

-Im gonna say it now, he doesn't get jealous very easily. He trusts you fully and in very secure in your relationship. After all you both had been married for hundreds of years. Of course you both being gorgeous cookies has had lots of admirers over the years so he's very much used to it. So in short it takes a lot for him to be jealous- However a persistent cookie who's constantly making googoo eyes at his wife while he's right there and knows she's VERY married?? Oh yeah. That'll wear down his patience after a while.

-He's probably kept his mouth shut about your new 'assistant' for a long while now because he knows you'd always shut him down and he didn't want to look insecure in front of you or his subjects. However even White Lily Cookie noticed her friend's glares at the flirty cookie. The way he'd frown and narrow his eyes whenever he'd tail after his wife and make comments. "You're so lovely today, Your Majesty.~" "Thank you." "It's a shame his lordship can't accompany you, perhaps I can-" "Can you please bring me the reports about the delegation? I have to go eat lunch with my husband."

-However his breaking point was when he walked into the assistant fairy going through your belongings in HIS bedroom- "Darling?" "Hm?" He doesn't look up from his book. "Where is Assistant Fairy Cookie? I thought he was going to help me coordinate the festival?" "Oh. He was fired for unprofessional workplace conduct. I'll have a new attendant assigned to you soon...Preferably a lady attendant." You're not surprised but you were surprised by your husband contemplating constructing a dungeon for a cookie in particular-

SHADOW MILK COOKIE:

-The cookie is DEAD. He's either going to be instantly crumbled or be prolonged at his whims thanks to his strings. There's no in between. Shadow Milk is THE strongest of the Beasts and we know how possessive he can be towards things that belong to him or he perceives at his and you are no exception. It all really depends on what mood he's in when the 'Nice Guy' Cookie shows up and starts flirting on you. It also depends on how the cookie flirts with you.

-If he apologizes and leaves when you tell him you have a husband, then he might not do anything at all. He'll be extremely clingy and suspicious for the rest of the day but that's about it, might still send Candy Apple to prank him tho. If he persists then he has no problems with appearing, threatening, and literally throwing hands if he gets heated enough. However if he grabs you or Witches forbid tries to forcefully kiss you or something similar then it's 100% over for him. Either he's getting crumbled right then and there doesn't even care who's watching, or he's disappearing into the Spire where he'll 'take care of' his new toy later. As I said it really depends on what mood he's in and how the cookie reacts to your rejection that decides his choice.

BURNING SPICE COOKIE:

-Hoo boy. Another very jealous and possessive cookie. His possessiveness rivals Shadow Milk's however with Shadow Milk you have a chance to walk away unharmed and with your dough in tack. You don't stand a chance of living if THE LITERAL COOKIE OF DESTRUCTION so much even THINKS you're looking at HIS woman. HE staked a claim on her once he conquered her village and took her for himself. He has her wear his colors and soul jam symbols for a reason!! Despite the fact that he refers to you as his 'concubine' and there really wasn't any official ceremony, you're MORE than married to him so others making eyes at your beauty is a direct challenge and insult in his mind.

-It was learnt pretty fast to keep away from you, and even the female servants you were given often didn't look you in the eye in fear of Burning Spice mistaking eye contact or interest. The few times that someone WAS bold enough to try anything was immediately crumbled as soon as he found out.

PURE VANILLA COOKIE:

-This sweet boy has the patience of a saint! Literally since he actually IS one. Like with Elder Faerie Cookie, he's very secure in his relationship with you and trusts you to not cheat on him. He knows you can handle yourself so if someone starts hitting on you, he'll patiently watch and see what happens. If the guy persists then he'll step in and defuse the situation trying to get him to go away politely first. If it escalates to the point of a physical fight-...Well Pure Vanilla won't be so vanilla then. A lot of people mistake his patience and kindness for weakness but he won't tolerate someone insulting and trying to get through him to his wife, so they'll harmlessly find themselves thrown across the room eating dirt. A harmless blast that won't hurt them but gets his point across. He doesn't like violence but will use a small amount of it if needed.

MILLENNIAL TREE COOKIE:

-A mixed reaction of Pure Vanilla and Elder Faerie Cookie. He's very, secure, trusting, etc. He also doesn't intervene unless he deems absolutely necessary for him which may sometimes cause a problem if it seems like he doesn't care but really he's just patient. If they keep bothering you then he'll conjure up a few tree branches around you both. To bring you to him, and to go dump the instagater into the nearest body of water.

[izzyfishie]

PSA

SQUID GAME FANDOM, PLEASE READ!!

AS THE FINAL COUNTDOWN TO SEASON 3 APPROACHES, and our excitement (and anxiety) grows, there are some things we need to keep in mind, especially surrounding SPOILERS.

not everyone is going to be lucky enough to watch season 3 as soon as it drops. some people may be working. some people may be on vacations or busy. some people may just need more digesting time!

this is why TAGGING THINGS APPROPRIATELY is so important, at least for the first couple weeks of release. nobody wants a spoiler. getting spoiled for your favorite tv show is one of the worst things to ever experience.

BECAUSE OF THIS, PLEASE TRY TO KEEP IN MIND SOME ETIQUTTE:

—tag ANY spoilers, big or small, behind a tag—something like #squid game spoilers or #squid game 3 spoilers. it would also be best if you SPECIFIED on your blog what your spoiler tag is so people can block accordingly, at least until they’ve watched!

—when sending asks or replies to other blogs, MENTION THAT YOU ARE GIVING A SPOILER. this helps not only the receiver, but the audience reading those posts as well.

—DO NOT! DO NOT! and i repeat once more: DO NOT! SPOIL THE SHOW FOR THOSE WHO HAVEN’T CLARIFIED THEY’VE WATCHED!! especially when it comes to major plot points and character death—as someone whose favorite character died four years ago, i am in full solidarity with those whose favorite characters have high possibilities of dying, and it really sucks to get told that without watching.

i myself am going to be deleting/muting all social media until AFTER i finish completely finishing. i will be making videos/notes that i will post later. i will be fully unreachable until then. after that, my blog will be very spoiler-heavy.

THE TAG I WILL BE USING (AND HAVE BEEN USING) IS — #squid game spoilers

please block if needed!!

thank you so much. i am SO FUCKING EXCITED and SO FUCKING SCARED !!!!

[whatsverstappeningnow]

it's a pas de deux

carlos sainz x ballerina!reader

★ smau ★ after the drivers attend a ballet performance as part of their Imola GP media duties, Carlos finds himself falling for the star ballerina.

yourusername

liked by user55, rachel.yes and more

stressed about nothing in particular

comments

liv.in.motion pls save the panic spiral for after curtain call, thanks. 😀✌️

-> yourusername if i faint mid-grand jeté just roll me off stage please

-> liv.in.motion i'll just step over you, don't worry!!!

-> yourusername i love having supportive friends!!! (jk, love you)

-> liv.in.motion 💋 (love you too)

balletfantatic everyone watching tomorrow should be honoured to see you move tbh.

user32 jealous of everyone who gets to watch you dance live 😭 THAT SHOULD BE MEEEE

rachel.yes who gets stressed when they look this flawless practicing??

-> yourusername you guys are so sweet <3

bestieuser stop acting like u aren't gonna slay tomorrow night pls

-> yourusername LET ME BE STRESSED ABOUT THEM WATCHING

-> bestieuser at least if you wipeout onstage there will be plenty of people who can drive you to the hospital!

-> piston-cup wait... who's 'them'...

->yourusername ...i fear we have already said too much

noa.dances nothing like crippling pre-show dread to say we’re back onstage 😌

f1updates

liked by piston-cup, coolgirlhp and more

Turns out the pre-race chaos won’t be confined to the track 👀 The drivers were spotted arriving at the historic Teatro Comunale di Imola earlier this evening to attend a ballet performance ahead of race weekend. No official reason for the visit has been given, but sources say they were personally invited by members of the company (and yes, they cleaned up very nicely for the occasion).

comments

speedyyeah nah bc i blinked and now they’re doing arts and culture?? is this some Italian FIA outreach program i’m not aware of

-> coolgirlhp HELPPPPP

f1fantatic i wasn't aware they knew what ballet was...

-> user1 someone please check if they clapped at the wrong time. i feel it in my soul.

-> user55 everyone is forgetting they are basically all super rich, this is very on brand i fear

speeddrive i swear my clothes were JUST on !!!

fanpage carlos looking extra fine? oh suddenly i believe in the importance of ballet.

user18 if this was PR it worked. i am fully invested. emotionally compromised. spiritually unwell.

simplylovelyyeah you’re telling me yourusername was stressed because Carlos Sainz was in the audience?? yeah I’d worry about passing out too

-> balletbabes suddenly the pre-show nerves are making a LOT more sense

yourusername has posted a story

replies

besiteuser EXCUSE ME. WHO GOT YOU THOSE. bc those were NOT from management and we both KNOW IT

-> yourusername so funny story !!! a certain guest at last night's show sent them to my dressing room... 😀

-> besiteuser UM. you told me you didn't get to speak to any of the drivers???

-> yourusername i didn't...

-> besiteuser GIRL THEY SAW YOU DANCE ONCE AND SENT YOU ROSES??? WHO TF SENDS ROSES TO PEOPLE THEY'VE NEVER SPOKEN TO????

-> yourusername carlos sainz apparently

-> besiteuser AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

-> yourusername i'm glad we are both staying calm about this

yourusername has posted a close friends story

f1updates

liked by user65, booklover2 and more

📸 BREAKING NEWS 📸 Carlos Sainz has been spotted tonight returning to historic Teatro Comunale di Imola. No other drivers were present. Fans at the ballet noted that he was seated in a private box and was carrying a boquet of roses. He was later spotted leaving via the dancers exit hand in hand with the companies lead dancer... has Carlos found love at the ballet?

comments

checkeredheart this is not and drill. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

gridgirlgossip am I delusional or is carlos leaning in for a kiss in the third photo

-> user5 WAIT I SEE IT TOO

user90 carlos sainz watching a 3 hour ballet twice in 48 hours just because the girl he likes is it it... girls if he wanted to HE WOULD

drivefaster omg guys. the flowers yourusername posted the other day must have been from carlos too... ITS ALL COMING TOGETHER

user55 i don't know who i'm more jealous of

rachel.no seeing carlos in a suit twice in one week? oh we are being spoiled

->yourusername you're welcome!

-> rachel.no OMG HI??!?!?!?!?!

goingwild not yourusername basically IMMEDIATELY confirming this is all true 😭 ok we get it girl thats your man now

yourusername has posted a close friends story

carlos.sainz

liked by piston-cup, yourusername and more

dressing (and undressing) for the theatre

comments have been restricted for this post

yourusername photo creds?

-> carlos.sainz photo 3 credits to yourusername

taglist: @verogonewild @piston-cup

credit for the pink bow dividers goes to @cursed-carmine

another short fluffy smau! i hope you enjoyed <3

[pheastinyworld]

current boyfriend ❀•°•───────•

request: the current boyfriend trend with Gabe would be so cute

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: none?

author's note: got the other request out for you ceci, hope you like it!!! also, just want to say to everyone, a big big thank you for sending so much love and so many compliments about my work recently, it means the world!!!

| phe's main masterlist |

something you absolutely loved doing was messing with your boyfriend. you loved getting reactions out of him; seeing his eyes dart around in confusion, cute little pout on your lips.

you didn’t even post the small stunts you played on him. sure, maybe you would send them to your friends, maybe one of his siblings just to tease him, but you never really posted them. you still loved doing them nonetheless. 

it was actually liliane who had sent you the tiktok, texting you ‘yo do this to my brother, he’ll die’. once she sent you the video, your 'for you page' was suddenly filled with the ‘current boyfriend’ trend, every two scrolls, you were met with it. 

you seriously didn’t know how gabe was going to react. you thought he’d either get pouty and annoyed or let it go right over his head. 

that just made you more eager to try it. so, you decided to try it after you had both finished class for the day. you were propped up on the cushions you’d arranged at the top of his bed, gabe resting his head on your lap as you both scrolled on your phone. 

it wasn't until one of your friends facetimed you, that you thought of doing it. 

“lucy’s calling by the way.” you quickly warned gabe, who just hummed back at you absentmindedly as he continued to text his three person group chat that consisted of will, ryan and him. 

you answered with a warm smile. lucy had been your friend since the start of college, often facetiming briefly in the evenings when one of you needed help after missing a lecture. 

“hey where were you during class today? you left me all alone.” you complained lightheartedly, watching as lucy moved around the papers on her desk, phone propped up against some books you assumed. 

“ugh, i had the absolute worst hangover. i was throwing up like crazy this morning.” she replied. looking at her, she didn’t seem her full self, and you nodded empathetically while running your fingers through gabe’s hair. “anyway, what are you up to right now?”

this was when you’d try play your little prank on gabe. you smirked, knowing he couldn’t see you and in return, lucy furrowed her eyebrows questioningly, “nothing much, just relaxing. oh my current boyfriend’s here too. gabe say hi.”

a knowing smile grew on lucy's face; you had actually joked around with her a few days ago, saying you were going to try do this somehow. 

gabe stayed quiet and you thought he just hadn’t heard you, too engrossed in his conversation with his best friends. oh, but gabe very much had. confusion washed over him and he stopped typing suddenly, locking his phone. 

“hi gabe.” lucy said politely over the phone. gabe shifted his body, pulling away from you and sitting up again, eyebrows pulled together, eyes squinting at you. 

“hey lucy.” gabe mumbled back, but he seriously couldn’t care less about your friend on the phone. 

you smiled at him sweetly as if you hadn’t done anything. gabe blinked a few times as you continued your conversation, relaying what lucy had missed in your class today.

current? what the hell did you even mean by that? surely, it was a mistake, a slip of your words. gabe’s brain tripped over the word a few times, watching as you so casually chatted with your friend like what you said was the most normal thing.

more than anything, he was just confused, utterly lost at what you were playing at. you watched him spiral just a little - he wasn’t upset at all, just very confused - his eyes flicking between yours and the floor, then back, lips parting like he was about to ask something. but, being the very polite person he was, he didn’t interrupt your call. 

that was, until he was getting impatient, because he wanted to know desperately what you meant by it. he wasn’t going to be able to do anything else. he wanted to know now. 

you paused as he got up from the bed suddenly, retrieving a hoodie from his closet and pulling it over his head as if he was about to leave. 

“hold on luce, i gotta go, i think my current boyfriend is leaving for some reason.” you said as gabe turned around and gave you a look of disbelief at your words, before opening the door and stepping outside. 

“okay bye, have fun.” lucy laughed before hanging up, and you placed your phone on the bed and sat up.

gabe walked back inside and shut the door behind him, mouth pulled into a thin line but not quite enough to be frowning.

“what was that about?” you questioned. now you were confused. 

“what, me going outside?” gabe asked, gesturing behind him and you nodded, “oh, i was just making sure the lineup of your next boyfriends were still there.”

you scoffed, shaking your head at him as his face scrunched up. “i mean, seeing as i’m only temporary, had to check if they were ready.”

“you’re ridiculous.” you rolled your eyes, leaning back into the cushions as gabe went to sit in the middle of the bed, not close enough to be touching you. you didn't think he’d get this petty. 

“what did you even mean by current?” he leaned back a bit, arms crossed, trying so hard to look unimpressed and annoyed at you, but that’s just not the person he was. he couldn’t really be annoyed at you. ever. instead, a pout was tugging at the ends of his lips and it made you feel a little bad.

“i mean current. you’re my boyfriend right now, are you not?” you shrugged, sitting back up to try shuffle your way over to him but you were swiftly stopped by a rather sassy hand coming up to tell you ‘don’t come any further.’

“okay, so i’m going to need you to roll that back.” gabe eyes narrowed, not in annoyance, but in that you-did-not-just-say-that kind of way. “current?” he asked again just to make sure.

“yes?” you replied like it was obvious, trying so hard not to break or let your face give him any signs that you were joking, but you could tell he knew something was up.

gabe huffed in return, eyeing you suspiciously before speaking. “so, when are you planning the break up? cause i’d really appreciate it if it wasn't on a thursday or friday by the way so it doesn't clash with practice.” 

you can’t hold your laughter in anymore, shuffling closer to him so you could scootch on top of his lap, grinning at him. gabe sighed, knowing it was impossible to not smile back at you even if he was still a little confused. 

“never planning on it. it’s a trend on tiktok.” gabe rolled his eyes, a grin forming as he placed his hands on either side of your hips.

“ugh, seriously?” gabe laughed, shaking his head at you.

“promise, i was only joking. i've definitely not got a lineup of boyfriends waiting outside.”

“better be. want you to be mine forever.” gabe stated, and you felt your face go hot, a shade of pink tickling at the apples of your cheeks, head dropping to his shoulder and arms going around to bring him closer to you.

gabe chuckled at you being all flustered, hands sliding up your shirt and rubbing circles on your back. “how many more of these silly little pranks have you got left?”

you smiled, pulling away to look at your boyfriend, all cozy looking; the loving gaze he had on you making you want to melt on the spot. 

“probably more. tell your sister to stop sending them to me and giving me ideas if you don’t like them.” gabe groaned, rolling his eyes.

“of course she's still managing to mess with me from far away.”