#as the eldest child its my god given right

[river-bottom-nightmare]

"y'know, i think this may actually be the funniest thing that i've ever experienced. either that or the saddest."

bruce, forever resigned to enduring the overdramatic woes of his eldest child, deigned to lift his head from where it had burrowed itself under several oversized pillows and give dick an absolutely scathing glare. dick smiled beatifically back.

bruce groaned and went back to wallowing.

"i mean," dick oh-so-lovingly continued, "this is karma at its finest. i remember when i went through the exact same thing."

"really," bruce said, trying his damndest to put as much incredulity in his voice as he could, given the way his face was mashed into a thousand-count pillowcase. it really was quite soft. for a brief moment, bruce contemplated sinking into the fabric, letting it envelop him and protect him from the cruel clutches of fate, never having to weather the outside world again. he was fairly certain cass was ready to be batman, and if worst came to worst, dick had proven more than capable of leading the justice league for him.

a thump on the bed next to him had him rolling his eyes while trying to stifle a smile. sometimes, bruce is dumbstruck by how much his son has grown, a paper-cut sort of ache. other times, like now, he could close his eyes and almost pretend he was twenty years younger, with an effervescent nine-year-old doing backflips on what dick deemed "the trampoline bed."

"yeah," dick said. "really. very first time i had a date lined up with a guy, i think i was sixteen. i was so nervous, you don't even know." a small quiver in dick's voice hits something very soft and very vulnerable in bruce's chest, and he shifts to look at dick, giving him his attention.

(he does know, is the thing. he remembers dick coming home from that date, eyes a little watery but a smile on his face as he told bruce it went well, then collapsed into the type of hug he hadn't asked for in years, bruce's collar all damp and his heart spilling up, overflowing, bursting.)

"i had my notecards and a speech lined up and everything," dick said, a teasing tone still threaded through his voice, but making himself softer. it was the tone dick took with younger kids he was mentoring, or particularly stubborn friends he was talking reason into. "and in the end, i just ended up word vomiting some version of a coming out speech. it was absolutely awful; i'm surprised you understood a word coming out of my mouth."

"'course i understood," bruce grumbled. "i'm your dad, it was pretty obvious what you'd been building up to for weeks." then, eyes widening—"fuck."

dick grinned down at him, nudging his shoulder in a manner most would deem cheerful and delighted, but what bruce really knows is smug and nefarious and indicative.

"exactly!" dick said, because bruce taught him how to set verbal traps once when he was thirteen and dick had been besting bruce at that particular skill for years.

"i hate you," bruce groans, rolling back over.

"just like you said—alfred knows you. it's pretty obvious to him what you've been building up to, but i know from personal experience that you're gonna want to actually tell him. it's....cathartic. and self-fulfilling."

"i wouldn't care if it was rhapsodic," bruce said. "i never—i never planned for this."

"because you never thought he would ask you? or because you never thought you'd allow yourself to say yes?"

god-fucking-damn dick to the depths of hell for knowing him so well, knowing the turns of his thoughts and the twists of his fears, for pulling his brain inside out and never running away from what he sees.

bruce sighed. "i've never been this lucky, dick. the best things in my life have always been you all, and you know how fraught our relationships are. this, whatever this is, has been going, uh, well? which means it'll go downhill somewhere, and if not with him and me then—"

"bull. shit." dick punched bruce in the arm. lightly, mostly. "this is alfred. he raised us all right alongside you. he's been nothing but supportive of more than half our harebrained ideas for years. hell, he wore a little pride pin on the lapel of his suit when i came out to him."

"yes but," bruce said, haltingly, "i've quite literally known him since birth. if he doesn't take it well..."

"if he doesn't take it well, which he won't, then you'll feel better for both having told him and for facing it yourself."

"it?"

"you're allowed to be happy, bruce, jesus," dick said. "and telling alfred will also, you know, make it a little more real for yourself. i feel like we've had this exact conversation before."

dick is—well, he's right, as he almost always is. and he's employed his particularly famous technique of cutting right to the heart of issues, ripping down the lies bruce told himself, leaving him hyperaware of his own pulse, thrumming in his wrist, and an inescapable flash of clarity.

"i suppose you have a point," bruce said, haltingly and low, and still resolute. with a push, he's sitting on the edge of a bed, feet braced on the plush rug. alfred should be just about starting to get dinner ready, and his—his date is for lunch tomorrow.

bruce, even with his back turned, can almost see the grin stretched across dick's face. "i normally do. now get going, bruce. thirty-something years of repression ain't gonna solve itself."

with a scoff that may have dripped into becoming more of a laugh, bruce ruffled his son's hair, then gave him a quick smile as he left his room, headed towards alfred.

--

list: @woahajimes @birdy-bat-writes @subtleappreciation @catxsnow @pricetagofficial @screennamealreadyused @clamityganon @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption @capricorn-stark @batshit-birds @buticaaba @comics-observer @newsical @queenofbooknerds @queen-of-ice494

[separatist-apologist]

@velidewrites and @ladybriar and I were having a very normal, not unhinged conversation about High Lords/ACOTAR men and their breeding kink. Remember to take your pussy out of it when you read the CORRECT rankings

12. Azriel- afraid to hold a baby. Does not believe himself worthy. Breeding kink is there, but my man needs someone to hold HIM before he can think about holding a child

11. Jurian- 500 years as an eyeball will change a man.

10. Thesan- I just don't know enough about him to say yes/no. Gives of very strong "cool uncle" vibes? Feels child free to me, can't explain it. Less self-loathing than Azriel though, so.

9. Eris- Suspicious of small children. Would have them but its giving "oh shit oh god the condom broke" versus breeding, you know?

8. Tarquin- too busy advocating for equality to worry about being tied down. When the time is right, he tells reporters with a "fuck me" smile. Everyone in line. Me included.

7. Lucien- honestly stunned he DOESNT have a child. Not for lack of trying. Man gets around (all over spring courts border). Hoes in every area code. Likes breeding in theory- good sexy talk. Would absolutely panic if that test came back positive

6. Cassian- got real soft about Nesta holding baby Nyx. Wants to do it when the time is right. SEED was said so much in ACOSF it's hard not to think Cassian is talking about breeding when Nesta has her hands on the headboard

5. Tamlin- wanted children, probably still does. The beast thing just radiates breeding kink, I can't explain it. Also I won't.

4. Kallias- Daddy Winter you mean? 50 years UTM and his only goal was his MATE and getting her pregnant. Having children is hard? Not for him, he managed it in a YEAR. Goal oriented

3. Helion- Accidental pregnant. RADIATING breeding kink. Assuming he did it on his first try that year. Effortless. Immaculate. Virile.

2. Rhysand- Literally heard his mate say she was ready to have a baby and dedicated himself to the task. Unclear about ACOWAR-ACOSF timeline, all I know is Rhysand took it SERIOUSLY

Beron fucking Vanserra- SIX SONS? In a place that STRUGGLES to have ONE? Sorry. But in a more real way, I'm not. Why he wanted six sons, I can only guess given his eldest was utter perfection, but I digress. Is he a good dad? No, but that's not what this list is about. It's about breeding and Beron said bet

[ackerfics]

How would ezra having a girlfriend (age like 15) and inviting her over for dinner go

oh my God, it will be chaotic.

ezra would tell it to both you and eren during breakfast. he's been planning on it with his girlfriend for forever, especially because if ezra dates someone, it's more or less serious even tho he's so young (perks of having eren as a dad in this au bc he teaches his sons how to be gentlemen djehnd). eren would choke on his eggs and he'll ask ezra to repeat it. you, on the other hand, are somewhat surprised yet happy for your eldest. you're looking at him like, "huh," with a tiny smile.

"i'm bringing over my girlfriend for dinner later," ezra would say as if he's talking to a toddler, his eyes specifically on eren.

"ezra, when was this?"

eren would be so dramatic bc one of his babies is finally dating someone ??? [insert swooning from the head of this chaotic family] and it's at a younger age than when he had his first relationship dwhdw kids these days. cue eren just asking questions about ezra's girlfriend while you're patting him on the back bc he's more excited than anyone in the room. when you see ezra's eyes light up while talking about this mystery girl, you feel your heart melt. it's so pure and so sincere at the same time ??? if you can classify it, it's almost like puppy love at its finest bc ezra looks so infatuated that it has caspian gagging on his milk (mind you, he's basically a kid (11) and he's plotting something against ezra at this point), to which aran slaps his arm at.

then, the dinner comes.

the girl is absolutely pretty. eren feels so proud and just stares at you while you welcome ezra's girlfriend into the house. he's leaning on the wall, full on admiring you for being so kind and welcoming to this girl. once he finds ezra's gaze, he immediately nods in an impressed manner and flashes a thumbs-up at his son, something that ezra rolls his eyes at. aran and caspian peeks from the family room like gossiping little shits. caspian doesn't believe ezra could ever date someone in general, given that he's known for starting fights with the youngest of the family. aran, though, is amazed that ezra can act so soft ??? bc both of them are watching ezra whisper to his girlfriend's ear, with the girl shaking her head with a smile, and ezra would furrow his brows but there's underlying relief peeking through his face. (he's probably asking her if it's too much and she's saying it's alright. cue the choreographed awwww.)

ezra acting so lovey dovey with his girlfriend: 🦋🌼💞✨💕🥰💖😮‍💨🦋🌻🌷

cassie and ran while watching their brother: what the fuck ????? what sorcery is this ????

no, but really.

ezra with his girlfriend: 🥰🦋🥰🦋🌼

ezra with his brothers: 😈👹😈👹💢

during the dinner, you're engaging his girlfriend in a chat (read: interrogation). like what are her intentions with your son, what are her plans for the future, you know the usual parent questions that have every child cower in embarrassment. ezra is looking at you like, mom, are you crazy ?? shut upppp and eren is like, "no no, she's doing something right, ez, let your mother be." caspian, oh this little shit, is spewing all the random facts about ezra and even aran joins in.

"did you know he once practiced kissing using the back of his hand?" aran casually starts a conversation while cutting his hamburger steak.

"ooh! i saw that!" caspian cackles. he then makes kissy faces. "he was like this. i bet he was practicing for you! oh, we can't forget about him belly-flopping on uncle zeke's pool and his swimming trunks floated up the surface before him."

aran full-on laughs at the dinner table.

"oh, my God!" ezra exclaims with a warm face. "can you two shut the hell up?!"

"language," eren calmly points his fork at ezra. you simply narrow your eyes at him.

aran sobers up from laughing. "remember that one time he called 911 because our cousin, helene, got her period while visiting us?" he bursts out laughing again. "the 911 operator was laughing at him and he nearly cried."

"hey! i was eleven — i didn't know what to do. cut me some slack!" ezra glares at both of his brothers. "in my defense, you," he points at aran, "are freaking out, too! you were looking for tampons and pads in every drawer here!"

"at least i wasn't crying literal tears and shouting that she's bleeding out to death." aran looks at ezra's girlfriend, wordlessly saying, "you're dating this guy?"

ezra's girlfriend meekly catches your gaze. "is it always like this?"

you laugh a little. "understatement of the century."

it ends with eren adding on to the embarrassing stories (though he is proud of telling them rather than purely for embarrassing ezra), aran and caspian still giggling to each other, ezra out for blood, and you feeling so exhilarated that your family didn't scare the poor girl away.

[laiasworld]

The odd one out

 The black sheep in a herd full of white ones is the common illustration of differences between groups. It may have been because of its morphological characteristics that makes it easier to identify, or something else. Have you ever felt different from others? Throughout your life, have you been the white sheep or the black sheep?

I am the eldest daughter of my parents, the 3rd born girl in our clan. My cousin's age gaps weren't that far. We were able to bond well with others, talk about some "girl things" and much more. Honestly, I love them so much and I am thankful for having them in my life, and even though we're already distant to each other I can still feel the respect we have to one another.

We had our own strengths and weaknesses, it's easy to determine that I'm not that much of a smarty pants as they are, but I do excel in my studies too — not just that high as them. I am very much proud of what they accomplish in their life, and so are they in mine, yet I always felt like I wasn't in the right pack.

My mother, who's an overall achiever didn't hide that fact that she was too proud of them, it wasn't much of a big deal — I thought. Yet the stance she pulled was too much to bear, she went up to the stage to give them a medal, which she wasn't able to do to me. She posted my cousin's achievements, where again, she wasn't able to do it for me.

It was a cry of a neglected child, yearning for the treatment she never received. I said to myself, we never had a relationship to begin with, she never asked how I was nor asked for an update on how I was. Don't get me wrong, she provided me with everything I needed and wanted, yet the emotional support that I craved from them — it wasn't sustained.

I cried my heart out, day by day asking if I can have the same treatment she had given them, yet no amount of prayers nor wishes can make that into a reality. Maybe I haven't prayed enough, maybe I haven't trusted God enough, on the long run, I got tired of asking for it, maybe I should start again? And again. With God anything is possible right? I'll hold on to that

As I write this, I am still a college student, trying my very best to excel in a course I haven't picked for myself, trying to start a new beginning, and plant a new hope.

[okamixxiii]

The Tale Of The Three Families

Warning: This is lore that may potentially have spoilers in it (?). So in case you would rather just read the actual thing when I eventually get around to it I wouldn't look here!

We will be getting into:

The tale of the three families

Convergence Eve and The Wolvish Language

The Renascence

I am writing this here as it is jotted down in my notebook. So it may be a weeeee bit structured weirdly. Ill try my best to restructure it in a way that makes somewhat sense.

"Cinder once said that his family was 'descendants' from the dire wolf, but he thinks that is bullshit if you ask him. and it is true." These creatures to have blessed the three families were not known as Dire Wolves, but as strange godlike creatures that originate from something known as the Zenith. These godlike creatures are what we call "The Wolf" or "The Renascence".

The three families all actually began with humans that were chosen by the Renascence. To differentiate those that have a Renascence from those who are just Wolvish will be referred to as a singular term Renascence. Hopefully, I am making sense. THE CINDER FAMILY The first family to have earned their "blessing" (some may argue and say it's a curse) was the Cinder family. Being the oldest Wolvish family to exist. This is why on things such as Convergence Eve (see more in the "other" section) they are well respected and often have the first say on decisions that will affect all three families. Their gift was bestowed to them in the "Great Fire" that had taken the lives of nearly all of the villagers except for three unnamed and unrelated children. The three wolves that merged with them spared their lives as long as they were promised to become their hosts. Thus the surname "Cinder" was coined. They rebuilt their village far off and away from hostile humans in the woods near a crescent-shaped lake. One taking the role of a leader, another as a right-hand man, and the third as the peacekeeper by choice. Nowadays these roles will be instilled in packs to keep the tradition, often with pups raised to follow its hierarchy. Known as Alpha, Beta, and Omega. But I will have a different post about how Wolvish packs work since this is already going to be word-heavy. When the three children grew as humans and as wolves, the leader took the peacekeeper as his bride. Then from their love was born the first true Wolvish children (Not Renascence) on Earth. THE ASHE FAMILY

The second Renascence had longed for something more after his life began to feel a bit mundane, post Wolvish wedding of The Leader and The Peacekeeper. he had discovered his talent for adventure and one faithful day up and nearly vanished from the Cinder pack. It wasn't too long after this he had met the love of his life from afar. He had not yet known everything the Wolf can do or give to him, so he had ended up biting and infecting his newfound bride. Thankfully she stayed with him, convinced that he was a god and these changes were meant to be. In honor of his found family from the Great Fire, the Cinders, he had given himself the new surname "Ashe". Thus the second family was created.

THE HALE FAMILY

The origins of the third family aren't too dissimilar in the aspect of it beginning with tragedy. Three children born to those who cannot afford them were taken in by an old noble widow who's surname she held from her husband, Hale. She took the task of raising them upon herself even in troubled times and loved the children as if they were her own. Named by her Allistaire, Charolette, and Aspen from eldest to youngest. The forgotten war began while Allistaire was a young adult Mother Hale was accused of witchcraft. This resulted in an angry witch-hunting mob surrounding the Hale estate, baying for the blood of the witch. Enraged by these accusations, Allistaire Hale was about to fend off these accusers even if it had cost him his life, but the widow disallowed it. She ended up giving herself to the crowd in order to protect her children, Allistaire as a witness. Her last words to him were a request to free themselves from here; to protect his sisters and the love that she gave them. The final Renascence was born from a request of revenge. Allistaire Hale took the lives of those who took from him, before biting his sisters and fleeing. Then made a vow to never kill again.

His beliefs solidified after being horrified at what he had done. He had to believe there was a different way to live in peace, and there had to be a better way than killing. He saw both sides of it and chose to follow the right path. After this, he accumulated quite a following in the years to come as the war raged on. From those who were seeking refuge and from those who believed in the ideals he possessed. They knew he wasn't an innocent man, but believed in the fact that you can still choose the right path. That is what meant everything to the Mystics. It wasn't long until their following grew into a pack, with an uncanny amount of Wolf Shifters and Werewolves drawn together by the presence of the Renascence. There was also the fact that Allistaire Hale would take in wounded humans and infect them to become Wolvish to give them a second chance of life.

CONVERGENCE EVE AND THE WOLVISH LANGUAGE

Through travel when she was finally a young woman, Aspen Hale stumbled across a man who happened to be Nicholas Cinder, the eldest son of the Renascence of the Cinder pack. It was then that the Hale family found out that they were not the only ones who possessed this gift, as their differences from their Wolf Shifter and Werewolf cousins were increasingly apparent as the time they all spent together grew. (See more in #lore tag) Intrigued by this, Allistaire Hale requested to meet Nicholas Cinder's parents to discuss the Wolf. The meeting went well and the third Wolf of the Ashe pack was notified of the Hale's existence. Since then they had established something known as the Convergence Eve, where all families come together in a sizable gathering to discuss their lives, their troubles, and their abilities. Allistaire Hale quickly became known as the outlier in these gatherings as they realized he was the only one to bare ice-like abilities in contrast to the other's fire abilities. As for the Wolvish language (example below), it was created by the Cinders alongside Allistaire Hale as a code to communicate during the war without human interference. It began as text that eventually formed a crude spoken version of it. Eventually, the language became known amongst the pack's subordinate members and the Wolvish population adopted it as their own mother tongue, only speaking in general human tongue to those who couldn't understand Wolvish. To this day Wolvish is taught to those who live within the packs of the three families.

THE RENASCENCE To the Wolvish it is unknown how or why the Wolf traveled to Earth from the Zenith, nor is it known why they chose humans to live within. Unless you're a certain time god who accidentally let his dogs loose, then you'll never know how they got out.

In order to fully understand this part, it may be best to look for "Wolvish Species 101" in the #lore tag. To begin with, note that all Mystics, in other words, supernaturals, all trace back to the Zenith somehow. The wolf from the Wolvish come from the Renascence that comes from the essence of the Zenith, while the wolf shifter (closest related species in comparison to the werewolf) is Earth's adapted Zenith echo. The first wolf shifter was born from the Zenith as a whole being to Earth, thus why the species does not obtain active magic-wielding attributes from birth or the separate entity tied to a human counterpart. To describe the entity of the Renascence in its truest form wouldn't be too dissimilar to a biblically accurate angel that takes the loose shape of a massive lupine.

These creatures only appear to have a solidified form after they merge with a human (ex. Allistaire Hale). It is thought that the energy from the Zenith differs greatly and depletes the entity's full power when the migration occurs. Then with being grounded to a creation of Earth itself, the true form lays dormant and forever tainted by the exhaustion of Earth's realm, like an imprint.

Think of it like this: Once you seal wax with a stamp, the stamp remains in that form unless broken or melted or broken. Those that get bitten are only an echo of the Renascence's power since they carry no preexisting Zenith form. At death will only both sides -human and wolf- become one again with the Earth's atmosphere. They are the wax seal that is to be broken. Only the Renascence is capable of being reborn, or like I said earlier; to remelt the wax seal for a new shape. FUN FACTS / SUMMARY Thank you sunset for giving me the trivia idea section xoxox -I gave the Wolf the name Renascence because of its definition. "the revival of something that has been dormant". The Renascence in a way can be seen as a second chance to live or alternatively the reawakening of magic in a human soul from the interference of the Zenith. -If Allistaire had children, they would more than likely adopt his icelike abilities. Magic from the Renascence can be genetic if born, and not bitten. -When Wolvish are created through an infected bite it creates a new spirit and doesn't go based off of the one who bit them. Completely randomized. -The Renascence are only those who were chosen by the Wolf, not those who were bitten or born. This is why there are only four of them exist.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

[hellogoodbye14]

Feysand Mafia Romance

Heads up: Dark Feysand Galore, read at your own risk ⚠️ (also inspired by the book ruthless people)

Rynar Zeravo, the king of the Zeravo mafia family was about to hand over his entire empire to his eldest son. There was only one step left and that was for his son Rhysand to marry the youngest daughter of Neil Archeron. The daughter of the other biggest mafia empire in the country. 26 years ago an agreement of peace was made after decades of fighting and war. An agreement that the two families would be united through marriage. An agreement which would combine them to become the veto mafia.

Rhysand had nothing against the Archeron family, hell in the last five years they had tripled their wealth and territory alone. God knows what happened for the turnover, “drowsy Neil” was not a person who could manage such an achievement but apparently people can change. Rhys however did have a problem marrying a spoiled and meek girl. He’d never met her but his own despicable father would have only wanted a true “lady” by his side. Things you had to do to finally inherit your empire.

It is for this very reason that Rhysand was now in the driveway of the Archeron estate. He had just parked his Audi and turned towards Cassian in the passenger seat.

“This is such a waste of time.”

“Your engagement?”

“I don’t have time for this. I need to fucking find Donatelli. We let him get away with what he did and then the others will think us weak and start encroaching our territory.”

“Donatelli is underground, its been impossible to find him.

“Make it possible.”

“On it boss.”

Azriel opened Rhysands door, “Everything is ready Rhys.”

“Are all the snipers at the ready?”

Azriel nodded.

“All frequencies apart from our own have been jammed too”, said Cassian confirming a message from his phone.

“Alright. Lets get this over with.”

————————————————————————

Rhysand couldn’t believe his eyes.

This could not be the man who had ruled the Archeron empire the last five years. No fucking way.

“If it isn’t my favorite rival crime family,” Neil said, coughing and in a wheelchair. He was old , crippled and right at deaths door.

“Please, have a seat. The contract is on the desk.”

Rhysand unbuttoned his jacket as Cassian and Azriel flanked the sides of his chair.

“We’ve already read the contract. We simply wish to see your daughter sign it.”

“Read it again, she has already signed,” he said through a cough.

Azriel took the contract and snapped his eyes up in anger once he finished.

“Rhys” Azriel snapped, handing Rhysand back the paper.

They added in two lines.

“You’re kidding.” Rhysand snickered, handing it back to Neil. “You are asking that she basically babysit how I run my company?”

“It is what she wants and I happen to agree with her. She has the right, given the fact that you’ll be inheriting my empire with the marriage to my daughter.”

“Mr. Archeron, I will have a ring on your daughters finger by the end of the night. From that point on she will want for nothing and will be treated like royalty. Your empire will be in safe hands with me. Besides why would you want her exposed to our world? She won’t be able to handle the pain that comes with it.”

Neil just laughed. He fucking laughed.

“You’d be surprised son. My other two daughters? Sure. But not my Feyre. Feyre is something else altogether.”

Feyre.

Rhysand had heard her name since he was a child, but an implication that she actually had a backbone kind of intrigued him. He leaned back in his chair. Interesting.

“Fine. I’ll sign it.”

After he signed he rose up and stared down at a wheezing Neil, “where is she? I need to see her.”

He nodded and rung a buzzer, “sure.”

When the door opened, A girl with thick messy hair, wearing an overly large maxi flower dress and huge glasses walked in. Rhysand felt his heart deflate, there was nothing wrong with her but man this girl was not his type.

Fuck it all to the seven levels of hell!, his mind screamed.

“Ms. Reynolds, where is my daughter?”

asked Neil, and Rhysands blood pressure dropped in relief.

“Closest fucking call of your life,” uttered Cassian as we waited for her reply. The timid girl glanced at them, but did not answer. Instead, she kept her eyes glued to the floor.

“It’s fine, Miss Reynolds. The man before you is Feyre’s fiancé. You can speak freely,” Neil reassured her while Rhys was losing his patience.

She bowed.

“Good morning, sir. The Boss is in a meeting at the shed,” she said making everyone freeze.

Boss? BOSS?!

Rhys turned to glare at Neil Archeron, “is this some sort of joke?”

“Who do you think has been running things for the last five years?” He snickered, “If you don’t believe me, you are free to go to the shed. Be warned, you won’t meet a woman who needs to be taught anything.”

Rhys turned and stalked out the door with Azriel and Cassian trailing behind him. He didn’t wait for Miss Reynolds to show the way, he knew exactly where the shed was after studying the Archeron estate plans the night before. No more formalities were going to stop him from seeing his fiancé.

———————————————————————

The moment they were all inside, they could hear a man gasping for air as water splashed around him. He was being waterboarded.

They entered the upper level balcony and looked down at the underground arena which was clearly being used for interrogation and torture. At the centre of it all was the most beautiful woman Rhys had ever set his eyes upon. She wore a knee length tight white dress and spun a gun in her right hand like it was a god damn fidget spinner.

“Enough”, her gentle voice called out.

Miss Reynolds had finally caught up, “Miss Feyre Archeron. Head of the Archeron family and the Boss.”

Azriel and Cassian came to stand beside Rhys and looked down. Azriel let out a breathe whereas Cassian couldn’t contain himself,

“Holy motherfucking hell. If you weren’t marrying her, I’d sweep her up.”

Rhys looked closer at her victim, and fucking hell.

How the fuck did they get Donatelli?!

“Donatelli, as much as I am enjoying our precious time together, I am late for a meeting with my fiancé. I hate being late so lets speed this up shall we?”

A blonde guard stepped up next to her holding out a box, she settled her gun in it while taking out some jewellery and putting it on.

“Fuck you, you bitch I-“

Donatelli couldn’t finish his sentence because the man holding him up on his chair smashed his fist in his face. “You call her Boss or Miss Archeron.”

Feyre sighed, “ I didnt want to do this you know.”

She took her gun back after she finished putting on her necklace and earrings.

“Kill me. I’d rather die than talk to you.”

Feyre laughed hysterically.

“Who said this thing was for you?”

At that, two men brought in a crying woman and placed her in front of Donatelli.

“Oh you hid her well I admit. Kept her a little secret. It took me some time to find her but I did. You talk or she dies.”

The infamous blood thirsty Donatelli was in shock. Feyre seemed pleased and continued, “Not only did you steal drugs from me, I also found out you decided to dable in sex slavery on my territory. Now, that shit does not fly. Tell me the name of everyone you sold to or she dies.”

Feyre loaded the gun, stepped behind the girl and tapped it against her head. Donatelli didn’t say a word even as the girl begged.

“You wouldn’t kill her.”

Feyre sighed and stepped back in her 6 inch heels. With her sight set straight at Donatelli, she fired clear shots at the girls head without even looking. The woman fucking emptied the entire clip.

“She’s as ruthless as you”, whispered Azriel from besides Rhys.

“Clean it up boys.”

Like trained military her men cleaned up the entire area in minutes. It was as if nothing had happened. Well it did happen, Donatelli was sobbing and screaming alright.

“Now. Names sweety. I truly don’t have all day. I have a bomb rigged at your parents safe house. They are next.”

Donatelli started screaming out the names, and as soon as he was done Feyre smiled.

This was madness, this is not what Rhysand expected. He expected a lady to sit by his side and blow his money away, this?! He couldn’t let this go on, the amount of danger she was putting herself in was insane. He felt his anger rile up.

“Enough! Everyone out”, he roared.

Every one of her men looked at him as if he’d lost his mind, the eyes which had the most rage were hers. Good. She needed to learn there could only be one boss and it was him.

————————————————��——————-

Who is asking to die?

Feyre looked back to see the person behind the voice which dared to interrupt her. Rhysand soon-to-be-dead Zeravo.

He walked down the stairs with his gorgeous god damn hair and piercing eyes. He was too handsome, Feyre almost regretted that she would have to put a bullet hole in him. Almost.

“Is this the man behind it all”, snickered Donatelli.

Feyre didn’t even pause. She turned and punched the man until his eyes were swollen shut.

Wiping the droplets of blood from her face, Feyre turned to her fiancé.

“You dare overstep Zeravo?”

“Did I? I just signed something which makes all this mine.”

“Do you need reading lessons or are you just that dumb? Contract says we work together after the wedding. You and I are not married yet anyway hence you fucking overstep.”

He smirked. The jackass just smirked.

“Tell your men to leave or I will put them down in seconds sweetheart.”

Feyre glared at him.

“Grayson take Donatelli to the basement in the control centre. Wake him up and then I’ll kill him. I don’t want to kill this man while he’s unconscious, thats boring.”

“Yes Ma’am”

“Rest of you leave and take Mr. Zeravo’s two men with you.”

“They stay”

“They leave now or they leave later in bodybags, your choice sweetheart.”

Rhysand glared at her.

The room emptied and it was just the two of them. Rhysand grabbed her hand and manoeuvred her to sit on the chair emptied by Donatelli. He cupped Feyre’s cheek with one hand while he held her wrist tight behind the chair with his other. He leaned in, with just bare inches between their lips.

“First of all. Never disrespect me again in front of our men.”

He then dragged his thumb across her lower lip, “second, the moment I signed that contract you were mine and third, there is only one boss and thats me.”

Feyre showed him her meek eyes, looking up at him with hesitation, “is that all sir?”

Rhys grinned at her submission.

Lol, what a fuckit. A gorgeous fuckit but a fuckwit nonetheless.

Feyre pulled her head back and smashed it into his. He staggered back holding his bloody nose, “son of a bitch what is -“ but Feyre didn’t let him finish. She swiped his legs from under him and he fell to the floor. She placed her heel on his chest.

“I bow to no one. I stand behind no one and I am a boss. Remember your place Rhysand, sitting beneath my feet.”

He grabbed her foot and twisted until she fell to the floor. He pinned her to the floor, trapping her arms above her head. She shouldn’t be turned on but damn it she was. By the feel of his erection against her thigh, he was too.

They were breathing hard and the next second they were kissing. Feyre felt her body loosen, his hand moved down to her breast and hers moved to his hair, bringing him closer to deepen the kiss. Rhysand pushed apart her thighs with his leg and thrusted against Feyre’s core. Feyre couldn’t control her moan even if she wanted too. She loved every.single.moment.of.it.

But she needed to make a point. There would be two bosses and he would have to make his peace with it.

She relaxed her body to let him think he won. As soon as he let down his guard down Feyre kneed him in the groin.

She got up and grabbed her gun from the side. He was up and coming towards her again with his eyes fuming. She pointed the gun and pulled the trigger.

The bullet went right through his thigh and he roared in pain.

“Thats right, bend the knee to your co-boss. Never interrupt me again love.”

Feyre moved to him and kissed him on the cheek.

“Shot was a through and through so you’ll be fine for our engagement party tonight. Wear a blue tie to match my dress babe. Ill see you later.”

Taglist: @rhysands-hoe

Pictures: Pinterest board

[lonely-lost-soul]

Under the Floorboards Pt. V

(Technoblade X Reader): Pt. I, Pt. II, Pt. III, Pt. IIII, Pt. V, Pt. VI

    Alright so maybe you spoke too soon; the four of you were going to do great things, minus Tommy. Technoblade had finally agreed to let you join Tommy and him on an adventure into L’manberg. The plan was to crash their festival, and ultimately attempt to get Tommy’s discs back from Dream and Tubbo. You expected your first adventure into the country to be fun, if anything you’d get to steal some shit, what you didn’t expect was to be thrown in the middle of a public dispute. 

Clearly, you underestimated what ‘getting the discs back’ actually entailed. 

You and Technoblade were back to back swords drawn, surrounded by about thirty people in the ruin of what was once deemed a community house. Technoblade never would’ve agreed to let you come if he thought the confrontation with Dream was going to be this serious, he assumed they’d watch from afar. If things got to dicey Tommy and him would rush in and he’d have you stay behind to watch from afar. If only he could’ve predicted someone blowing up a random building would cause such turmoil. 

Nothing could ever come up Technoblade.

   “Yah know when you first invited me out to partake in a festival for some reason I didn’t expect to be attacked by like thirty people.” You chirped a hesitant smile on your face as Technoblade made a confused sound. 

   “You definitely should’ve expected it,” Technoblade grumbled, barely taking his eyes off of Tommy and Tubbo’s argument. You watched Techno’s back but you couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the boys conversation as well. As much as your heart broke for the two war-torn children, you had your alliance first and foremost with your boyfriend. You also couldn’t help but feel this conversation should be happening privately but here they were airing things out seemingly for the first time in front of everybody. Speaking of your boyfriend, your attention was drawn back to him as he caught Tommy’s attention, “be very careful what your decision is here Tommy.” 

You narrowed your eyes and took a step in front of Technoblade, he made his classic ‘heh’ sound as you did so. You felt his hand grip your forearm and tighten trying to hold you back in case you wanted to do something stupid. 

   “Tommy, come home with us.” You held out your hand to him, the one Technoblade didn’t have a hold of obviously. “Phil’s waiting for us, we’ll get your discs back together as we planned.” The smile on your face could part the cloudiest of days and it broke Tommy’s heart, she had given him something that he hadn’t had since the war with Dream began.

A home. 

   “(Y/N),” That’s the first time he used your name, the first time you weren’t just Ms Blade. It broke your heart and you whimpered a little bit, “thank you for everything you’ve done for me. But I can’t go back with you and Technoblade. I don’t like what I’ve become, this isn’t me. I’m sorry. I hope one day we can be friends again. Tubbo give Dream my disc.” You leaned back into Technoblade in disbelief, Tommy had just betrayed Technoblade right before your very eyes. The man who gave Tommy the clothes on his back and a place to stay when no one else would. Weapons to help him fight against Dream when everyone else abandoned him, even though they all treated Technoblade as a weapon he still went out of his way to help Tommy. Your hands clenched into fists at your side as Dream let out a roaring laugh collecting the disc from Tubbo. He called the two children stupid right to their face and no matter how angry you were with them that was harsh, it’s like everyone in this country forgets that they are children. Children fuck up, it’s how they learn and it’s in their nature why does no one here understand that. You looked up at Techno your eyebrows furrowed and you pressed your lips tight but he didn’t take his eyes off Dream, he had different priorities in mind. 

Protecting you from the Dreamon if anything went south. 

Dream continued to mock and criticize the people of L’manberg before turning to you and Technoblade. The mask he wore may hide his facial expressions, but it couldn’t mask the unadulterated glee in his voice. Technoblade pulled you behind him as Dream stepped closer to the both of you, you felt a growl rumble in Technoblade’s chest, 

   “That’s close enough.” 

   “Down boy.” Dream mused, holding up his hands to show faux innocence. “I have no issues with the both of you. Tomorrow, with your help, Technoblade and woman.”  

   “(Y/N).”

   “Don’t tell him your name.” Technoblade gaped at you and you only could huff in frustration, 

   “Better than just being called woman! Plus Tommy already said it.”  

With an eye-roll Dream continued his speech, “With the help of Technoblade and (Y/N) L’manberg is going to be a crater. We’re blowing it sky-high.” Dream turned over to face Tubbo once again, “I had to pretend to be friends with you, to get the dumb disk back! I don't care about you. I'm not your friend. Okay? I cared about getting the disk back, and I got the disk back. I got it back. And that's-that's- that's the only thing that really matters. You can't even run your nation right. RANBOO IS A TRAITOR. ONE OF YOUR MOST TRUSTED FRIENDS.”

Your eyes widened as you spotted another child looking horrified, it was the half enderman from the butcher gang. You’re adopting him next.

   “NO, IT IS TRUE. READ THIS BOOK. READ THIS BOOK. There's his memory book. He was meeting with Techno and Tommy and told them EVERYTHING. The proof’s all his own memories! He writes it down! You can't even run your own nation correctly Tubbo. Listen. Tubbo, you, I mean you, ... L'Manberg is weaker than it's ever been, and it's because of you! You have- you have destroyed everything. You have ruined your friendships. You have ruined L'Manberg's allies. You have just-you are a horrible president Tubbo.” Dream continued as Tubbo looked sick to his stomach, you felt just as nauseous.

   “YEAH, YOU SUCK TUBBO!”

   “TECHNOBLADE!” 

   “What?” He flinched at your tone, “he’s right!” 

   “They’re children,” You tried to argue but Dream cut you off by stepping in between you and Technoblade. Your pulse skyrocketed as you were separated, and you made sure an ender pearl was at the ready. Tommy looked at the both fo you nervously, but there was a spark of hope in his eyes when you defended Tubbo. Tommy turned over to Tubbo who honestly looked just as shocked that a partner of Technoblade’s would defend him, espeically considering he had tried to kill her a few days prior. Tommy had hope that he wasn’t completely dead to you.

   “Techno. Got any withers?” You watched a sickening smile spread across Techno’s lips he picked at his nails. 

   “I got a few.” 

   “Good. Then I’ll see you all tomorrow when the L’manberg loses its last cannon life,” Dream announced before disappearing into the wind. The citizens turned to face you and Technoblade, he only had to utter a single word:

   “Run,” Before both of you pearled away from the wreckage of the community house. 

Technoblade scooped you up in his arms as he made his way through the Nether portal back to his base. He was much faster than you were and you didn’t fight him on wanting to make a quick getaway. You both were silent on the way back to his base, bottom line was you didn’t know how you felt about what just went down. On one hand, destruction was your middle name and you weren’t going to oppose blowing a government to smithereens with your boyfriend.  

Nothing could be more romantic than that. 

Yet at the same time, unlike Technoblade, you felt the guilt eat away at you. These were people’s homes, and lives you’d be destroying tomorrow. Most of the citizens you had no affiliation with, which you were grateful for, but those you did you almost couldn’t justify blowing the country up. Tommy was by all accounts dead to Technoblade and by that extent you as well. Still, you didn’t want to see him physically dead, it wasn’t his fault he got corrupted by the government and a homeless teletubby.

You were starting to sound like Technoblade now too.  

You made a sound of distress and Techno glanced down at your form, his face flushed as you nuzzled your nose against his neck. 

   “You okay princess?” 

   “No…” You answered with a sigh, you reached out and twirled a strand of his pink hair through your fingers. “Tommy’s gone, we’re going to blow up a country tomorrow. I feel bad for the people we’re gonna leave homeless. So, no I’m not okay bubs.” The socially awkward man winced a little as he battled with what to say to you, he tends to forget you both aren’t the same person. For as much as both of you agree, you were still different from him, you had more empathy than he could ever wish to have. 

   “You don’t have to come.”  

He watched a frown appear on your face as you pulled away from him. You clicked your tongue in distaste, a sure sign that you were about to pick a fight with the blood god. You were one opponent he could never seem to defeat. That did not come out the way he intended. 

Time to backtrack before he got his ass handed to him. 

   “What I mean is, you have no affiliation with L’manberg. You have no prior issues you need to settle with them so technically you can stay home tomorrow, no one would blame you. You’d be safer away from the explosions, I’d feel better with you at home.”

   “That way you’d only have to worry about Phil tomorrow right?” 

   “Well, that’s part of it,” He stated bluntly, never one to be dishonest. “He has only one life and he’s going to want to fight, he has a lot to avenge. The government drove his eldest son mad, enough that Phil had to kill him. He’s one of my oldest friends, I wanna look out for him and protect him.” You couldn’t help but sigh softly at his response, you brushed your thumb across his cheek fondly. 

   “You’re wrong.” 

   “Eh?”

   “I do have something I want to fight for, I want to fight for what I believe is right. Let’s face it Techno the way everyone’s treating those children is sick. Dream manipulated Tommy and used Tubbo to get what he wanted from him. I know you did what you thought was right for Tommy but he’s a product of a war-torn country, they all are. Now, that doesn’t excuse his betrayal but… did he even know what the right thing to do was in this situation, does he even truly know what peace is? I want to fight to protect those kids. They deserve to know peace, true peace away from bloodshed and war. If I can I want to give them that.” You watched Technoblade’s jaw tighten, “I’m going with you tomorrow but I’m not going to kill the children.” 

   “I don’t think I can ever forgive Tommy.” He sighed adjusting his grip on you a sure sign he was nervous, “but I love you.” Techno kissed you once again, it was long and tender you watched as the apples of his cheeks turn red after you both pulled away. He took a breath, “You’re unstoppable and you’ve never stopped me before so I won’t do the same for you. Just stay safe. Please. You need to come home with me tomorrow I won’t settle for anything else.” 

   “I will. I promise.” You pressed a light kiss to his cheek, and he hummed gently in response. “I love you Technoblade, I’ll fight beside you. Till the end of the line.”

   “Till the end of the line,” He repeated as you both approached the snow-covered house to convene with Philza Minecraft himself.

~~~

Hi guys! Officially feeling a bit better, enough to get a small part out before I work on the next chapter. I hope you like it, thanks so much for reading and your amazing feedback. Also, thanks so much for your kind words and well wishes! Also, also, If anyone ever makes fanart of this story (I doubt it would happen) please tag me and let me know. I love to make art myself and always wanna support other artists! Thanks Again!

[starshipsofstarlord]

A Stark Contrast | Bucky Barnes

Summary; living in the shadow of Tony, your brother, always was the way, and you accepted it. That was until he expected you to sign the accords, that was one thing that you couldn’t do.

Warnings; Angst, mentions of death, mentions of being controlled, funeral, mourning, anger

The form, bound in a weighty book laid on the table, making the room fill with utmost tension. Tony was hellbent on signing the thing, and handing away any freedom that all of you had.

No matter how long you had supported him, this was not one subject that you could agree with him on. Whilst you understood his perspective, it would only end up with you in a hamster wheel, running around and following the orders of executives.

They wanted less destruction. To put boundaries around their country’s heroes, and limit them to the lengths they could go to in order to save lives.

That was also wrong, the entire ordeal had you bent backwards with a conflict of interests. On one hand, it would be ordinary to sign for such a cause, whether you trusted their backgrounds or not, simply because your elder sibling had.

There was nobody that you trusted more than Tony, he had half raised you after your parents were killed, you felt indebted to him. But being an avenger, on a team where your personal opinion had been valued, it opened your eyes to a whole range of possibilities.

Whilst you were loyal to Tony, you had also became in tune with your own gut. It grumbled at the prospect of giving in to a contract, which decided what you were permitted to do. It was like a child’s parent permission slip, but on a much grander scale.

“People died!” He reminded the lot of you again, which inclined you to look down. There was blood on all of your hands, and he was making it as red as it could possibly be seen. “At least y/n agrees with me.” He reprimanded Steve, whom was still far on the fence regarding the entire ordeal.

Once he said that, all eyes had shifted towards you. Nat had already basically given in to your brother’s convictions, and Steve suspected that you would do the same. You were always one step behind Tony, you were far too loyal to your sibling for your own good.

“I have yet to make up my mind.” You spoke, standing, no longer wishing to be in the room where there was far too much tension. How you wished Banner and Thor were here, they would make an equal divide. The God of Thunder would not scribble his signature upon the paper, you thought to yourself, if he knew their reasons and affects.

However, your words were taken as an assumption that you would join your sibling in providing a peaceful surrender. It is what he and the public would assume of you, and to be truthful, you were tired of sticking to the stereotypes that were made of you.

“I’m surprised that you came.” Steve spoke, as you opened the boot of your car, and revealed the shield that he was so often adorned with, as well as Sam’s wings. He, like most others, had suspected that you would join your brother in his guilt ridden cause, however, thinking for yourself gave you a sense of freedom.

“Don’t be so quick to prevail into what everyone else thinks of me.” You smirked at the captain, your eyes drifting over to the other super soldier, whom had temporarily been imprisoned by the government.

But he had escaped, and if luck was not often a Stark trait, Tony would have died. You had watched from the cameras, but you could boil no bad blood in between the pair of you, Barnes was not in his right mind. He was controlled, and put into a incomprehensible mode of himself. That was, unless, he had managed to kill Tony.

Then you would have changed your own deciding mind, and stuck to what the eldest Stark believed in. “I won’t, ever again.” Sam smiled, picking up redwing from the composed pile, and kissing the machine.

“Bucky.” You reiterated his name, the one that he had chosen to correct the unknown and deceiving man on. The nod you earnt was brief, but it gave you a sense of hope that whirled in your middle. 

It was clear that he was an attractive man, and alike his righteous friend, he was frozen through time to be in this current moment. As Sam and Steve began to get their things together, you walked over to the historical stranger, a smile upon your face. “I’m y/n Stark, I don’t believe we have had the fortune of meeting before.”

“You sure do speak like a Stark.” He softly spoke, a matching smile on his brawn face. “And you seem to have other things in common, like that necklace.” At his words, you looked down at it, a hint of anguish within your gaze.

“It belonged to my mother.” It was nice to reminisce about her for a moment, you knew that she would have made her own decisions too. In some retrospect, you were following in her footsteps.

A feeling grew in the back of Bucky’s throat, but he said nothing. If he were to spill, or reveal his dark secret, it would mean nothing more than the loss of a powerful asset, they could not afford that right now.

“Do you ever think about what would have happened if you got to return home?” It had been a stressful day, fighting your friends, and your last living family member. Bucky turned at your words, you had saved him from being killed, he felt indebted.

“Probably do what every other soldier did; find a woman to marry and have kids. But that’s far out of the picture in this modern age.” Steve was flying the aircraft as you and Bucky spoke in the back. It gave the two of you a moment alone, and you were truly knowing as though you knew the soldier.

He was a good man, misinterpreted by the deeds that he was controlled to do. No one chose to have pity on Barnes, they instead viewed him as a country danger, and wanted to lock him up in a cage, which was how he had come so far in the first place.

“I wouldn’t say that.” For a moment, you looked into his deep blue eyes, feeling as though he were freezing you with them. He didn’t want to look away, but you were inclined to, for you could feel the contrasts of hot and cold heat working its way up your neck, and onto your face. “There’s definitely a woman that would want all that and more with you.”

If things were simpler, you would be convinced that you could share such an intimate bond with him, but alas, everything had to be complicated. And if things could work out, they surely couldn’t last.

“We’re here.” Steve informed the both of you, as he slid out of his front seat, and you prepared to finish this for once and for all.

“How could you?!” You couldn’t defend him as Tony blasted him away, Bucky had played you, and done so well. He and Steve knew of the blood on his hands, and yet they hadn’t thought once to inform you of the one true treachery regrading you.

Bucky had killed your mother, from the intake of information alone, you felt sick. Physically sick. But you choked it down, and as Steve unsurely came towards you, you ran at him, angered by his lies.

From the start, the patriot of America, someone you had considered a friend had deceived you. You had helped him, stood with him, fought your friends for him, and not to mention Tony, and he had known all along.

“Y/n-”

“Save your apologies Rogers.” You stared him down, as he had Bucky held up by one arm, seeing as Barnes had lost one of his own again. “And you, you’re right, there’s no perfect picture, you’re nothing but a monster.”

“Listen.” Steve commanded, but you couldn’t. He was no longer considered your captain, he was a sick liar who had helped to break you. This was the last time that you made your own decisions. Tony was always right.

“You don’t deserve that shield, my father made that. It’s government property-” swiftly he dropped said item, an exhausted and tiresome expression upon Steve’s helmet wearing face.

As soon as they trudged by, you instantly went to Tony, checking his wounds. “You were right brother, I should have listened to you.”

“Your dad loved cheeseburgers too.” You laughed lightly to Morgan, blinking back the tears. It was Tony’s funeral, there were so many people here, even Fury, but there was someone else, who was walking towards you. “Why don’t you go and ask Happy, I have some business that I have to tend to quickly.”

“Okay auntie y/n.” She ran off. She was so innocent, she didn’t deserve to be going to her father’s funeral at five years old, it was truly cruel. But that was just the way the world worked, and Tony was a hero.

“Hi.” Bucky spoke, adorned in all black, same as you. It had been a long time since you had seen him, not since he was being carried away by Steve. You hadn’t fought in Wakanda, instead you had ended up on Titan with your brother, and you would have surely died without him.

“Hey Barnes.” You greeted him with a forced smile, but nevertheless allowed him to step closer.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He said, the guilt still burning behind his eyes. It seemed that his time in Wakanda had changed him, for the better.

“Which one?” You quipped back, instantaneously. 

“All of them.” He gulped, he was going to give you one truth before you found out after. It was his attempt at redemption, and a sorrowful one at that. “Steve’s returning the stones later.”

“I know.” You responded, the captain had already informed you about that part of his plan.

“And he’s not coming back.”

“Anthony Howard and Steven Nathan Barnes, the two of you better get back here this instant!” Your voice hollered through the house, as well as the duo’s endless giggles.

The front door opened, no other than Bucky walking through. He was quick to recognise the flash of motherly anger upon your face, and quickly dropped his serene smile.

“What have they done?” Bucky asked, watching as you crossed your arms in an unimpressed manner.

“Why don’t you ask your sons?” Your husband sighed, but despite that, he was a happy man. He had returned from a war, and found a lovely wife, of which he had two troublesome boys with. For the first time in a long time, y/n Stark and Bucky Barnes were happy.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

“So that’s how you want to play this, love?" | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey My Lovelies! I hope all is well today! I received a request ages ago from @activist-af to do something like this, as you will read below. I honestly aimed to fit the movie night theme in there but it was swallowed up pretty fast! I only meant for this fic to be 3000 or so words but, as it always seems to do, it got away from me.I truly hope that you enjoy this, you've given me an unwavering amount of support these past few months while I was battling a major bout of depression and writers block. I can't repay all the kindness and love you've given me but I hope this is a start! Much love darling! And much love to all of you lovelies! Please have a fantastic evening for me! <3

Please read before continuing: I usually wouldn't write this much before my story but I wanted to add this: this story is my first full blown smut. I'm honestly not sure how well it will go over but I tried to make it as loving and healing as I could. I take my writing very seriously. I know sex for many is a touchy subject, and that truly pains me. I sincerely hope every single one of you reading this feels all the love and saftey I tried to incorporate into this peace. I wish you an eternity of love and healing. Be safe my loves!

Request: "Could u do a mikaelson boys x reader? Any plot really, but I’d very much love it if it was a bit more Kol focused. there’s just such a lack of content for all three of them and I love your writing so much. If u need any plot point ideas maybe a movie night kinda thing? I really hold him a bit higher than the other boys. Or something similar to the fic with the Klaus + Eli being injured? Fluffy ending please, smut is fantastic too 🖤"

Description: Y/n is upset that the boys won't let her come on their mission with them, feeling isolated and useless. Kol is supposed to stay behind and watch out for her however things get heated after she tells him off.

Pairing: The Mikaelson Boys x Fem!Reader, mainly Kol and Elijah

Warnings: THIS IS AN 18+ ONLY FIC!!! This is a full blown smut, I honestly do not know how it happened, probably 4000/5000 words are pure sex scenes, also there's a bit of fighting/angst at the beginning of the first scene but it doesn't last

Word count: 5343 (I'm so sorry)

Tags: ANGST, SMUT (full on), FLUFF

(Pics aren't mine but the moodboard is :) )

“I really don’t see why you guys are leaving me behind, again,” you run an agitated hand through your hair, huffing indignantly at the two boys in front of you.

Yes, boys. Not men. If they aren't going to treat you like the full grown woman you are then no way in hell are you going to give them any validation either. Even in your head.

“It’s too dangerous,” Elijah’s chocolate eyes are stern, his hands clenching at his sides, “I can’t risk the witches doing anything to you as a way to get to us. You’re too important.”

Your chest warms slightly at his words but it isn’t enough to break down your resolve. Three hundred years under your belt; they’re going to need to do better than that if they want to keep you away. There are only so many times you can stay away from a fight, only so many times you can watch them come home hurt knowing that if you had gone with them then maybe you could have prevented it. You’re a family and you’re tired of feeling like you aren’t pulling your weight.

You narrow your eyes at the tall boy, still not man, trying to peer through all the red you’re seeing, “I’m not a child, Elijah.”

He stares right back, not backing down, his face cut like marble, unwavering. Beautiful but harsh. Stone. He wears a white shirt, the first button popped and the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His veins are prominent and tempting. Elijah means business. You swallow the lump in your throat, pushing away the heat growing in your stomach.

“Love, trust me, we know you aren't a child. Any other time I would gladly rip you upstairs and prove it. Right now, though, I agree with him. You’re staying here,” Klaus’ softer voice pulls your attention from your staring match with the eldest Mikaelson.

He has a leather jacket on, the material clinging tight to his arms, ready to burst. He’s smiling but it doesn’t reach his crystal eyes. He folds his arms neatly in front of him. He’s not going to budge either.

You scoff at him, shaking your head, “I want to come, Klaus. I need to.”

A new voice joins the three of you in the foyer, “I can make that happen, darling, but you’ve got to stay home with me if you want that.”

You don't even need to turn around to hear the smirk on Kol’s voice but you do anyway, meeting the youngest Mikaelson face to face. He has a grin on his lips, one that, in any other situation, would have you weak in the knees. He has a sweatshirt on and a pair of sleep shorts. He’s on babysitting duty, he doesn’t need anything else. You only roll your eyes at him before facing Elijah once more.

“I’m part of this family, too, you know. It should be my choice,” you have to will your voice not to crack, keeping your tone as low and as steady as you can, “I’m not useless, Elijah, as much as you’d obviously disagree.”

You rub your hands over your bare arms, fending off a sudden chill. You feel like there’s ice coursing through your veins. A traitorous tear tracks down your cheek but you make no move to get it. Elijah’s hardened face softens when he notices.

“Baby, come on,” he reaches to grab you but you step back, not allowing him to touch you.

He can’t do that, make the decisions for you. Maybe if you were still human it would be called for but now it’s not. Sure, you aren't a millennium like they are but you’re not a piece of glass either. You’re strong, whether they want to acknowledge it or not.

“Don’t, Elijah,” you back away further, your cheeks drenched but your eyes fierce, “I’ll see you guys in a few days. Be safe.”

You turn and walk away, ignoring all three brothers as they call out to you, heading up to your room before any of them decide to follow you. You close the door, not slamming it but not exactly shutting it gently either. You can hear Elijah sigh from the front hall and you know he’s tugging on his hair. Klaus swears, his frustrated voice floating up to your ears. More tears fall but you brush them away angrily, lifting a pillow from your bed and screaming into it. No doubt they can hear it but, right now, you couldn't care less. The front door shuts and your heart plummets.

You sit on the edge of your bed, gripping your dark comforter tightly. Usually you like being the one they take care of. You like being held, how small they make you feel. Right now, though, it’s too much.

A soft knock draws your attention to the door, Kol’s careful voice cutting through the wood, “darling?”

“Leave me alone, Kol,” you try your best to make your words harsh but you only sound tired.

“Not likely, love,” he presses, “you know I can go all night, now it’s up to you what that means.”

Your cheeks flush and, as if he can see you through the door, he chuckles. The sound echos through your chest, stirring the remains of anger and frustration and mixing them with something hot and untamed. You pull the door open, coming face to face with the smirking Mikaelson.

“Sorry you landed with babysitting duty, Kol, but I’ve kept myself alive for three hundred years now and I’m pretty sure I can handle two more days on my own. Why don’t you go help Elijah and Klaus, yeah? Seeing as you are the only three who can actually do any good. I’m clearly not strong enough to do anything so I’ll just sit here and look pretty and do absolutely nothing at all because I’m useless. Okay?”

With that you close the door in his face. Well, you try to but he wedges his body in the way so you can’t shut him out. Whatever smile had previously been on his face is long gone and in its place sits a deep frown. His brown eyes ice over slightly and he stands taller than he did mere seconds ago. You can feel a switch in the atmosphere and suddenly you’re face to face. You honestly can’t tell which one of you is more pissed off.

“So that’s how you want to play this, love,” he pushes closer to you, “you want to get angry, yeah? Alright darling, I can do that.”

You open your mouth to protest but before any profanities can fly out his lips are on yours, fierce and strong. He uses his foot to kick the door closed, slamming it into place. It’s done merely for effect. No one is home but the two of you. He spins you around aggressively, pushing you roughly against the hardwood. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, no doubt drawing blood. As if on cue a copper taste fills your mouth, drowning your senses in red. This time, though, the anger is mixed with a wicked kind of lust.

Your hands find his hair without your permission, tugging harshly at the roots. He groans into your mouth, a sound that makes you want to slap him across the face and wrap your legs around him all the same. His hand snakes around your waist, squeezing your hip with a fervour that will no doubt leave bruises that will take longer than usual to heal. He pushes against you, every single part of him rock hard.

“God fucking damnit, Kol,” his lips find your throat with painful ease, sucking the sensitive skin into his mouth in a way thats just this side of painful over pleasurable.

Right now, though, you crave every bit of pain that Kol lays on you. In a sick way you’re proving that you can take it. That you’re strong enough to do the things that they do. Another flash of red floods your vision when you think of the other two Mikaelson's who refused to let you help. You drag one of your hands down Kol’s back, scratching hard enough for him hiss against your neck.

He jerks away from you quickly, only long enough to rip the sweatshirt over his head before he attacks your neck again. He sinks his teeth in at the same moment he rips your tank top in half, lulling you into that sweet mixture of pleasure and pain, hate and lust once more. His shoulders are deliciously toned under your searching fingers and this time when you drag your nails down his back you know you draw blood. Serves him right anyway.

“Fuck, baby,” he wraps a hand around both of your wrists, pinning your hands above your head, “that kinda hurt.”

You want to claw the smirk off of his face. Or kiss it. You can’t quite decide. His other hand is slowly sliding up your back, inching towards the clasp of your bra. His eyes burn into yours, the inferno behind them nothing less than intense. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears so loud it’s almost hypnotic when combined with the tantalizing draw of his hand. It lulls you into a false sense of security, your eyelids heavy in anticipation. He stops moving when his fingers are about to undo the hooks.

He pushes his hips closer to yours, locking you between his body and the door. His stomach is hot against yours and cut like marble. Your fingers itch to feel every bump and dip with agonizing intricacy. Every inch of your skin is alight, every hair raised waiting for anything to happen. You can feel every breath he takes as if it’s your own, your covered breasts just barely grazing him with each rise and fall of his chest. It’s delicious torture.

“Before we go any further here, I need to know what you want. Do you want some quick fuck that’s going to leave you more angry when it’s done?” He rolls his hips against yours, sending sparks flying through your body at the first real touch you’ve had tonight, “or do you want me to make love to you like you know I can. And make all these terrible feelings go away. It’s your choice, darling?”

His words tangle and knot in the pit of your stomach, weaving through the white hot hatred that had been building in your stomach until it explodes. They hit you right at the source like missiles aimed with the utmost precision to destroy every bit of anger left in you. Tears prickle at the edge of your vision, your senses overloaded from the sudden loss of your fury. All that’s left in its wake is this gut wrenching feeling of not being good enough. It’s the original problem and he just effortlessly broke through to it.

“I,” you tug your bruised lip between your teeth, if only to keep it still, “make it go away, Kol. Please.”

“That’s all I want to do, darling.”

He releases your wrists, opting instead to haul your body into his arms and slamming his lips against yours once more. You waste no time running your freed fingers down his sculpted chest, admiring the way his muscles tense as he holds you up. You push yourself as close to his body as you can get, wrapping your legs around his taught stomach and clinging on for dear life. He kisses you slowly, as if drawing all the negative energy out of your body with his lips.

He walks the two of you backwards towards your bed, sitting on the edge, leaving you straddling his hips in the most delicious way. You push your hips to bring you closer together, wanting to feel every part of him that you can. He meets every movement with his own energy, wrapping an arm around you back to keep you pressed against him. Your body is warming up once more in his arms.

He pulls his lips from yours reluctantly, his hand snaking back to the clasp on your back, “this needs to go.”

You shiver at the light touch of his fingertips on your spine, arching with the click of the hooks coming undone. He pulls the lace from your chest slowly, his thumbs grazing down your arms, memorizing every inch of skin he can get his hands on. His eyes meet yours again and he drops the fabric on the ground next to your bed. His hands, now resting on your hips, trail fire up your stomach as they trace their way over your ribs.

“Kol, please,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, reveling in the warmth of his chest so close to your own, “I need you.”

There’s a glint in his eye again but this time you don’t want to slap him. No this time you want him to do heavenly things to every part of you. You want him to take the last remains of this awful feeling and snuff it out with his mouth. His hands finally crest the remainder of your ribcage, his thumbs teasing the underside of your breasts with tantalizingly careful circles. Tears sting your vision again from all the pent up energy inside of you.

“What shall I do, darling,” his thumbs draw along the sides of your breasts, stoking the untameable fire in the pit of your stomach once more, “tell me how you want me to touch you.”

His fingers dance closer to their target, each stroke driving your brain further into it’s Kol induced frenzy. All you can see, all you can hear, all you can smell is the boy in front of you.

“Kol,” his name falls from your lips in a desperate moan, “please just do something, god.”

He chuckles, a sound that flows like honey and wraps around every inch of you like silk. His eyes sear into your own, daring you to break his stare but you don’t. You can’t

“Well I could do this.”

His thumbs roll over your hardened nipples, as if to punctuate his words, and you see stars. You don’t even try to stop the moans that tumble from your lips, turning to clay in his hands. You give him free reign to mould your body in any way he desires, as long as hands never leave your skin. He pinches each bud between his fingers gently, pulling more praises from deep within you. His eyes never leave your face, drinking in each expression with unashamed greed.

“Or maybe I could do this.”

You know what’s coming when he leans forward, It’s quite clear what his intentions are. However, what you aren’t expecting is for the first gentle nip to send you so violently crashing over the edge that you have to squeeze your thighs around him to avoid falling off the bed. He doesn’t stop when you cry out and you don't want him to. Every swirl of his tongue around your nipple sends you spiraling further into the sweet oblivion he’s created just for you. He rocks his hips against yours while his mouth assaults you, pressing the delicious hardness against you while you fall apart.

He detaches his lips from your lips when you start to come down from your high, kissing his way up your sternum, over your collar bone, before settling on your throat.

“So beautiful darling,” he pulls your skin into his mouth as if he didn't just get enough just moments ago, “so damn beautiful.”

You press down on his hard length again, pulling a groan from deep within his chest, “I want all of you, Kol. Please.”

That's all the encouragement he needs to flip the two of you over and lay you on your back. He kneels between your legs, hooking his thumbs in your plaid sleep shorts and pulling them off much faster than he had down with your bra. He’s more than warmed up now, something that excites you to no end. You’re left laying in a pair of black lace panties that match the bra on your floor.

Kol’s eyes go dark at the sight, a growl that hardens your nipples again rumbling through the air. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh before pulling the lace off of you once more and adding it to the growing pile of clothes. He kisses the junction of your thigh next, sending electricity rippling through your body. It restarts the heat once more and the familiar wildfire rips through your abdomen. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to stand many more orgasms if each one is to be like the first.

“Please just make love to me, Kol, I need to feel you.”

He lifts his head from your thighs, a sight that you will never grow tired of, and his eyes set ablaze, “I was made for nothing more.”

Your heart flutters rapidly in your chest, a warmth spreading like butter over your bones. He kicks his own shorts and boxers off quickly, moving back up your body to rest between your legs. You drink in the heat radiating off his body, allowing it to soothe the remaining ache leftover from your small throw down. His one hand slips under your head, lacing through your hair gently. The other reaches between you, lining himself up against your opening. The slightest touch of him against you is enough to have you mewling his name already.

He teases you slightly, taking his sweet time before pushing in. The first thrust is pure magic, filling you in the way that only Kol can. Each of you boys feel different. Kol lights every one of your nerves on fire with his slow movements. He makes you feel every deliberate movement. He makes you know that every circle of his hips, every time he joins you together is done to perfection exactly how he intends. Kol makes you aware of your entire body and just how much control he has over it.

He pulls back slowly before thrusting back inside of you hard enough to rock your bed into the wall. You clench around him without warning, pulling your name from his lips with mouthwatering ease and sending small shocks through your lower half.

“Christ, baby,” he rocks his hips deeper into yours, burying himself all the way inside you, “how are you so close again already.”

You giggle quietly from underneath him, wrapping your legs around his hips and rolling your own to meet his thrusts. Your hands glide over his shoulders, soothing the scratches you left earlier. You draw his face to your own, pulling his lips down to graze yours. You want him to feel every word you say.

“Don’t play coy, you know exactly what you’re doing,” the end of your sentence is blurred with unrelenting moans.

His hand grabs your leg, pushing your knee to your chest before pushing you into the mattress with a world altering thrust, “you’re right darling, I just like to hear you say it.”

He closes the gap between your lips with another shattering push, your walls clenching harder than before around him again. You swallow each moan that slips from his mouth and into yours. His nutmeg scent clings to you and you know it will take days to scrub him off of you, not that you want to. You could very well spend the next century wrapped up in Kol in every single way possible.

He picks up the pace, slamming into you with controlled ease. Your hands lace through his hair, keeping him as close to you as possible. Your senses are overwhelmingly heightened, allowing you to feel every damned inch of him. You’re in serious danger of falling apart. The fiery ball in your stomach is at its peak once more. When he pulls your lip between his teeth, and you taste the crimson, it explodes.

This time you don't just see stars, you see the sun and the moon and every planet in the solar system. He continues to move in and out of you, drawing out the intensity of your orgasm as he rides his own out. You cling to him with everything you have, refusing to breathe anything but Kol. Everything in this moment is about him and the way he makes you feel. Nothing else matters anymore. Perhaps nothing even mattered before. All there is, all there has ever been, is this one moment.

When you finally land back on earth, he slowly pulls out of you, giving you one last taste of electricity before drawing you to lay on his chest. Your ears ring from the energy you just exerted at Kol’s mercy, your skin deliciously sticky against his own. You're completely and undeniably spent.

You don’t realize that you’re crying until you go to speak, “Kol.”

You feel the sharp inhale he takes rather than hear it. Before you can blink the fresh wave of tears away he’s flipped you around, laying between your legs again and propped up on his elbows. His face is pure concern, his eyebrows creased together in a way that makes you want to smooth every harsh line away. It makes you cry that much harder.

“Darling, talk to me,” he runs a soothing hand down your thigh, pulling you close to him, “what’s wrong baby?”

The tears pour faster at the gentle tone in his voice, drawing an answer to the surface before you even process what you’re saying, “Do they think I’m useless? Do you?”

Your voice is shattered, all the emotions from today coming together in yet another crescendo. You can hear your blood rushing through your ears, drowning out the sounds around you. It’s probably the reason you miss the footsteps pounding up the stairs. You can feel Kol’s soft caresses but just barely. The only thing registering in your mind is the feeling of being completely and utterly weak. Why do they keep you around if you can’t even hold your own?

“God’s no, never. Not even a little bit,” just as Kol speaks, the door opens.

Well, the door slams open, hitting the wall with a crack that echoes through the large house. Kol isn’t startled. He should be but he doesn’t even flinch at the bang. You, on the other hand, tense underneath him, the pounding in your ears still as intense as before. A woodsy scent flows through the now open doorway, pine mingling with your already nutty skin. The pieces start clicking together, albeit at a slower pace than you like.

You’re almost certain you know who’s in the doorway but you look anyway to make sure, “Elijah.”

His name is a whisper and it gets lost under Elijah's own words, his dark eyes searing into yours, “Kol, do you mind giving us a moment?”

Kol glances down at you, a small smile playing on his lips. You plead with him to stay but this is Kol, he’s your hell-raiser. He places a soft kiss on your forehead before he stands, still completely naked, and walks out of the room.

He pauses on the other side of the door, settling a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “careful brother, she scratches.”

Elijah shuts the door when he leaves, much gentler than he had been when opening. Your boys, always the ones for theatrics. He leans against the frame, folding his arms over his chest. You stand from the bed, trying to meet his height but failing. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand but it doesn’t do much to clear the droplets. He tracks your every movement with a fire raging behind his chocolate eyes. You’re painfully aware of how much of your skin is on display for him; that is, all of it.

“What,” you pause when your voice cracks, stealing a moment to compose yourself, “what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be off saving the day.”

He pushes off the door, taking a few steps towards you. You can see he's fighting back a lot of primal instincts. He's as affected by your lack of clothes as you are. His eyes shift rapidly between his usual brown and a deeper coal colour. Despite the situation, you can’t help the heat seeping from between your thighs. He stops a few feet in front of you. There’s no way he can’t smell you right now.

“I was needed elsewhere,” his eyes dip down momentarily, his jaw clenching, “by someone infinitely more important.”

You watch him squeeze his fists together, forcing his eyes to remain on yours. The determination in them is unwavering and fierce. He takes another step towards you.

“It seemed important a few hours ago,” you drop your eyes to your feet, breaking his stare.

He grabs your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him and, in turn, igniting your body, “I assure you it was not nearly as important as making sure that you’re ok.”

Your throat tightens, aching with the promise of even more tears. You wish you could just stop. You’re not afraid to cry but usually you can control it. Right now you can’t. Everything has been building, every little insecurity has pooled, and today was the chip in the damn needed to make the whole thing collapse. It’s too much.

“I’m not,” you wrap your arms tight around yourself, gripping your arms with bruising strength to try and hold back the tremors, “ I am not okay Eli. I feel so helpless. Everytime you come home bleeding and exhausted and where am I?” You run a trembling hand through your mussed hair, yanking at the roots, “Here. Always just here, useless, letting you and Klaus and Kol take it all for me. Am I really that weak? That I’m just extra collateral damage to worry about? What is it, Elijah?”

The words pour from you, each one making him flinch like he’s being hit by an invisible enemy. Every syllable is a bullet to his chest. His body tenses further, his eyes no longer holding any trace of their usual warm brown. Instead they're pitch black, the veins under his eyes a deep plum. The veins in his arms pop as well, his fists iron tight. He curses under his breath when you finish. His voice is gravelly and scrapes the deepest pit of your soul.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, whatever resolve he had been clinging to snaps. He pulls you towards him, wrapping his strong hands around your hips and lifting you against him, giving you a second to wrap your bare legs around his clothed hips.

“Elijah, what are you doing?” You cling to his chest, trying to avoid tumbling out of his arms when he begins walking you towards your bed once more.

He doesn't answer your question, laying you down against your ruffled comforter, “You aren’t collateral damage, baby.”

His voice is the lowest you’ve ever heard it, emanating from somewhere deep inside him. He opens the first few buttons of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head before making it even halfway down his chest. He drops it, much like he Kol had not long before, next to your bed. Kicking off his shoes, he kneels on the bed, coming to rest between your thighs. The heat emanating from you is now a furnace and it in no way goes unnoticed by him. His dark eyes swim across your naked body, drinking in every inch.

“Eli-” whatever you’re going to say is obliterated when he leans down and attaches his lips to the crook of your thigh, dangerously close to being exactly where you need him.

“You aren't weak,” he moves to your other thigh, nipping at the delicate skin and pulling unintelligible murmurs from your throat.

He kisses his way to your center, the anticipation growing like a knot in your stomach, begging to be unraveled once more. Even in the midst of falling apart you can’t get enough of these men. He lays a soft kiss against you, offering you the slightest glimpse of what you know his mouth can do. In the exact same way you had with Kol earlier, every part of you craves Elijah.

Your body arches willingly to meet the first swipe of his tongue, his name falling from your lips like a praise, “you aren't a burden to me, you beautiful creature.”

You cry out as he works his mouth expertly against you, his words humming ecstasy into your skin, melting away any trace of doubt in your mind. His arms wrap around your thighs, bringing you as close to his face as he can get you. The sight of him completely engulfed in your heat is almost enough alone to send you tumbling right there and then over the edge.

“You mean more to me than anything else on this fucking earth,” his dark eyes meet yours as he works you dangerously close to breaking before letting up once more, “and if I have to spend every hour for the next hundred years worshipping you to prove it then consider it done.”

He lowers his mouth against you harder, sucking your electrified warmth with renewed vigour. Your hands seek out his hair, tugging him against you and raising your hips to meet every pass of his tongue. The smell of pine trees and sex envelope you, brining you the closest yet to the kind of high only Elijah can draw from you. In this moment you’re nothing more than entirely his.

“I cannot lose you, baby,” he slips a few of his fingers inside you, “please let me protect you. I need to. Please.”

He curls his fingers just as the last syllable rolls off his tongue and into your core, shattering you into a million tiny pieces. Your hands fist his hair as your body clenches around his hand, pulling a delectable groan from his lips. Your third orgasm almost puts you to sleep on the spot, each of your muscles completely exhausted. Elijah watches you come undone the entire way through, nothing less than reverent awe locked on his face.

He wastes no time pulling your spent body into his arms, wrapping you as close to him as he can manage. You bury yourself against his neck, admiring how even the most unassuming parts of him have an undue amount of strength. He truly is your warrior.

“Eli,” you yawn into his chest, basking in the warmth of his skin, “I can protect myself.”

He tightens his arms around you, “I know you can, baby, but you shouldn't need to. I’ve been searching my entire life for a meaning. A thousand years of trying to be honorable. Then I found you and, all of a sudden, it all makes sense. All the searching and fighting and pain finally has a purpose: to protect you. Let me take it for you. Please.”

You’re speechless, there isn’t anything else to it. His words hit you with immense power, sinking into your skin and settling around your bones. You’re his, all of theirs, to watch over. You really didn't know he felt this strongly. You’ve always had to defend yourself. Perhaps you just aren't used to someone else being so willing to take on that task. Someone begging to take it.

He stands suddenly, with you still in his arms, and walks out of your room, starting down the hall. The faintest sound of rushing water fills your ears, lulling you into a welcome daze.

“Where are we going, Eli?” You have yet to open your eyes, stuck in the soft between being awake and falling asleep.

He kisses your forehead, resting his head on yours, “Niklaus said he wanted to take a bath, my love.”

[igotbulletproof-insomnia]

Adopting Bangtan 09

01 previous

AN UNLIKELY WEDDING

You bit your lip as you stared at your phone. You had an email from Jimin and Taehyung’s mother. Song Jieun was your old coworker who you had adored, but who also tricked you into taking care of her children so that she could get married without worry. Your respect and opinion of her had gone down significantly with that move, but you… didn’t exactly understand, but you did appreciate that she gave her children to someone who could properly take care of them instead of leaving them to fend for themselves which had seemed to be her original plan.

What’s wrong?” Seokjin looked up from the video game he was playing, ignoring the cut scene he had watched a dozen times before now to focus on you. You could hear the younger boys playing in their bedroom, the sounds of legos clattering and mouth-made explosions louder than what their closed bedroom door could block off. They were sounds that had become familiar in the past six months, sounds that used to be made by one child and were nowhere near this boisterous.

“Nothing,” you shrugged while you scrolled through the email a second time and tried to sort out your feelings. Seokjin’s stare burned into your cheek and rolled your eyes. “I mean it, nothing is wrong. Just…” You could feel your face twisting into a dissatisfied expression and tried to relax it back into something more neutral. There were times when you found you could rely on the eldest of your children, and times when you thought it was better to keep things to yourself, and you weren’t sure which one this was.

“Someone emailed me,” you hedge. “I’m just trying to decide how I feel.”

“That’s your worried face,” said Seokjin. “You only make that face about work and about us. But you also whine when you’re worried about work, so it’s about us, isn’t it? Which one of the kids is failing school?”

“No one is failing school,” you laugh. “Namjoon could be doing better, but I’m certain he just doesn’t care as much as his teachers want him to. Neither does Yoongi…. You know, as a teacher myself, I should probably be more concerned.”

“You’re appropriately concerned,” Seokjin reassured you. “Why should you worry about things you can’t control? You’re just going to age faster.”

“You’re going to stop calling me old one day.”

“Lying isn’t healthy,”

“Says the kid who lied his way into adoption.”

“I took advantage of my situation. That’s not lying, that’s cunning.”

“I didn’t raise you like this,” you say, standing.

“No, but that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? I’m raising myself, six kids, and my guardian. I can’t tell if I’m doing a piss poor job or not.”

“Language, Kim Seokjin!”

“Dinner, seonsaengnim!” he shouted back. The problem was, you aren’t sure if he successfully distracted you from your concerns or if you successfully distracted him from you.

===

Song Jieun’s email bothered you intermittently throughout the week. It’s not like you forgot she existed. You’ve received a hefty sum into your bank account every month for taking care of the boys, enough to make you wonder exactly why her new husband didn’t want to take care of them when he would probably be spending a lot less money if they were under his own roof. So no, Song Jieun wasn’t someone you forgot existed unlike like you could the rest of your kids’ parents, she just… wasn’t relevant. So it bothered you that she was trying to make herself relevant now, after six months of silence.

“You’re doing the thing again,” Seokjin poked your face. You startled, unaware that he had approached, but thankfully kept your coffee mug full. “What are you so worried about?”

“Nothing,” you say for the umpteenth time that week. “I’m not worried about anything.”

“You’ve been ‘not-worried’ since last Thursday,” Seokjin argued.

“So then why do you keep asking me what’s wrong?” You didn’t have to turn to see the weighted stare he gave you, you could feel it. That was the thing about your kids, all of them. They had a way of making you feel like you were the one in trouble, you were the one being raised instead of the other way around. Some days you were convinced that they were the ones keeping you around, explicitly for financial reasons.

“If you’re just going to insist on being stubborn,” Seokjin sighed. He poured two cups of coffee, one for himself and one for Yoongi, and turned the kettle on for Namjoon. The other boys would be zombie-walking their way into the kitchen for breakfast soon, so you and Seokjin set to work preparing leftovers from dinner a few nights ago.

“Song Jieun wants to visit the boys,” after a long, silent moment, you finally admit your concern. The kettle was puffing it’s pre-whistle warning, so you turned it off, sitting the pot on its wicker table mat until Namjoon made his way to the table.

“Who’s Song Jieun?” asked Seokjin. “Which boy? Not me, right?”

“No, of course not you, silly. You won’t even tell me your parents’ names. How am I supposed to know when they come to visit?”

“Trust me, they won’t,” Seokjin’s tone left no room for discussion, just a sad or regretful sort of resentment.

“If you say so,” you shrugged off your curiosity, familiar with how closed-off this kid got when it came to his home life before you. “Song Jieun is Taehyung’s mom and Jimin’s stepmom.”

“The coworker who tricked you into adopting them?”

“That’s what you got out of that?”

“Isn’t that what happened?”

“That’s besides the point,”

“That is the point.”

“What’s what point?” Namjoon shuffled into the kitchen.

“Our guardian is trying to decide if the twins should see their mother.” Seokjin answered.

“That’s not what I said,”

“That’s what you were going to say.”

“Everyone else gets nice, obedient, adoring children,” you grumbled. “I get sassy monsters who boss me around.”

“You raised us like this,” Namjoon said absently.

“I did not, you raised yourselves.”

“Same thing,” both boys speak in unison.

“I’m giving you two away.”

“Good luck living with Yoongi without us,” Seokjin shrugged. “You’ll be begging me to come back by the end of the week.”

“Joke’s on you, this is the end of the week.”

“My point still stands.”

“Okay, I quit, I won’t win this one,” you literally throw your hands in the air.”

“Good,” Jin grins at you in that cheeky way he’s mastered, taunting you.

“So what’s this about the twin’s mom though?” asked Namjoon. “I thought she…” he trailed off, but you understood what he was saying, or rather, what he didn’t want to say. I thought she didn’t want them.

“Yes and no,” you say. “She just… it’s… not exactly complicated, not if I were in her position, but… let’s just say, some people are stupid and not everyone has the same priorities.”

“Song Jieun chose to make herself happy over taking care of her kids?” Seokjin translated. “She didn’t want to take them to live with her new husband?”

“More or less,” You agree, taking note of the bitterness in his tone.

“You’re not allowed to get married,” Namjoon mumbled from the table.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not allowed to leave us or get rid of us because you want to be married,” Namjoon repeated. He’s obviously still half asleep from the way he lays his head down in his arms, but your heart clenches just a little bit from the casual desperation he speaks with.

“If I were to get married,” you said, “my future spouse would know that they come in eighth place anyway. I’m not getting rid of you, even your original parents would have to fight me. God will have to fight me.”

“But you’re still not allowed,” said Namjoon.

“Drink your tea, you’re talking crazy,” said Seokjin. “Our guardian will have to actually date first, and we all know that won’t happen.”

“The disrespect, I tell you!”

It’s after breakfast and during the chaos of getting seven young boys dressed and prepared for school when Seokjin knocks on your bedroom door frame, wearing an anxious expression.

“... Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“What’s up?” you asked. Seokjin walked fully into the room and closed the door.

“About… the twins? I… I don’t know what you’re thinking about, and that’s valid, but… I think you should maybe let them see her?” Seokjin didn’t fidget like the rest of the kids did. He leaned against the door, arms crossed and focused his eyes fully on you. It was moments like these when you realized exactly how mature your eldest was, and you recognized that most of it wasn’t because of you. Namjoon and Yoongi were you. Seokjin had probably been raising himself for longer than he’s lived with you.

“Okay,” you said.

“I just… if it was me, I would want to know that she still cared, right? And she does, I guess. You mentioned that she sends them money, and she wrote you a letter asking forgiveness, so that has to mean something. I just don’t want them feeling abandoned like the rest of us. Not if they don’t have to.”

“I’m just worried that it will confuse them even more,” you admitted. “It took weeks before Jimin would talk to us openly. Jieun-ssi isn’t going to stay. She’ll come for an afternoon or a day, take the kids out, spoil them, and then bring them back here, and they’ll both be wondering why. And I don’t know how to answer that question.”

“With the truth, obviously,” Seokjin rolled his eyes. “You’re always straight-forward with us. Why should this be any different?” Because they’re younger than you were. Because they were given away, not abandoned. Because their parent still cares from a distance. Because I don’t like making you all cry. Because picking up pieces has never been fun.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you said instead. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” Seokjin nodded, and you can see him visibly deflate, relieved to be finished with the conversation. “That’s all I wanted to say. Don’t forget to take your lunch with you.”

“Make sure all the kids have theirs,” you countered.

“It’s funny because you thought I didn’t already do that,”

“I love you, Kim Seokjin,” was your response.

“I love you too, I guess.”

=======

Your talk with Seokjin gave you a new perspective, but you still felt apprehensive about everything. You just didn’t like the idea of hurting Jimin and Taehyung any more than they already have been. What type of guardian would you be if you just let them walk back into heartbreak? What if this was just a one-time visit and Song Jieun never came to see her children again? What do you do when the boys ask to see her again? You had been lucky that you only had to have one conversation about not being able to take the boys to see their mother in the last six months, but if Jieun could make the time and the trip to come visit, then what will be your excuse now? What if this visit was actually a prelude to taking the boys back home with her?

Oh.

Huh.

So that was the real problem then. You didn’t want the boys to leave you. As much as you groaned and complained about taking in so many kids -- usually just to yourself, but sometimes your stress got the better of you in front of the kids -- you loved them. Each one of them, you loved and adored them and the thought of any of them leaving you or being taken away hurt. Not only that, but where in the hell would any of those parents get off, what right did any of them have to come to you and even fix their mouths to ask you for “their” kid back? You had words prepared for each and every so-called “parent” of all seven of your boys, copies of your lost child police reports, drafts of parental rights transfer papers, the phone number for several NCPA lawyers, and a fist just itching to make contact.

But what if Taehyung and Jimin preferred to be with Jieun anyway? She is their mother. She raised them for years, even if she was Jimin’s stepmother. You’ve only had the “twins” as you and the older boys had taken to calling them, for six months. Why would they want to stay with you?

“Okay, but she didn’t say she wants to take the kids,” you told yourself against the slew of depressing thoughts. You retrieved your phone from your pocket and opened your emails. Finally pressed reply. “She just wants to visit. A visit is… safe. It’ll be okay.”

Probably.

=======

Later that day you received a new email. Song Jieun will be in town that weekend. Tomorrow.

It took a lot of effort for you not to swear and make plans to take the kids out of town.

=======

Song Jieun was pretty. She wasn’t particularly tall or “skinny” like what TV liked to portray, but she was hippy and had a cute face and short hair that she curled most days. She favored dresses with blazers or oversized sweaters and skinny jeans, with pale makeup and dark pink lipsticks. It was easy to pick her out at the cafe she asked to meet at. She sat alone off to the side, a coffee already in front of her, but two plates with fruit-decorated cakes were also placed nearby. You considered telling her that the boys weren’t allowed any sweets right now. It wouldn’t have been a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. They weren’t allowed sweet things like cakes until after dinner and only when they behaved well. Still, you decided that was just your frustration and jealousy talking. You didn’t want to punish the two boys because of their mother, so you bite your tongue and hold your bitterness and let it go.

“Jieun-ssi,” you greet uselessly, as the moment Taehyung and JImin saw her they sprinted across the room to tackle the woman in hugs. Jieun’s smile stretched across her face and she cooed and made cute noises as she greeted her sons in return. You felt something creep in your chest that felt a lot like jealousy. But you weren’t jealous. You couldn’t be. You just hugged them this morning when they tried to tickle you awake. You held both of their hands from your house to the cafe. You had nothing to be jealous of, they were your kids now.

“How have you been?” Jieun asked when you sat down across from her. Jimin and Taehyung were already seated and digging into the cakes she bought for them. You barely had a chance to answer before your chatterbox was rattling off every activity he’s done for the last six months to his mother. Jimin grinned and threw in his two-cent’s worth every few minutes, but generally let Taehyung carry the conversation for him. And you, in spite of all of the emotions pressing on your chest and clouding your judgement and making you really, really want to shake Song Jieun, you enjoy yourself. You watch your boys -- your boys -- smile and chatter and sing and show off for their mother. You wonder if they’ll be okay going home, if you’ll have tears to clean up later, or arguments to break up, or just pieces to sort out and glue, but right now the kids are happy, and right now, that’s what you’ll enjoy.

=======

Taehyung climbed into your bed that night. He should have been asleep an hour ago at least, you’re sure, but he’s seemed to have a lot on his mind since this afternoon, and you’ve been letting the kid have his own space to figure out his thoughts. As hyper as he normally is, Taehyung is also prone to moments where he just sits and fiddles and thinks and you’ve learned that it doesn’t do any good to bother him about it.

“Can’t sleep?” Taehyung shook his head as he slid across the blankets to bury his face into your shirt. You curled an arm around his shoulders and held him close.

“Mommy…” Taehyung started and trailed off. “Is Mommy happy without me?”

It felt like your heart stopped with the words of his question, but you continued to brush his hair with your fingers. It was a difficult question to answer. You wanted to be honest, but you also didn’t want to hurt him. Unfortunately, there weren’t too many ways to answer without hurting Taehyung one way or another.

“What do you mean?” Taehyung was quiet for another short moment before he spoke again.

“Mommy… didn’t seem sad. And she said she’ll see us another time. And… she got married, but she didn’t want to keep me and Jiminie… So I started wondering… is she happy now? Happier than she was before when it was just me and her and Jiminie? Did we -- I don’t think -- I --” And the kid seemed to break then, all of the tears that hadn’t been shed for six months seeming to finally culminate into an emotional outburst. You shushed him, holding him just a little more tightly, and the fingers in his hair moved down to stroke his back. This was the thing you had wanted to avoid, and while part of you felt satisfied to be right, most of you just fought your own tears. It hurt to see one of your kids so hurt. You aren’t a stranger to crying children, but this emotional distress was something that never got better. You thought that maybe Jieun had talked to the boys beforehand, maybe Taehyung had dealt with his emotions before he came to live with you and that was why he seemed so well-adjusted. Clearly, Taehyung had just been living in denial, or maybe with the belief that his mother would come back for him “later,” that you were only a temporary home.

“This isn’t your fault, Taetae,” you murmured. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes… sometimes adults make hard decisions. We think we’re doing the right thing and… sometimes it’s hard to see if we’ve made the right choice or not.” You sighed, picking through your words super carefully. “I think… I think that your mother made what she thought was the best decision for both herself and for you and Jimin. She believed she would be happy with her new husband. But she did not believe you and Jiminie would be happy. So she put you somewhere that you could be. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, but I’m still sad,” Taehyung cried harder.

“I know,” you said, “and that’s okay. I would be sad too.”

“I just want my mommy back,”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to get married,” Taehyung said suddenly, long after his sobs had calmed down. Tears still fell, but slowly now. “I don’t want you to send me away too.”

“If you listen to your Jinnie-hyung, he says that won’t happen because I don’t date anyway.”

“Mommy didn’t date for a long time… and then she did. And then she got married.”

“I won’t get rid of you even if I did get married, Taetae,” you told him.

“You’re still not allowed to get married,” he argued. “Or date. You have to be mine forever and ever, okay?”

“No matter what, I will be yours forever and ever,” you agreed.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” Taehyung asked. “I'm comfy and you make me not sad.”

“Of course,” you said. “You’re comfy like a teddy bear, I don’t want you to go.”

=======

In the morning, Taehyung was bouncing off the walls, screaming as he chased Jungkook around the house. Jimin was curled into a corner of the sofa, giggling while he watched his brothers play and encouraging Taehyung in his antics. You could hardly tell that Taehyung had an emotional breakdown the previous night. You knew he was far from being “over” his feelings about his mother, he was only eight and the feelings were complicated. But he was happy for now and that made you happy. You’ll deal with the noise and the chaos and shout at the kids yet again about running inside where things were breakable including themselves as long as they kept smiling.

Surprisingly, it was Namjoon who came knocking at your door after bedtime that night. Similar to Taehyung, he didn’t speak or ask permission, just closed the door behind him and slid into your bed. Buried himself beneath the blankets and stuck his head beneath the pillow and tucked his gangly limbs into a ball. You were familiar with these moods, but haven’t seen one in years, not since you took in Seokjin. So you finished the chapter you had been reading, turned off the light, and sank down to lay your head on your pillows. Similar to Taehyung, Namjoon would speak when he was ready, when he found the right words to use to express his feelings.

“You really won’t get married, right?” Namjoon whispered beneath the pillow next to you. His voice was heavily muffled, but you’d been waiting for him to speak for some time. You just didn’t expect for him to continue a joke conversation from several days ago.

“What’s wrong with me getting married?” you asked.

“If you get married, you’ll have to get rid of us.”

“There is no world where I will give up any of you just to get married, Namjoon.”

“But that’s what happens, isn’t it?” said Namjoon. “Adults… if they aren’t married, but they have kids… they get rid of them so that they can date. Because kids get in the way. Because it’s stupid to take care of other people’s kids.”

“Why does it sound like you just called me stupid?” Your sarcasm probably wasn’t appropriate for the moment, but the words slipped before you thought about it.

“We’re really lucky to have you, we know that,” said Namjoon. “But that just means --”

“Namjoon, I’m going to stop you right there,” you cut him off before he finishes. You remove the pillow from his face so that he can hear you clearly, and card your fingers through his hair. “I didn’t create any of you. I didn’t ask for any of you. But I have you. And I love you. I adore you. I will tear apart skies, drain oceans, and vanquish God if it will keep you all safe and happy, okay? If your parents ever come back for you, I will press charges against them and make it so that they can never look at you, let alone hurt you ever again, do you understand me, Kim Namjoon? You and Yoongi and Jungkook and Seokjin and Hoseok and Taehyung and Jimin, you’re all mine. You’re my kids, all seven of you, and I will be damned if any lover or spouse, or anything at all, comes between me and you. I don’t say that because it sounds good -- although seriously, you have to admit that this is one of my better speeches,” -- at that, Namjoon giggled, the noise muted and soft, but a win was a win -- “but I say these things because I mean them. I will put a brick in the hospital for you, Joonie.” You hesitate, but continue anyway. “If it weren’t for you, I may have left the country at the end of that year. Teaching is fun, but I wasn’t super happy before. But then you asked me to take you home and you were so cute that I got attached almost immediately. I didn’t want to take you to the police and have them send you to your parents. I liked having someone to come home to. I liked taking care of you. Most people go get a pet or a lover when they’re feeling lonely, but here’s me, collecting kids like you’re pokemon cards.”

“No one collects pokemon cards anymore,”

“What, is Yu-Gi-Oh back in style?”

“What even is that?”

“The coolest card game ever. Period.” Namjoon laughs again, and you feel accomplished.

“It’s not that cool if I’ve never heard of it,” Namjoon argues.

“Joonie. I love you. But even I know you aren’t the coolest among your classmates.”

“I’m the coolest out of all my friends!”

“I won’t argue about that. I’m also sure that in your group of friends, ‘coolest’ means ‘knows the biggest words and has the best grades.’”

“You’re just jealous,”

“Absolutely. I wish I knew as many words as you do. Imagine how much fun I’d have fussing at you kids in Smart People language!”

“Why are you like this?”

“Please, other kids wish they had someone as cool as me taking care of them.”

Namjoon cuddled closer to you in the bed, laying his head on your shoulder and gripping your pajama shirt. You spend a few minutes massaging his scalp, a soothing gesture for you just as much as it is for him. After a few minutes, you begin drifting off, believing Namjoon is on the verge of sleep as well.

“Are you really okay?” he asks. “With taking care of all of us? You don’t… want to go back home?”

“I am home, silly,” you flick the side of his head gently. “I love you. And even if I wanted to go back to my home country, don’t think I won’t take each one of you with me. I said you’re mine. I mean it.”

“Okay.”

And it’s not that you don’t believe him, but you know your kid. You know he internalizes things and finds convoluted ways to take blame for other peoples’ problems, including your own. You know it will be a while yet before he truly accepts and believes you when you say you want to keep him and enjoy taking care of him. But you also know that he wants to believe you and he’s trying. You idly wonder if you’ll have to have some sort of discussion in the morning, an announcement over breakfast that no children will be displaced in the event of an unlikely wedding. You dismiss the thought, deciding it was more likely to incite panic and give you a headache more than anything else.

To find more of my child-bangtan fics, select the "Collecting Strays" tag at the bottom of this page ^_^

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergarden Ever After: Chapter 2

Please feel free to message me about possible corrections. If you can, consider supporting the creators by purchasing the official releases. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

← Previous || Index || Next →

The Night and the Auto-Memories Doll

   Everything went around.

From past to present and from present to future. The dead bodies that decayed within the soil would dissolve into the earth, and from the earth, too, would new living creatures be born. Within a few hours’ time, curtains made of stars and nightly shades would be covered over by curtains in the colors of dawn.

People went around as well.

Children would be born, muster out their voices, start walking and, once they became aware of their own selves, their stories would begin. A cycle of discovering passion, coming to know love, stopping to be children and, upon sympathizing with other families, birthing offspring just as their parents had done. A cycle of learning about the world, spreading information, teaching their knowledge to younglings without sparing any of it away and generating more such younglings. A cycle in which someone’s story was someone else’s encouragement, and those who were encouraged would conceive stories of their own.

Everything went around.

There was one cycle here. It was the story of a meager cycle that likely could happen anywhere in the world.

A man picked up a wild beast from a small island to which he had drifted. It was a beautiful beast, but it had been stocked with skills long before coming to his hands. Skills for slaughtering people with ease and seeking submission.

Their first meeting was terrible. His underling had attempted to lay his hands on the beast’s beauty. As if it were a given, the beast had killed his many subordinates, leaving only one person. That was him. Granting him both disaster and salvation at the same time, the beast had sought subservience in regards to the man.

The man fled around the island where all but himself had been murdered, but gave in and accepted the beast. The beast was useful, but also an existence that he could not handle. Be it morning, noon or night, his head was troubled with the beast, his heart unable to calm down.

Essentially, he was a man who did not want to be shackled by anything. After all, he had a past of being forced into submission by his household and parents. He had escaped from his responsibilities and his home, jumping off into the sea. The man, who had been born in a family that bore the name of a flower, had run away and gained freedom.

He yearned for it – for a freedom that no one could steal from him – more than anything. Even if he had to cast away his little brother for it. Therefore, the man had done the same in the beast’s case. The one who mattered most to him was himself. He wanted to break free from that horror. Most likely, he had cut off from himself a child in need of salvation.

Everything went around.

——O God, I want to                                .

Everything.

   A voice that sounded like bells echoed.

“Captain,” it whispered, as if to tickle the man’s ears. “Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

It was evening. A time when people were returning to their homes.

“What would you like to do?”

An orange light shone from the window inlaid with stained glass. With the sunset reflected on the elaborately designed interior decoration, the place itself looked like a single work of art.

“Could it be that, because of the impact earlier, your hearing has...”

It was supposed to be. The place where the person who called out so insistently and the person who intentionally ignored her were in was an art gallery that just recently had its interior and exterior finished.

“As if.”

“I am relieved. Then, I would like to ask if you have a plan.”

In a place they were not supposed to be at, the two who were not supposed to be together were kneeling on the floor in resignation.

“Captain.”

“.............................”

“The civilians are in a predicament.”

“................................”

“Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

“............”

“What would you like to do?”

“..................”

“I would like to ask if you have a plan, by any chance.”

“.....................”

“The civilians are in a predicament.”

“........................”

“If I may offer my opinion, firstly, I could act as a decoy—”

“Be quiet, monster. Don’t keep repeating the same thing over and over. Don’t breathe either. I’m thinking right now.”

Dietfried Bougainvillea, a naval captain of Leidenschaftlich, eldest son of the Bougainvillea – a household of patriotic national heroes – and the man who had picked up Violet Evergarden in the past and brought her to this country, was covering his eyes with his hands due to having too much on his plate. The little bit of silence and darkness had brought him relief, but someone’s sobbing, the voice of a man reproaching it and the sound of a person being brutally kicked and tumbling down dragged him back to reality.

He had a severe headache. Whether it was caused by his anxiety or his injury, he had no idea. He put a hand on the back of his head and examined it, but only a bit of blood had come out.

In order to somehow spit such awful mood out of his body, he took deep breaths. He felt that he had become a little better, but the unpleasant sensation returned once he opened his eyes and cast his gaze at the woman next to him. A spoon of discomfort, rejection and fear each was thrown into Dietfried’s emotional vessels, set on fire and boiled up. However, the most prominent feeling was something else.

The woman who had been talking to him so insistently until a moment ago was now quiet just and not letting out a single breath as he had told her. Violet Evergarden.

Dietfried looked fixatedly at his former servant. The woman, whose appearance had transfigured considerably in comparison to when they had first met, bore a radiantly shining cold beauty, which was even more conspicuous under such tense circumstances. She was almost like an ice sculpture, Dietfried thought.

——Even though you used to stink like a wild beast...

She now smelled of nothing but flowers.

——...you turned out just as I’d imagined.

“You’re a siren.”

Silence.

“My little brother destroyed a train station just to keep you alive; you’re a siren through and through. I’m not into you, but my mental stability is wrecked right now, and I’m sensing the harmfulness and influence that your existence brings about in that. You’re unmatched when it comes to breaking things and causing problems.”

Dietfried had once told his brother that the beast could become a siren. He had meant to say so including all sorts of matters. This young woman named Violet was a creature that God had created by mistake and had not been born under a good star. When one was by her side, there were many of them.

“Damn troublemaker.”

Many problems. Even though she had not wished for it, she had been born this way. Under a star that attracted disasters.

——It goes round. All of it.

He ran and ran from her, yet they would end up meeting, thus Dietfried had started to think that it might be some sort of divine revelation at this point. Telling him to face the girl that he had thrown away.

Violet was still, hand on her brooch. He someway guessed that it was given to her by his younger brother. He felt like clicking his tongue. This girl might become the worst-ever wife whose hand his most beloved little brother was going to take.

——We can leave that for later; gotta overthrow this situation first.

Determined to fight this reality, Dietfried then turned his gaze towards the sight that spread out before his eyes. Women, men, elderly people – everyone was crouching on the floor with guns pointed at them regardless of anything. Obviously, the same applied to Dietfried and Violet.

Unexpected situations – situations in which they could not make a false move even if they were on their own, let alone in the presence of so many civilians – were responsible for this. On top of it, Dietfried was also saddled with someone that he had to protect despite not wanting to. Of course he would feel like clicking his tongue at it.

Perhaps they were thought to be lovers, as no one said anything even while they stayed close to each other.

“Hey, did you really stop breathing?”

She did not seem to be in agony, but her figure as she diligently obeyed made Dietfried feel uneasy.

“I was joking; breathe.”

Violet’s blue eyes blinked with a snap.

“Yes.”

And then, she finally let out a breath. Dietfried hated himself for being remotely relieved that she had safely started breathing again, was what he thought.

“Hey, you.”

“Yes.”

“From now on, follow my orders. Don’t act on your own accord.”

“All right.”

“I’m gonna save the civilians. It’s my duty. There’s no helping it, so I’m counting you in that math too... No idea what my little brother would do if he found out I’d let you die. Even if it weren’t on purpose, if anything that could kill you happened under these circumstances, I really have no way of knowing what he’d do. He’d probably hate me.”

“No, Captain, he—”

“Have some self-awareness, Monster. My foolish younger brother blew up a train station to let you live. This fact did turn into a subject of teasing towards Gil for no matter how much time passes from now, but if you think about it on normal terms, it’s out of the ordinary. That’s the way you’ve changed him. Damn witch...”

She was the tool that he had found and that used to exist for his sake. A woman who used to be a dog with no name. An orphan whom he had picked up from a solitary island, brought back with him, attempted to get the most out of yet was unable to, and then threw away.

Asset. Girl soldier. Automatic assassination doll. Witch.

——Even if I don’t want to, for now, I gotta protect this thing and take it home.

“I’ll save you, so you save me too, Witch.”

Fate went around, adding a chance meeting as the best seasoning for a finishing touch. After all, at this very moment, Violet Evergarden and Dietfried Bougainvillea were being attacked by robbers and had weapons thrust at them.

“That’s awfully unpleasant for me, but I’ll take action by considering your life to be the top priority. Not for you. For my little brother.”

Understanding that she had received permission to talk once she had received permission to breathe, Violet gave her own opinion, “No.” She did it directly, without any restraint. “No, that is my job, Captain. Major... Lord Gilbert loves you.”

Dietfried’s eyes blinked. Those green orbs were staring fixatedly at Violet since earlier, enough to seem like they would suck her in. They were green jewels in a different shade from his younger brother’s. Those green gems, enveloped in shock, reflected Violet’s serious gaze.

“I shall guard you, no matter what happens,” Violet declared with resolution, like a knight. “I will obey your orders to the best of my abilities, but if I judge it to be dangerous, I shall take action with your safeguarding as the maximum priority.”

“Hey.”

“I will definitely protect you and bring you to Major safely. Please do not leave my side, Captain.”

“That’s my line,” Dietfried said while nonetheless wanting to kill Violet.

   For the exchange between the two to reach this stage, things had first begun when morning visited Leidenschaftlich. This might be going back much too far in time for a clarification, but it all had indeed started since daybreak.

The morning weather was overflowing with sunlight on that day – typical of Leidenschaftlich in early summer. Early rising ladies formed queues in the bakeries that opened at dawn and little birds flew about the shops’ surroundings to receive breadcrumbs. There was a café three stores away from one of the popular bakeries, famous for serving floral teas, its signboard girl preparing to open it. If one went further ahead, there was a bank, and round said bank, there was a main street lined with large-scale shops.

An art gallery arranged to open the next day had been erected on the main street. Its name was Artemisia. It bore the name of its owner, who was an artist.

The gallery Artemisia displayed the works of its proprietor, of course, but it also had works of artists from within and abroad Leidenschaftlich. There were rows of works from unknown young artists that the owner had taken interest in as well, devoted as she was to the cultivation of new talents.

The Artemisia Gallery, which was to become a place where novel forms of Leidenschaftlich’s art would be born, was scheduled to hold a pre-opening party today, attended only by the people concerned. The gallery’s staff had started cleaning its interior and the sidewalk in front of it from morning.

Around noon, a restaurant employee hired for the sake of that day had visited, bringing in wine, snacks and table sets. As for the dishes, there were two types: the ones that had already been prepared and the ones that would be made by borrowing the kitchen of the owner’s residence, which had been built on the gallery’s top floor. Since eating was not the main focus, the preparations were merely enough for the upcoming guests not to feel hungry.

As evening came, the inside of Artemisia began to speed up with haste. If there were anyone in command of such a scenery, they would likely be asserting with a baton: “hurry”, “faster”, “elegantly”.

An envelope closed with a wax seal bearing the establishment’s crest. Customers arrived one after another with the invitation taken from inside of it at hand. For a pre-opening party with a limited number of invitees, there was a large amount of people. The elect few of Artemisia’s employees were in a flurry of activity.

“Bring me a coat” here, “not enough drinks” there, a plate breaking somewhere. “Where’s the owner?”, “Got caught by the guests”. “There’s no one to give us instructions”, “Oh, well” – just like this, things descended into chaos behind the scenes.

Normally, their job was to calmly recommend artistic goods. Therefore, they were unable to hide their bewilderment at handling so many visitors at first. Nevertheless, if one looked at the guests being entertained, how were they? Appreciating the artworks, looking like they were having a blast. Upon seeing this, the employees were able to understand deep down. That “what, so things are the same as usual”. By the time that the customers were completely familiar with the gallery’s interior, the employees were able to show smiles with a little bit of ease.

Among the guests invited to Artemisia, a foreign body completely unrelated to this world was mixed in.

It was a woman. A beautiful one at that. From an appreciative viewpoint, there would be nothing to complain about if she were one of the artworks. She was clad in a ribbon-tie one-piece dress, snow-white as a flower in full bloom on a summer day. Her long, softly curved golden hair extended to her waist. Perhaps she had come straight from work, as she held a heavy-looking trolley bag on one hand. “Click, click,” knocked her cocoa-brown boots against the marble flooring each time she took a step.

She walked while observing every artwork one by one. Idyllic landscape paintings, abstract paintings that looked like silver ink spilled on pure-white paper, oil paintings in which the people seemed as if they would move at any moment. Glassworks and ceramics that one would be very afraid even to look at from nearby. At first, the exhibition was of works from artists renowned within the country, but the small hall of its latter half integrated displays from artists who were still nameless. The woman stopped in front of one such work.

A painting of whimsical fantasy. Was it a winter sea? It depicted various things falling and sinking into dark and cold water. A pocket watch, a feather, a bed, a knife, a white flower and a chair. All were worn-out and had damaged parts. At first glance, one would not know what it was expressing. Only the boy painted in the center seemed to pierce through the viewer.

He was still a teenager and his appearance could also be considered that of a girl. After staring at him for a while, the feeling that he was supposed to be saved would surface. Because the boy had a facial expression that almost looked like he was making eye contact with the viewer as he fell. But this could not come true. He was sinking in the picture. No one on this side could do anything. One would not know what to do with themselves after looking at it – it was that kind of picture.

“Excuse me; I was the one who painted this. Is there anything wrong with this painti...”

Suddenly, a voice called to the woman from behind. A rock thrown into the quiet atmosphere. A low tone that cut through the dimness of the room.

People were mostly heading towards the famous artists, so the woman had been all by herself on that spot until just now. The man who had showed up a bit late was coincidentally the creator of that fantastical painting, and found himself talking to the woman who had stopped in front of his art. That was an extremely natural encounter for a pair. If their positions, circumstances and everything else were different, something might have been born between them. It did not have to be romantic love, just something – something else that “the two of them originally had”.

“Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

The moment the woman turned around, the space resounded with a loud squeak. It actually had not resounded, but at the very least, Dietfried heard the thump of his own heartbeat, which gave his whole body goosebumps. He was enveloped in a strange sensation, as if the blood inside him were flowing backwards. One of the things he had once evaded in his life was standing there.

“What’re you doing, Monster?”

Violet Evergarden.

Before the emerald eyes that Dietfried possessed, of a hue different from his younger brother’s, there was a young female Auto-Memories Doll. The reason why he had not recognized her from the back was likely that her golden hair was slovenly loose.

He had not had a chance to see her after she had become a grown-up ever since the incident during the Flying Letters. Only people who had great amount of interaction with each other would be able to tell such a thing just by looking at someone’s back.

“I was looking at the paintings, Captain.”

Violet was expressionless. However, her hand alone promptly searched for her emerald brooch and squeezed it.

“You, paintings? Can you understand them?”

First, a scornful laugh, and then a head start with a verbal attack. She needed to put up a defense line. After all, this girl was formerly a weapon. An automatic assassination doll.

“I cannot. It is just that... my eyes and legs stopped.”

She was the one and only woman that Dietfried feared. If he had run into anyone else, his emotions would not be so disrupted.

Dietfried was scared. This girl was terrifying.

“I caused you trouble last time.”

He knew the things she had done. He knew whom she had killed. And he also recalled how he used to treat her, telling himself that it was all right.

“By asking about Major.”

Because she was a monster.

——O God, I want to                                .

These words wandered about in his head. They were words that he had prayed in his childhood to the one that he would meet at some point – probably in his dying moments. Thinking back on it now, it had been a foolish, immature and helpless wish, but he was serious about it at the time.

Looking at this girl made him remember his embarrassing past self.

“I shall see myself out. Captain, please take your time.”

“Hey.”

Violet had decided to retreat from the place, putting it to action. She concluded that this would be a peaceful solution for both sides and that it would secure each other’s survival.

“Hey, wait.”

However, Dietfried still had something that he wanted to say.

At the call of restraint, Violet’s feet halted mid-step. She then gazed at Dietfried. “Why?” her eyes were asking.

Choosing to leave must have been her own way of showing respect. Considering the current and the previous relationship between two of them, it was a sound judgement. Hence, she stared at him presumptuous and mutely.

Even now, it pierced Dietfried. That quiet “why” perforated him.

Despite being the one who had told her to wait, Dietfried lost sight of his next words. He had tons of complaints. Rather, complaints were the only thing that ever came out of his mouth. Most likely, he had never presented any warm words or attitude to her. No, he had at least patted her head when they parted. But what about it? That was all he had done. Which perhaps was the reason why.

——What did you think of that painting?

Just a question like this was exceptionally challenging for him. If it were anyone else, he would surely be able to ask as easily as breathing. He could also boast that he was the one who had painted it. However, only with this woman was it so difficult.

A long silence drifted between the two. A truly long, long silence.

The mood was almost like two beasts had come across each other in the wilderness and were estimating which would attack first. Both were underdeveloped and, not matching their insides, only their appearances were actually full-fledged. Seen from the sidelines, they were a beautiful adult man and woman looking at each other, but the air flowing between them was that of a battlefield.

Dietfried was starting to sweat. As for Violet, even her breathing was becoming shallower.

Violet seemed to be thinking about something. She opened and closed her mouth, repeating it several times. What should she do in that situation? What was best? She was probably unable to decide. This was something that not just Violet but also Dietfried was thinking about, yet the degree of seriousness in behavior was surprisingly higher on Violet’s side.

She would normally not be like this.

He was the person that even Violet Evergarden, who had written so many letters, was at loss as to how to act around. That was the man called Dietfried.

Perhaps her thinking had eventually arrived to a conclusion, Violet left her baggage on the floor and put her hands behind her back. “Feel free to.”

At first, Dietfried had no idea what she was doing. Violet looked like she was offering her body.

“Ha...?”

Without hesitation, almost as if she were a tool.

“I am still. Feel free to.”

“Feel free to feast on my life,” she seemed to say. Her current self overlapped with the beast of the past.

“To do what, is what I’m asking...” Dietfried’s mouth felt sticky, giving him a hard time mustering words out. His head had been occupied mostly with how to mend the blunder that he had exposed to her, so he could not respond to Violet’s surprise attack immediately.

“Do you not remember? I used to do this whenever I had to receive reprimand or punishment.”

He could not. All of the information that had been fluttering about in Dietfried’s head until now disappeared. It vanished.

“You, what the...”

The owner of the blue eyes that stared at Dietfried as if to shoot through him always did unexpected things, tossing him about.

“I did not know how to speak back then, so in order to show that I had no intention to attack you, Captain, I would do this.”

Those eyes.

“No matter what I say, surely... there is no atonement for me. With time, I have come to understand the things I... did. And how much terror I made you go through. Nevertheless, I am grateful for the kindliness of placing me under Lord Gilbert. I wish to pay you back somehow. If you say that it is unnecessary, at the very least, do as you please.”

For whatever reason, when those eyes asked him “why”...

“Be it with fists or with reproach, as much as you want.”

...his chest ached as if it had been stabbed.

“Feel free to.”

If that place were not a quiet art gallery, Dietfried would have yelled furiously at her, without caring about shame or his reputation. He managed to ball his fists hard enough for it to hurt and swallow down his angry voice due to his high level of self-respect.

“I hate that about you...”

This girl always made him aware that she would never act as he expected.

“...to death.”

At the words spoken by Dietfried’s quivering tone, Violet took a step back. Her stance of offering herself did not change, but her instincts were on-guard, wondering if she was not going to be killed by this man. Seeing that, Dietfried sneered at her figure.

“You’re the one who could choke the life out of me anytime,” he seemed to say.

Dietfried suddenly felt the heat that had gone up his head cooling down. Violet had taken a step back. That became the trigger for him to regain his composure. Because he was able to reconfirm that she was but a child in the end. This innocent aspect and action that were much like what a child would show to an adult exerted a great influence on the other party. Dietfried loathed that.

For he, who despised interventions from anyone, had so much aversion to it that it make him want to vomit.

Those who were accustomed to oppression from others would very easily choose to hurt people. She was inwardly frightened of that tendency. Yet albeit frightened, she prioritized others over herself. That creature was like a mass of contradictions.

——Disgusting. Stop. Die. Don’t look at me.

He did not want to get involved with her. But he had a mountain of things to say. However, when it came to whether or not he could properly do it, even if he managed to squeeze them out, they would turn into nothing but abusive language.

There was a large lake between the two of them and all they could do was gaze at the opposite shore, unable to tell how deep it was. Their first meeting was to blame for that. It was the cause of everything.

His underlings had attacked her and she had killed all of them. She then chased and chased after him, making him into her master. Despite there being a hierarchy, Violet was the one who had a grip over his life.

One would understand, after spending time with the girl, that this was a necessity for her. She was always like that, ever since the island only the two of them knew. Whenever anything happened, she would prioritize Dietfried. After all, even as he handed her over to Gilbert, she had not resisted.

If anything could be changed, that was the moment.

The two who never mingled with each other met again countless times in a parallel line. On such occasions, they would become unable to make a move due to shouldering the truth of rejection and of the things they had done, thus running away.

——Gilbert.

What did the person who brought the two together, whom they loved most, thought of that?

“You... I...”

——If I could change for Gilbert...

“Captain...?”

——If I could change, right here and now, for your sake...

Would it be easier for him to breathe?

Just as Dietfried was about to make a bitter decision...

“GYAAAAAAAAAH—AAAAAAH—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

...an incident occurred.

   It was clearly not a hasty crime. The scream of Artemisia, the owner, echoed, and by the time that Dietfried and Violet had bolted from the quiet hall where there was just the two of them, robbers were already thrusting their weapons mostly at vulnerable women and children, having them on their knees. The course of action was far too swift.

Wide-eyed, Violet swung back her trolley bag and was about to throw it at them, yet Dietfried stopped her.

“Are you stupid?! Those aren’t all adults that can run...!”

Among the hostages, there was also a little girl held under someone’s arms, looking like she did not understand the situation.

“I will save them as fast as possible and take control of the rest.”

“They’ve got guns; what’re you gonna do if they hit someone else with a warning shot?! There’s the other artworks too... This ain’t a stage for a tactless bastard like you to brawl! Just stay put for now!”

“But, Captain—”

“Stay put!”

While the two were trying to push past each other, the robbers took notice of them.

In the main hall, perhaps in order to bind people up through fear, the men were being beaten without exception, being put on their knees over the floor. Seeing that, the women naturally sat down, trembling, and began to cry.

While screams were resounding like music, one of the robbers headed towards the duo. “So there were still weeds growing here?” was the look in his eyes as he swung his firearm emotionlessly.

Dietfried would have managed to avoid it. He had done it several times until now. He could do it as easily as floating on water. If he could catch the man’s gun with one hand and pulled it just like that, he was able to picture the opponent falling over as a reaction. Once he stole the gun, he could shoot each member of the robber gang one by one in the head. And then, there would be a gunfight. He would have done that if he were alone. Yes, if he were alone.

——Why now of all times?

There was nothing more humiliating than a punch that one had to resign oneself into receiving. But he had things he had to protect above his own dignity. Thus, he accepted the attack without dodging. If he were to start a scuffle amidst the current situation, he did not think that all of the people who had become hostages would remain unharmed. He would aim for a chance. That was what he should do. He made such decision not only for his own welfare but also for that of other people.

However, the automatic assassination doll made a completely different one. When her eyes glinted like that, she quite literally moved on automatic. She came forward to take his place. In that instant, the face of Dietfried’s younger brother was the only thing crossing his mind.

——Gil.

It was almost as if he had readied himself to do it. That was how quickly his arm reached out. He forcefully embraced Violet and turned his back towards the robber. A violent hit struck him from head to back. He could hear Violet’s breath quietly catching while holding her in his arms.

And such was how they had arrived to the present.

   Dietfried did not think that his decision to suppress Violet was a mistake. He was aware that she was the woman who had fought by herself against terrorists inside an exploding train, but it would be a problem if she did something of the sort in the Artemisia Gallery.

Right now, he felt like a pet owner containing the rampage of his mad dog.

As for the mad dog herself, she had grown quiet ever since Dietfried had been hit, as if her functions were gone. Dietfried had pushed away the hands that had attempted to give him first aid. Any false moves and the robbers might beat him again.

She, who always took upon herself to protect, wound up being protected. On top of that, she had let the other be injured. This must have caused her to fall into despondency, enough to result in service outage. However, with time, she had rebooted and was rousing herself up once more to get through this situation.

“I understand that I should refrain from the use of force in an art gallery. But should we not place human lives above the artworks?”

——Whose fault do you think it is that I got hit on the back of my head?

Because she was saying the most obvious thing with the most serious face, Dietfried grabbed the collar where her brooch resided, taking the brooch along, without thinking. The thread that fastened the ribbon-tie dress’s button let out a screech. It was not the kind of deed that a gentleman would do to a lady. But Dietfried did not loosen the strength that he put into his grip.

“You... Do you still need disciplining from me?” he said, voice filled with rage, close enough for their faces to touch. “Think of this as a place that can hardly compare to any other... This thing’s pretty important for you, isn’t it?”

After blinking with a snap, she opened her mouth once, then closed it.

Once Dietfried’s hand let go of her, she grasped the brooch as if to protect it. She was more concerned about the brooch than the crumpled bust of her dress. She stroked it over and over, making sure that it had not been damaged.

Finally, she whispered in a dazed state, “I understand.”

“As if an idiot could,” Dietfried said with a snort, yet the other was a poker-faced Auto-Memories Doll. No matter how much he hurt her, it would have no effect. That was what Dietfried had thought.

“I understood completely. I will avoid combat here as much as possible.” Alas, her voice sounded a little faint.

Dietfried stared at Violet from the corners of his eyes. The brooch was indeed important to her. She was holding it down with both hands. She did not want anyone to touch it – that was what she was indicating. The two of them were speaking in an awfully low tone, but her timbre just now was as thin as the cry of a mosquito.

Dietfried said with a somewhat softer voice, “Good that you get it. I’m indebted to the owner of this gallery. I’m gonna choose the best I can for her sake too.”

“All right.”

“Human lives are the priority, of course. But we’re not gonna fight in a stupid way.”

Like a child, Violet nodded repeatedly.

“You’ve only ever been doing body guarding, murders and military action, and that’s why you don’t understand. In the sea... In fleet battles, we fight to protect. Our way of thinking is different from those who fight to conquer.”

“To protect...”

“If you can’t put brakes on them at sea, the enemies go to land. The reason why Leidenschaftlich is called a military nation ain’t just the army’s achievement. I’ve... never taught you how to fight at sea, huh... For now, forget the method of destroying and taking control of everything. Learn from my ways.”

“Understood.”

Dietfried was inwardly surprised at the obedient reply. Rather, even more than this, he was surprised that he and the “beast” were able to have mutual comprehension.

When she was in his hands, this beautiful Auto-Memories Doll was a “wild beast” that did not know how to speak, as well as a tool. An incontrollable beast, to boot.

“Still, if that is how it is, please do not forget that your wellbeing is my top priority all the more. I shall fight to protect you, Captain. Please do not think of protecting me for Lord Gilbert’s sake. If necessity arises, I will not might if you use me as a shield. I can be replaced, but there is no substitute for you.”

If, at that time...

“This is also linked to protecting Lord Gilbert.”

...in that place...

“Bye, Monster. This guy’s your next master.”

...he had educated and guided her instead of letting her go, would she have grown up the same way?

“Shut up.”

Would she have thought like that?

“Shut up, Monster.”

He had never even thought about it.

Another side of him immediately answered “no” to the self-questioning. Surely, a Violet Evergarden raised by Dietfried Bougainvillea would not have turned out like this. He might have at least taught her how to talk. They would have trouble communicating otherwise. He would have probably given her clothes and personal belongings for daily life. Bringing her along when walking around would look bad for him.

However, when it came to whether or not he would have bestowed this girl with something that would be enveloped in her hands with utmost zeal...

——I see; so it’s the same color as Gilbert’s eyes. That brooch.

...he would undeniably have not.

——Come to think of it, she was always following me around from behind ‘cause she hated being alone.

If there was anything he could have done for her, it was to at least fill up a coffin with flowers and leave it available for her. He did not intend for anything to happen, but he might have done that much. After all, if Violet had stayed beside Dietfried Bougainvillea, she would have surely died before him, for his sake.

“We’re gonna do an act.”

——Aah, Gilbert.

��An act?”

——I’m always late to realize how great you are.

“That’s right. You’re the one who suggested it, so I’m gonna make you into a decoy.”

——You’ve made that filthy beast into this.

“Understood.”

——You were able to change her like this.

“First, take this... It’s late for that, but... you got any questions about a joint struggle with me?”

As Dietfried asked, Violet responded with her neck tilted, “Why...? I do not.”

For whatever reason, his former weapon would show scraps of emotion only at times like these. Just innocently, unaware that it was merciless of her.

“Please use me correctly, Captain.” She smiled.

   Why had robbers attacked the Artemisia Gallery?

There was a certain amount of history that led to such violence unfolding amidst everyday life. Firstly, it would be preferable to start with the time when a turning point happened in the life of the robbery’s main offender, but that would be rewinding too far. On to a brief explanation.

This case was a crime committed by a habitual criminal.

There were various reasons for people to rob, yet the advantage was but one. Earning compensation within a short period. Good citizens would be paid for their work, but thieves did not share this mentality. People received rewards through serving others. In order to gather a large sum, a long time and effort were necessary. Thieves abdicated from this. To achieve success, no matter in what land, a person had to be equipped with skills as a rule of thumb.

If one could stop after doing it once, why did they do it countless times? There were people here and there who thought this about criminals. It was because, if they had succeeded once, they could do it again. They were instantly able to attain things that they would have to spend a long time out of their lives to earn. This was the arrival of an opportunity to do that.

Once one got used to it, identifying opportunities was surprisingly easy.

Supposing that there was someone who excelled at predicting people’s thoughts. The other person’s personality would be determined by the movements of their eyes, the way they breathed, their voice tone, the relationships of power in their background, their social position and other such things, so one would be able to deduce what kind of conduct should be taken in order to derive the “correct answer”. It seemed like magic at first glance, but it was no more than the result of someone continuously keeping watch on another person for many years.

Since this was a strategy against individual matches, the robbers needed a slightly better ability to grasp the environment. As they were walking around the city, they incidentally found out that a new gallery was going to open. The opening date was also announced. It appeared that there would be an event only for those concerned on the day before.

No matter the establishment, dealing flawlessly with the inauguration of a new shop was difficult. Even if there were people in it who already had experience working in a gallery, but the use of their abilities to have control over such a situation and proceed with it smoothly was different. Employees would be in quite a panic on the day. If it was a members-only celebration day, there was no mistaking that the original state of the security that should be guarding the gallery would be insufficient.

And so, the robbers had thought, “Aah, if you poke this place, it’ll surely crumble down.”

They did not have any grudges in particular. They had simply judged that they could do it, thus undergoing the assault. The truth was merely that the Artemisia Gallery had been unlucky.

How many hardships the owner had gone through until she was able to open the gallery, had she lived her life bowing her head to other people? How many artists were looking forward to seeing their work exhibited in the gallery? The feelings of such people could be trampled miserably at times.

Not that many people paid any mind to weeds when walking. That was all. Except, this time, the Artemisia Gallery had been lucky about just one thing.

“No good... Hum, excuse me...! She suddenly...!”

A naval captain who loved art...

“Ugh...”

...and the woman who used to be called Leidenschaftlich’s War Maiden were amongst the hostages.

The man who had caused a commotion and pleaded to one of the robbers in a panic raised both of his hands as a display of no resistance. He was a long-haired a man. His slightly curvy dark hair went past his shoulders. Right next to him was a woman holding her stomach and trembling.

“What?”

A few armed men gathered around them.

“It seems her stomach hurts.”

“Just a stomach ache? Leave it alone.”

“You’re telling us to let her go to the bathroom? We still gotta watch these people. Besides, she’s a woman. If someone takes her to the toilet... Well, how much stuff did we get?”

“We’ve piled most of the paintings in the carrier, but there’s still the ornaments. It’s still gonna take a while.”

The robbers had a choice. The option to either silently let her suffer or kindly take her to the restroom. Beating only the men was likely one of their policies. They did not hesitate to make use of violence when needed, but when it was not, it was best to have as least animosity as possible in order to get through with things unobtrusively and quickly take the treasure. It seemed gentlemanly but was a self-righteous thinking.

“What do we do? The Head is...”

“The Head got in the car first. As if we can ask him stuff like this every single time it happens.”

“Head” probably referred to the member worthy of being their chief.

As the quiet exchanges continued in front of the agonizing woman, she finally lay down on the floor while still holding onto her stomach. The man who had appealed about her bad condition shook her shoulders, telling her to “hang in there”.

As if she had received a signal, the woman raised her face slowly. Her gemstone-like blue eyes were visible through the gaps between her disheveled golden hair. She was covering her mouth, perhaps trying not to vomit. Even so, it was easy to tell that the woman’s looks were remarkably good.

“It’s gonna take a while, huh. Besides, we’re gonna need the women later.”

Her eyes locked with one of robber’s as though sucking him in. One would not understand the destructive power that having this woman look up at them from their feet with her eyes wet had, unless they witnessed it themselves.

“Then, I guess it’s okay.”

From the vulgar smile of the man who had said so, one could presume what his intentions were. As the woman was covering her mouth, the robber instructed her to stand up, pointing his gun at her, and then took her to the restroom.

After that, the woman and the robber did not return for a while. Since there were no other people who mustered out the courage to say that they wanted to use the toilet, the period of their absence passed as if it were natural. In the meantime, the gallery’s exhibits were being carried one after another to cars with roof racks parked outside the establishment. The robbers were dressed as employees who worked with the transportation of goods, so even those walking down the street did not think there was anything strange about that work scene.

Once they had finished relocating most of the merchandises, one of the cars left the gallery. The other one that remained parked was meant for the getaway of those who were keeping watch. With the artworks that had been collected for the sake of this day snatched away down to the last one, the gallery was bare. The owner, Artemisia, had all the while been suppressing her cries and shedding tears.

Apparently, those thieves were quite the habitual criminals. They had threatened everyone with armed force upon entering the establishment, robbing people of any resistance, but after that, as long as everyone stayed still, they would do nothing but coldly keep control of the hostages, not even raising their voices. If people did as told, they would not lose their lives. That hope made the hostages obedient. Even though they were robbers, this seamless way of dealing with people was like that of artisans. They did not think of humans as humans.

“Excuse me; I just... want to lend her a handkerchief. That’s all. The sleeves of her clothes are already soaked with tears. Can’t you allow just this much?”

Hearing a voice from the back, Artemisia turned around. It came from one of the artists that she had invited over for today, whom she had known for quite some time. She was shaken by a sense of guilt that she had done something terrible to him as well.

Their first meeting had started at a certain recreational facility, when she peeked from behind while he was painting a landscape. She did not know his occupation, but they kept in touch and she had him show her his art. It seemed he had always been drawing as a hobby. He told her that even most of the people who were close to him did not know he painted, and that he had truly only been doing it for himself.

The busy man had weaved his way through spare time and the work he brought had swayed Artemisia’s senses. At first, he had hesitated at her request to put it on display, but then smiled like a boy and gave her his ready consent, looking happy.

——Aah, God. Please give it back. Please give that fun time back to everyone.

Artemisia was upset and vexed at the fact that the artworks were being stolen, but more than anything, it felt like the regret towards everyone who had been looking forward to this day would split her chest open.

“Hey, he told you to use this.”

He had lent a handkerchief to Artemisia through one of the robbers. Artemisia wiped her tears and managed to lock eyes with him somehow. She then mouthed a “thank you” to him without letting out her voice.

The man smiled. But it was not the smile that Artemisia knew. He was different when he talked about art. She had shivers before she could think. His eyes were not smiling.

“                              .”

The man said something to Artemisia. As he had only moved his lips, Artemisia could not tell whether she had been able to read what he tried to convey. She could not, but most likely, he had said:

“It’ll be over soon.”

Eventually, the robbers started to create an atmosphere of evacuation at last.

“Let’s take one person with us until we leave the harbor. Can be a woman or kid. Which do we choose?”

“Woman it is.”

“That guy was playing around with the woman we were planning to use for that, wasn’t he? What happened to him?”

Assuming that they would finally be freed, the hostages started fidgeting. They had faced a disaster and the artworks that they had dedicated their lives to making had been stolen. This joyful day had been repainted into despair. But they were alive. That was the one and only bright side of today. They would not be able to maintain their rationality unless they comforted themselves with that. At any rate, they wanted to hurry and be liberated.

Amongst them, there was a man who merely observed the robbers’ movements in silence all the while. It was the man who had been caring for a woman that had a stomachache, looking worried. Once the woman had been taken to the restroom, he became expressionless, as if he had lost interest in everything. Occasionally, there were moments when he even yawned in secret, as if he had grown sleepy.

“Go call him. We could use that woman as hostage. She’s young, so she can come back walking if we throw her away on the street.”

Hearing these words, the man let out his voice and laughed. By the looks of it, he had not intended to laugh, but wound up doing so. He put a hand to his mouth, but then shrugged and let the robbers see it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun of you. But trying to rape that thing, huh? No matter how many lives you have, it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Hey, what’s with you...? Got a complaint or something...?”

The man kept laughing, as though to say that the robbers’ threatening figures were even more comical. With her eyes, the owner, Artemisia, begged the man provoking the robbers to restrain himself, for she could not afford to lose not only the artworks that she had collected but also a guest that she had invited, yet the man closed one eye at that and replied, “Artemisia, it’s okay.”

No one in this place knew his social status. Or his history.

In the past, Dietfried Bougainvillea used to wield a weapon that could become the world’s best. It was now away from his grasp, but it was not as if their master-servant connection had been completely severed. The beast had a high level of loyalty, so although they had met by chance after a long time, her heart recognized it. That he was the one she had been following in the past – someone worth being served by her. Therefore, the beast would attend him to exhaustion.

Only a limited number of people could handle the beast. The feeling that she had returned to his hands for now was somewhat strange.

“She runs quick.”

“Ha?”

“That’s why it’s the end for you guys. My bad.”

“Hey, shut this dude up.”

As Dietfried had suddenly started talking, the robbers naturally had a doubtful reaction.

“She’s as fast as a deer. And this is the city’s main street, so there are hotels nearby.”

“So, what’re you saying?”

“I left my bodyguards behind to come here today. They’re probably drinking at their room’s bar. There’re also guys among them who know that thing from the time when she was still by my side. I left my hair tie with her, so she should be able to convince them with that. I could predict that you’d take the things you stole to the port. It’s pretty difficult to get away from pursuers on land when you make such a mess in the center of this city. It’s harder to be tracked using the sea route than the land route, right? But the sea route doesn’t work against me. It looks like one vehicle left a while ago, but it’s over by the point they reach the port. You’ll probably go outside now, but if you’re thinking about taking someone along as a hostage, you’d better drop it. Many of my subordinates are hot-blooded. If you rouse them up like that, they’ll probably get too excited. If that happens, you’re the ones who’ll be getting the short end of the stick. No matter how many dead bodies fall down, we can deal with it all we want in the aftermath. We’ll need to get the stories straight, but today’s hostages will surely choose to cooperate with me. Having people trample on the proof of a life that you’ve lived with all your might is painful for anyone.”

The eloquent man did not run out of breath even when speaking nonstop in such a situation. However, this majestic aspect of him was reflected in others’ eyes as dreadful and similar to madness.

The robbers abruptly realized that all the hostages were looking far behind them. They felt that there was something behind them. It was like a ghost, hiding even its flame of life, simply waiting for the orders of its lord.

Outside the windows of the gallery, they could hear the sounds of someone fighting from around the area where the car was parked. Simultaneously, they could hear a faint breathing just behind them.

The respiration of a woman who was out of breath from running loomed over their ears.

“Do it, Violet.” Dietfried raised his thumb and made a swift throat-cutting gesture.

While watching his doll render the robbers unconscious with a strength as overwhelming as a monster eating people, Dietfried reminisced to the past.

——Everything goes around.

He recalled the time when the two of them were stuck in that isolated island.

The beast had been scared when the rescue fleet arrived. So had Dietfried. He would not be able to bear it if more of his comrades were murdered. Hence, he had taken the beast’s hand and guided her to the outside world. In his perception, it was the same as taking the reins.

There were no reins anymore now. No need for him to pull her by the hand when walking, either. There was nothing between them.

Not love, passion, attachment, desire, anything.

“Captain.”

There was nothing, but one thing was for certain.

“Captain Bougainvillea.”

If he called for her, this Auto-Memories Doll would most likely go to the ends of the world to save him. That was her nature.

“I have just returned. Are you unharmed?”

At that moment, the beast was well aware that he had called her name for the very first time. Her eyes were crinkling.

“Yeah.”

Just this much compensation was enough to make the beast smile.

   After a little while passed, Leidenschaftlich was embraced by the gentleness of the night.

Summer constellations were decorating the jet-black sky. Just as sunny as it was during daytime, the night sky was twinkling so brightly this evening that it could be called a banquet of stars. The day was about to end in Leidenschaftlich. Today was filled with chaos ever since morning.

While being observed by gathered-up onlookers, the arrest drama that had unfolded in front of the Artemisia Gallery was already coming to a conclusion, its many procedures and processing passed over to the military police. Seeing the stolen artworks safely re-delivered to Artemisia, Dietfried took a breather. His gaze then fleetingly drifted to the side. A dirtied ceramic doll was standing there. A woman beautiful enough to look like such, who shone amidst the night, was standing there. He had to say something to her. As one would expect, he should do that at least now. But he could not think of anything.

——“You did well”. “That wasn’t too bad”. “Good work”. “I commend you”... Which one?

Inside his head, words were being conceived and then disappearing. Just like the dreams that the sleeping children all around Leidenschaftlich were surely seeing right now. They were born and then vanished.

At last, he attempted to open his mouth, “Aren’t you cold?”

“It is summer, after all.”

And ended up talking to her like a man who was unused to inviting women out.

Violet Evergarden, who had been fighting reasonably and in order to protect, was still by Dietfried’s side. It was fitting to say that she had been today’s most meritorious person. The one who had come up with the idea of the arrest operation was Dietfried, but the one who had done all the work for it was Violet.

First, she had put up the woman-with-a-stomachache act and gone with one of the robbers to the restroom. She had then quietly strangled the neck of the man who had reached a hand to her shoulder with her mechanical prosthetic arms, making him pass out.

She had broken out and escaped through the restroom’s window. Rather than going to the military police, she had gone to the hotel that Dietfried instructed her to and notified the naval soldiers, who were enjoying cigarettes and drinks in a room on the top floor, of the circumstances. One of the soldiers, who happened to know her, had been frightened at first, but upon seeing that she had been entrusted with Dietfried’s ribbon, his facial expression changed and he contacted the military police, then informed the port’s security to reinforce their inspections.

Without waiting for them to get ready, she had immediately run back to the Artemisia Gallery and infiltrated it through the same route. A few of the robbers, who had the bad luck of spotting her, fell to the ground with one kick or punch to the abdomen, and so, she had finally returned. As Violet stood behind the remaining robbers while catching her breath, the hostages stared as if she were their safety, but Dietfried was sneering as he looked at her.

Just as ordered, she had saved Dietfried without damaging a single artwork.

“About what happened...”

“It will probably be best not to tell Lord Gilbert. He would worry.”

Upon seeing the last artwork be brought in, Violet took the trolley bag that lay by her feet. She likely intended to go home by herself.

After making her do so much, something similar to guilt was now sprouting within Dietfried. He wound up acknowledging that she, too, was important to someone. That was what he thought after the battle, when he saw Violet stroking her emerald brooch as if to confirm that it was there.

Even though she used to be a wild beast whom no one would mourn if she died.

——Aah, that’s an excuse. It’ll be nothing but an excuse. If so, then I don’t wanna say it.

Back then, when she was by Dietfried’s side, every single day was filled with madness on all accounts. They used to roam around battlefields, fighting from dawn to dusk, growing too accustomed to violence. The war then ended, peace had returned, and he realized that an era in which he could even make art was arriving. That those times were abnormal and the way he felt now was the default.

“I’ll take you home.”

“No need. Your escorts must be waiting, so please, feel free to take your leave, Captain.”

“It’s fine; just this time. I’ll take you home.”

“No need.”

“I’ll take you. Listen up, this is an order.”

“I cannot accept your command.”

“You little... You were taking action like I instructed you to just a while ago.”

“Because it was a state of emergency... Besides, Captain Dietfried, it would be reasonable if I were to take you home, but the opposite is illogical.”

“What’re you talking about? You’re a woman, aren’t you?”

“A woman”. Finding himself asserting this with his own mouth, Dietfried regretted it even more.

The corner of Violet’s lips had a cut and blood was coming out of it. Her ribbon-tie dress was drenched in sweat. Even those who did not sweat much would be like this after such a huge scuffle during summertime.

“I’m calling a carriage. It’s all right; just wait right there. I’ll see you off until you get inside the Evergarden house. And then it’s goodbye. We’ll never see each other again. No matter what you and Gil become, we’ll never see each other again.”

What he had done today to this woman, who had become fully able to accept someone’s love, was not something that a son of the Bougainvillea should ever do to a lady.

After they had hopped into the carriage, a moment of silence went on for a while.

——Is it okay for her to keep such an open secret even though those two are a couple?

Dietfried found himself accidentally concerned about his younger brother’s love life. After all, this situation might be a betrayal to his dearest brother. Gilbert had completely forgiven Dietfried. For pushing the headship succession onto him. For not having any consideration for their family. For forcing an indescribable wild beast onto him. He had forgiven everything.

Thinking back, the only time that he attempted to push Dietfried away, saying he would not forgive him, had been when Dietfried offered Violet to him. He had called it “human trafficking”. Told Dietfried not to be violent with a child.

Most likely, those two were each other’s only exception from the very beginning. There was probably no pardoning what Dietfried had done to Violet today. Gilbert would forgive most things. Save for matters related to the one and only thing that was most important to him. Being hated by a loved one. This could cast a shadow over anyone’s heart, regardless of how old they were.

“It is all right.” The voice that cut through the silence was thrown at him as if to soothe him down. The words sounded almost as if she had perceived Dietfried’s uneasiness. “If, by any chance... word ends up reaching him through someone else about this case, I will definitely defend you, Captain Dietfried.”

“‘Defend’, you say?”

“To tell the truth, I often get involved in large-scale incidents without Major knowing. But I return without fail. To Leidenschaftlich. I will return today as well. Therefore, we are all right.”

“What do you do out there?”

“We were separated for much too long. Therefore, we have many moments that the other does not know about in the first place. Perhaps even now, too. I have work to do and so does he. We have limited time to see each other. However, I will definitely always return to Major. He knows this as well. Even when we are apart, that person is the only one who occupies my mind. I am not sure if I convey it to him properly, but that is how it is.”

Her statements were something that would normally make him burst into laughter, but Dietfried was unable to do so.

——When did you become like that?

Dietfried hated Violet. Several factors had induced his emotions to it.

——Now you can correspond to someone’s love.

He saw himself overlap with her. Her subservience to adults and the way that she herself wanted it disgusted him. He despised the wild beast that did not yearn for freedom. Despised the fact that she had been trained by someone to be this way. Despised everything. To begin with, Dietfried did not have many things that he liked.

Even the number of people who could become kind had a limit.

The truth was that, even if he wanted to be kind, it was no longer possible. He had prayed to God for it countless times in the past. However, unable to achieve this, a man named Dietfried Bougainvillea existed.

——O God, I want to, he begged a certain Someone in his mind for the first in a long time. Perhaps since his childhood.

Still, this sort of being did not give any reply to calls. Even now, he had no idea if his plea had reached Him. It was certainly impossible. His and Violet’s stars were in a position that would not radically change.

Nevertheless, for some reason, he had the overwhelming desire to ask someone for forgiveness today.

——I wanna go back.

Not even he knew where to.

——Hurry and be over, this day, today and the time I have to spend with her.

He was not annoyed.

——O God, I want to...

But painfully miserable.

“Captain.”

The carriage ran amongst trees dyed in the darkness of the night. A cool voice echoed amidst them.

Violet was looking at the scenery outside. She was observing the moon, which chased after them, no matter how far, far apart they were.

The moon was something that would continue to exist forever. Unlike stories. Regardless of whether Dietfried concerned himself with it, everything about his story would come to a closing one day as well. Demise would arrive even to the things that he did not wish to ever be over. Even the feelings he had now would end.

“How was I today?”

“What?”

“Did my work earn your satisfaction today?”

Dietfried could not read the intentions behind Violet’s question at all. She was someone whose emotions he could not read in the first place, but it was even harder to understand the meaning of that sentence.

“What do you want to say?”

Silence.

“Hey, just say it straight. Don’t be dodgy with me.”

“All right,” the cool voice entered his ears once more. Such coldness resembled the night, but it never left his ears, easy as it was to catch.

Violet turned her neck and cast her gaze at him. Slowly, blue and green eyes blended with each other.

“I...”

Bathed in moonlight, she was simply, purely beautiful, enough to take Dietfried’s breath away.

“When I was with you, Lord Dietfried, my work was never satisfactory. Now that I became an adult, have I finally been able to repay my debt... with my work?”

“What d’you mean by ‘debt’?”

His voice was hoarse. He suddenly felt as if this icy woman had robbed his entire body of its heat. The inside of his mouth was extremely dry.

“I mean everything. It all started when you brought me from that island. I am the way I am now because you entrusted me to Ma... to Lord Gilbert.”

“If you’d stayed with me, probably nothing good would’ve happened.”

“How would I be if I had continued to serve you?”

These words became a bullet and pierced Dietfried’s heart. He felt as if his breathing would stop at the unexpected question. Things had been like that since the distant past. Dietfried would reconfirm time and time again that she was a woman who could have become a lethal weapon for him.

“So you also imagine a hypothesis... of ‘what if’,” her exquisitely cold voice rang within the darkness. Upon being asked, “You too?”, Violet nodded.

That was his line, Dietfried thought, but Violet then sent his gemstone eyes a dream-like gaze. His existence might be devoid of realism to her.

Violet began to whisper. If only she had disobeyed that order back then. If only she had rushed to him a step faster at that time.

“Back then, if”. “Back then, if”. “Back then, if”.

She could not bring myself not to think that, if only she had had this extra step, he would not have lost that emerald eye.

“Besides, I wonder... if I had managed to protect him back then...”

She had to let go of her most beloved lord’s hand and was entrusted to someone else as if she had been thrown away.

“...I would not have had to spend that time away from Major.”

Thinking back, she had always been abandoned and then picked up by somebody. She should have been used to it. That was the star she had been born under.

She was originally a foreign body to this world and was supposed to have been eliminated. Her destiny had also flowed in this way. The reason why Violet had rebelled against her sectioned path, despite having been tamely submitting herself to it, was that the other was special.

——I also threw her away.

He had thrown his home away. Thrown away his little brother, who cried in protest. And thrown away this beast.

“I also wonder what would have happened if you had not left me with Major.”

This woman.

“But all of these are akin to dreams, crossing my mind and fading away. After passing through countless ‘if’s, I...”

He had pushed this woman onto his brother and forsaken her. Looking at her made him sick. He was also scared of her. Most importantly, he would have stopped being himself. This terrified him.

“And now, I have become an Auto-Memories Doll and am spending a night with you.”

This woman possessed an element that transmuted people.

“Y’know, you’ll be alone one day. You’re the one who’s got the longer lifespan, aren’t you?”

Violet closed her eyes at those words. If she had pictured numerous “if”s, this would obviously come to mind as well.

“I do not know.”

“If that happens, what’re you gonna do?”

“I do not know. But are you not the same as me when it comes to this? You love him, right?”

“I’m... I’m the older one. I’ll be gone sooner.”

“No one knows about that. But... if, one day... I do become alone... if I am left living by myself... my order will still be valid. I will probably live on.”

If she ended up living by herself, this supposition was the cruelest of things to the beast. Just what did he want to do by making her say this now?

Thinking back, ever since they had first met, he had not known how to deal with her. Should he have protected her? Killed her? Protected? Killed? Or perhaps...

“That is why I write letters every day. Even if they do not reach him, I write letters to Major every single day.”

Silence.

“Captain, what will you do?”

“Me, huh? I... let’s see. Paint, I guess.”

“A painting or Major?”

“That’s right.”

“May I go see it?”

To Dietfried Bougainvillea, this wild beast was both a woman and a monster from the very beginning. She was now as far-off as a dream.

“You’re the only one of my relatives who knows I paint. Do whatever you want.”

   ——O God, I want to be a good person.

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

As you all may know, my mother is on a ventilator for covid 19. She didn’t believe in covid. I tried to tell her but she didn’t believe it. She tried to tell me some kind of Qanon bologne when I’d try to tell her. I would give anything to have more time with my mother. There is some signs of improvement in her feeling better but I am not wanting to become too hopeful. She was on the phone with one of my elder sisters for six minutes rather than two the other day. She was angry at her for letting her kids come in to her house knowing they had covid.

I’m very angry at her doctor who told her she didn’t need the covid shot, in fact just telling her she is healthy. She has a small body frame and is on the shorter side but weighs nearly three hundred pounds and struggles to get around. She’s 59 years old and works as a nurse at a nursing home and works way too hard on minimum wage, has given birth to six children, has always had asthma and is prone to bronchitis and pneumonia. She’s a prime candidate for covid, in fact she is who I thought about the day I remember reading about covid. It’s like this disease was designed to kill my mother.

They sent her to southern Idaho for a ventilator. She is lucky to get one. They’ve run out in many of these red states that didn’t take covid seriously enough. It does not bring me any joy that right wingers and people who didn’t believe in the shot are dying. I’ve had liberal friends say over simplistic things about people from red states getting what’s coming to them and so forth, and people have rejoiced at the idea of trump supporters getting sick and suffering and dying.

I am left leaning, but I never want to get so caught up in my political ego that I eradicate any notion of humanity to the people I don’t agree with or might not even like. Their pain and lives are real and legitimate as anyone else’s. Their families matter too. They are wrong, my mother is wrong. She’s been backwards about a lot of the world my whole life.

But she’s also a very kind person. She is always giving to people and has contradictory, while supporting a fucking horrible president, also put up for and fought her job because of racism she was seeing all around her. She doesn’t really think like a conservative and her way of approaching life didn’t really ever reflect a deeper conservative value or drive. I’ve noticed other conservatives never liked her.

She believed the wrong things because she was driven by religious faith and loneliness to believe the rabbit hole of alt right Facebook. She doesn’t have much of an education, was bullied and abused for most of her childhood. she went to over twenty different schools and moved a lot throughout her childhood. She got married and started having children very young. She always worked as a bartender, or as a caretaker to children with disabilities or elderly folk. She barely understood the internet. She believed in god and joined religious groups on Facebook very open and blindly without even understanding propaganda or the political climate of what is being fought for, which pretty much took her down this poisonous road. And now she’s barely able to talk in an icu all alone, as this virus that she didn’t believe in tries to kill her.

Moving to the city and always being left leaning, but being from a rural area of the inland north west, where I was outnumbered and lived amongst these folk who didn’t like me all that much but I was always having to find ways to accept and understand sometimes gives me a perspective perhaps that maybe liberal kids from middle class families from liberal cities have missed out on. I will never be able to see it as black and white. It would be easy to just say that the people in Bible Belt areas deserve this and be rid of any sadness or guilt. I was disgusted by the anti intellectualism I was surrounded by and I lived for most of my twenties in my own world to avoid it when I was growing up and lived in my home state which is fairly red. But people are the same everywhere. They really are.

Her recovery is slow and I worry something terrible is happening to her organs and lungs as she has fights for her life. I hope her body is strong enough to keep fighting. I appreciate the care and labor and sacrifice the hospitals have given to keep people alive. There is so much anguish. We have lost a mural of so many wonderful and beautiful souls to covid. It’s hard to even fathom the grief and pain it’s left in its wake. I can barely cope with my own.

I took a walk today to think. I haven’t wanted to listen to music in a long while because my mood is on my mother’s condition, but I put in John Prine. He was one of the first people to die of covid that I cared about, albeit indirectly as I only know him through his songs. I had a ticket to go see him play before covid took his life. It was going to be small and intimate outdoor concert in town. His music was always so real and down to earth. He sings about the quiet sad things of getting old and the way that love is about the daily existence with other people. How you build and cope with things.

One of his last songs on the album before he died was about how science has no business tinkering with nature. It’s so genuine. And ironic. Not everyone shares this belief, but I think that the covid flu was made in a lab and someone made a mistake and let it out into the public. I believe it was just human error in Wuhan. Nobody, no government or anything wanted this. And the Chinese government did everything they could to avoid fessing up to the mistake. So the idea of a lab grown virus being what killed John Prine kind of hurts in a way, though he also often sang about being comfortable with death and having peace with a life that was happy.

There are countless people I could blame for my mother’s disease. I could blame the dystopian Chinese government and their inability to admit fault, I could blame our government and our long-standing capitalist system that monetary prioritizes gain over human life, I could blame my mother’s cruel upbringing for not giving her the tools she needed to make wise choices about the world around her, or she herself for not taking care of her body. I could blame her mother and father and brothers.

I could blame my sisters kids for their lack of consideration of what covid would do to my mother’s health knowing she was high risk, or my eldest sister herself for being lazy and letting them go to my moms house knowingly.

I could blame some mentally unwell woman named Susan who my mother might have vaguely known for inviting her to a Facebook group of hate and conspiracy, or blame the nuns who drove religion into my mother’s head as a child. I could blame the easy to punch Ted Cruz or Tucker Carleson or any of the right wing mouth pieces for spreading lies and misinformation to the people they are supposedly speaking up for on behalf of about covid. I could blame it on our artificially based two party system that prevents real discussion from ever happening.

In the end, there is a myriad of things I could blame. So many pieces to the puzzle I could write volumes. But it doesn’t change where we are at now. And I have little control of the world around me. Or what made it that way. It’s disappointing. And in a way, John Prine has that message too. I’m just sad. I try to remember that my mom of the many people I have known was very accepting of death. Maybe it’s because she’s a person of faith, but she has a practical dark humor about her too that makes her accept it. I know she wouldn’t want me to be sad, but I am all the same.

It’s happened at this point where I am genuinely feeling my age and kind of at a crossroads in who I am as a person and what I want to do. I’ll talk about that some other time though. There is only so much a person can read.

[gasolineghuleh]

Because I Feel No One Knows About It...

This is chapter two of my long fic, Of Devilish Creatures. I’ve currently posted up to chapter TWELVE so if you’re looking for something to read, here ya go!

“I see you are already comfortable with the attire of a Sibling, then. Our congregation is made up of men and women, and everyone in between.” The Sister Imperator, as she had called herself, walked me through the entrance and into a hidden door, well secluded in the stone work of the old castle. The door had led to a hidden back room, opening up into a floor plan that seemed open and spacious. How had I never noticed the size of the building? Or that it wasn’t a ruin after all?

“Hm? Oh, yes Sister. It comes quite naturally to me.” I craned my neck as she spoke, looking along the vaulted ceiling where gargoyles perched, embedded in the stone with canine grins. The ceiling itself was spacious and the stone was gilded in gold filigree where it allowed for embellishment. Every so often we passed a tapestry, and I had to wrench my eyes from it to continue following the Sister.

“The castle belongs to the family Emeritus, the leaders of our church. We’ve turned it into a makeshift Abbey of sorts, so I’m sure that you’ll feel quite comfortable here. I’ve been told that some of the dorm rooms are drafty, so be sure to let one of the other Siblings know if you have need for extra blankets. Or we could find you a Fire Ghoul to borrow to stoke your fire place.” I stumbled a little at her words.

“A what?”

“A Ghoul.” She stopped in front of another tapestry and gestured to it. Sewn into the fabric was a depiction of Hell-- or at least, how humans imagined it to be. Figures lept from the flames with horns and tails, claws extended towards the sky. On a rock at the top of the tapestry was a man depicted in a bright white robe and a papal mitre, his hands outstretched towards the sky as well. “The first Ghouls were summoned by our Papa Nihil’s grandfather.” She paused for a moment, tilting her head in contemplation. “We’ve since lost his name to time. If Papa knows, he isn’t sharing.”

“Are they all named Papa, then?” I asked, studying the tapestry further.

“Not quite. We call them all Papa as a title of respect, but they are known numerically as well.” Sister Imperator motioned for me to continue walking as she led me to a large door at the end of the hall.

“And their real names?”

“Are not spoken of. That is one of the first rules you must learn, new one. If you, perchance, learn of a Papa’s name, do not speak it. Names have power-- you know this?” She paused with her hand on the door, the ornate and gilded handle looking large in her hand.

“Yes, Sister. I do. In our teachings at my convent we learn that names give someone power over you, as God commanded the angels by their Enochian names.” She nodded and smiled and I felt the surge of satisfaction that came along with acing a test in one of my courses. I wanted to make this woman happy, I realized. “In addition, it was said that demons can be cast back to Hell using their given names.”

“Correct, Lunaria.” I started a little at my name-- I didn’t think I had given it. “Come along, I’m sure that the Papa Nihil would like to meet you. You’ve been a topic of conversation among the higher clergy recently. I believe he’s in chambers currently, along with his eldest son.”

“And what do I call him? His son?” I felt stupid for asking the question, but my mind was dizzy with the intake of information. If what she was telling me was correct, then everything I was taught in my convent had been true. Demons were here on Earth, and not only were they here, but I was sharing a building with them. My face felt flush with excitement-- never before in my previous faith had I felt this alive.

“You may call him Papa, or his numerical designation-- Primo.” The Sister smiled at me and pulled open the door, grunting a little as it stuck. When it swung wide my jaw dropped, stepping forward into the large room in wonder.

Like the previous hallway, the ceilings were vaulted and covered in ornate paintings and gold filigree. The room itself was longer than it was wide, with a large throne at the forefront of the chamber. A few pews were situated towards the front of the room, but I gathered that this room was not meant for worship-- but rather, leading. To the side of the throne was a dias, draped in a small piece of cloth that resembled the preacher’s pulpit from my former place of worship.

“What room is this?” I asked, continuing to step forward and survey my surroundings. The room was lit by a few chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, as well as sconces along the walls.

“This is the papal throne room. It’s only used during ascension or if the upper Clergy has an announcement. Occasionally it will be used for trials.” The Sister Imperator walked slightly behind me, her hand trailing along the backs of the pews. “The current Papa in charge will hand down judgements from his seat in the throne.”

“And who is the current Papa in charge?” I asked, wincing as I realized the answer would probably just be “Papa”. The similarities between my religion and this church were striking, but the differences were just as obvious.

“That would be Papa Emeritus the Second. Referred to as Secondo, colloquially. He is the second eldest son of the Papal Nihil.”

“Italian and not Latin?” I started, feeling my face screw up in confusion. “Then,” I struggled to remember what she had told me previously. “Primo is no longer in charge? Nor is his Father?” I turned to face the Sister as I spoke, but my eyes quickly left her to continue taking in the beautiful room.

“He is not, correct. They are still referred to as their papal titles, but they no longer head the church. You would do well to obey them, though.” She began to walk towards the back of the room, gesturing to a small door in an alcove. “Come along, there’s much left to see, and I promised you would make an appearance before turning in for the night.”

“Yes, Sister.” I bowed my head dutifully as I was used to doing, turning on my heel to follow her through the small door. It opened with a creak when the Sister pushed on it, utilizing her shoulder to make the old hinges work.

She led me through it with a stately wave of her hand, and I was more than happy to oblige. It opened into a more typical looking Abbey entrance hall, large and circular with a statue in the center. Except where a statue of the Virgin Mary may usually sit was a large stone carving of what I knew to be Baphomet. Ruby crystals were inlaid where the eyes would be, and they glimmered and gleamed in the light of the candles resting at its feet. I tore my eyes away and noticed a trapdoor in the floor to the right of it, as well as two corridors that shot off to either side.

“The trapdoor there leads to the Ghoul dens. Most Siblings are restricted access to that area, unless specifically ordered by a Papa, or on Ghoul duty. You will more than likely never have to worry about that.” The Sister Imperator came to stand behind me, and dropped a comfortable hand onto my shoulder. “The corridor to the left is the Papal hallway. You will enter that hallway when asked or invited by a Papa, or when on cleaning duty.” She steered me towards the other hallway briefly. “This hallway is for Siblings. It leads to your dormitory, as well as the kitchens and the library.”

“You have a library?” My ears perked up. Reading in solitude was one of the few graces I had at my former convent, even if the literature was boring. I had a feeling that the books here would be much more interesting.

“Sathanas yes, child! I’ll have the Archbishop Copia show you around it. That’s more his domain than anyone elses. For now, let’s go visit Papa Nihil and get you all settled in for the evening.” As we began to walk towards the opposite corridor, I pointed towards two large oaken doors, nearly two stories tall and carved into a depiction of the fall of the Lucifer.

“What’s behind those doors?”

“That’s the Chapel, small one. I’ll have a Ghoul take you on a tour tomorrow for the rest of the Abbey.” I followed the Sister Imperator down the papal corridor, marveling at the stained glass windows that took up one whole side of the wall. We passed one of purple and gold, and another of green and silver. Each one depicted a man in skull paint in different poses of divinity-- snakes wound around the man in silver and green, while large black cats rested at the feet of the purple one. After passing one more glass panel of red and black with large potted plants in front of it, we stopped in front of one of white and gold.

“These are beautiful,” I commented, moving forward to study the golden one further. The man was standing tall, his arms raised into the air as a goat head shone in black above him. Around the goat was an inverted pentacle, the tip of the bottom point of the star glowing a bright red. The evening sun filtered through the window, casting the colours on to the floor of the corridor and over my feet.

“They are decades old, now. The newest one is for his youngest son, Papa Emeritus the Third.” The Sister gestured towards the purple stained glass window at the beginning of the corridor. “All of the Papas live across from the window that depicts them, and their chambers are off limits unless invited.”

She used this as a segue to direct me towards the door directly across from the gold and white stained glass, knocking on it swiftly and firmly. From inside I heard an elderly voice answer, calling to us to enter. She twisted the knob and pushed the door open, holding it for me to enter before her. As I did, the first thing I noticed was a comfortably crackling fire in the sitting room, and the heady aroma of incense.

“Ah! Sister! You’ve brought the newest eh… Sister!” An old man in skull paint stood up and walked towards me, reaching his hands out for mine. I gave him my right hand and he took it warmly, smiling and pressing a kiss to the top of my hand. I loved him immediately. When he looked into my eyes I saw that they were cloudy with cataracts, but the left one was clearly white.

“Papa,” I said, inclining my head respectfully towards him. His smile grew broader and his grip on my hand tightened shortly before letting go.

“This one has respect! Good job, Sister Imperator. Leave us to talk, eh? Why don’t you go wrangle up a better habit and a grucifix for her?” The Sister Imperator nodded to him and tossed me a covert wink before leaving, pulling the door shut behind her. “Now, Sister… Come and sit. Let’s talk.” He moved his hand towards the sitting area and I complied, moving forward and taking a seat. It was only now that I noticed the other man sharing the space.

He greeted me with a warm smile like his father, but remained seated. He had a steaming cup of tea in one hand, and the other arm rested across his leg, which was crossed over the other comfortably. His robes, similar to his father’s, were black with red filigree and the same symbol strewn down the front. When he moved I could tell that the inside of the fabric was either silk or linen.

“Good evening Sister,” he said, inclining his head towards me and raising his cup. His left eye was white, and his skull paint seemed faded compared to his father.

“Papa,” I repeated, dipping my head to him as well before crossing my leg over the other, getting comfortable in the plush chair.

“Now then,” Papa Nihil groaned, taking his seat slowly once more. “Tell us how you have come to enter our Abbey, Sister. Do you believe you are here to stay?” The answer came to me quickly and I was surprised by the sincerity of it.

“I do, Papa. I’m already more comfortable here than in the convent I was raised in.” I took a deep breath and recounted my tale to the two men, who listened intently. I explained how I was orphaned as a baby and grew up in the Catholic faith, destined to be a Sister. When I began to explain the draw of the book, the older man nodded sagely and held up a finger.

“I enchanted that book many eons ago. I am glad to see that it found its way into your hands. Many years I’ve waited for someone to bring it back to me. May I see it?” I nodded and reached into my pack, pulling the book out and handing it to him. “Ahh… It still smells the same.”

“Father, if I may?” His son waited respectfully until Papa Nihil gave him the go ahead to begin speaking. “Sister Lunaria, are you quite certain that you’d prefer to dedicate your life to the adversary you studied for these past eighteen years?” I turned my head towards him and surveyed him intently before speaking.

“I am. All my life I’ve felt that I have a greater purpose. I never had a chance to know my parents, or a family. Only the rigid order and structure of religion. I’m already more comfortable here than I ever have been before.” I remembered briefly his position and finished speaking with a quick “Papa.”

“Hm. And you are willing to sing your praises to Him? Pray to Him at night? Bend the knee and subjugate yourself to Him? A higher power than even your God?” Papa Nihil interjected with a flap of his hand.

“Leave the child alone, eh? She has come to us for refuge, and who are we to turn her away?” Papa Nihil leaned forward and met my two-toned eyes with his cloudy ones. “She has the Eye of Providence, my son. She is meant to be with us.” I blinked, slightly taken aback-- the only comments I had ever received about my eye had been either nonchalant or negative. Some of the Sisters had claimed that I was marked by the devil. They whispered about me in hushed tones. I brought my hand to my eye self consciously before letting it drop.

“I was told that when I was a baby, my left eye was injured and the colour never developed. The nuns at my convent said I must have been hit in the same accident that took my parents.” Already the two were shaking their heads and frowning.

“You have been lied to, little Sister.” Primo leaned forward and made eye contact with me, his gaze firey and intense. “Have you not always felt the pull of greatness in your heart? Do you not see shadows in the corners and feel a kinship?” I fell silent, looking at my hands folded in my lap. He was right, of course, but I had never put words to the feelings until now.

“You’re right. I suppose I never thought of it in that way.” He sat back with a satisfied smile, looking to his father for confirmation.

“Tell me, Sister, what did you do at your former convent?” Papa Nihil reached for a cup of tea and took a long sip, his eyes peering at me from over the rim of the cup.

“I was in charge of the youth and the library. I taught the little ones.” A ghost of a smile lingered at my lips as I remembered the joyful shouts of the children in my convent, all orphans like myself. I did love them, and my heart gave a pang when I realized that they would be looking for me today. “I was good at it.”

“I see. Father, would it be a terrible idea if, perchance, we sent her to live with--”

“Not now. Let her be settled first. She still has to meet your brother, and take a tour of the Abbey. She doesn’t even have a rosary yet. It’s insane to attempt to place her at a work detail off campus. She can work in the library.” Papa Nihil leaned forward and picked up a rotary phone, dialing an extension quickly.

“I think you’ll be quite comfortable here, sorella.” Primo winked and nodded at me before busying himself with his tea once more. In the lull in conversation, I attempted to draw him in once more.

“The plants outside your stained glass window are beautiful. Are they yours?” I had clearly asked the right question as his eyes lit up brightly and he gave me a wide smile.

“Yes! Aren’t they so wonderful? I tend the gardens outside, and the orchards. Once you’re comfortable and settled you’ll have to come and see my greenhouse!” I smiled at his enthusiasm and nodded, genuinely happy for the invitation.

“I would love to, Papa. Do you do all of it yourself?” I asked, keeping an ear out for Papa Nihil’s muttered Italian conversation on the phone.

“Sathanas no, child. I have Earth Ghouls and Water Ghouls that help me to tend to it. It’s too much for an old man alone!” Another reference to Ghouls… As soon as I opened my mouth to inquire further, a knock sounded at the door. It was timid and hesitant, as if the person wasn’t quite sure that they should be knocking.

“Come in!” Papa Nihil called, reaching behind him and dragging a blanket from the back of his chair into his lap. The door opened slowly with a creak, and a man stuck his head into the room. He had mousy features, with short cropped brown hair and a rosy complexion. His top lip was lined with a dark black lipstick, and a large necklace hung at his chest-- the same sigil that appeared everywhere.

“You called for me, Papa.” The man stepped into the room and gave a short bow, wringing his hands in front of his chest nervously.

“Archbishop Copia! We have a new Sister of Sin in the Clergy,” Papa Nihil gestured towards me and I sat up a little bit straighter. “And she has made it known to me that she specialized in child care and library work. Perhaps you need an assistant in that library of yours?”

“I do, Papa. That would be wonderful.” He ducked his head into a swift nod and turned his eyes towards me. I was taken back briefly by the sight of his eyes-- mismatched, like mine and the Papa’s. Did everyone in this Abbey have the white eye? “Pleased to make your acquaintance Sister…” He let the title hang, waiting for me to supply my name. When I did, he rolled it off of his tongue like fine wine. “Lunaria… Come with me, Sister Lunaria. I’d be happy to show you my small home here in our Abbey.”

I stood and bowed my head towards the Papa’s, who remained seated by the fire. Papa Nihil waved a hand towards me and smiled broadly, waving me towards the door. Primo inclined his head towards me again, and reminded me to come by and see his gardens when I was given the chance. When I took my place in front of Archbishop Copia he smiled warmly again, and waved me through the door. As we walked down the corridor in the direction I had come from initially, he quizzed me on what I might know from my time in the Catholic convent.

“And what of the fall of Lucifer, Sister?” I opened my mouth to answer, but he held a hand up. “Before you answer me, know this. I was raised Catholic, like you. I rose to the rank of Bishop in my time there… I remember much of their teachings, as you were most likely taught them. Listen to me when I tell you this, Sister. Things are better here. You are understood. There is no fire and brimstone for you to fall into.”

“I--” I cut myself off, chewing at my lower lip for a moment before looking him in the eye once more. “I was always so afraid of the repercussions of my actions that I… I believe that I forgot how to live, Archbishop.” I smiled at him. “Although your title being the same as the church does soothe me.”

“I think it made it easier for me as well, Sister. The transition was… less than kind, for me. I left the church in disgrace.” He shook his head slightly as if to dispel the thoughts, and motioned to me to continue down the hall. We walked in silence for a moment more before he spoke again. “Papa Nihil has been so gracious to me as to allow me to run the library. The Ghouls are helpful as well. I fear I’m better at words on pages than conversations.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve always gotten along with books more than the people who write or read them. Archbishop, I’ve heard about these Ghouls but I’m unsure what… or who they are.” Copia huffed a laugh and glanced tot he side at me. He halted outside of a large door with “LIBRARY” emblazoned above it in gold.

“Now is as good a time as any to meet some, don’t you think?” He studied my apprehensive expression before explaining. “Ghouls are Hell-spawn servants. They serve us in our daily work, and do whatever they can to make things more comfortable for us here on Earth. They aren’t malevolent. No need to worry. Come, I’ll introduce you to mine.”

“Yours? You own them?” I asked as Copia brought his hand to the handle of the door.

“Yes and no. They own themselves, but each high ranking clergy member summons his or her own Ghouls when they’re promoted. Mine have been with me for a few years now, since I attained Archbishop. They’re loyal, and surprisingly loving… and very cat like.” He finished speaking and, before I could question him further, pulled open the door and stepped inside.

The library was as I had imagined it and more. Large, towering book cases laden with thick tomes tottered along the walls, some of them veering dangerously to the side with the weight. Small picnic benches were in between the shelves, with a large seating area against one wall, flush with a ceiling-to-floor window. The smell of parchment, leather and ink was heavy in the air along with that same scent of incense. A smile grew on my face as I saw the comforting fire in the seating area, as well as two steaming cups of liquid-- presumably tea.

“Shall we sit, Sister?” Copia stretched his arm out, motioning for me to join him by the fire. I sat down in the overly stuffed armchair, swinging my feet as they dangled uselessly off of the floor. Copia handed me a small saucer with the cup of tea and I took it gratefully. “Would you like sugar? Milk?”

“Please, both.” Copia looked behind me and motioned someone over. I turned around and only barely suppressed a gasp.

The person approaching was inhuman-- claws, a tail and horns. His face was a shining and chrome mask that seemed melded to his skin. The eyes underneath were glowing a pale blue as his tail swished back and forth excitedly. A large smile tugged his cheeks up into dimples, revealing pointed teeth behind his lips. He crept forward slowly, a plate in one hand and the other hand extended. As he got closer I noticed that he was dressed smartly, in a black vest and suit pants.

“Sister Lunaria, meet Rain. My Water Ghoul.” I nodded, dumbstruck, as the Ghoul came closer and held the plate out to me. Arranged neatly on the porcelain top was a small decanter of milk, and some sugar cubes.

“It’s been so long since we had someone new in the Abbey!” he said. His voice was nothing like I had expected-- instead, it was pitched like a man in his mid-twenties, and exuded friendliness. I couldn’t help it, and I smiled at him.

“Your name is Rain? Like the--”

“Precipitation, yes.” He wiggled the fingers of his free hand to simulate rain falling and his grin grew even wider. “Boss, can I sit? I wanna talk to the new one for a bit. It’s been ages!” Copia was already shaking his head.

“You’ll have plenty of time later, Rain. Papa Nihil has assigned her to work in the library. You’ll see her often. Go on back to the dens and let the others know to steer clear of the library for a few days. Not that most of them will have an issue with that.” Copia smiled dryly at Rain, who snickered as he nodded.

“Right on, you’re the boss.” He set the plate down on the table between us and looked to me once more. “Nice to meet you, Sister Lunaria. I hope you’ll be with us for a while.” I couldn’t stop the smile that I beamed back at him and watched as he left, whistling and tail swishing happily.

“They really are like big cats. Incredible! If only my Abbess could see this.” I suddenly remembered my own Abbey, far down below in the valley. I wondered if my absence had been noticed yet.

“Mm, thoughts of home? That will happen often, especially as the similarities become more and more jarring.” I was already shaking my head.

“That place was never home. I only felt accepted by the children there, and they’re… Not the best company.” Copia started to laugh, a cute chuckling sound.

“I understand. I’m good with children myself, but the conversation… Lacking.” He tipped his head towards me and winked, and I laughed. A smile curved his lips upwards and he took a sip of tea to hide it, but I could still see his mustache curling. “The children you’ll find here are nothing like that. Most of the children here are Ghoul kits.”

“Kits?” I raised an eyebrow. “They breed?”

“No, no. They have kits. Breeding implies that they rut like animals. I assure you, Ghouls are entirely human in the matter of anatomy, sex and--”

“Okay! I eh… I meant only that they have children as other species do?” My face was growing flushed and hot, only deepening in my embarrassment. Things of that nature were never spoken of at my convent, and if they were, they were shut down quickly the Mother Superior. I was educated in that area of course, but discussing it out loud was a different matter entirely. When I looked at Copia, I noticed his face flushing as well.

“My apologies, Sister. I forgot briefly who I was speaking to. Sex is viewed very openly here, and you may see or hear things that are eh… Sinful to you.” He flashed a quick smile before clearing his throat and continuing. “You know your letters?”

“Yes. Latin, French, and English.”

“Fluent?”

“Yes, Archbishop.” I took another sip of tea, draining the small cup before leaning forward to set it on the table between us. “Forgive me for asking but, where am I expected to sleep? It’s getting late and I had such a long walk.”

“You walked here? From your Abbey?” His eyes widened in shock as I nodded. “You walked nearly ten miles, Sister! Come, let’s get you to a shower and a bed. As my assistant, you’ll be living in the small chamber behind the library. It’s quite small, I apologize, but I believe you’ll be comfortable here. I am always just next door if you need anything.”

Copia stood and guided me towards the back of the library, one hand on the small of my back. I was so tired, and I had only noticed it when I sat and drank the warm tea. My lids felt heavy, and my limbs sluggish. My feet ached with every step and my back hurt from carrying my pack. He led me to a small, out of the way door, and pushed it open to reveal a modest but comfortable bedroom.

“Thank you, Archbishop. What time is morning mass? I’ll have to set an alarm.” I moved into the room and set my pack down on the floor, putting a hand to the bed and testing the mattress.

“Tomorrow is Sunday, Sister. We have Saturday mass. Tomorrow is a rest day. I’ll come and collect you around noon, and I’ll walk you through your new duties here. Rest.” Copia gave me another smile and pulled the door shut, leaving me alone in the small room that was to be my home.

[wallgirl]

The Little Nereid Part 6

1800 words, part six of a XX part fanfiction (it ain’t over til it’s over, babes)

Poseidon x OC

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful.

Categories: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending; no NSFW content

---

"What is it they want an audience for?!" Dynamene asked, hurrying to keep up with Poseidon's long strides. "They didn't say anything earlier..."

"I have no idea. But if they didn't include you, then it must not concern you," he replied shortly, gaze fixed ahead. What else could it be about besides you?

Dynamene's expression remained troubled. "Maybe they forgot to tell me... Maybe they expect me to be there."

"On the contrary, I was asked by one of your sisters to make sure that you were in your room before the meeting begins. I plan to do so personally." His stare shifted back down to her eyes.

Dynamene's gaze flitted across his face, trying to decipher what he knew and refused to share with her. Then she processed the last few words. "You don't have to see me to my room, really. I promise I won't leave it until you've finished with your meeting."

"I would like to believe you, but you've shown in the past a predisposition to eavesdropping."

Dynamene blushed but couldn't keep from giving an embarrassed grin. "Ah, yes, I suppose you're right. But I wouldn't dare cross you again, my lord." Her expression as she looked up at him was almost mischievous.

"I don't plan to find out," he said flatly, and she turned her gaze to the floor with pursed lips. She remained quiet the rest of the journey.

In far too little time, they had reached the door to her room. Dynamene reluctantly opened it and stepped half inside before turning back to peer at him with forlorn eyes. "I'm sorry I broke your trust, my lord. I know there may be nothing I can do to restore it, but... I want to apologize again, either way."

He was quiet for a moment. She thought she heard him sigh, a quiet exhale, before he spoke one more time. "Perhaps, given enough time, you will."

Dynamene stared into the distance, an unexplainable urge to voice the question that had been weighing on her mind for over a week overtaking her. "Lord Poseidon?" she asked, her voice cracking. She dared not show him her face now, but there was something she needed an answer to. She had to ask now, while she had the courage to speak. 

"Yes?"

"I..." She faltered at the last minute. "I hope the audience with my sisters goes well." She stared up at the ceiling, hating herself for faltering. Her real question would just continue to weigh on her that much longer. Will... will you really take as consort the maiden Hera plans to present you with?

Poseidon stared at the cracked door and the slender inch of material he could see of her robes. He looked away towards the window on the far end of the hall. The sky was turning golden as the sun began its descent towards the horizon. He was no fool. Something else was troubling her, but what, she clearly dared not to say.

"I will hear whatever they have to say with an open mind," he settled on for an answer.

"Thank you," Dynamene whispered, twisting the bracelet 'round her wrist. "I... We all appreciate it." The mother-of-pearl beads glowed beautifully in the light of the sunset. She shyly peered around the door one last time. "Thank you, my lord. Goodnight."

Poseidon stood outside her room for a moment more, as if collecting himself. This all was becoming a hassle; wasn't it?

And yet, it didn't bother him as much as it had in the start.

He turned on his heel and continued towards the great hall. The other Nereids were surely waiting for his entrance now, and the sooner he arrived, the sooner it would be over.

The forty-nine other Nereids parted silently as Poseidon made his way between them to his throne. The sunset threw soft shapes of orange light across the vast room. The solemnity in each Nereid's face, no small feat to begin with, was put into greater relief by the shadows in the dimming light. Their eyes followed the god as he sat upon the chair, settling in and resting his cheek upon his hand in his usual manner.

"You have all called to request an audience with me, which I see fit to grant," he began lowly. "All of you except for Dynamene, who you requested be left out of this meeting."

The Nereids said nothing but looked to the eldest sister standing at the head of the group: Ianeira.

"As such, I have made sure that Dynamene is in her quarters." His eyes drifted from each face to the next. "My time is precious little; make your statement."

Ianeira stepped forward, her back straight and gaze direct. "Lord Poseidon, I won't make any pretenses about why we have asked for you to hear us out this evening. Something has recently come to the attention of all of us, including, I suspect, you, that we feel requires action."

Poseidon's gaze snapped to her face. He said nothing.

"My lord, Dynamene has recently come of age. She is a young woman now in body, but in mind and soul, she is still a child. She allows her feelings to run away from her; she has yet to learn to rein them in when it is appropriate. I'm afraid this may cause problems for all of us in the future." Ianeira bowed her head solemnly. Her careful wording brought her point across to Poseidon without being overly direct.

His suspicions had been right. He tilted his head slightly, gaze shifting from Ianeira to someplace in the distance. "You come here to turn on your own sister?"

"We come here to protect our sister," Ianeira answered, her words almost sharp. "We come here to act on her behalf as her older siblings. And, in particular, we have come to make a request." She lowered her face to the floor once more. What would a monster like you know, after all, of love for one's family? How dare you accuse me of betrayal when your hands are full of your brother's blood. Dynamene will not be your next victim, even if I have to get gutted like Adamas to prevent it.

Poseidon remained silent. He didn't move at all, as if carved from the same stone as his throne.

In the crowd, Eione's gaze sought Thoe's. She subtly rose her arm behind her back, showing her crossed fingers.

"We request permission to bring Dynamene home for an extended visit with our parents, along with a dozen of us older sisters. It has been a while since we have seen our family, and I'm sure the change of environment will do her good."

Poseidon did not look at her. The intent behind their request was clear now. They meant to remove Dynamene from the palace in an effort to get her away from him. They were trying to keep her from falling in love with him.

And they were attempting to discourage him from taking an interest in her.

How presumptuous of them. How futile of them, to think that they had the power to keep him from what he desired. They had no right to make such demands. Where had this sudden blind courage come from? His hands tightened minutely, undetectably, on the arms of the throne. Dynamene's boldness made much more sense now.

For several seconds there was no sound in the great hall. Every sister's gaze was focused sharply on the god, their expressions ranging from concerned to annoyed. The Nereids were not happy with the possibility of their beloved youngest sister falling for the callous Poseidon. Admittedly, their worries were not unfounded. If Dynamene was taken as consort by Poseidon, she would no longer be under the protection of her family or societal customs; she would be considered Poseidon's property, and her fate would be left at the mercy of his wrath. The Nereids did not trust him to leave Dynamene unharmed. Memories of his past violence remained suspended in the air around them, a vivid warning to the fate of their sister.

What good would it do to deny their request, in the end? He had no interest in invoking the ire of his servants and their family; too troublesome for such an insignificant conflict. Surely, if he refused to let Dynamene leave the palace, word would get around. People would assume he did have an interest in the nymph if he tried to keep her here now. Well, if the Nereids so wished to keep their sister safe from his toxic influence, so be it. What was it to him?

"Your request is granted," he answered. "You may take leave of the palace for a month. I won't have need of all fifty of you during this time, anyways. I have important duties to take care of elsewhere." I won't even know you're gone.

"Thank you, my lord," Ianeira replied gratefully. "We'll begin preparations tonight, and leave tomorrow afternoon." All the Nereids dropped to a silent bow, then took their leave.

Poseidon remained on his throne. A feeling he was loathe to claim was seething in his chest. He knew the Nereids had always regarded him with caution, which he welcomed. It kept them at a reasonable distance and discouraged them from annoying him. But seemingly overnight it had culminated in this; them spiriting away one of their own because she had warmed up to him.

He got to his feet and strode briskly towards his quarters. That things had come to a head like this was ridiculous. He should have put a stop to this the moment Dynamene had looked at him with stars in her eyes. But how could he have known things would develop this way? It wasn't his fault that the nymph had taken a liking to him. The sound of her rapid heartbeat had finally become ambient noise to his ears; now, when she returned to the palace, he'd have to get used to it all over again. When she returned, he would have to get used to her overly bright smiles and bold attempts at making conversation once more. He'd have to talk to her again about the ocean, and what he did there. He'd have to show her what he saw in the deep sea, her delicate hand in his, her expression shifting rapidly as she took in the visions in her mind's eye. He'd have to hear her unfounded worries about his safety, even with all his strength and power.

No, he didn't have to do any of that. So why was he considering it a foregone conclusion already?

The doors to his suite closed behind him far rougher than necessary, and dust blew free from the stone walls. He threw his trident rather forcefully onto its wall rack before stepping onto the balcony. The waves of the ocean were growing unusually choppy for this time of day.

It would be a month until he heard that heartbeat again.

---

Author’s Notes: Aughhhh now we’re getting closer to the climax, finally, I’ve been waiting for it.

This has now become the second longest fanfic I’ve ever written. By the time it ends, it’ll probably be the longest.

Careful throwing your trident, Poseidon; wouldn’t want you acCIDENTALLY STABBING SOMEONE NOW WOULD WE?!

[rein-ette]

A cleaner version of my previous ask 😅

Engport, babysitting (catsitting, plantsitting etc) or fire, please?

Oooookayyyy, so. I wrote...something. It's for the engport + fire prompt, but if I'm going to be completely honest it doesn't have anything that much to do with fire, though I swear I did come up with it because I was thinking about things related to fire. And this first part of it doesn't have much engport either, though there's certainly a lot of Port. It does have a cute small animal in it, if that's any consolation.

I do also have another idea for plantsitting, so I might write that at some point, but I didn't want to keep you waiting much longer so -- please accept my apologies and this fic that I can almost guarantee is not what you thought it was going to be.

Warnings: abuse of Greek mythology and one scene from Spirited Away. Also skulls. One skull. And I guess, death? But not really.

The realm of the dead was turning out to be a lot less crowded than Gabriel had expected. Since many mortals died every day, he had imagined that the banks of the river Styx would be crowded with souls, screaming or writhing or whatever spirits did in agony as they waited for their passage to the Underworld. Instead, Gabriel stood alone on what appeared to be a train platform, in the middle of a river so still he could easily see his own reflection in it, and so wide it might as well have been an ocean. Gabriel only knew it was a river because he could sense that the water was drawn to him like a curious child to pretty flower, responding to his immortal parentage. Unconsciously, Gabriel flexed his fingers and wondered if the steaming waters of the Styx would listen to him if he tried to command it. Probably not, and seeing as he was going to be knocking on the door of her master momentarily, Gabriel did not want to be introduced as that nephew who had angered the Goddess of Hatred the moment he had woken up in the Underworld.

Fat lot of good his powers had done him anyways, since he had died at sea.

Hadn't mother always told him the Oceanids were bad shit?

Sighing, Gabriel looked around again at his surroundings. He realized with no small amount of surprise that, while he had just been alone, now several shadowy figures stood with him on the platform, the edges of their figures melting in and out in the thick fog that rose from the waters around them. He tried to examine their faces to see if any of them were the spirits of his crewmates, but whenever he thought he could make out a feature their faces dissolved back into the fog. Exasperated, Gabriel glanced back at the river, noting with another jolt of surprise that now he could see the dark outline of a set of train tracks beside the platform, about half a meter underwater and stretching away into the blackness. Not long after he registered that, he heard the rumble of a train in the distance.

I suppose that's my ride, he thought to himself. The old myths said that Chiron ferried people on a boat across the Styx, but apparently the Industrial Revolution had come to the Underworld as well. Snorting at the thought, he dug in his pocket for his gold coin, which any good sailor always kept in case the ever-capricious ocean claimed them — even semi-immortal sons of river goddesses. Clearly, this was a good habit, because being semi-immortal had not saved Gabriel from that torpedo, which had reduced his poor ship to a lump of floating scrap metal before Gabriel could call up enough power to fill a water bottle, and, oh, all those poor soldier boys who would now never get a chance to die in a gruesome war and fulfill their heroic fates —

Gabriel could not find his coin. Frowning, he searched the front pockets of his admiral's tunic as well, even though he knew he had not kept it there. When that yielded nothing, he moved on to his back pant pockets, then his boots. For the first time since he had drowned in the icy cold Atlantic (which, admittedly, was not that long ago), Gabriel felt a shiver of true panic run through him. How would he board the train without his coin? How would he enter the Underworld? How would he join the ranks of the heroes in the Elysian Fields, where he belonged? Had he perhaps lost his coin when he had rushed to the railings to survey the damage on deck and was promptly dropped into the roaring Atlantic when a stray bit of flak from the exploding engine room tore clean through his right leg?

Now that he thought about it, that seemed likely.

At least he’d gotten his leg back.

The train slid to a rippling stop into front of him. With a soft swoosh, the doors opened, and Gabriel found himself staring at a man who, despite his smart train conductors uniform, could not have been anyone but Chiron, given that his face was a gleaming skull and his eyes literally balls of hellfire. It seemed the god had tried to update his aesthetic for the 20th century as well.

Chiron proffered to him a small wooden box, in which Gabriel could see several gold coins. Desperately digging through his pockets one last time, he finally shook his head. "I’m sorry, I don’t have the fare, I —"

The doors slid closed in his face, and immediately the train began to pull away.

Muttering a few choice curses, Gabriel stumbled a step away from the edge of the platform and watched as the train picked up speed and swooped away into the darkness.

Somehow, he doubted it would be returning to this station.

In the ensueing silence, Gabriel weighed his options. He could sit on this platform and mope, possibly for eternity. He could jump in the river and hope that his aunt either saved him or tore his soul into shreds from the agony. He could try walking along the rails in the direction the train had left, also possibly for the rest of eternity, in the hopes of reaching the entrance to the Underworld eventually.

Gabriel took off his shoes and chose the last option, despite feeling that sulking for the rest of eternity held a certain amount of appeal. He was very good at sulking. Nevertheless, he waded into the water at the end of the platform and found immediately that Hatred was lukewarm, not freezing cold like he had imagined — a nasty, suffocating lukewarm which swirled thickly around his thighs with the collected resentment, broken promises, lurid thoughts and heavens knew what else of millions of miserable souls.

He had feared the water might send him immediately into convulsions of unbearable pain or suck his consciousness right out of him, but as he continued along the track nothing remarkable occured. Perhaps the Styx had sensed his godly parentage and was protecting its kin. Or perhaps Gabriel had collected so much resentment in his long life that the river didn't even recognize him as a foreign body. Whatever the case, Gabriel held his shoes gingerly in one hand and sloshed on.

Quickly, he lost all sense of time, distance, or direction. It felt like he had barely taken two steps before the platform he left was swallowed by the fog, and the tracks underneath his feet curved and meandered like a small stream itself, without rhyme or reason. Gabriel realized that even if the water had not immediately destroyed him, he could not walk forever, and when he finally collapsed from exhaustion he would either be eaten by whatever dwelled in this wretched river or drown over and over in its depths until it dissolved him like a piece of wet toilet paper.

Still, he could not turn back. There was no hope even if he managed to return to the platform, and while a lesser man might have cowered in fear on dry land anyways, Gabriel had spent most of his twenty one centuries of life fighting and wandering across the oceans anyways. Wading through an infernal river until even his immortal soul crumbled into the waves — it seemed somehow like a fitting end.

To distract himself from his happy thoughts, he began to sing. At times it was just a wordless tune, but when he felt inspiration hit he added lyrics. He sang of his birth on the sun-kissed banks of the Douro, the eldest son of its beautiful immortal gaurdian and a local Roman nobleman. He sang of his siblings, not all of whom had inherited his mother's immortality, and he sang in particular of the one brother who did and accompanied him through the aching, bittersweet years that followed. He sang of the lands he had travelled, some bursting with life and colour, others stunning in their harsh, barren beauty. He sang of his lovers, the princes and the ladies, the soldiers and the nymphs and the humble farmhands whom he had courted, bed, and occasionally wed — but never to last, for mortal lives were but a flicker in the endless night and even the immortal ones could not tether down his heart for long. The stars called him, the waves called him, and Gabriel always, always answered.

He suppposed now, though, he had finally found his last resting place.

This thought was immediately followed by a less melancholic one: I didn't know polecats could swim.

Gabriel stopped singing and instead stood and watched as the little furry animal approached, paws paddling furiously as it slipped through the water. It stopped when it neared him and splashed around for a bit, before lifting its snout and looking pointedly at Gabriel, its dark eyes gleaming and intelligent.

Gabriel hadn't known that polecats could give pointed looks, either.

He cupped his hands and extended them to the animal, which immediately scrambled on and promptly snuggled up in his palms, curling into a little content ball. Unable to hold back a smile, he stroked its slick, midnight fur with a thumb, marvelling at how soft and warm it was and how docile it seemed.

Well, he thought, at least I still sing well enough to seduce a polecat.

"You've seduced more than just a polecat, that's for sure," someone muttered.

-- part 2 is here --

[starryse]

Hot & Cold

13 Days of SVT Christmas- Day 3

Jeonghan x Reader

Fluff, Christmas au, friends?enemies? to lovers au

2.2k

Snow was a given on Christmas, that, anyone knew. It wasn’t odd for inches of snow to cover the ground, and for the sky to be a bright white instead of its normal shades of blue. However, when it comes to Christmas plans, everyone seems to forget about the same snow they had been squealing about days prior.

You weren’t an exception.

Your breath fogged the window in front of you, the dew forming blurring the outside view. Groaning, you dropped your head down, forehead resting on the cold glass.

You didn’t mind staying cooped up inside when the roads were too dangerous to drive on, in fact, you loved it. It was a nice change of pace when you had to stay home; rather than having thousands of plans a day with only 24 hours to do them, your only option was to relax and work around the house. But when your roommate's annoying friend was also going to be snowed in with you, you couldn’t dread it anymore.

“Aww what’s wrong y/n? Hot date get canceled cause of the snow?”

You backed away from the window, a slight red mark left on your forehead. “Actually no, I’m just so excited to be stuck with you,” you scoffed.

Jeonghan’s smug smile grew, a dramatic sigh leaving his lips as he plopped onto the couch, “ah ditto, beautiful. I can’t wait to spend Christmas with you.”

“Please can you stop arguing for just 5 minutes? We’re snowed in for God knows how long, try and get along”

You and Jeonghan turned your heads towards the scruff voice belonging to your friend. His hand rubbed his creased forehead, eyes squinting shut. You sighed, nodding your head as you walked over to the male, “I’ll do my best, just keep your little devil in check and we’ll be fine”

Jeonghan cackled, leaning over the couch, white-sleeve cladded arms resting on the back, “does that mean you’re my angel?”

You groaned as you walked away from the smirking dark haired man on the couch, “Oh my God I’m going to my room”

“Can I join?!”

You flipped off the laughing male, quickly shutting your door right after.

The sun had begun to set, the snow just barely letting up from earlier. The sunset outside shown through the sheer curtains in your room, soft orange hues reflecting onto your walls. You had been in your room for a few hours, most of which were spent groaning and whining about the crazy amount of work you had to complete before next semester (which was in a week). The other good chunk of the time was you lounging on your bed, fingers mindlessly scrolling through your phone as you mentally prepared yourself to be in the presence of Jeonghan for what could be days.

Yours and Jeonghan’s relationship was a complicated one. Simple really to your shared close friends (which happened to be all of your friends), to them it was mere sexual tension, convinced you both had to big of egos to fuck one out. Meanwhile, to outsiders it may seem as if you truly hated one another, that the pure existence of each other was the bane of your lives. But for you, you didn’t know what it was. You didn’t hate Jeonghan, God no. You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t enjoy his remarks from time to time. And maybe you found him incredibly attractive. Also you 100% daydreamed about him more than you’d like to admit.

No. No no. He annoyed you. Constantly antagonizing everything you did, whether it was when you tripped over nothing and landed on a pile of Mingyu’s dogs shit, or when you were rejected by the waiter you had tried flirting with. Jeonghan always had some remark that made your blood boil.

But he was also the same guy who knew how hard you had studied for your exam, only for you to fail it, and proceed to comfort you and order you takeout. And there were all the times where Coups couldn’t come home and Jeonghan offered to stay with you (he knew how much you hated being alone at night.) He’s confusing. But then again you could only guess you were too.

“Hello my angel, dinners readyyy”

Jeonghan stood at your door, his body leaning against the frame. His dark hair casted over his eyebrows, hair parting to reveal his forehead and the small scar above his eyebrow (you may or may not have accidentally did that when you first met).

You rolled over from your previous position facing your window. Sitting up, you stretched your arms as you twisted your back. Jeonghan couldn’t help but shamelessly watch as your shirt clung to your skin as you moved, he was a simple guy. His eyes quickly darted up towards yours when you gazed over at him.

“Sooo why are you still standing there?”

Your question seemed to snap him out of his haze, his mouth stuttering out random words before he flipped you off and “ran” back out the door. That seems to be a common occurrence in the house. You snorted, standing up from your bed to go eat dinner.

“They say that the snow isn’t going to let up anytime soon. Don’t be surprised if we’re snowed in the next 2 days” Seungcheol leaned back on the couch, his elbow propped on the arm rest, head in his hand as he flipped through the Netflix shows.

You sat between the boys, feet propped on the coffee table in front of you,“can’t we watch a Christmas movie, Christmas is literally tomorrow?” Your answer was quickly given when Cheol kicked your legs off the table, causing them to fall onto the ground with a thud. You muttered a few curse words under your breath, bringing your legs up to sick criss cross on the couch.

Jeonghan laughed as he watched the two of you banter over something as little as a Christmas movie, though he wasn’t entirely surprised- you were both immensely stubborn.

Waiting for the perfect timing, Jeonghan slyly reached behind your back, grabbing the remote from the crack of the couch between you and Cheol. His eyes darted from the tv to you two as he sneakily flicked on a movie.

The sound of Christmas bells and people talking caught both yours and the pouty man on your lefts attention, your mouths shutting as you turned to the tv screen.

A loud screech erupted from your mouth, your legs quickly bouncing on the floor as you pointed a finger at the pouting man, “YES! In your face, Cheol! Christmas wins again!” Said man slunk down in his seat, half of his body towards the floor as he groaned in annoyance, “Jeonghan really? I thought you were on my side man”

Jeonghan merely laughed, his arm patting Seungcheol’s shoulder, “What can I say, I’m a sucker for Christmas movies,” his eyes drifted over at you, watching as yours lit up in delight as you watched the movie in front of you, “and maybe I like seeing others happy.”

Seungcheol only sighed, knowing fair well why the dark haired boy betrayed him. Oh how he had looked forward to being a third wheel.

It was close to midnight now, the first movie had been done for a few hours as the 3rd one ran. The small living room was lit up by the lights strung on the tree in the corner and the strands along the archway. You may have fallen asleep halfway during the 2nd movie, leaving just Coups as Jeonghan fell asleep in the beginning of the 3rd.

Seungcheol looked over towards your two huddled figures. You were stuck to Jeonghan’s side like glue, his arm drapes around your side, hand pressed against your hip. The blanket previously wrapped around you was now discarded on the floor, the only thing keeping you from freezing was whatever body heat Jeonghan was radiating without a blanket himself. The eldest sighed, muttering an idiots under his breath as he stood up, tossing the blanket over the two of you before switching off the tv and heading to bed.

“MERRRRYY CHRISTMAS!!”

You moaned, leaning your body away from the sound, stuffing your head into the closest thing next to you. The feeling of hair in your mouth caused you to spew, your eyes peeling open as you lifted your head. The view of Jeonghan’s head right next to yours made you gasp, your eyes widening in shock. You glared over at Seungcheol who stood in front of you with a smug grin, similar to the one the sleeping boy always wore, “Seungcheol. What am I doing?”

The boy tilted his head in mock confusion, “well it seems to me you’re sleeping with Jeonghan?” You scrambled up, grabbing the pillow next to you before wacking the manically laughing man as he ran to sit next to the tree. The sudden movement caused said boy to stir, his hands rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

You halted your movement, turning to look at Jeonghan who was now sitting half awake beside you on the couch.

“Merry Christmas”

You quickly answered back, a slight pink rising to your cheeks at his deeper than normal voice. God bless mornings.

Seungcheol clapped his hands, a grin etching across his face as he leaned his body over to grab one of the presents underneath the tree, “y/nnn, this ones for you!”

You smiled back, standing up from your seat, dropping the blanket on the floor in the process as you walked over to sit next to Cheol. You grabbed the present from him as he waved one of his hands at Jeonghan, the dark haired boy getting the hint as he tiredly walked over next to you. You waited for Seungcheols cue to open it, his head nodding. You greedily tore the wrapping paper off, the scraps falling onto the floor as well as Jeonghan’s legs that were sprawled in front of him. The boy looked at you, eyes squinting, “in a hurry much are we Y/n?”

You ignored his comment, instead gasping at the camera you’ve been wanting that sat in your hands. Your eyes widened, body immediately flinging into Coups’ already open arms, “you’re the bestest best friend ever, thank you Cheol.”

Seungcheol squeezed you one more time before you leaned back onto your knees in front of the tree. You passed one of the presents from you to Seungcheol, placing it in his hands that were held out flat in front of him. For a 25 y/o, he sure was giddy like a child when it came to presents.

The man cackled at the sight of the sushi boxers in front of him, the hidden meaning of the gift a fond memory, “thanks Y/n, I will cherish these beautes forever.” You smiled, patting his head. You sat back next to Jeonghan, waiting for more presents to be passed about.

Seungcheol smirked at the small, light blue wrapped present in the back of the tree, “ah, I almost forgot about this one. Y/n, this last one is yours”

You narrowed your eyes at the smug man, wondering why he was smirking at you because of a gift. Hesitantly grabbing the gift, you began slowly unwrapping it (much much slower compared to the first few presents you had torn open.) As you focused on the present, you didn’t notice the nervous man next to you, his fingers fiddling together as he gnawed on his bruising lip. He watched you through the hair that crowded his sight, cheeks the color of the lights that decorated the tree.

Your heart slowed at the now un-wrapped present, hands gently lifting the silver chain. You glanced up, eyes meeting Seungcheols. He shook his head, pointing a finger towards Jeonghan as he pretended to stretch his arms out. Your eyebrows furrowed, mouth forming a small O. You looked down at the necklace, fingers tracing the jeweled heart as you opened the locket. Your breath hitched at the engraved letters- a J for Jeonghan and your own first initial as well.

Jeonghan jumped at the sudden contact, his heart beating rapidly at the weight of your body against his. Snapping out of the shock, he softly wrapped his arms around you, his hand placed on the back of your neck as he pressed his cheek against the side of your head. He was on fire, maybe not literally, but he sure felt as if he were in flames.

You pulled back, hands gently cupping his cheeks, “why?”

Jeonghan smiled, and not the usual devilish smirk he did- no, this was different. Was it adoration? Happiness? “Because I'm maybe, possibly, 100%, for sure in love with you”

You melted at his words, a light laugh sounding before pressing your lips on his cheek, “Well maybe, possibly, 100%, for sure am I in love with you too”

The man's eyes lit up at that, a large grin spreading across his face. Pulling you back against him, he squeezed your body as he fell against the ground, a loud cheer leaving his mouth. Your laughs filled the air, a sound you were sure your neighbors could hear 2 doors down.

Seunghceol sighed at the sight, though a fond smile was hidden behind that, “let the 3rd wheeling begin.”