#does not mean it has my blessing as a good story based on my tolerance of it based on my inherent revulsion of horror media

[taldigi]

You like Five Nights at Freddy's? I thought you hated horror?

Yes.

[ohgodmyeyes]

thanks for answering my question! 🩷 i would never want to shame people for their kinks even if i don’t understand them (i myself have some strange kinks), and you explained it super well :)

when i say ‘morbid’ and ‘dark’, it’s mostly because all i’ve seen from it is (in the media) real life people having been groomed into it and then they’re stuck being such a heavy weight and it makes them miserable (and also, death feederism). SO i wanted to know if it’s not always like that, that it’s not to be associated with that side of it.

i’m happy to know it’s not always like that, especially as a slightly bigger person myself (and having always been insecure about it), it would break my heart if it’s just a fetishisation of hurting fat people.

so i really appreciated your explanation to know it is not! also, love your fics as well!! and i hope you have a great day 💕

oh wow, thank you for getting back to me! rest assured i didn't feel at all shamed by your question (and i'm thrilled you didn't take offence to my answer).

i actually think you and i largely agree on what constitutes dark & morbid ... because when a relationship based heavily on power dynamics turns abusive or suffers a communication breakdown, the consequences can be pretty catastrophic. no one should ever feel that they "have" to maintain a certain physical attribute to make a relationship work, and dominant partners who encourage real-world dependency have a serious responsibility to uphold. a dom/sub relationship is, functionally, a marriage — with (ideally) all of the obligations and protections that entails.

that being said, i strongly believe that anyone who outright abandons a dependant or disabled partner is a straight-up piece of shit, circumstances notwithstanding. i also think that it shouldn't be as difficult as it currently is for people with mobility issues and health problems to lead dignified lives. it shouldn't matter how or why someone needs that kind of help, just that they get it when they need it.

the most unique, enticing, interesting, damning thing about this kink is that by indulging it, a person has the potential to put themselves in a vulnerable, socially disadvantageous position. i wouldn't recommend anyone without strong financial security, good health insurance, and a strong & tolerant social network engage in feeder/feedee relationship... especially if they're open to it getting as intense as we all know it can get.

again, though, that's good advice for people getting into all kinds of relationships; the only thing that really differentiates feedees from other submissive partners is their high visibility... which kind of also raises the question of whether fat & feeding fetishes would be what they are in the first place outside the context of a fatphobic society. it's kind of like asking what heterosexual marriage would be like in the absence of misogyny: we just can't know; we've never been blessed with the opportunity.

which is, essentially, why i would mostly rather enjoy my feeding kink from a distance/with anakin/through a lens coloured by fantasy. i've joked before that i write these stories so my husband doesn't choke on cake batter, and while that does make me giggle, there's a deep, underlying truth to it: because like i said before, sex and relationships are inexorably connected for me — and loving someone means actually loving them... even if they change physically over time, whether that's by choice or by happenstance.

that means that if i love someone, i'm going to love them exactly the same whether they weigh 100lb or 600lb... thus taking some of the 'edge' off of the feedism stuff, i guess, and mostly relegating it to imaginationland.

i hate that you or me or anyone else has ever had cause to feel insecure about their size; it's a symptom of a really deep sickness that has no place in a functioning society. i can't help the kinds of bodies i'm viscerally attracted to, but that doesn't give me the right to put myself in a position of power over the people who occupy them, especially given the backwards nature of the world we live in. i'm old and i've been all kinds of sizes, and i can confirm that folks are fucking stupid about it — so i more than understand a degree of suspicion directed at anything perceived to be hurting a group of people who frankly don't need any more crap.

i kinda want to say some stuff about death feedism but this answer is already long enough, and that's kind of its own weird thing by itself, not that i haven't fantasized about anakin in that position

honestly, i can't thank you enough for giving me such ample opportunity to share my thoughts, and for being so kind/generous about sharing yours. because at the end of the day i get what you're saying, and it's kind of a relief to know that we seem to agree on what constitutes healthy human interaction.

sometimes i worry about people, but talking to you about this has been really nice — and really heartening, in a way i think i probably needed.

thank you again, stop by any time!! :))

[sneverussape]

snape fic recs - old magic/epic worldbuilding

related to this post. i decided to dig through my bookmarks and wrack my brain for some of the fics i remember reading that scratched this particular itch. this will have fics that had the characters practice old magic and are more focused on the adults/hogwarts staff rather than the kids, or if the kids would be mentioned they would not be the main povs. these will be multi-chaptered, often long (and obviously au), and some of them have pairings. please heed the tags and warnings that the individual authors would have left; what you consume is your own responsibility. the fics are also listed in no particular order:

In His Name by moira of the mountain -  After the Final Battle, a fallen Snape is hidden, bearing Tom Riddle's last Unforgivable. There are three Secret Keepers and a Muggle healer to protect him, but will it be love - or an obligation - which finally frees him?  - no pairings // kinda brotp between mcgonagall, snape, and hagrid // also unfinished so fair warning. the lore is so rich though, it feels like how magic in hp should have been.

Death’s Dominion by MMADfan - Severus Snape’s life was changed when he was hit by an errant spell, and he comes to a decision that defies Dumbledore’s wishes. Even the fate of the wizarding world is altered by this ill-cast curse and Snape’s subsequent resolve.Long after the spell has dissipated, its effects continue echoing in the lives of Severus, Albus, Minerva, and Hermione, and they bring with them a shadowy figure whom Snape does not trust and whose motivations and influence on Minerva are murky. Not all is as it seems, and conspiracies and schemes swirl around Severus as he continues on his path of deception to his final confrontation with the Dark Lord. A “Light” fic of love, loyalty, and redemption. - mm/ad, ss/hg // this fic. is LEGENDARY. this is one of those fics that require your full attention and will eventually suck you in and spit you back out with your whole life changed. it will take you on a whole rollercoaster of emotions. the mm/ad pairing is quite an obvious one but the ss/hg is a subtle one and it’s more friendship throughout the whole fic than an actual romantic relationship. the ocs (a lot of them minerva’s family) are also SO well-made you’ll forget they’re not canon. 

FALLING FURTHER IN by kaz2 - Hermione begins to learn something of the man behind the dark sarcasms of the classroom. - ss/hg, also features wolfstar, brotp between the faculty and severus // this was one of the fics i had in mind when i did that last post about missing old hp stories. this was started in the early 2000s and the author had free rein on a lot of the material. flitwick and sprout are married here and are the cutest things on earth. it’s also set during the summer leading into harry’s final year so all the teachers are staying at hogwarts and are all good friends with each other. hermione is there as well because her parents had been murdered by death eaters and so she’s spending it with them. the way the ww is written here is so...epic, jkr couldn’t even. snape lives in an invisible tower called serpens tower, the teachers often go to a brothel-which-isn’t-really-a-brothel in hogsmeade, the other teachers often baby severus subtly because he’s the youngest, wolfstar are tolerable and remus actually learns to brew his own damn wolfsbane, etc. the story is in story format until near the end iirc and then the author outlines what happens next rather than writing it out. i can’t blame them; it really is a massive undertaking.

The Crest by sheankalor -  Dumbledore only holds partial say in who the Head of House is. Severus Snape is nominated as the Head of Slytherin, but has to pass a final test. Can he? Does he work well with the other three Heads of House? And just what is The Crest? - no pairings // staff fic // one of the rare one-shots but it’s in an au which feeds into other stories // i loooove the lore in this. it provides an explanation as to how a house head is approved by the school and i’m a sucker for any fic that has the faculty getting along.

Balance by rabbit and -v-Jinx-v - Hogwarts is under siege, and it's going to take everyone to find a way out of danger. - no pairings // brotp minerva and severus, also harry and draco form a friendship // this is one of my personal faves. it’s not only old magics but the entirety of hogwarts come together to battle against dark forces (not even death eaters but...balrogs...and other things). there’s no build-up to it; you enter the story after the battle’s already begun and then you get taken along for the ride. also has a part where the heads of houses meet the founders and there’s this epic dance that’s reminiscent of the danse macabre in The Graveyard Book (if you’ve read that you’d know what i mean).

Another World by Aeryn Alexander - Detention with Snape turns into something of an adventure for Hermione and Ginny, not to mention Professor Lupin, as they all discover that Hogwarts holds a terrible secret that none of them want to learn. - ss/hg, rl/gw // this fic took me by surprise because i didn’t expect it to go the way it did based on the summary lmao. the 4 basically get trapped in a mirror version of hogwarts after a potions accident, and the mirror world has literal demons in it. they have to find a way to get back into the real world while not getting killed at the same time. i actually liked lupin in this one and he and severus form a tenuous friendship. 

In One Spirit by mavidian - Voldemort and Dumbledore prepare for war and survival. Plans go awry, intrigues abound and nothing is what it seems. Snape created the Dark Mark but that mistake may cost him everything. Can Hermione be his saving grace? - ss/hg but it’s such a slow build you barely notice it during even the first 20 or so chapters because he’s his usual asshole self and they’re too busy trying to protect hogwarts // the concept of this fic and the lore it built up...wow. the faculty are all friends and they’re trying very hard to protect hogwarts using their own magics and their own clever schemes (war brooms? battle wands? blessing tree? filch even gets powers!). voldemort is also equally devious here and snape has loving pureblood parents! (not that it matters, he’s still an ass, but then it’s nice to read about him having a nice family for once). neville also steps up as a member of one of the Traditional Families so he’s quite a BAMF here. 

yo pls feel free to add your own recs to this post, i’m pretty sure there are loads more out there!

[umbralstars]

Sothis, the Church of Seiros and Byleth: A Pagan Reading

Due to L!Byleth and the minor hyperfixation he caused I decided to make a whole discussion on how I personally view Sothis, the Church of Seiros as a whole, and examine Byleth's role in the story.

So just some ground rules before I begin:

This is just how I personally viewed the story as I played it, and my own perspective on the plot and meaning behind certain things. I am open to discussion in the comments and reblogs, and if you disagree with my opinion that's perfectly fine. Also so much of this is going to read like headcanons/assumptions loosely supported by canon's thin red strings and I am ok with that.

If any in-game quotes are used they will mostly come from the Church Library since it's easy to check but I'll paraphrase important scenes that I can remember.

Also after compiling a timeline of events best I can understand it I have made a few assumptions: worship of Sothis existed before the Church of Seiros (perhaps even going as far back as pre-Calamity times) and thus Church doctrine and beliefs is largely based upon previously established beliefs about the Goddess. This doesn't have too much to do with the analysis itself, but I just wanted to say it as I quote The Book of Seiros parts a few times and the writings in those books I hold to have a basis in that pre-Church faith.

With those in place, allow me to begin.

The Sothis/Church of Seiros Meta:

While there have been many metas comparing Sothis and the Church to medieval Christianity, I have always looked at them both through a distinctly non-Christian, Pagan lense. 

I myself am a syncretic polytheist who has a complicated history with Southern Baptists. These two core aspects of my spiritual life does color my perceptions of the religion presented in this game and I am fully aware of that. Three Houses came at a time in my life where I was finally seperating myself from my latent Christianity, and exercising my Pagan goggles on this was a major step I took towards that. My intention here isn't to say that Christian coding doesn't exist, but to simply give my ideas and perspective on the religion presented in this game.

First, allow me to give the define the Gods through the lense of a Pagan as it's important to the framing of my ideas:

"The Gods are real, sentient, disembodied minds with awesome greatness and powers beyond what we humans can currently explain with science."

This is the simplest, shortest definition of the Gods I can give and Sothis, beyond a shadow of a doubt, hits all of the criteria as she is presented in the game. The Pagan conception of the Gods does not require any pretense of tri-omnism, and I believe it's best to look at Sothis, and many other FE Gods, through this lense. Sothis, when she was alive and even when she is "dead," is capable of amazing feats such as creating life, turning back time in a limited capacity, and restoring entire continents to life after calamity. While she is not tri-omni, she does not need to be so to be a Goddess and one worthy of worship and reverence.  

Church doctrine itself also exhibits other fundamental aspects of Pagan practice and belief that are important to me and many others: animism and the reciprocity cycle. As stated by The Book of Seiros, Part 1,

"The Revelation.The Goddess is all things. She is heaven above and the land below. She is eternity incarnate. She is the present, the past, and the future. Her eyes see all. Her ears hear all. Her hands receive all."

Obvious allusions to omnipresence aside, another reading of this passage is a far more esoteric, and hard to put into words, aspect of Pagan belief about the Gods. In a sense , the Gods are not limited by the physical constraints of the world and their bodies are inherently an aspect of the very universe itself. They are not omnipresent at all times, but they can be wherever they wish to be especially wherever their presence and power is strongest. That is actually the purpose of idols, alters, and temples. The Gods are not idols or are bound by them, those things are simply repositories to allow us humans to connect with and worship them. 

The natural world as well can be the "body" of a God. Places where their spirits decide to dwell. Natural phenomenon one can feel their presence in. They are not limited to these places, but upkeep of them is necessary to maintain their power and spirit. In this way that passage can be read as Fodlan and the Blue Sea Star being the places where Sothis' spirit chooses to reside along with her actual remains needing to be maintained to keep her spirit maintained. Her sacred body likely extends across all of Fodlan and her spirit resides most strongly as the Blue Sea Star.

Gods in FE also, more often than not, have a physical body that is important for their connection to the physical world. FE Gods are not incapable of interacting with or watching over the physical world from the spiritual, but have much more free reign when their physical body is alive. The places where their bodies are buried are where their power is most heavily felt, and their spirits the strongest, as evidenced by the Mila Tree and the Good Ending of Future Past in Awakening. This what I believe the true purpose of the Sealed Forest to be. Given how protective Rhea is of the place, the strange alter and Crest of Flames that is just there, and that being where Byleth awakens and Sothis remembers, either parts or the entire rest of Sothis' physical body must be buried there and not actually in the Holy Tomb.

As an aside, the remains of the Nabateans can also be seen through this lense but to a lesser degree. It's obvious that parts of their souls and power remain with their bodies, and thus, maintaining the Relics, Crestsones, and the other Nabatean remains not fashioned into weapons would be of utmost importance to Rhea. Because, if they were to be lost or damaged her kin's spirits may forever be lost to the physical world. 

Fodlan being the sacred body of Sothis is also why I believe the Church of Seiros to be an ethnic religion and a henotheistic one to the people of Fodlan. The Goddess is only ever credited in the creation story and a lot of other Church doctrines as having created and choosing Fodlan as her sacred ground. The people of Fodlan likewise are seen as her sacred people. Nothing in Church doctrine says that Sothis is the only God to exist and I truly cannot remember a single instance where anyone says other religions outside the Church are false ones. Hence why I say Fodlanders are henotheistic, where they do not deny the existence of other Gods, but Sothis is the most important and only one worshipped by them. To the people of Fodlan as long as foreigners do not deny her existence and those of Fodlandic descent worship her as they should there is no cause for an uproar.

This is not to say other religions can be practiced freely on Sothis' sacred ground, as evidenced by the women in Abyss who says she worships there "because Abyss is where it is allowed." Along with Atheism among Fodlanders to be a taboo in their societies. Whilst I don't see the Church to be a beacon of religious tolerance (or that Fodlanders don't believe their religion to be the best), I also do not believe them to be proselytizers to places outside of Fodlan. 

The reciprocity cycle also has a place within Church doctrine. The Book of Seiros, Part V describes the various commandments Sothis gave to her people and how if they abide by them the Goddess pays the people back with blessings and gifts. Textbook reciprocity is doing something for the Gods, such as sacrifice or ritual, and gaining something back in return or the Gods do something for you and you give back to them in turn. Reciprocity can be as simple as giving thanks for the blessings the Gods give or complex as full ritual, sacrifice, and or prayer to gain a blessing/aid or give thanks for one. The best case of reciprocity I see in game is the restoration quest for the Saint Statues. Whilst the Saints are complicated in how I believe their divinity is handled there is no doubt the player receives blessings from them for restoring their icons. 

(While I would like to devote an entire section to them and the Nabateans in general like 80 - 90% of my ideas are headcanon that I'm still not sure of. I don't think the Nabateans are Gods like Sothis is however immortal or long-lived they may be. I also still don't know whether the Saints would be worshiped or venerated in the Church, as I still don't understand the distinction of those two things myself, so I don't want to make a judgement call).

What about Byleth?

Byleth...is tricky. Now, I must preface, that all of this is my opinion. Some of it may not be supported by the game, but this is how I personally write him and his status regarding everything we see in game.

Byleth is, for all intents and purposes, the 13th potential vessel for Sothis to return to the world as they were given Sothis' Creststone on the request of Sitri. Here's the thing. I personally do not believe that Sothis is truly dead or that Byleth manifested her consciousness on happenstance.  It has been my personal belief ever since playing the game for the first time that Sothis' spirit does indeed reside in the heavens and that the piece of Sothis that resides in Byleth until his awakening is only a fragment. Along with that I believe that Sothis' consciousness and power manifested in Byleth specifically because Sothis wished for it to be so.

My ideas are centered around a few aspects of the game that have always stood out to me as rather strange if kept in line with the larger context.

Why after all this time and Rhea's many attempts did Sothis manifest in a stillborn child?

How was Sothis able to speak to Byleth and wake him after his 5 year coma?

Why does Byleth loose the Goddess' power at the end of Crimson Flower?

How was Sothis able to speak to Byleth if you choose to S-Support her?

How exactly was Byleth able to dream about something that happened long after Sothis' death even if he can access her memories?

These sticking points have always struck as odd given everything that Sothis says before Byleth's awakening. Sothis should not be able to speak to Byleth at all, but still does so only a few chapters later and comments on the war that Byleth was only privy to the very beginning of.

Hence my belief that Sothis' spirit as the Goddess of Fodlan does reside in the heavens, watching over the continent, and only able to interact with it and its people in subtle ways. Some of her spirit and power laid within her Creststone as it passed from vessel to vessel. One way or another, she was able to foresee the coming war that would change Fodlan fundamentally forever and chose to manifest that piece of her consciousness when the opportunity presented itself. It's why Byleth can dream of a battle that happened long after Sothis' death because he's remembering something experienced by the Creststone and knowledge given by the Goddess soul who resides in heaven.

I also believe that Byleth and Sothis as we saw them during the game was a mistake in some way. Byleth as his own entity was likely not supposed to be and the piece of Sothis' soul that was supposed to manifest wasn't supposed to be amnesiatic or at the very least not separate from Byleth. There were a few times pre-time skip where Sothis would be talking and Byleth's model would be moving and his facial expression changing. Almost like their thoughts were so intertwined that they were practically the same even before the awakening. It's very likely to me that Byleth's memory issues, lack of ability to properly express emotions, and other aspects of their character to be directly connected to the fact that Sothis' soul manifested incorrectly.

The Sothis he hears before waking from his coma and the one he speaks to during his S support is likely the full spirit of the Goddess communicating with him through great effort and only able to because he's her avatar. She knows of the pain Fodlan is experiencing because she can see it and feel it even as Byleth slumbers. Same thing for why Byleth would lose her power and soul piece on Crimson Flower, as Sothis may have interpreted siding with Edelgard as a rejection of being her avatar and simply deciding to be human instead (I don't wish to speak too long on a route I don't particularly like, but I felt that strange ending should be addressed).

My experience as someone who follows a Kemetic path leads me to not see Sothis' soul being split in this way as strange. In this particular religion, as I understand it, the soul is encompassed as multiple different parts all combining to make a singular being. Both Gods and humans have multiple parts to their souls, so one residing in the Creststone, later manifesting in Byleth, and another part residing in the heavens is plausible to me. Also if I wanted to compare Byleth to another FE character, his situation reminds me most of Nagi from FE 11 & 12 who is an amnesiac and likely an incarnation of Naga to aid Marth on his quest. Nagi doesn't get much characterization in those games, but it does show that incarnations/avatar of Gods, who aren't the confusing mess of Robin and Grima for instance, isn't a new concept in series for Byleth.

In terms of what happens after Byleth awakens I do believe that Byleth himself becomes a God or at the very least a demi-god in his own right. As it was Byleth absorbing the piece of Sothis' soul into his own, the Goddess' power was inherited by him alone. The inner turmoil caused by two souls sharing one body finally ceased and Byleth was fundamentally changed becoming, well, an Enlightened One. As the game doesn't really explore Sothis and Byleth much post-Time Skip, due to the war taking precedence and Byleth's unfortunate existence as a silent protag, how exactly he changes is up to personal interpretation. I personally believe he gained not only Sothis' power but some of Sothis' memories and insight that the Creststone soul piece had. He also gained greater control and range of emotional expression and probably took on some of the characteristics Sothis had. 

Byleth is both an avatar of the Goddess and his own person at the same time. He is and is not Sothis.

[grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales]

Balkan Bestiary: Zduhac

This creature is exceedingly popular in Balkans, and stories of it ( in various forms and spellings) can be found all across Montenegro, Albania, Serbia, Croatia, Macedonia, Bulgaria and Bosnia and Herzegovina.

Their defining characteristic is that zduhac is a human being whose soul has ability to leave their body and ascend in sky, where they either fight malicious spirits causing storms and  elemental catastrophes, or  they themselves go out to combat and harm their rivals and neighbours. The soul is usually invisible, but it can assume form of some bug- such as moth- or even dragon.

They usually look like ordinary people, though some traditions attribute them ‘’tells’’ that can vary from being little more hairy, over having superhuman strength, to going through life in dreamy and mournful fashion. When zduhac notices trouble approaching, either by gathering of dark clouds or sensing other spirits, they will go away somewhere, or barricade themselves in their home, and not come out until storm is over and winner is decided.

There are many, many names for this creature/ type of magical ability, as it is extremely widespread, and in some cases names vary from region to region. While this can apply to many creatures, in this case it is very prominent, whether due to lore being prevalent and popular among populace, or interest of folklorists.

Zmajevit: This term means ‘’dragonlike’’ and refers to spiritual and sometimes blood conenction these people have with dragons. Aside from this, there is general use of term as epithet to describe great, courageous and strong heroes.

Alovit: This term means ‘’ala-like’’ and it’s origins are covered in this post about creatures in question.

Zduhać: The root of this word is ‘’duh’’, which is word meaning spirit.

Stihija: This word can mean unfortunate situation or calamity, but it’s original meaning seems to have been a great storm or weather catastrophe. It may be derived from Greek stihio or Albanian stuha, and above mentioned zduhac may have been derived from it.

Vjedogonja: Is bit archaic, but I believe that it means something like ‘’dhrouded in air’’ or ‘’one who pursues winds’’

Vjetrovnjak: A folk term that means something along lines of ,,the windling.’’

Oblačar: Could be translated as ‘’the cloudy one.’’

Gradobranitelj: Means quite simply ‘’defender (from) hail.’’

Vremenjak:  Could probably be translated as ‘’weatherling’.’

Vilovit: While this term in general use is archaic dialectic way of calling somebody mad, in this context it means ‘’fairylike, fey-touched’’. Those two are connected, as vilas ( fairies) sometimes have ugly habit of driving people mad.

When zduhac’s soul exits their body, it does so through trance. The body will lay down, and be still, as if zduhac is in deep sleep or nearly dead, but it will still twitch, and every wound earned in battle shall be transferred to it. Some traditions claim that if body is interfered with in any way, even something minor like turning it over, soul won’t be able to return. Some descriptions of trance resemble epilepsy seizure, and indeed legends may have been based upon it.

Zduhac’s ability to astrally project themselves, their sometimes attributed abilities of healing, prophecy and cursing cattle and crop, alongside with fact that they often fulfilled same function as folk healers and magicians ( to use english term that’s very popular, cunning folk) has led some anthropologists to believe belief in zduhaci is remnant of  prechristian shamanistic traditions, and compare them to similar people in other cultures, such as say, Italian benandenti. While this theory holds water, it is important to note that there isn’t much concrete evidence for it, and that European anthropologists are sometimes very quick to use word shamanistic improperly ( not all of them, of course, especially ones who come from cultures and regions where such living spiritual traditions still thrive, and often gets misinterpreted).

Anybody could be zduhac ( according to some claims, even animals!) but generally it is a strong man, in peak of his prowess, or a respected elder. Fact that zduhac’s enemy is traditionally feminine ala, and that they are sometimes contrasted with witches ( who traditionally attack their own closest kin and friends first), leads to some interesting ponderings.

Historically, we have many, many records of named and famous zduhaci across various regions. This is result s combination of dedicated research by folklorists, people generally knowing who is who three villages over and keeping that alive in folk memory, and fact that in certain places and times it was more or less social function of village. Some famous and beloved rulers were said to be zduhaci, but I feel safe saying this is unlikely, and probably propaganda, especially as those claims generally arose after their deaths, and were way of honouring leaders people found important and heroic.

How they are accepted by community is pretty interesting thing to me. Generally, zduhac is respected and honoured, as they fulfill extremely important function, and are guardians of their community and adore it whole heartedly. However, they can be described as strange, eccentric and uncanny, which may be partially due to fear of retaliation if one offends zduhac, but also because they can sometimes be sort of tolerated social outcasts; hermits, men who never married, thoughtful and private people, people too smart or opinionated for their close community, people with epilepsy...

Zduhac is primarily positive figure, however that too depends on your relation with them, like with people. If you anger zduhac it may retaliate, either by letting hail take down your vineyard, or sending pox upon your livestock. Also, traditionally zduhac attacks and threatens surrounding villages, particularly ones that have fed with their own, to point that some legends claim that all storms are result of rival zduhaci wrestling for dominance.

How person becomes zduhac depends on several sources:

It may be a sort of trade, the magical knowledge and practice that is passed from one to another, with several tales depicting  elderly zduhac seeking out replacement, usually a close relative like brother’s son or such. This fits with historical and folkloric records of how folk magicians and healers operated.

In certain traditions, zduhac is connected to angels and saints, and may even be counted among them, and their ability can be seen as divine blessing. Connection with sky, is of course, obvious.

In others, zduhac gains their abilities through mystical initiation performed by the Devil. It’s important to remember that this isn’t Satan of megachurch evangelism, but rural, folkloric Devil. So while powers are sinister and zduhaci can be capricious, they do serve good purpose.

It can be a natural, inborn gift. There are several explanations for how to detect newborn that will grow up to be zduhac, from birth at particular day to other notions, but most famous one and common one is baby being born with whole placenta, which is either red or white. During life zduhac will keep placenta as talisman, and needs to hide it from enemies and prying eyes.

Famously, zduhaci can be children of humans ( usually women) and dragons, which is where name zmajeviti comes from. Dragons are fond of sleeping with human women, especially royal ones, and thus their children grow up to be great heroes, brave and fierce in battle, handsome and strong, skilled warriors ( this belief of extraordinary heritage of nobility can probably be seen as distant cousin to legends of demigod descent and divine right of kings). Sometimes these men may be recognized by feathery winds they keep hidden underneath armpits.

Another connection with supernatural comes from ala, which i previously covered, and which is why they are called aloviti. Ala is traditionally enemy of zduhac, as spirit which causes storms and hail, but sometimes it is source of their powers. Ala may have been parent of zduhac ( usually fathering them), they or their parents may have been it’s victims                 ( encountered it in flesh and survived, or been possesed), or all zduhaci and alas are same beings, and whether they are evil or good depends on which village you hail from.

Zduhac may also derive their powers from the fairies, who are sometimes known to protect, associate with, or mentor humans, usually in healing arts, but they also may bless them in more spiritual manner, and zduhac’s power over natural forces may come from vila, who embody them. Zduhac in those stories may have vila for foster-mother or godmother ( or, like with dragonlike heroes, she breastfed them at young age), may be her oath sworn blood brother, done her favour or attracted her intrigue enough to make him her student. Sometimes they are said to be men who were loved by vilas- seemingly consensually, without traditional ‘’steal her veil and force her to be my spirit bride’’ story, implying that zduhac is one who had affair with vila of her own choosing, and was blessed and abandoned once she tired of her mortal lover.

[indigosprite]

Chrome Callout post.

relax this is just my love hate relationship with chromes writing and potential. spoiler, it ends with all the love... hate is only in the middle. 

My absolute favorite thing in fanfics is Chromes characterization. Like we all know Chrome is completely aware that Mukuro and co need a reoccurring dose of Valium and a therapist willing to do illegal things in order to lower their sadistic points to ”kind of disturbing but tolerable”. Or at least we hope she does even though she proves to us again and again that she’s not phased by it in the slightest and might actually be just as bad. TYL and she’s still running around helping them do god knows what. She follows them on this massacre pridefully, she “believes in” them ( its sweet actually. They’re what she thinks of when Mukuro asks what she believes in and makes a young kokuyo gang.)

In fanfics when people write her to be a double edge sword it’s hilarious, and it should’ve been the character depicted in the Anime and manga instead. But I guess if she hadn’t been the quiet, breathy & compliant 14 year old people wouldn’t have morphed her into the fanon I enjoy now. Here’s some stuff i love and HC abt Chrome  and the things I absolutely hated.  

1. When she actually speaks not just when spoken to. She voices her concerns although she has no intent of not doing what’s asked of her. Who knew she could speak and still be the obedient gang member Mukuro trusts her to be. And when she does this it’s funny. She is the conscience he buries underneath disgust and amusement for chaos, but that’s not her entire character. She’s not reduced to the mom friend either because of this, she’s too passive on the matter. She indulges/Enables it just the same as Chikusa or Ken, although she knows better meanwhile the thought never occurs to them. To summarize :

she’s Brian

2. She’s unhinged and the best part is nobody knows even though it’s blatantly obvious. She may not have the same bloodlust or violent disposition as her peers but there are other ways to showcase this. To Allow Mukuro the leader of this little fearsome Five-some to possess you whenever he feels like and witness whatever horrors he decides to inflict upon someone that day means she’s accepting of literally everything he does. She never resists or expresses distaste/fear for him or anything he does. We assume she would in some capacity because she was depicted as this wide eyed innocent girl trying her best to repay the man that got her to join a gang under the guise of a found family. She quite literally signed up for guts n glory. She knew this and never had second thoughts. Mind you she doesn’t share the same hatred for the mafia as the boys, theirs is blind hatred regardless of who you are. Hers is through them, they are her looking glass rightfully so, so if they say it then their word is law. I’m not sure about you but I would definitely be mindful of the girl who was raised semi normal and willingly turned into a killer for Mukuro of all people. They’re killing adults not shaking them up, they aren’t Tsuna and his friends they finish the job when necessary. The body count is unimaginable. She is just as loyal as Ken and Chikusa and would probably strike you where you stand for speaking ill of him. (She wouldn’t but would definitely be opposed to whatever you’re saying, unless it’s name calling. He takes no offense to that and welcomes it in fact.)

3. The fact that she’s a person apart from Mukuro (physically speaking.) and the Vongola team at all is a blessing in few fics. Although she was made to stand in for Mukuro, when he is released it’s not necessary hence him pushing her to be apart from him and his duties. He did this in the future as well when he possessed Guidio Greco no longer using chrome which lets us know she was successful in becoming a useful comrade and not just a vessel and vongola stand in. She had to otherwise he would’ve left her alone whether she was keeping his Vongola ring warm or not. She is just as aloof as Hibari, always off with her own people only engaging when it’s asked of her. I adore when people keep that in mind and don’t lump her with following behind the vongola as if she were one of them. She shows up for them when asked but her main focus is ultimately committing felonies with Ken and Chikusa per Mukuro’s orders. let her be with the kokuyo gang and let her contribute in the way she’s meant to as a fighter. figure her out give her something cool 

 ik that’s hard considering what we got in the manga. warning things i hate ahead 

what we got in the Anime and Manga: 

so we know Chromes entire purpose was to be Rokudo Mukuro’s stand in, while holding the Vongola ring he soon takes back she is just the girl that is able to get him to come fight their battles when necessary. The Anime and Manga rarely let Chrome fend for herself. We all knew he was coming the second it got serious. By giving chrome that ring she ended up being the one thing to keep him loyal to his contract with being their guardian. If she’s in danger he comes and saves her, the Vongola put her in danger because he will show up and do his job it’s like a rat trap. She is not meant to be a Vongola guardian but more like a Mukuro whistle. They never openly admit it but in the show they will expect/ask her to do things that her track record doesn’t imply she can do and just silently expect Mukuro to show up like always. SKSJDWDN they’ll be like “oh yeah call the girl who passed out and all her organs disappeared I believe in her to do this job even though i’ve never seen her make it to the end of a fight ever not worried at all” sksksjjd They never actually expect chrome to do a job they expect her to go there and manage to get Mukuro to come out and play and we should acknowledge it was just an unspoken thing.  Now I know that despite what I just implied about her not being that great a fighter but just good enough there are two comments made in all 400 chapters that are supposed to negate this.  

Mammon says her illusions are powerful just not enough to fool him , and reborn says she could turn the tide if she were to fight against Mukuro but with confidence, these mean nothing to me because amano throws in so many useless comments like this and then fails to develop it further to make it believable.  and she made powerful characters make note of this so it would be non negotiable and we would just take it at face value because its them but hello ?? ofc we want to see it just like we had to see Tsuna grow before we even considered taking him seriously. hell Dino got a quicker rise to his title than chrome bc its that easy to say oh he can come into his own when needed they just never meant to do it for chrome. 

it’s so irritating when they try to say she’s powerful or could be but give no actual footing for anyone to take those comments seriously when they make her pass out for thirty chapters after doing the bare minimum.

let chrome win on her own not just start strong then step out of the way then have some character say “no really she could be powerful we aren’t going to show you though” .  

when she helped them sneak in the base on her own and even makes those illusions of them fighting we should have gotten more of that!!! 

literally every character is fighting the funeral wreaths and chrome is running in the woods out of breath...even Lambo got to fight. 

you made her sit out of the rep battle to focus on making organs like that wasn’t something she already accomplished in the future and suddenly can’t do anymore ?.....

Chrome finally makes one fighting decision and its to make a mist forcefield that’s dangerous but hell yeah we think she will finally pull through with something powerful and prove herself and then they have mukuro come in a panel later saying “your flames are far too weak to do that I will make it better and help you not die” BYE  that was a perfect time to have her come in to her own seeing as she was powerful and confident enough to initiate it in the first place. 

breaking the barrier daemon spade makes * chefs kiss * give me more 

 when they’re not blindly robbing chrome of character development  she’s just getting kidnapped, passing out  or helping them with small things like making a fake Yamamoto for a party or sneaking in the base with illusions to disguise them. Hello she’s training under mukuro right ??? why did we ever get to see her get stronger each fight and have them say ‘she’s learning quick” instead. 

enough abt what we got, back to what I’ve managed to make out of the scraps we were given..

4. Mukuro is the only one who reassures that she actually is a fighter and she eventually grows to be a good one bc of this and you should write about that dynamic and why it exists more. this one is long.

 the whole dynamic I was referring to exploring is the one where Mukuro and chrome are meant to be equals. He meets this girl whose been neglected and left for dead, another kid messed up by adults neglectful selfish behavior. she willingly follows the boy who is plagued by the same demons and made a small group dedicated to getting revenge for it.  Mukuro & Chrome know they’re two sides of the same coin. he is anger and she is acceptance. He probably finds it amusing she isn’t as angry as them wants to draw it out of her  where as chrome wants to pull out the peace that comes with moving on once you’re in a better place. the girl is so happy to not be near her mom and grateful for this little family while the boys are quite literally holding a grudge against the world.  and like none of them even see it the way she does but she wants them to.  Mukuro and chrome didn’t go through the same things but it doesn’t matter to either of them because its the same story, nobody loved or valued them enough to protect them. In the end chrome will learn to be angry abt things that happen and use that to find a will to fight for something and Mukuro will learn to be at peace because they’re not in that lab anymore and those people are gone from their life. as fighters they’re so important to each others balance Mukuro’s rage cannot be left to be so blind and hers unattended and i know it’s supposed to be Tsuna that cleans his soul but i think chrome definitely plays a more active role in that.  I think he sees a better him in her, he makes her his second gives her his name because she’s the good he knows he can never fully be. she posses a peace he’s not hopeful enough to believe he can achieve or want and ultimately it will make her far more capable of the change he wants. in believing this it means he also believes she will be just as powerful as him with the right training. he’s literally training his demise and her name is Chrome. he wont take over a (mafia) world he wants her to save.  we all know he’s like annoyingly stupid when it comes to showing his emotions, he rather pretend he’s sending you to die when he’s quite literally ushering you to what he thinks is safe and sacrificing himself. so I can totally see him being like  “okay Tsuna might really change the mafia and I want to see that but I've already dug my own grave here's a better newer me that will be way easier to accept than me turning over a new leaf 40 dead families later.” 

5. in the future Hibari is much more happy to help and be around because he knows what a powerful fighter Tsuna turns out to be, i think this is the exact same reason why he goes and helps chrome save herself. Kyoya knows and possibly even respects future chrome enough to save her when she’s at her weakest which he usually detests. Chrome grows to be much more in the future and that’s exactly why he even gives this sick chrome a push. everyone likes to think it’s a Mukuro thing for him but what if it actually is a chrome thing. in the show he’s never been present to witness her show any kind of power so we can only assume that at some point he saw her in action. 

  6. it’s implied in the future that Mukuro fights alongside her, he views her as more than just a vessel and doesn’t baby her in the slightest when he pushes her to become her own being. I won’t call it respect per say but he doesn’t look at her as a doll even though that’s the part she played for him. He still trains her the way he eventually does Fran. We all know he just wants Mini Mukuros to aid him in his endeavors but the fact that he chooses her says a lot about how she’s meant to be viewed. He also chooses a nine year old brat with an apple hat but hey he must see something everyone else doesn’t until he’s done with them seeing as Fran was kidnapped by the freaking Varia once Mukuro’s teachings were for the most part implemented. “Oh you learned under Mukuro ? We can’t have Mukuro you need to join us immediately” (I’ve just realized Mukuro gave the vongola their strongest mist guardians all while claiming to hate them. Funny man). imagine how powerful Chrome gets, even better when Mukuro is actually there in the flesh to teach her where as Fran got some illusionary version of him. WRITE ABOUT IT. 

7. for the love of god give that girl her own fighting style. yamamoto has his sword gokudera is literally baby genius ryohei is a boxer and hibari has like the most random weapon ever. go crazy. i love it when chrome isn’t pulling a trident from her bag. because she’s not mukuro anymore. she’s a reticent mist guardian, compliment that.  Mukuros trident has his own history with him. give her some history of her own.    

in my fic Chrome uses a scythe and tears through reality with it. 

reason:  because she is a grim reaper in her own right. she rose from the dead and is showing up to collect the souls of the wicked. a silent but fearsome person. 

her style ? :  personally I like to believe chrome dabbles in profiling, hear me out. Her parents were neglectful and in turn she really has little experience with relationships in general, i think her curiosity would lead her to constantly study peoples relationships and behaviors and see how they affect her target. aka she fights by showing up getting in your head and haunting you with your own past because even if they see through it damn what a nasty wound or insecurity to bring up in the form of a hell loop illusion. this also ties into her being Mukuro 2.0 he’s known to just be eerily in the know of everything going on even when he’s not there. this would be a great way of her matching that aspect of him and possibly surpassing it.  

[phykios]

the marble king, part 10 [read on ao3]

His wife had taken ill, a statement that was simultaneously the best and worst one Percy had ever thought up in his short, eventful life. It was the best, because of the simple fact that Anja Elisabet Fredriksdotter was his wife. At night they shared a bed, and during the day they shared each other’s company. Though she did not love him, and had only married him in a bid to, rather ironically, retain her freedom, she wished for him to stay at her side, and he was blessed with her presence in turn.

Yet it was also the worst, because Annabeth, the love of his life, had taken ill.

He worried for her constantly; her pain was his pain, and the thought of something happening to her was simply unthinkable. Consumed with anxiety, he did what he always had done since they had been children, and he was overwhelmed by the magnitude of his own feelings. When he found her throwing up over the side of the boat for the fourth morning in a row, he swallowed his fears, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“The sea never used to affect you this strongly.” Percy teased, even as he rubbed at her back. “What would all the other shieldmaidens say if they could see you now?”

She only groaned in response. He offered his handkerchief as she made to whip her mouth on her cloak. Once she was cleaned, she exhaled, leaning against him.

“And to think, your father told me your family was descended from an Aesir sea god,” Percy continued, offering his own sea strength to steady her.

“Vanir,” Annabeth said. “We are descended from a Vanir god, who in turn was descended from a sea god.” Percy only had the vaguest idea of what that meant, based on Alejandra’s stories, but he so loved to hear her correcting him once more, even when she was feeling poorly, for it meant she was still herself.

“Regardless, the sea flows through your veins, Anja,” he jested, tone light. Many of these northern words felt odd in his mouth, but he loved to speak her given name. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“That neither Frey nor Njord were gods of motherhood,” she moaned.

His thoughts stuttering, he frowned at her for several long seconds. “Motherhood? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything, phykios.” She groaned, her head resting on his shoulder, and her hand going to her stomach.

Like fog dissolving in the morning sun, the meaning came to him, quickly and suddenly. But surely it could not be so; they’d only laid together once.

Gently, terrifyingly, he placed his hand on top of hers, over her belly. He could not sense a difference through her clothes. “You are pregnant?” Percy whispered. He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

“Yes.”

Percy felt tears prick his eyes. Were he less in control of his feelings, he would have taken her by the hand, lifted her up, and spun her around in elation. “You are with child?”

“I am,” she confirmed. Pulling back from him a bit, she looked at him, eyes keen and discerning. “Do you mind?” Her words were mild, yet in her tone, he could sense just the barest hint of trepidation, of fear of disapproval.

“Mind!” He laughed, a few of his tears escaping. “Of course not!”

Energy surging through his limbs, he nearly stood up and began to dance. Annabeth, his wife, his truest companion from his earliest days, pregnant with his child! They were to have a family together! How could he not be so elated, when this was every dream of his come true?

But then, he then realized, while children had been his most secret desire, it had not, necessarily, been hers. It had not even been the point of their marriage. Annabeth had married him for freedom from; to be trapped in motherhood, tied down with a child, may have been the very thing she hoped to avoid. “Are,” he swallowed, suddenly afraid, “are you very displeased?”

“Displeased? I…” She held his gaze for a long moment, looking on him with wide, uncertain eyes, and then shook her head. “No. As long as you are not unhappy, then neither am I.”

“I am happy,” he said quickly. “I am very, very happy. Ever since dear, sweet Esther was born, I always imagined myself to be a father one day. I simply thought it would be impossible.” Demigod lives, particularly those of his more immediate, more powerful peers, were short and bright and violent--to say nothing of his financial situation. As well, there was that fact that he had had a difficult time dreaming of children who had not been mothered by Annabeth.

“So you are not upset,” she asked again, seeking confirmation.

“I am most certainly not upset,” he promised her.

He was ecstatic. His whole self felt lighter, happier, better than it had in years, and not just since the fall of their city, but several years before that, at least. Annabeth, his wife, his great love, building a family with him… it had been a dream far too fragile to speak of. And now it had come true.

Her unsure expression, however, caused him to temper his outward reflection. Just as he opened his mouth to question if she required anything, she once again leaned over the edge of the boat, and vomited into the sea below.

“There, there,” he said, rubbing at her back, making sure to keep her cloak and dress, billowing in the wind, out of the way so it would not get dirty. “Come, sit.” he said, after she had caught her breath, submitting to his guiding her to a bench. “Can I get you anything?”

She waved off his offer, eyes closed against the salt spray. “These are normal parts of pregnancy, I am given to understand. When I spoke with the cook at my cousin’s house, her warnings made me fear it would be worse than it has been.”

His jaw dropped. “You knew before we left your family?”

She glanced at him, a little scathing. “A woman knows these things, Percy.”

Of that, he had no doubt--but that was not the issue here. “It cannot be safe for you to travel like this.” His earlier fear gripped him, curling cold fingers around his heart. He looked out at the sea around them, the breadth of his father’s domain now transformed into a dark, terrible labyrinth, where dangers lurked about every corner. “You should not have left your cousin’s house.”

“You were going to leave me there,” she accused.

“No, I--” he began to argue, before cutting himself off. She was correct, of course, though not for the reasons she assumed, and sadly, there was no good manner in which he could explain why, not without divulging all the secrets of his heart, and causing her more discomfort. “I wanted--I want you to have as happy and comfortable and challenging a life as possible. I had thought you would find that among your family and the politics of the Kalmar Union, but, I swear, if you had told me of the baby, I would have chosen differently.”

Happily he would have tolerated the strange food and horrid climates of Svealand forever for her sake, for his family’s sake. He thought once again of the parade of little girls dressed as Saint Lucy, then imagined his own daughter, with Annabeth’s blonde curls and grey eyes, joining it. His heart skipped a beat in his chest.

“We are not so far from your family, and a long way off from Italy,” he said. It would be a simple enough task for him--he did not even have to inform the captain. “We can still turn back, so you might have your confinement and give birth in all comfort.” Her father and Magnus would want nothing more than to take care of her in her condition, and she would far more likely welcome their concern than his.

“We are going to Italy,” she said, mouth set.

“But if you are unwell--”

“I am fine,” she snapped. “We are going to Italy, and there we shall have our child. Does that thought upset you?”

So caught off guard by her tone, he almost missed the most delightful and pleasing combination of words to ever exist: our child . His and Annabeth’s child. The most precious gift he had ever received, the dream of a lifetime.

“It does not,” he said, though he could not entirely quiet his internal concern. “If it is what you wish-- what you truly wish--then we shall continue on to Venice.”

They held each other’s gazes for a moment longer, imparting such thoughts and feelings as neither of them could understand. Then she smiled, beautiful, yet somehow sad. “Surely,” she said, “you wish to raise your child on the shores of your father’s sea.”

She knew him far too well, for he could not deny the appeal.

Then, all of a sudden, he was gripped by an overwhelming fear: Annabeth was with child . Even the most formidable fighter could only do so much while burdened with carrying another life. He remembered how his mother, heavy with little Esther, struggled to walk to and from the local market. What if they should come across another band of cruel bandits? What if she should hurt herself on the road to Italy, or if Percy should find himself injured or ill, unable to help her or protect her?

Seemingly from nowhere, a small bundle of white fur appeared at their feet, and the little cat jumped up beside them, giving a perfunctory sniff to the fabric of Annabeth’s dress before climbing on top of her, pressing her paws back and forth on her thigh the way Percy’s mother used to prepare her bread. Satisfied, then, she walked in a circle before settling down for her midmorning nap, tucking her paws beneath her body.

Admittedly, Percy had been somewhat skeptical of the cat, which Annabeth had taken to calling “Freya.” He liked animals, cats as well as dogs equally, and cats did seem to take a special liking to him. He remembered fondly the many cats of Constantinople following him after a hard day’s work, looking up with expectant eyes as they sweetly begged for part of his daily catch, then absconded with his discards into the dark city alleyways. So while he did not mind Freya’s presence, she seemed to distinctly prefer his wife, sticking to Annabeth’s side like a burr on cloth, laying ownership to her lap, sometimes hissing at strange people who got too close.

Percy could sympathize, on several points.

From Danzig, then, he decided, they would set out on the Via Imperii . Were it yet summer, perhaps they could have sailed the whole way to Venice, but he feared the might of spring storms, and would not risk her life, nor their child’s, for something as intangible as expediency. He remembered well, too, how their voyage upriver had sapped him of his strength until he had been unable to do naught but sleep; to exert himself to exhaustion on the open sea, miles away from any shore or safe harbor, could prove even more disastrous.

Immediately, Annabeth’s hands descended on the cat, scratching the underside of her chin with one while the other stroked the length of her back, and Freya purred, loud enough Percy could hear it even over the crashing waves, blinking her eyes sleepily back up at her. His wife smiled, quite taken with their furry companion.

There was so much more at stake now, he realized. Not just his own health, nor hers, but the health and safety of the life they had made together. In his heart, he swore on a river whose name had once struck fear into the hearts of men and gods alike, he would work every day to prove himself worthy of this woman who made such sacrifices for his sake.

Aloud, he merely said, “Thank you.” Two words which could not encompass all the gratitude he held for her. Were he able to pay her back its weight in gold, she would be the richest woman in the world.

Annabeth cast him a fond, if tired, look, her countenance still vaguely green. “Do not thank me yet,” she said. “I am told that it gets much, much worse.”

“I look forward to it,” Percy replied, turning his face into the sun.

***

He had hoped that Annabeth’s sickness would lessen once they returned to dry land. But after three days traveling through Pomerania , she was still sick in the mornings.

“Your child preferred the sea, methinks.” Annabeth said as Percy passed her water. She smiled her thanks and drank deeply. “But it could be much worse, I suppose. I’ve heard it said that many people feel the sickness all day, for weeks. Mine is, at the very least, limited to the earliest morning hours--and you have been most accommodating.”

With their not inconsiderable fortune, Percy had managed to procure for them a cart and a horse, so that they could keep up a lively pace while allowing Annabeth to rest as much as she required. “I have not been accommodating,” Percy protested. “You are with child.” My child , he did not say, but thought it, giddily. “It is the very least that I could do.”

“Well, regardless,” she said, “it is very appreciated.” Then she groaned, dropping her head forward.

“What is it?” he asked, reaching out a hand to steady her.

“Have we any more food? I am ravenous.”

They did, because Percy wished to spare no expense on his wife and hopeful daughter. And besides, it was Annabeth’s money, they should spend as much on her comfort as needed. They’d left the inn early in the morning, but he had gotten them some bread and hard cheese before they had begun the journey. “Here, have the rest,” he said, handing them to her.

But she pushed the parcel away. “No, no, have we anything else?”

He did not, but he would not let himself fall into a panic. “When we arrive in Stettin ,” he promised, “I shall purchase whatever it is you desire. Tell me, if there were anything in the world that you could have, what would it be?”

Whatever she needed, he would do his best to provide: that was the vow he had taken, and this was merely his first challenge.

Thoughtful, she looked towards the clouds, her lip between her teeth.

“...Olives,” she said. “I would be very happy for some olives.”

Percy laughed. Of course. Athena’s proclivity for the fruit was renowned. “Then olives it is, my lady.”

It was a simple enough task, on the surface, to procure some olives for his pregnant wife. As a child living on the shores of the great Roman lake, olives had been plentiful and ubiquitous; at the agoge , the children of Demeter and Athena had cultivated a small grove of olive trees, partially for their own use, but also to sell at market. Though there had been neither olives nor olive oil in Svealand, as it was far too expensive to import from so far South, Percy assumed that he would be able to locate some here on the continent. Stettin was the Northernmost city on the Via Imperii , and surely some of the stuff must have wound its way through the lands controlled by the Legion.

Day after day, town after town, any time they passed through a settlement, they stopped at market so that Annabeth could rest, and Percy could scour the stalls and alleys for olives--and day after day, town after town, he found none. Not a single hamlet between Danzig and Stettin carried the malakes fruit. Every day he would return to his wife empty handed, and every day she would smile at him, her eyes shining, and thanked him for trying.

Her cravings continued. He could sense it, the way he could sense a storm, her mood souring as the days dragged on.

They stayed an extra night in Stettin to let the horses rest. It was a Monday, the start of a fresh, new week, the day the merchants and farmers brought in their weekly produce. Surely, Percy thought, perhaps foolishly, surely a market of such a large city would have even a small bottle of olive oil? What civilized city did not have a healthy supply of the stuff? Rome had once spanned nearly the entire continent; the well worn roads were proof of it. Surely, they had left some sort of culinary mark.

Apparently, he was a fool. The only oil to be found was made from pumpkin seeds--a favorite of some of the members of the Legion. He knew it to be bland, tasteless, and not at all fit for his wife. As for the olives, the merchants all looked at him as though he had grown a second head, those who understood a little Italian anyway, for those who could not merely stared at him as he fumbled his way through the few Frankish words which he knew.

He felt oddly numb, returning to their accommodations empty-handed. Would she be disappointed? Would she regret leaving the comfort and security of Svealand, where all her needs had been provided for?

Yet she had merely shrugged, brushing her hair with the comb that she had pilfered from Alejandra. “It is no great hardship,” she said, a little distantly, as all her attention was focused on the task in her hands. “I shall survive without it.”

On their bed, Freya the cat yawned, very sweetly, before readjusting her position, standing up and walking in a circle, then settling down and returning to her slumber.

“Still,” said Percy, “I recall the many trials and tribulations which my mother endured before she had borne my sister; if there is something which I can do to ease your burden at all, I should very much like to do so.”

Sighing sharply through her nose, Percy tensed, fearful that she would refuse him outright out of pride, only for him to relax as she merely tugged her comb through a particularly stubborn knot of hair. His fingers twitched in the folds of his clothes, his very nerve endings alight with the mere thought of feeling the soft, golden strands for themselves. He felt, somewhat worryingly, as though he had begun to develop a minor obsession with the feeling of her hair, every time it brushed up against his skin as she moved against him on the cart, or rolled over towards him in their shared bed. To watch her daily ritual, an act so tired and uneventful to her, yet one so captivating to him, with such eagerness and attention would have seemed, on any other man, to be the mark of ill-temperament and evil tidings. Percy, however, was able to content himself with merely looking.

“In truth,” she said, “it is not the olives themselves which I crave, though there is not much I would not do for such a treasure. Just as your child preferred the sea, I can only assume that my current propensity for salt is your doing as well.”

“Salt?”

“Salt,” she confirmed. “Any salty food will do, I think.”

“Salt,” he repeated, suddenly thoughtful. Salty foods were certainly in great supply here in the North; now a whole new world had been opened to him. Then--”You believe that I am the cause of this?” he asked, frowning.

Indelicate, she raised a brow at him. “Are you not? Why else would I have such a craving for saltwater?”

“I thought you wished for olives.”

“Olives?” She made a face. “I think not.”

Percy blinked, feeling as though he had missed a vital step in their conversation. “I beg your pardon?”

Huffing, she threw her comb down, evidently done with her grooming for the night. “Never you mind! I wish to retire.” She stood, undoing the various ties and laces of her dress, while Percy stared at her in slack-jawed awe and confusion. “Go and… cavort with a young man, if one should make himself available to you.”

Then throwing back the covers of the bed, disturbing poor, sweet, Freya, who leapt to the floor, her ears turned back in displeasure, she climbed underneath them, turning away from Percy.

It was barely evening. The sun could still be seen from the window.

“I… very well,” he said, carefully. “If it please you, I shall go and fetch us some food.”

“Do whatever you wish,” she replied, muffled by the sheets. “Good night.”

Feeling very much as though he had just summoned, and then subsequently banished, a hurricane, Percy retreated from their rented room, shutting the door as quickly and quietly as possible so as not to disturb his wife.

That was… unusual.

Not, the constant, shifting hunger pangs, mind; his mother had had similar, if perhaps less intense, culinary desires which could turn on a lira at any given moment. In truth, there was much about pregnancy for which he had already been prepared, having assisted his mother in the arrival of his little sister. When a woman was suffering such emotional and mental torment, it was best not to argue with her, and to placate her as quickly and thoroughly as one could, something which Percy was more than happy to do. No, what was strange was her peculiar comment, her order for him to go and seek out the company of someone else--of another man.

To abandon his wife for the pleasures of another was unthinkable, and not in the least because his spouse just so happened to be, in a bizarre twist of fate, the great love of his life. Again, he recalled how his mother would occasionally spit curses at her loving husband for the most minor of infractions, so the fact that Annabeth, who had tied herself to him in order to escape the pressures of an uncaring, unfamiliar political snare, who had, presumably, not gone into the arrangement expecting or even desiring of a child, and who, historically, had only barely tolerated his presence, was to be expected.

That she had specified he should search for the company of another man was the odd detail in this situation.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him how he had not eaten since this morning, so consumed was he in the hunt for olives, and so he made his way downstairs to the ground floor of the inn, to purchase some dinner for himself--and for Annabeth also, who would almost certainly be ravenous when she awoke, and hopefully, in something of a happier mood.

***

They had picked up a fellow traveler in the city of Lipsi , who had warned them off continuing further down the Via Imperii . “Many wars,” he had said, “much fighting--it would not do for your lovely wife to be caught up in all of that.”

As much as Percy wished to protest, that Annabeth was more than capable of handling herself, even in such a state, she had been so fatigued as of late that he did not wish to risk her safety. Therefore, himself, Annabeth, and the traveler, an itinerant monk named Johann, turned West instead, along the Via Regia . The detour would not put them too far off--once they reached the  city of Trever , they could then turn South, towards Basler , and continue through the valley.

Percy and Annabeth had come upon the man as he rested by the side of the road, his curiously shaven head something of a beacon in the dark, green forest. Though Annabeth had initially protested, Percy, being in possession of a horse cart, felt offering him assistance would have been, at least, the polite thing to do. Now they sat all three of them in the front of the cart, Percy in the center with Johann to his left, while Annabeth alternately dozed off, attended to her knitting, a blanket in the making, or stroked sweet little Freya, who had become ever more protective of her mistress’ growing belly.

He was an interesting man, this Johann, pleasant and good-natured. He had embarked on a cross-continental journey of his own, one which ranged from his hometown of Cölln , all the way to the resting place of St. James in Hispania . “Fifteen hundred miles,” he said, ruefully, in perfect Italian, “and I am the poor fool who twists his ankle barely out of his own door.”

“Lady Fortuna must pass us all over some time,” said Percy.

“On the contrary,” said the monk, “your presence is proof of her blessing.”

Perhaps it was his joviality, or perhaps it was the warm sun, beating down on them, wrapping Percy in comfort, but he was in a merry mood as well. “I would have thought you to say that all blessings came from the Lord.”

“And who is to say He did not send you to me, miserable thing that I am?” said Johann. “There is a story I heard once, of a man who found himself in a lake. A pious, devoted man, he had only the utmost, unwavering faith in our Lord, faith that He would deliver the man from the waters before he drowned. Well, by and by, a man comes up to him in a canoe. ‘Sir,’ says the sailor to the man, ‘there is space in my vessel here; climb aboard, and I shall bring you to land.’ But the man refuses, saying, ‘I have faith in the Lord. He shall save me.’ And the sailor goes on. Not long after, another man comes up to him, in yet another canoe. ‘Sir,’ says the second sailor, ‘I have come to rescue you, for the waters are bitter cold, and my wife has a warm fire and a dry bed reserved for your use.’ But once again, the man refuses, saying, ‘I shall remain, for the Lord shall see me through.’ Well,” Johann shrugged, the corners of his lips tugging in a smile, “predictably, this poor, pious man drowns after some time. A person of deepest faith, he arrives at the gates of Heaven, whereupon he is given an interview with our Lord Christ, and he asks, ‘my God, my God, I had unwavering faith in your infinite mercy. Why did you not deliver me from the watery depths?’”

Clearly a practiced storyteller, he paused, a silence which begged to be filled by his audience. “And?” asked Percy. “What did he say?”

“At this question, our Lord Christ shakes his head, and says to the man, ‘My child, there was not much more that I could have done, for you refused the two boats which I sent to you.’”

Percy couldn’t help it--he laughed. “I daresay,” he said, “I have never met a man of the cloth so jovial as you.”

“That is what sunlight does to a man,” said Johann, full of good humor. “My brothers may think they have the better of it, sheltered from wind and rain with their books, but to cage me within four walls was anathema to my entire being, for I have always had a singular talent for making things grow. Did not all of creation begin in a garden? Thus, the gardener is a blessed man indeed.”

“Indeed,” he chuckled, a little uneasily. That Percy and Annabeth were not, strictly speaking, devotees of the trinity, and did not quite understand the finer details of the faith, had not quite come up in conversation yet. He sincerely hoped Johann would not ask.  

“But you did not tell me your destination,” said the monk, looking on them both eagerly. “What calling of yours caused our two paths to intertwine?”

Percy glanced towards Annabeth, who had decided to ignore their sudden companion altogether, in favor of observing the trees as they passed. “My… wife and I are on our way to Venice.”

Such a simple phrase, “my wife,” yet Percy could not think of another combination of syllables which had ever given him nearly the same kind of joy.

“Venice, eh? That is quite the journey. Are you on a pilgrimage as well?”

“Ah, no--well--” Though, he considered, were they not? They went to seek spiritual enlightenment of a sort in a far off land. Did that not count as a pilgrimage by any standard? Certainly not in the sense which the good monk was implying, yet nonetheless, it was indeed a pilgrimage. The only difference was that they were not at all certain their destination held the answers which they sought. “We are hoping to… find our fortune there.”

Johann looked him up and down, and then at Annabeth. “Your fortune?” He asked. “I must commend you, sir, for you do not look like you need another one.”

Feeling the telltale flush in his cheeks, he glanced once again towards Annabeth, who, strangely, acted as though she hadn’t heard his comment. He was correct, of course, but Percy was not certain if he appreciated other men saying so--even a man of the cloth.

But the monk continued. “Venice is supposed to have one of the most magnificent cathedrals in all of Christendom: the Chiesa d’Oro . They say it is modeled on the great St. Sophia of Constantinople--of course, I have never seen it myself, so I cannot verify such a claim.”

Even the thought of St. Sophia, of her golden domes and radiant light, made Percy’s heart ache for home--a home to which he could never return. “St. Sophia was a masterpiece to behold,” said Percy, a little wistfully. “I am hard-pressed to imagine another temple quite as awe-inspiring.”

With a little thrill in his gaze, Johann leaned in, closer to Percy. “You have beheld the Church of the Holy Wisdom for yourself? Is it as beautiful as they say?”

“More than that, sir, there is no other place quite like it. To tell you truly,” he said, chuckling a little, “my wife and I both hail from Constantinople.”

For a moment, Annabeth looked up and over at him and their companion, narrowing her eyes, but then she just frowned and went back to her knitting.

Johann frowned as well, though more confused than upset, unlike his wife. “From the city itself, you say?”

Percy nodded.

“Then, if I may be so bold, how have you found yourself in these parts? Unless I am very much mistaken, one does not usually feel the need to travel to Saxonia on one’s journey to Venice from the holy lands.”

“Not usually, no,” said Percy. “However, the two of us, we were…” He paused, uncertain of how much information he was willing to share with this virtual stranger. “I was stationed on the walls,” he said. “We fled the city just as the Ottomans broke the siege, then traveled North, to her cousin’s estates.”

“I see,” said the monk. “You were deep in the thick of it, then?”

The all-consuming flames and the blood-curdling screams of his memory, they faded more and more each day, as all battles did, for he was a soldier first and foremost, and war tended to blur together after a point. By contrast, sometimes he still awoke in a cold sweat, drumbeats in his ears as he relived the terror and panic of watching the gods flee the city in which they had dwelt for a thousand years, no more powerful than a crop of refugees. “Yes,” he said. “We were.”

Johann hummed, linking his hands together. “The loss of life is always a tragedy,” he said, “even that of a heretic. Alas, that the city of Constantine fell so far from grace that they had to be punished so!”

Percy shifted, uncomfortable.

“Yet,” he went on, still in that same, blasted, affable tone, “even in the face of great sorrow, there is cause to celebrate, for the Lord saw fit to spare you and your wife, and see you to safe harbors, no?”

He glanced towards Annabeth, who continued at her weaving, seemingly unaware of the monk’s comments. “Well, I--”

“If you will permit me, sir, let me bless your wife and unborn child, so that he or she may grow strong and pious in the loving embrace of the Lord.” And he opened his hands, all set to begin his little ritual.

With a thought, Percy pulled their cart to a stop, suddenly, bracing an outstretched arm against Annabeth so she would not be knocked forward. Freya, jolted from her mid-morning nap, mewed, pitiful. “Percy,” said Annabeth, in their own tongue, “what--”

“This is where we part ways,” said Percy to the Christian man. “Disembark, and quickly.”

He sat, slack-jawed. “I beg your pardon?”

If Percy had been more in control of his emotions, then he may not have uttered his next words. However, later on, he found he did not regret them. “My wife and I are not interested in blessings from your trinity gods.”

“My--” he sputtered. “You--”

“I will not repeat myself--you are no longer welcome to travel with us.”

His pale skin flushed with anger, the monk chose not to argue with him, but did disembark, as though he could no longer bear their presence. “Heathen,” he hissed. “The Lord knows your heart, and for your lack of faith, He shall smite you down to the depths of the underworld.”

Possessed of a fury he did not know he could feel, Percy drew himself up to his full height, reaching deep within himself to the core of his being, the part of him which could summon typhoons, slay monsters, and cause the very earth beneath them to split--the part which could more than terrify a simple fool. “And there we shall be welcomed as heroes,” he said, “for we personally know the lord of the dead himself.”

White with terror, the monk touched his face and shoulders, chanting Latin beneath his breath. Leaving him to it, Percy snapped the reins on the horse, and they took off once more, leaving Johann in the dust.

Annabeth, twisted around in her seat, peered back at the retreating figure of their one-time travelling companion. “Do not mistake my confusion for disappointment,” she said, “for I, too, am glad to be rid of him, though I must say, that was very suddenly done.”

Percy scoffed, twisting the reins between his fingers, something with which to ground himself. “Had I known what he would offer,” he nearly growled, “I would have expelled him sooner.”

Curious, she tilted her head. “What offer was so odious as to force him from your sight?”

Blinking, Percy turned towards her. As always, his heart raced at the sight of those grey eyes on him, though at this moment they were wide in innocent confusion. Percy frowned. He had thought she was a better listener than he, on most occasions. “His offer to bless us in the name of his lord.”

Her eyes widened. “Is that what he said?”

“Did you not hear him?”

“I did,” she huffed, annoyed. Again. She seemed often annoyed with him these days. “But as I cannot understand Italian, clearly I missed a few things.”

She--”You--what?”

Lips pursed, heat rushed to her cheeks, though she did not let up on her steely stare. “Yes?”

“You cannot speak Italian?”

“I have just told you so.”

“But--” Percy sputtered. “But--how did you--how did you take orders from your commander?”

The Venetians and the Genoese had comprised most of the command posts on the wall and had not bothered to learn the local language for themselves. Knowledge of Italian, therefore, had been crucial to the defense of the city, something Annabeth would certainly have known.

“My commander was a fool and a drunkard,” she said, turning her nose up, “and perished one night after he fell off the wall.”

“Then… who--” But he stopped himself before he could finish his question, for there was only one reasonable answer. “You took command of your unit.”

“Obviously.”

“And none of your men took issue with a woman leading them into battle?”

Her stern gaze transformed into a glare, narrowed and piercing. “Not when it guaranteed them victory.”

For a moment, Percy could do nothing but stare right back, in disbelief and incredulity. She must have led her little cohort for months, the warrior woman of Constantinople, Areia made flesh. No wonder the northern portion of the wall held for so long.

Then, out of nowhere, he laughed.

“And what, pray tell, is so amusing?” his wife asked, lips thin, brow furrowed.

“Nothing, nothing,” he chortled. He could not say from where such delight had come, nor why it had suddenly taken him over thus. Perhaps it was simply the knowledge that, no matter how much time had passed, Annabeth’s character remained remarkably consistent from the first day he had known her. She would always find a way to command, to control--and, save one obvious exception, to deliver victory. “Oh, Anja,” he said, fondness warming him up from the inside out, “I beg of you, do not ever change.”

“I shall endeavor not to.” She said, faintly. She seemed at a loss for words for several moments, a rarity with her, then spoke once more. “You… you called me Anja.”

Percy frowned, “I know I struggle with your northern tongue, did I not pronounce it correctly?” He had attempted to divine the subtleties in the difference between the Ana that he had always known her to be, and the Anja her family called her, but perhaps he had been mistaken.  

“No.” Softly, sweetly, a smile curled the straight lines of her mouth, even as she turned her face out to watch the trees as they passed, raising a hand to rest delicately on her stomach. “You were perfect.”

***

Percy laid out his cloak over the smoothest rock he could find. It was a nice cloak, of a much higher quality fabric and weave than to which he was most accustomed. Had he been a smarter man, most likely he would not have used the garment for such a task as this--but he was used to his clothes being worn out, multipurpose things. The hot velvet could find another use as a blanket until the warmth of early summer passed them by.

Having prepared her seat, he then rushed back to the wagon, reaching his hand out for Annabeth to steady herself on it. “I am not an invalid,” she chided, stretching her leg down to the earth. “You do not have to take such precaution with me.”

“It is no trouble.” The days, slowly but surely, were getting longer, Helios’ chariot lingering for a few more minutes every evening. They could certainly afford to stop and rest for a while should she require it. Once she had revealed to him her condition, he had resolved to mold the pace of their journey to her level of comfort and satisfaction. To ensure her health and the health of their child, Percy could stand a few unexpected delays.

Supporting her with his arm, he led her to the makeshift seat of stone, situated in a patch of sunlight bracketed by the shadows of the trees behind them. With an adorable little grunt, her sweet face scrunched up, she sat down upon it, sighing in relief. “There,” she breathed, hanging her head. “That’s better.”

The town of Trever was still a little ways off, but they could still see the rise of the town walls over the rolling hills. He noted, with some displeasure, the towering spindle resting on top of the ancient gate--was there nothing these trinity men would not claim for themselves?--but chased the thought from his mind, focusing instead on the more pressing issue at hand. “What is wrong?”

She had not explicitly told him why they should stop, only that she was desperate for relief of some kind. Rather than push for a reason, he had chosen instead to indulge her. “Some water, please?” she asked, her face drawn.

Nearly tripping over himself, he leapt up onto the wagon to retrieve the water skin before delivering it to her, kneeling down before her. “Are you alright?” he asked again, hiding his concern as best he could. She did not like him to fret so much over her--not that she could stop him.

“I am fine,” she promised. “Your child is just--very active.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Oh?”

She nodded. “Here--feel.” Then, without hesitation, she grasped his hand, and placed it over her stomach.

Percy, by design, had refrained himself from touching her in any manner that was not explicitly one of acquaintanceship since that wonderful, terrible night, not in any meaningful way. In turn, she had not, precisely, refused his company, but had kept him at something of a distance, emotionally if not physically, likely for his own protection. But now she had initiated contact, had invited him in, and Percy was once again caught up in the sublime experience which was being close to Annabeth Fredriksdotter. Her hair, nearly twice as long as it was when they had arrived in Svealand, was bound up in an intricate knot, though loose, gilded strands fell out here or there, as she had left her head uncovered today, insisting that it was too hot for her wimple. Percy understood that it was key to her modesty as a married woman to cover her head, even if she was married to the likes of him, though he could not pretend he did not dislike it, at times. If only she would look at him, though, grace him with her lovely gaze, rather than their joined hands.

So distracted by the sunlight filtering through her hair that he nearly missed it.

A small, nearly imperceptible jolt beneath his fingertips.

Then he felt it again.

He recognized the feeling--it was one he recognized from when his mother was pregnant with his dear, sweet little Esther. “Is that…” he said, trailing off, softly so as not to disturb the moment.

“That,” said his wife, jovial, “is the little monster which has been causing me so much distress recently.”

Swallowing, he blinked back the sudden heat from his eyes. “Oh,” he said, pulling his emotions together so he did not weep. “I am sorry.”

“As you should be,” she said, but she was grinning at him. “Your child is kicking me in the ribs--a skill I am quite certain he got from you.”

He . She thought they were going to have a son.

Something in her smirk riled an old part of his brain. “Kicking was always your maneuver,” he accused, smiling in turn. “If she is kicking,” he insisted, emphasizing the opposite sex purely on principle alone, “it is surely due to her mother’s influence.”

She rolled her eyes at the reference. “Oh, please do not say you are still sore from--”

“I swear, to this day, I still bear the marks from the force of your blow!”

“I have seen you without clothes on,” Annabeth said, “and you have no such mark, believe me.”

A silence fell between the two of them, chilly and awkward. She did not attempt to remove his hand from her person, and nor did he wish to remove it.

“It occurs to me,” she said quietly, after some time, “that I… I have never apologized for how I treated you back then.”

Rubbing his thumb against the fabric of her dress, he shrugged. “That time has long since passed,” he murmured, “and we are two very different people now. Let the past remain in the past, I say.”

“Still. I was--very cruel to you,” she said. “I should not have said those things.”

She had been very cruel. Percy had returned to the agoge after a year and a half spent with the Legion, expecting open arms and welcome smiles from his friends and brothers in arms, only to be met with scorn and derision from the one person whom he had most wanted to see.

After the war with the titans, they had only been granted a short reprieve before they had received an envoy from Aachen, begging Percy’s help with a monster which they simply could not fight on their own, diminished as they were in the realm of Karolus Magnus , far from their ancestral home. Never one to turn down a cry for help, Percy had entreated Annabeth and their former questing companion now turned Lord of the Wild to accompany him. Unfortunately, in the snowy mountains of Dardania, they were ambushed by monsters, and separated. By the time Percy came to his senses, he was in the tender grip of the Latins, and Annabeth was long gone.

A naturally distrustful lot, they would not let him free until he had proven his loyalty to the rootless empire, and they sent him away to train with their patroness in the wilds. Once Lupa deemed him worthy of service, upon his return, they then put him to work, pairing him with his Latin counterpart, the son of Jupiter.

Again, he felt no shame with what he had with Iason. Theirs had been a soldiers’ romance, brief, but deep, intense and overwhelming. In truth, he would not have fallen in with the man, save for that he had been under the impression that Annabeth had left him to his doom in the mountains. The Latins had intimated to him evidence of a person’s quick retreat where they had found him, and had let him come to his own conclusions.

Once the giant Polybotes had been slain, then, and Percy had been released from unwilling service, he had been allowed to return to the shores of Constantinople. There he had received something of a hero’s welcome, with all due honors and celebrations--except, of course, from Annabeth, who had been decidedly not happy with his return. Feelings between them grew fouler and fouler, until, one fateful day, as they were practicing their weapons’ routines on each other’s persons, more hateful words had been traded rather than blows. Quickly, what had been a skilled and professional match devolved into something dirty and mean, filthy trick after filthy trick, until she had kicked him square in the ribs, knocking him flat onto the ground, hissing from between bloodied teeth how she would have preferred it if he had died in Dardania.

After that, Percy had promptly departed for his father’s palace, seeking escape in the form of good cheer and happier people, chasing away his broken heart in the arms of Thetis, and others.

They had not shared a serious or friendly conversation for years--not until the morning the Ottomans broke through the defense of the city.

“Think nothing of it,” he said, unwilling to dwell on that time any longer than he had to. He would not say it was alright, for it was not, but he also had let go of that animosity many months before, in the shadow of the Erechtheion.

“You must understand,” she went on, a little forceful, “I was not angry with you, but with myself. I thought I had lost you to a fate unspeakable--”

“I am not certain I would classify Latin conscription as a fate unspeakable,” said Percy, dryly.

She flushed. “I--I only meant--”

“Annabeth,” he said, not wanting to tread this ground any further, “let it be done. Please.”

“After the war,” she spoke, urgently, “I thought… I had--thought that we would… well.” All at once, she slumped as though the very breath had gone out of her, removing her hand from his, nearly curling into herself. “I suppose,” she murmured, “it no longer matters what I thought.”

She did not need to clarify. He knew perfectly well what she had meant. It was not much of a secret that Percy and Annabeth had held some youthful affection for each other, not even from each other. So easily it could have blossomed into something stronger. “I wanted to,” he said, craning his neck to meet her eyes so she could see the truth of it. He had wanted to, and had planned to. But he was no fool, for he knew that a man needed a way of supporting a family before he could start one. The expedition to Aachen, that would have been his ticket into some of the upper echelons of Constantinople; a letter of introduction from a tribune, prefect, or even a centurion would have done wonders for his social standing and finances. “I swear, I wanted to, but then…”

Her lips lifted in a small smile. Not one of happiness, no. She knew all too well the things they had done to each other, the barbs they had hurled and the wounds they had inflicted. It was the acknowledgement of old sorrows and long-ignored pain which caused her to smile, a pain shared and understood only by the man before her. “As you stated,” she said, “we are now different people, and we cannot dwell on what may have transpired between us.”

A satisfactory answer--tragic, yes, but satisfactory nonetheless. “But we are friends, yes?” he asked, hoping for a little salve for his broken heart.

She raised her head, grey eyes clear and steady. “It is my very honor, Perseus,” said she, a pronouncement handed down from the empress herself, “to call you my friend--my dearest friend.”

It was not exactly what a husband might want to hear from his wife, nor what a man might want from the woman he loved about all things. But for Percy, it would be enough. It was Anja Elisabet Fredriksdotter: her hand, her child, her friendship. Perhaps one day, that friendship could be transmuted into something more affectionate, but Percy would not waste his time waiting for a day which would never come, not when she was here, before him, solid and tangible.

“Percy,” she said, very sweetly, “as wonderful as this is, unfortunately, I must ask you to give me some privacy at this time.”

“Oh,” he staggered to his feet, snatching his hand back. “Of course.” This, too, was a symptom of pregnancy with which he was quite familiar. His poor mother’s body had been pushed to its very limit, and she had had to relieve herself quite often. “I shall leave you to it, then.”

Then, face red, he trotted round to the other side of the wagon, where, paradoxically, he could better protect her.

***

Percy blinked, uncomprehending. “I beg your pardon?”

“I merely said,” she repeated, unconcerned, “that you no longer have to keep up the pretense. It has been months since I have had such voracious cravings, yet you continue to make a show of your search. It is natural for men to wish time for themselves--I know very well what a man can do with this time away from his wife.” She looked on him flatly, as though she thought he was the fool  for thinking her to be one instead. “I am more than capable of amusing myself for a few hours. Please, go on--I am sure the good people of the brothel await.”

The--”I would not do that to you,” said Percy, quietly, a little insulted. Did she truly think so low of him that he would make good on his long-forgotten promise to abandon her to her freedom? Did she not understand that dreams of their brief time together would sustain him as water in a desert, and yet ruin him for any other man or woman? “If you do not believe me, then I insist you accompany me,” he said, firmly. “Allow me to put these thoughts of yours to rest.”

She looked out the window of their little room, where the sun hung low in the sky over Messalia . It had been a hot, July mid-morning when they rambled into town, looking for a place to stay the night before they would put to sea the next day, the streets and corners quiet as the people retreated to their homes for their daily rest. Now, as the shadows began to stretch, the city came to life once more, the hustle and bustle of commerce a dull roar beneath the room in the little inn which they had rented. Through the air wafted the scents of spices, coal fire, and the blessed salt smell of the sea, the glittering, golden jewel that lay beyond the walls. “Very well,” she said. “I believe I shall. A walk outside may do me some good.”

With some difficulty, as her large stomach made everything rather difficult for her these days, she managed to stand up from the low bed, reaching for her wimple which she had discarded previously. Tying it about her face, he was once again struck by the duality of his emotions, that he could feel so disheartened and yet so elated by the same action. Her wimple covered all of her gorgeous, golden hair, as modesty dictated it must, yet the act of hiding such beauty signified, once again, that she was his wife--a cause for great celebration, if only in his heart.

And so they went together on the town.

It was an absolutely marvelous time.

Once again, the sea infused his senses and soothed his entire being--a familiar sea this time, not the strange, frigid waters of the north, but the deep lapis and emerald of his childhood. Every shaft of sunlight felt as the touch of a friendly hand, and every shadow a cool breeze of relief. Together, arm in arm, they wandered up and down the markets, where Annabeth used the time given to her to practice her Italian. She was a remarkably quick study, as he knew she would be, though it did help that the merchants here were much more familiar with that language than they had been further north.

By now, Percy had been to markets practically all over the world. Each one was unique, distinct, with its own set of sights and sounds and smells, and yet, each one had been positively lackluster, almost grey in his memory. Not many men were fortunate enough to have seen so much of the known world, and had lived to tell the tale of it. Today, however, walking about with his eight month pregnant wife in the streets of Messalia, he finally understood what they all had been lacking.

So caught up in his wife’s lovely smile as she admired a particularly ripe set of figs, that he accidentally barreled into another person, spilling the contents of their arms all over the ground. Fruit went tumbling, smashing the earth in rich, dark colors, staining the well-worn streets. “Ah, perdono !” he cried, dropping to his knees to help gather up the items which could be salvaged. “ Scusatemi !”

“ Non, non, mon sieur ,” said the woman, joining him on the ground, “ perdon , per … Percy?”

At the sound of his name, his head snapped up.

She was an older woman, with long, thick brown hair streaked with grey, and eyes that shifted color in the low light. Her skin was tanned a deep brown from hours spent in the sun, and though her face was lined with age, none would look on her and not consider her to be a great beauty.

They stared at each other, in shock and disbelief.

“Percy?” called Annabeth, faint in his ears. “I am in need of your assistance, as I cannot remember the world you taught me--”

“Oh!” wept the older woman, dropping the rest of the fruit she had gathered onto the street, opening her arms to hold him. “It is you!”

And with a deep, wrenching sob, pulled from his chest, Percy threw himself into the warm embrace of his mother.

“ Mater , mater ,” he moaned, burying his face into her chest as she held him close. “Oh, mater !”

“I knew it, I just knew it,” she was saying, over and over again, clutching him to her breast, kissing his forehead, “I knew you had made it out. Oh, lord of the sea, earth-shaker in the swelling brine, thank you, thank you, thank you for my son!”

So caught up in the sudden wave of emotion, he was rendered nearly mute. “Mother,” he finally croaked, taking in the warm, sweet scent of her--cinnamon and cloves and sea salt. To think that he had almost forgotten the particular details, hands calloused from years of cooking, eyes twinkling like stars on the surface of the water. “Mother!”

“My boy!” Sally pulled back, raking her hands through his hair, pushing it from his face so she could look on him more clearly. “Oh, my boy, I never thought I would see you again!”

“Nor I you,” he replied, tears blurring his vision. “How--how are you here?”

“I could ask you the very same,” she said, smiling the sweet summer smile which had lit his childhood as a candle in the dark, “and I will hear all of it--but for now, let me simply look upon you! It has been far, far too long since I have seen your smiling face.”

He was smiling, so wide and genuine that it caused his face to ache, a pain he was more than happy to bear, down on his knees in the middle of Messalia. “I have missed you, mater ,” he said, “so much.”

“Percy?”

Blinking, he came back to himself, emerging from the dream so suddenly made real. The populace of Messalia were not giving them so wide a berth, just barely sparing the two the indignity of being walked all over. Annabeth stood a little ways away, her hand resting on her protruding stomach, light concern falling over her face like a veil.

“Mother,” he said, seized with a strange kind of energy, “here.” With steady hands, he lifted her up from the ground, the ruined fruit forgotten. Annabeth stepped closer to them, trepidation slowing her pace. She had already met his mother a number of times--they had often taken rest at her house when a quest required them to take their leave from the agoge for several days at a time--but even he understood that to meet her as his wife was a vastly different thing.

But his mother, quick as ever, cottoned onto the truth of the matter. “Percy,” she breathed, full of disbelief, “is that--”

“You remember Annabeth,” said Percy, nerves seizing his tongue and nearly stopping it in his mouth, “my--my wife.”

How strange, that weeks ago, the two syllables represented one of the happiest truths of his life, and yet today, he felt as anxious as a baby colt learning to walk for the first time, desperate for the two most important women in his world to feel some sort of kinship.

His mother gasped, her hands flying to her face. “Annabeth!” she cried, taking her in her arms without hesitation. “Your wife! How wonderful! Oh, blessed day that made your way here!”

Annabeth stood there, quite shocked, before bringing her arms up as well.

“Oh, goodness,” said his mother, pulling herself back, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Look at me--I apologize for such unbecoming behavior. But you must come back with me--Paul and Esther will be overjoyed--I will need to purchase some wine--”

It was then that Percy remembered he had, quite indirectly, ruined her groceries. Fruit was not inexpensive, and neither was wine. Percy knew his mother, and he knew she would wish to cook for him in celebration, but he would not see her waste any more of her money on his account. “Allow me,” he said, placing a hand on her arm. “I shall pay you back in full, and then some. Ah, if,” he glanced towards Annabeth, seeking her permission, for it was her money after all, “if that is alright, of course.”

She looked at him, quizzically. “Of course it is alright.”

“Percy,” sighed his mother, “you do not need to--”

“It is settled, then!” Taking her arm in his, he directed them to the fruit seller whom Annabeth had been speaking to just prior, unwilling to let go of his mother for even a second. “We shall have a veritable feast!”

***

Paul, his mother’s husband, had wept upon seeing them. Dear, sweet little Esther refused to let go of her elder brother, stubbornly clinging to his leg. Eventually, she had tired herself out, the poor thing, only allowing her father and Annabeth to take her to bed when she had nearly fallen asleep in his lap. Percy had tried to persuade Annabeth to relax, but she had insisted, looking on Esther with such sweetness and doting in her eyes that Percy found himself hard-pressed to say no. Perhaps she would be so sweet and affectionate with their daughter, as well. The very thought excited him in ways he could not quite describe.

If she was forced to be a mother, then, perhaps it would not be the harshest of fates.

“I am so glad, Percy,” said his own mother, once he had recounted to her the whole, winding tale of his and Annabeth’s journey. Her looking at him with such fondness, it transported him back to that dark, bleak time, when they were all that each other could claim to call their own. Now look at them--families and children, both. Beneath the thumb of a monstrous man, sometimes it was difficult to imagine otherwise. “When the news of Constantinople’s fall reached us… yet I kept the faith. I knew you would survive, and I am so glad you had someone with you.”

He smiled, taking her hands in his, kissing the knuckles there. “All I learned of survival,” he said, “I learned from you.”

She squeezed his hands, warm and solid.

“But you must tell me how you came to Messalia,” said Percy, before he could begin to weep. “How is it you found your way to this place?”

His mother lifted her shoulders, tilting her head. “My story is not nearly so exciting as yours, I can promise you that. Our voyage out of Constantinople was swift and peaceful, and we arrived on the shores of this city far faster than we thought possible.”

“That was my father,” said Percy. “In Svealand, I had a dream of him--he bade me to send you his love.”

Her countenance transforming, she smiled, sweetly, knowingly, a glint in her eye which lifted years off of her face. “I had wondered,” she said, “for our voyage did seem unusually safe.” Then she shook her head, lightly, casting off whatever memories had come to her in that moment. “What else did he tell you?”

Much that he wished to keep to himself, though he was sure she would understand. “Have you ever heard of the city of old soldiers?” he asked his mother instead. He felt all of fourteen years old once more, seeking his mother’s guidance, begging for wisdom from a woman of keen sight and keener instinct.

Frowning, she turned her gaze towards the open window, to the stars which were beginning to show their faces. “I do not know this city of which you speak,” she said quietly.

Percy sighed, his shoulders slumping.

“Yet,” said his mother, “I, too, have had some extraordinary dreams as of late.”

At that, he perked up once more, leaning in to listen better. As she had told him, once upon a time, her sight had waned alongside her youth, though she could still occasionally perceive that which lay just beyond the comprehension of most mortals. “What have you seen?” he asked, breathless.

She closed her eyes, recalling. “In a city on a river,” she said, “there is a grand building--a church, made of marble, white and green, and above it rests a red dome, reaching towards the sky, as though it longs to return from whence it came.”

“A city on a river,” he repeated. Another clue--yet, just as many cities had rivers as they did old soldiers.

“I apologize, my son,” said his mother, opening her eyes once more. “This is all I know.”

He squeezed her hands, comforting. “Think nothing of it. We have already decided to seek our fortune in Venice--I have been told that their church there was modeled on St. Sophia. Perhaps this is the dome of which you speak.”

“Perhaps,” she said, unconvinced. “But must you leave us so soon? You will do well in Venice, of that I have no doubt, yet I do not know if I can bear to be apart from you once again. And,” then she grinned, her eyes suddenly sparkling, “I should very much like to meet your child.”

Percy blinked at her, processing what she was saying. Then he flushed, grinning weakly in return. “Ah, yes, well… I should like you to meet her as well.”

Certainly, he possessed no gift of prophecy--he was not, as it were, a child of Apollo--but he found himself dreaming more and more of that little girl with his wife’s lovely hair and eyes, like the children who dressed as St. Lucy. A little girl whom he could lavish all fatherly love and affection upon, rather than a wife who would find it a nuisance at best. She would be his princess; and if her mother could be persuaded, he would call her his Anja.

The lines on her face ran deep, carved from years of laughter and joy which poured forth from her like the sun itself. “Even at such a young age, I could sense the fondness and affection you had for each other. You do not know how happy I am for the two of you.”

A fondness and affection which had now faded on her part--but at least they had resolved to remain friends in a marriage of trust and support, if not love. “When I have made enough money,” he promised, to take his mind off of his situation, “I will send for you and your family, and we will never be parted again. In fact,” he said, struck with sudden inspiration. Rummaging through the various folds of his clothing, he located his purse which carried the rest of the money he had on him, then placed it in his mother’s hand. “Here. A gift, to a wonderful mother from her loving son.”

“Percy,” she tutted, brow furrowed. “Do not concern yourself with me. We are comfortable here, Paul and I; you must focus all of your resources on providing for your own family now.”

“Annabeth has more than enough to provide for herself, her dowry was immense. More land than I thought possible, sold for more money.” he said. “She and our children--our child,” he corrected, cursing himself for his weak tongue, and praying his mother had not caught it, “our child will be kept in comfort for the rest of their days. I carry only a bit for pocket change, so she need not do all the bartering for me. You have done so much for me--please, allow me to do this for you.”

“What do you mean?” his mother asked, picking up the purse, surprised by the weight of it. He observed as she untied the cord, and spilt the contents on her table, the gold coins clinking against each other ever so noisily. “Is it not your money now?”

“I suppose, legally , yes.” he conceded. “But the land we--she gained from her uncle is ancient family land. It would not do for me to leech such things away from her.” Bad enough that she had to be tied to him in motherhood and marriage, but he would not stoop so low as to usurp the use of her finances. “Once I arrive in Venice, I will then pay my own way,” he promised his mother, and his wife, though she was not there to hear him. “I will find work as a laborer, or if I am lucky, perhaps a ship will be in need of a sailor.”

“I suggest,” his mother said, “that you speak to your wife regarding such things.”

As much as he would have liked to protest, said wife reentered at that moment, helped along by Paul. “Percy,” she said, “the hour grows late, and we have left poor little Freya all by her lonesome.”

“Ah--of course,” said Percy, standing as well. Damn that cat, he thought. “Then I believe we must take our leave of you now, mother.”

“I understand,” she said, rising to see them out. “Will we see you again ‘ere you depart?”

“Tomorrow,” he promised. “I shall return to you once more.”

Then she swept him up in her arms again. “Until that happy time, my son.”

He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of oil and onion, cinnamon and cloves, hearth and home, and marveled again at the strength of his wife who had borne the pain of leaving her father to travel the world with someone like him. “Until then.”

[firstumcschenectady]

“The Fabled Wisdom of Solomon” based on 1 Kings 2:10-12 and 3:3-14

(Image: Lamp of Wisdom, Waterperry Gardens, Oxfordshire, England)

What I wouldn't give for the wisdom of Solomon right now. I've prayed for it already, lack of asking isn't the issue. Life feels like a series of unanswerable questions. “Is this safe?” “Is this wise?” “Is this fair?” “Who does this exclude?” “Whose needs does this meet?” “How do I create balance?” “Whose needs do I prioritize?” “How can I find a middle way?” “How do I manage risk? As a person? As a parent? As a pastor?” “What are the risks of NOT doing the thing?” “How do they compare to the risks of DOING the thing?” “How worried should I be?” “How courageous should I be?”

I'll stop. It's probably unpleasant to hear already, and truthfully those are MOST of the questions, they just repeat a lot. Furthermore, these are variations on the themes of everyone's questions, maybe with a little bit more pressure on those making decisions for others or for groups.

We're nearing 18 months of pandemic based impossible decision making. I'm also nearing 15 months of parent based impossible decision making, which has led to SO MUCH more respect for every other human who parents or offers caregiving. (I already had respect for those things, but my respect has increased exponentially.)

I find myself thinking about presidents who wear the same thing every day, or offload trivial decisions so that they can keep their capacities for the important stuff. I remember articles about how our decision making capacities are finite, and I think about how incredibly overwhelming it has been to be in this “new world” where everything carries risk and every decision is suddenly BIGGER.

And I want to be Solomon. I want to be blessed by God to be wise. I want God to give me “a wise and discerning mind.” I want to know what to do!!!!!!

But even as I say this, I realize that I have projected onto Solomon and on to this blessing from God a supernatural sort of wisdom and discernment. I've read this story and assumed that Solomon always knew what to do, and was always right when he decided. But, I don't actually BELIEVE that. That would be superhuman.

(Also, if that were true, then the kingdom of Solomon likely would have outlasted … say … Solomon because he would have been able to fix the underlying issues and pick a good successor.)

Which means that the Bible has just served as a very good inkblot test for me to realize that in the midst of incredible uncertainty, certainty would be superhuman. (Or dangerous. That's another way this can go.) I yearn to feel good about decisions, but that's not possible right now. I yearn to feel confident as I decide, but that isn't possible right now either. I yearn, truthfully, to pass my authority off to someone wiser, more prepared, better read – but no one knows the struggles and the questions I face quite like I do, so there isn't anyone to pass them to.

John Wesley's “Three Simple Rules”: “First do no harm, then do all the good you can, and stay in love with God” have never seemed so hard to work with!

To keep the challenging more challenging, people judge each other on decisions. I can't remember the last time I had a conversation that didn't involve either 1. someone who had to make hard decisions struggling with what is right OR 2. someone who doesn't have to make the decisions frustrated with those who made them. I hear clergy and bosses worrying over safety procedures, balancing risk tolerance with the will of the body with the needs of the vulnerable. And, at the same time, I hear others complaining on ALL sides.

I'm definitely not Solomon, but I want to offer to all of you some of the models and tools I bring to discernment, under the assumption that we're all bogged down by the weight of all these decisions. Welcome to a pragmatic sermon. ;)

In terms of the pandemic itself, I've been really grateful for an idea I heard put into words in the NY Times in June of 2020.

Manage your exposure budget

Risk is cumulative. Going forward, you’ll need to make trade-offs, choosing activities that are most important to you (like seeing an aging parent) and skipping things that might matter less (an office going-away party). Think about managing virus risk just as you might manage a diet: If you want dessert, eat a little less for dinner.1

During a pandemic, every member of the household should manage their own exposure budget. (Think Weight Watchers points for virus risk.) You spend very few budget points for low-risk choices like a once-a-week grocery trip or exercising outdoors. You spend more budget points when you attend an indoor dinner party, get a haircut or go to the office. You blow your budget completely if you spend time in a crowd.2

This has been super helpful. I often call it the “risk budget.” We all have different risk tolerance, and we have different things we particularly value and need. I hear from many families with kids that day care or school are imperative to someone in the family's well being, and so they do it. But then their risk budget is spent. I hear from others that going to work and being exposed to a whole lot of people is already an over extension of their risk budget, and they fear bringing something home to their kids, so they don't do anything else.

I'm mentioning this right now, because people without kids or other unvaccinated people in their households have had an increase in risk tolerance, and aren't always seeing how carefully others have to manage their risk budget. And, for some in our community that means not coming to worship – even outside, even masked, even distanced – because even that TINY bit of increased exposure is more than the budget can handle.

It isn't really a FUN thing, a risk budget, but it brings a model to something otherwise incredibly overwhelming. Deciding on each individual activity separately is simply too much for any of us, so a budget gives us a guideline on how to make decisions. It also reminds us that we're working with different budgets and different expenditures, and none of us need to judge how someone else makes their decisions.

Not quite the fabled wisdom of Solomon, I'll grant, but a tool nonetheless.

Another simple tool is one I've mentioned before. “Daily examen” is a prayer process. It is quite simple. You center yourself, ask for God's help, review the past 24 hours, identitfy when you felt most alive and connected with love, identity when you felt most disconnected from life and love, thank God for the best the worst and all that's in-between, and either share that information with another person or write it down. It is entirely too easy to zombie our way through life, especially in the surreal pandemic times. But taking the time to be reflective helps us learn about life, ourselves, God, and what we value. It helps us learn what we need to change, and what we actually love about our lives as they are. This is the single best discernment tool I know, although it is most useful for BIG HUGE decisions that can be made over an extended period of time.

My final “simple” tool is one of those deceptive ones. It is simple, in ideas, but it is much harder in practice. It is: trust God to be working in and through you. That is, notice when something feels off-kilter in you, and trust that it is significant and matters. THIS is the most subversive thing I'm saying today. Trust the wisdom of your body as being connected to the wisdom of the Divine, and when a decision brings a dull ache to your gut or any other part of your body STOP and listen. Figure out what emotions fit into that ache. Then, figure out what needs are under that emotion. (Handy-dandy helpful pdf chart here: Feelings/Needs). We KNOW more than we think we do, and God often works with us in subtle and embodied ways. As we learn to trust ourselves, we are learning to trust God-who-is-with-us-and-for-us.

Well friends, it doesn't feel like much, and it DEFINITELY doesn't feel like the fabled wisdom of Solomon, but in the midst of unending difficult decisions, I hope these little tools are gifts for you. May God help us all, as we discern. Amen

1 I'm not convinced diet culture is safe nor healthy, but I left the reference in because I fear it is familiar.

2 Tara Parker-Pope “5 Rules to Live By During a Pandemic” https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/09/well/live/coronavirus-rules-pandemic-infection-prevention.html June 9, 2020.

[sweetiepie08]

Time not Wasted (Part 2)

The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance fanfiction.

Rian, Mira, and Gurjin get a night off of guard duty and decide to spend it at a nearby tavern. As they drink and celebrate their night of freedom, they laugh, make mischief, and create memories that will warm their hearts for years to come. Time is never wasted when it is spent  with the ones you love.

Part 1. Part 2. 

[-]

Rian looked around the table. Friends from all seven clans filled the seats. All were in Ha’rar for a summit to report on the rebuilding efforts after the skeksis were dislodged and defeated. But it wasn't all business. Rarely were they all together like this. It was time for some fun. “Alright,” Gurjin, the self-appointed master of ceremonies, spoke up, “Everybody ready to drink their way around Thra?”

“Everyone took out their flagons and bottles. Rian brought one of his favorite Stonewood brews and he was excited to share it with the rest of them. He looked around the table and wondered which drink would be the best to try. The plan was to taste the drink from each of the seven clans. They had Stonewood ale, Sifa rum, Vapran liquor, Drenchen moonshine, Spriton wine, Podling lager, Dousan wellspring water (the only nonalcoholic drink of the bunch) and, most dread of all, Grotton glow spirit.

“So here's how it's going to go,” Gurjin began once everyone had their drinks on the table. “I've got the symbols of each seven clans…”

“And podling,” Hup chimed in.

“Yes and podling,” Gurjin went on, “in this bowl.” He presented a wooden bowl with several folded slips of paper in it. “I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this. Whatever I pull out, that's what we'll try. Shall we begin?”

A cheer rose from the table and Gurjin picked the first paper out of the bowl. He unfolded it, looked at it, then fold it up and put it back.

“Hey, hold on, hold on,” Naia protested. “Who was that?”

“I was Dousan, but we can't start with the wellspring water, alright?” Gurjin explained. “Deet’s got glow spirit. We’ll die. Okay, picking again.”

Gurjin reached back into the bowl and plucked out a slip of paper. “Stonewood,” he announced. “Okay, we're easing into it. What have you got Rian?”

“Alright, everyone pass your cups,” Rian said, producing a small wooden keg. He opened the spout on the bottom, filled his friends’ cups, and passed them back. “Stonewoods have brewing recipes by the thousands. Everyone's got different tastes and you can easily start a pub brawl by insisting one brew is the definitive best. Harvest Gold is generally agreed to be among the top tier of brews.”

“This Rian’s favorite?” Hup asked, accepting his pint.

“I like it alright but…”

“Oh here it comes,” Gurjin cut in.

“What?” Rian snapped, turning to his friend.

Gurjin rolled his eyes. “Here comes the lecture about what makes a good beer and why everyone else’s opinion is wrong.”

“Are you drunk already?” Rian retorted with a smirk. “When have I ever said everyone else’s opinions are wrong?”

“How many times have we argued over beer?”

“That doesn't mean I think everyone else’s opinions are wrong,” Rian shot back. “I might think your opinions are wrong.”

“Sours,” Gurjin said as if that settled things.

“Oh now you're bringing up sours?”

“I got you to renounce your opinion about sours, remember?”

“No, I renounced my opinion on people who drink sours.”

“What's wrong with sours?” Kylan asked.

“Aye, I like sours,” Onica added.

“They're just…” Rian sighed, “so bad…” He let out a long, disgruntled breath. “But you're allowed to like them.” He laughed wearily. “So anyway, I prefer a stout. That’s what I was about to say. I like the dark brews. As far as pale wheat beer goes, this one is one of the best.”

“Alright, enough talk,” Gurjin interrupted. “Let's drink. Vliya!”

“Vliya!” they answered back and they tipped back their tankards.

“Very refreshing,” Kylan said, taking another taste of his.

“Thank you.”

“Alright,” Gurjin drained his and slammed it back down on the table. “Tastes like beer. Moving on.”

“Hey, hey, wait a minute!” Rian protested.

“What? The stone Woods export their beer to almost every clan. We've all tried it before.”

“I thought it was good,” Deet put in with her sweet voice.

“Of course your mate's going to say that,” Gurjin answered. “Deet may as well be drinking water.”

“What does he mean by that?” Rek’yr asked.

Deet shyly played with a lock of her hair. “Grottons tend to be less sensitive to strong drinks than most gelfling.”

“Famous Grotton alcohol tolerance,” Grujin added. “You'll see it at work later tonight. Speaking of which, let's move on with the show. Who’s next?”

They moved on to trying Sifa spiced rum, Vapran mountain mist, and podling ale. Naturally, Gurjin felt the need to tease Rian about his beer snobbery.  “Well, I hope you’ve got liquid gold in that keg,” Gurjn had said. “Otherwise, you're not likely to impress him.”

Rian managed to surprise them by complementing the podling beer which he had to admit was very smooth. And Hup’s face lit up like a firework when he did.

As the night wore on, everyone grew tipsy and their different reactions started to show. Rian was starting to feel light and loose. Brea and Seladon became surprisingly giggly. Onica and Naia somehow decided they were best friends, despite having only met a handful of times before. Kylan stumbled through a bizarre retelling of an old gelfling legend while Hup drowsily mumbled back in podling. Rek’yr, unused to drinking in excess, possibly had the worst reaction. He leaned on the table, propping his head up with the hand, and closed his eyes. He also seemed to deeply regret his decision to sit next to Deet, who only became more talkative and she, apparently, decided it was time for jokes.

“So anyway,” she said, taking a long sip from her glass of Spriton BlackBerry wine, “so he knocks on the lady’s door and says, ‘I'm sorry. I've accidentally let out all your rock sprites and they flown away. I'd like to replace them.’ And the lady says, ‘I don't know if that would work. How are you at fertilizing glow moss?’”

“I'm sorry, I'm confused,” Rek’yr said, slowly cracking his eyes open. “Did this happen to friends of yours?”

“This didn't happen to anyone. It was a joke.”

Rek’yr nodded and closed his eyes again, though it was questionable whether or not he comprehended what she just said.

“Delicious as usual,” Gurjin said, finishing his glass of wine. “Everyone ready to move on?”

“I am,” Deet said cheerfully, passing back her empty glass.

Rek’yr just gave a slow, resigned nod.

Gurjin reached into the bowl and announced, “Dousan wellspring water.”

“Oh blessed Thra,” Rek’yr muttered.

Gurjin poured a glass for everyone pass them. “Rek’yr, if your still able to speak in complete sentences, please tell us about Wellspring water.”

“The water comes from the Wellspring Oasis in the crystal desert,” he explained. “It's a sort of home base for my clan. The water is said to have restorative properties.”

“Oh, perfect because the two hardest drinks are saved for last,” Gurjin said.

This seemed to dampen Rek’yr’s mood some, but they all took their glasses of Wellspring water. It was shockingly cool and refreshing. The best comparison Rian could come up with was catching fresh snowflakes on his tongue in the winter as a childling. Amazing that water from the desert oasis could bring snow to mind. And the restorative properties seemed to be at work as well. He could always feel his head becoming clearer.

It was a good thing too. Gurjin was right that they would need that break, because the next slip pulled from the bowl was Drenchen. That meant moonshine.

Grujin and Naia wore matching grins as they took out the clear glass jug filled with possibly even clearer with liquid.

“I don't like that I can see straight through it,” Seledon remarked, regarding the jug with some suspicion.

“Gurjin…” Rian said in a warning tone, “don't do to them what you did to me.”

Gurjin slapped a hand on his chest in feigned offense. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Rian threw him as stern a look as he could muster. “Tell them.”

“Fine…” Gurjin sighed. “Okay everyone, the secret to moonshine is tiny sips.” He passed out glasses which barely had anything in them. Having tasted this particular moonshine before, Rian thought that was for the best.

When they all took a drink, Rian was rather proud to be one of the few who wasn't coughing. In fact, it made him nostalgic for his training days when he and Gurjin would sneak a drink late at night.

He heard Deet chatting and looked over to find her talking Rek’yr’s ear off with her full drink still in her hand.

“I learned the names of all seventy-two types of glow moss when I was a childling. Moss husbandry is actually a hobby of Papa Mitjan’s. Anyway…”

“Deet,” Gurjin interrupted, “try your drink.”

“Oh right.” She tipped the glass back, emptying it into her mouth, and went back to her story. “What was I saying? Oh yes, when I was in school, I did a project on the different levels of luminescence in each type and I found…”

“Deet!” Gurjin interrupted again.

“Yes?” she asked, turning innocently to the table who stared back at her in shock.

“You're supposed to sip that.”

“Was I?” she said as she looked down at her empty glass. “I'm sorry. It was lovely anyway. Here, pour me another one so I can get a better taste.” She passed her glass back to Gurjin and continued. “Where was I? Oh, anyway there's a type called Moonlight Moss which makes your wings glow bright white and that's what the name moonshine reminds me of.” She finished her story with a pleasant smile.

Rek’yr looked at her like she was a witch. “I'm sorry do you really not feel anything.”

“Now that you mention it, that did tingle my nose a bit.”

“A little tingle?” Seladon said, aghast. “That's it? Has science looked into you?”

“They have actually,” Brea interjected, “and it's theorized the veins of crystal energy in the cave have given Grottons certain advanced abilities, such as sensitive eyes and ears, increased durability and pain tolerance, and, as demonstrated tonight, a certain degree of immunity to poisons.”

“Look at her,” Onica grumbled, “Still bright as a guiding star. She’s putting us all to shame.”

“Guys,” Rian laughed, “I guarantee you, later tonight, she's going to be up in bed reading or something, sober as a stone, and I'm going to be hunched over a bucket, crying.”

“Well then,” Gurjin said, taking up the bowl again. “Let's waste no more time.” He took out the last slip and revealed the Grotton sigil. “Time for glow spirit.”

There was a collective groan around the table, save for Deet, who smiled at the mention of her favorite drink, and Gurjin, who grinned gleefully.

“I've never seen anyone so excited to face their own death,” Rian quipped.

“If I go out having fun with my friends, how can I ask for a better death?”

“How about one in your own bed?” Rian suggested. “After living to old age?”

Gurjin shrugged. “Overrated. So Deet,” he clapped his hands together. “Show us the good stuff.”

“I hope I brought enough.” She took out two clear bottles filled with a glowing blue liquid. “This is glow spirit.”

“What gives it that glow?” Kylan asked, staring at the bottles like they were filled with magic potions.

Rek’yr looked at them like they were filled with actual poison.

“It's made from herbs and flowers in the same family as glow moss, which gives it this color. To Grottons, it has a subtly sweet taste with a bit of a bite to it. To others, I hear it's… quite strong.”

“I thought it tasted like arathim poison.” Rain added, staring down the bottles.

“No, if it were arathim poison, Deet would say ‘finally, a strong drink,’” Gruijn laughed. “Wait, you tried it without me?”

“Papa Mitjan’s birthday day,” Deet explained. “It didn't go down easy.”

“I'm insulted,” Gurjin huffed. “We were supposed to try glow spirit together.”

“It was their birthday tradition,” Rian argued. “I didn't want to be rude.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had a pact,” Deet said. “I can invite you to Papa Lath’N’s birthday, if you like.”

Grujin shrugged it off. “Hardly matters now. We're about to try it anyway. But don't think I won't take you up on that offer.”

“Any tips for surviving this?” Brea asked.

“I'm not sure.” Deet tapped her cheek thoughtfully. “We don't really think about it too much. I suppose just try to ease into it.”

“Just don't let it linger in your mouth,” Rian added.

“Alright, final drink,” Gurjin announced. “Everybody ready?”

He was met with an uncertain cheer.

“Eh, sure you are,” he dismissed. “Three, two, one, vlyia!”

“Vlyia!”

They tipped the glasses back and almost instantly began to gag. Hup spit his directly back into his glass. Onica managed to swallow it, but her face scratched up like a raison. Naia swore loudly and wiped her mouth. Brea got caught up in a coughing fit while Seladon dove straight for her water. Kylan just quietly put his head on the table. Gurjin made a valiant effort to act like he was in much less pain than he actually was. Rek’yr battled with his impulse to be polite before muttering “poison” and burying his head in his hands. Rian, having learned from last time, had his water glass in his other hand, ready to chase the burning away.

Amongst the chaos, Deet contently sipped from her glass. “This is actually quite a good batch,” she mused, taking another sip.

“Oh, is it?” Gurjin squeaked. finally reaching for his water.

“Yes, the herbs are complementing each other nicely. It has a smooth finish…”

“Smooth?” Naia coughed. “Did she just say smooth?”

“I did say it tastes different for Grottons,” Deet said, taking another pleasant sip.

“And what a difference it must be,” Kylan said in awe. “I've never tasted anything like that.”

“You know what?” Gurjin said with a cocky grin. “My favorite of the night.”

“Would you shut up?” Naia groaned.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll push you off the chair.”

“Bet you can't.”

After a short scuffle, Gurjin ended up flat on the floor. “Ha! Told you I'd do it!” Naia boasted.

This elicited raucous laughter from the table. Gurjin popped up, no worse for wear. He reached across the table and grabbed a pair of spoons. “Rian, I hope you're not too drunk to play.”

“Oh, this is later than I expected,” he answered, taking the spoons.

“My inner Bard has waited long enough.” Gurjin winked and launched into an old gelfling folk song. Then Kylan joined in, then Hup, then the rest.

As Rian played, he looked around at their smiling faces, grateful to just have them all there, safe and happy. After going through so much hardship together, it still felt miraculous just to have a fun night with his friends.

[hongism]

not your typical flower shop story

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Flower Shop Owner!Taehyung, College!Reader, College!Taehyung, Fluff, Slight Angst, eventual smut

Word Count: 7751

Rating: M

Warnings: mild language

Summary: You always goes to the cute boy next door’s flower shop across the street because hi yes he’s the cutest damn person you’ve ever seen, until one day a guy with tattoos and a severe obsession with the color black shows up in the shop asking for the ‘usual’ and you find out that your cute innocent little flower boy has a dirty little secret.

A/N (edit): okay lol i know i don’t need another series but i seriously can’t let this be a one-shot or a stand alone piece SO we’ve got a new series lads

⇐ previous | next ⇒

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“The usual, Miss L/N?” You smile at the red tulips beneath your nose before shifting to direct your grin at the young man speaking to you. He wears his typical white apron, still stained brown from the dirt on the back counter, and that precious boxy smile he blesses you with every time you visit. 

“Surprise me, Taehyung-ssi,” you respond. Taehyung laughs under his breath as he turns back to his counter. “Also, how many times do I have to tell you that you can call me Y/N?”

“Sorry, Y/N. It’s an unbreakable habit. I’m too used to calling all my other clients by their last names.” Taehyung begins to hum as he works, taking flowers from their holders in a seemingly random manner. “I guess I should be better at remembering to call you by your first name since you come so often.” You blink at Taehyung, eyes wide. Has he caught on? Does he know why I visit? He just keeps smiling and humming, trimming the ends of his freshly picked flowers.

You don’t think you can tolerate the embarrassment of him finding out why you come so frequently, and if he were to confront you about it, you don’t think you could have an excuse off the top of your head. Maybe say something stupid like oh I just love flowers so much, and not I come every week because it means I get to see your face and you’re simultaneously the cutest and hottest damn person I’ve ever seen so I’ll keep buying flowers from you if it means your shop stays open for me to see you more. Yea, that would not be the best thing to say, so you may have to start working harder at coming up with good excuses.

“I think violets would look pretty in your windowsill. Should I set aside a second bundle for you in addition to the bouquet?”

“U-Uh, pardon? My windowsill?”

“Yes, you kept the daffodils from last time there for a while. I think you forgot about them though, because last I saw, they looked a little dead.” Taehyung glances at you out of the corner of his eye. When he sees your expression, he seems to realize how strange his comments are. “Uh, n-not that I’m like stalking you or anything! I swear I’m not! That would be weird, and um…I just noticed that you—I—this is really awkward, isn’t it?”

“Slightly awkward, ultra creepy,” you laugh back, scratching at the back of your neck.

“Well, the thing is—I, uh, saw you putting the daffodils in the window sill. But I wasn’t watching or stalking you! It’s just because business was slow at the time, and I was looking around. I just happened to notice you...I mean, your apartment is just across the street, right?”

You nod slowly as Taehyung fights to make his case. “Yes, that makes sense, I guess.”

“Haha, please don’t stop coming because I seem creepy.” Taehyung stops trimming the flowers and turns to you. He stretches his arms in your direction, palms facing upwards as though pleading you to stay. A smile twitches at your lips. Dammit no, Y/N. Don’t think about how cute he is. He’s not cute. Or hot. He’s neither of those things. C’mon get a grip. You bite your bottom lip to keep the gesture from coming to life. 

“You want me to keep coming?” You ask, and the smile breaks through. Taehyung stands straight again, laughing as he does.

“Well, yea! You’re my best customer after all.”

You’re glad Taehyung can’t hear your heart plummet at his small statement. It shouldn’t bother you — no, it doesn’t bother you. Not one bit. He doesn’t know you after all, and you don’t know him. It’s just an owner-client relationship based around your ridiculous reasons for spending hard-earned money on flowers you can’t even keep alive.

Taehyung turns back to his work table before your smile crumbles, and you go back to staring at the red tulips. He takes his time in trimming and selecting the flowers for your bouquet. Neither of you makes an effort to attempt conversation again. One minute, two minutes, then five pass you by like the breeze in the air. 

“You’re quiet today,” Taehyung comments through the silence.

“I am?” Of course you are: you don’t really want to talk more after Taehyung’s shutdown that hurt for no reason. You aren’t going to admit it though, because that’s admitting defeat, and you hate that.

“You normally ask me about my day, how I’m doing, if the shop is doing well...all sorts of stuff.”

“Sorry, I’m just feeling quiet today.”

“I guess I’ll have to wait until next week when you come by for another bouquet then?” There’s a small lilt in Taehyung’s voice that sounds a bit like teasing. It bites at your skin, and you chew the inside of your cheek. A blush covers your cheeks now, embarrassment at your routine visits to the flower shop hitting, and you’re grateful Taehyung isn’t looking in your direction. When you fail to respond, Taehyung spins on his heel to look you in the eye. “Is everything okay? It’s not like you to be quiet.”

“How would you know what I’m like?” you ask out of the blue, unsure where the somewhat scathing question comes from yourself. Taehyung takes a step back at the question.

“A-Ah, you’re right. I don’t really know what you’re like. I’m sorry that I made an assumption. It’s just, well, you’ve been coming for quite a few weeks now. I figured — nevermind.” Taehyung drops his chin. The sight of his forlorn expression makes you equally as upset, and you rush to make up for your mean words.

“I’m teasing, Taehyung-ssi! Please don’t look so serious. I didn’t mean to offend you.” You hear his laugh before you see his rectangular smile.

“No worries, Y/N. It takes a lot more than that to offend me. You just caught me off guard. Reminded me of someone I know for a second.” Taehyung points at the wall of flowers to your left, a pink dahlia still in hand. “How do you feel about Peruvian Lilies? My most recent batch have been doing really well, and I think they’ll look nice with the other flowers.”

“I trust your choices! They are gorgeous, though.” You blink at the delicate flowers and their details, grinning as Taehyung analyzes the batch and selects a few for the bouquet. There’s a nagging sensation in the back of your head, reminding you how rude you were earlier.

“Aren’t they? I was surprised by how well they’ve been doing because the weather is so finicky nowadays. Either lots of sunshine or gloomy rainy days.”

“You grow most of them yourself, right? How do you find the time to do that? What about school?” You’ve been desperate to ask the question for at least three weeks now, so much so that you nearly came three times in one week just to ask Taehyung that. 

“School? Oh, I’m in my last year. I have a few early classes, which is why I open the shop at 4:00,” he laughs. He must sense the next question on your lips, because he follows it up with, “I am studying business, but the corporate world isn’t really my pace so I decided to do this instead. Thought that it’d be nice to be my own boss and make my own business the way I wanted to rather than letting big headed corporate people do it for me. Make sense?”

“Absolutely, yea!” You respond with enthusiasm. 

“What about you? I’m assuming you’re in school?” Your willingness to make conversation seems to please Taehyung, so you keep up with it despite the slight dejection lingering in your gut. 

“Yes, I’m in my third year right now! Ready to be done, honestly. It would be nice if it were my last year too; you’re lucky to be so close to getting that degree and being done with it.”

“Hey, you’re almost there! What are you studying?”

“Linguistics with a minor in psychology!”

“Wow, that sounds so fancy. What exactly do you wanna do with that? It seems like you have something specific in mind.”

“I’m hoping to be a speech and language therapist. I’ve always wanted to do something that lets me help people, and languages are fascinating to me. I thought this was the best way to combine my passions.” Taehyung pauses his work with the flowers, shoulders slumping forward. You blink at his back, curious as to why his mood shifted all the sudden, and are about to question him when he speaks.

“Wow…that’s — uh, you’re a really good person. That’s amazing how you want to help people and do good things for others. I...I can’t imagine.” Taehyung fumbles over his words and clenches his fists around his apron, tugging the fabric into a tight grip. What does he mean by that?

“Oh, um…” you trail off. The sound of cars whizzing behind you distracts you from whatever you were going to say. Taehyung silently returns to your bouquet, and you notice how he picks up his pace with the work. A few minutes of quiet pass between the two of you. 

“Here’s the bouquet and violets for your window.” Part of you feels responsible for the change in Taehyung’s mood, so you rack your brain for ideas on how to fix this issue. Taehyung passes the flowers your way as you rush to pull cash out of your wallet.

“H-How much for the violets?” You ask while you flip through the measly amount of bills in your hand.

“No extra charge.” Taehyung grins and stops you in your tracks, but it only serves to make you feel worse. You pass your wad of cash to Taehyung in exchange for the flowers, sliding a few extra bills his way and hoping that he won’t comment on the extra. “Wait, Y/N, this is—”

“Please, it’s a tip! Just consider it to be a tip, okay? For all the trouble I caused you today.” You scratch the back of your neck, and heat starts to rise to your ears.

“You didn’t cause me any trouble though,” Taehyung laughs. “How can you be so kindhearted?” He shakes his head, almost in disbelief, before waving his hand as though to dismiss the topic. “Anyways, I’ll see you next week then? Hopefully?”

“Yea! Yea, for sure. I’ll come again next week.” You clutch the flowers a bit closer to your chest. Taehyung smiles and turns to return to his counter at the back. You know you should leave now and not risk overstaying your welcome, but you can’t bring yourself to move quite yet. Even with the small tip you gave Taehyung (which technically isn’t even a tip because he gave you violets as well as the bouquet), you still feel bad about your earlier snippy attitude and rudeness. The anxiety bubbling in your stomach tells you that you may regret this decision later but… “Wait, Taehyung-ssi!”

“Yea, Y/N? Is there something else you needed?” He loops his thumbs through the string around his waist, head tilted to the side in question.

“What—um, are you busy tonight?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you have any plans tonight?” Your repeated question comes much fainter and weaker this time as your confidence ebbs away, and you debate turning to flee rather than staying to hear his answer.

“Hm, not that I can think of. Why?”

“Could I treat you to dinner or something then? I mean, I still feel bad for being so rude earlier…and the extra flowers. It’s the least I can do!” You think that you’re starting to sound a bit desperate, but you have no other ideas in mind.

“Y/N, you’re the one paying me every week for flowers. I should be treating you.”

“No, no, I insist! Please, if anything, just to have a change of scenery for a bit?” Taehyung brings a hand to his chin, tapping the skin there as he looks at the wall of flowers on his right. After a few tense seconds, he finally relents.

“Sure, Y/N. If it’ll make you feel better, then I’d be happy to go! Why don’t we meet here around seven o’clock? I close the shop at 6:30 today. How does that sound?” You beam back at him, nodding your agreement a few times. “Okay, sounds like a plan then. Now shoo before I give you more flowers and make you feel even worse!” Taehyung makes a few shooing motions with his hands, smile never leaving his lips, and you grin back as you relent and start to walk away from the shop. 

The sidewalks and streets are bustling at this time; workers rushing to get home after their long days and students moving to wherever they please. You shuffle across the street alongside some other students, narrowly avoiding rushing cars. You hesitate outside the door to your apartment building, however, and take a moment to glance back over your shoulder in the direction of Taehyung’s small shop. He stands at the front, one hand clutching some of the pretty Peruvian Lilies he added to your bouquet, and uses his free hand to wave at people as they pass his stall. A laugh rushes through your body as you realize that you basically asked him out minutes ago and he agreed. The bitterness that once resided from his comment about you being only his customer is now replaced by the joy and excitement of spending one on one time with Taehyung. 

You hurry up the stairs, the three flights feeling particularly long today as you’re eager to place the new violets in your windowsill.

“More flowers, Y/N?” 

You roll your eyes before even turning to look at the owner of the voice. It’s your neighbor from across the hall: the young woman not much older than you who holds a steely gaze sixty percent of the time and the other forty percent consists of her bloodshot and hazy glances that can’t ever seem to focus on anything in particular. You don’t make a habit of talking to her, but she often finds you before you have a chance to escape. You plaster a fake grin across your lips and spin on your heel so she can see your expression.

“Good afternoon, Hifumi. Not looking so hot right now, are you? Have a rough night?”

“It was just fine actually. Thanks for asking, love. Extra flowers from your dearest flower boy, I see. Did you find the courage to tell him why you visit so often?” Hifumi brushes her dark hair over her shoulder before placing her hand on her hip and sending a sickly sweet smile your way.

“A gift for my windowsill since the last batch was dying,” you bite back, “and that’s none of your business.”

“Not the only thing dying, huh?” 

The plastic containing your bouquet crinkles as you grip it tighter, Hifumi’s words digging their way until your skin, and you face the door to your apartment rather than giving Hifumi the pleasure of seeing your reaction.

“Right back at you, Hifumi. Right back at you,” you hiss the words through gritted teeth. You fumble with your keys a bit, unable to get away from your neighbor’s annoying presence as quickly as you would like.

“No need to be so harsh, Y/N. I offered to help you out with money. Gave you some options for work, even said I could whisper your name in a few people’s ears. You’re the one who said no. Just remember that when the money gets tighter and tighter. Maybe you’ll learn that wasting those bucks on stupid little flowers won’t do you any good.” 

“Your suggestions were vile, Hifumi. I’d rather be a decent human being and earn money in a good way than resort to what you do night by night.” The lock springs open at last, and you swing your door open, more than ready to slam it in Hifumi’s face and end the conversation there. Before it can snap shut, a pale hand lands on the wood, and Hifumi’s face peeks through the crack.

“You call me vile now,” she says with an odd sense of serenity to her tone, “but you’ll find out soon enough that we can’t always do good things for the people we love. If it means saving someone, there is no line between good and evil. Keep that in mind, love.” Her lips quirk upwards in one corner. You can’t stand the sight of her taunting expression anymore and forcefully shut the door, snapping the locks as soon as it closes. You place the bouquet on the kitchen counter and huff. Your backpack slides off your shoulders, relieving your back of the weight and hitting the wood floor with a thud. You make your way to the bedroom with dragging feet. Tattered converse join your backpack on the floor as you kick them off.

“As if I don’t know that I'm wasting money,” you mutter to yourself as you cross the threshold into your bedroom. “Acting like she knows me, the smug bitch.” You tug the blinds over your small bedroom window up to reveal the dead daffodils in a foggy vase. Just under the withering and crumbling petals lies the sight of Taehyung’s shop and the boy in his apron, still chatting with people as they pass him by. You don’t bother changing the water in the vase. Instead, you toss the dead flowers into the waste bin near your desk and place the new violets in the dirty water without thought. 

Moving and doing something productive would be a good idea.

But no, you don’t feel like indulging in that kind of life right now. It’s nicer to sit on the floor and stare out the window beside the vase, chin resting on the windowsill. Leaving the flowers on the kitchen counter probably wasn’t the best idea, but it’s not like it will make a difference in the long run. You slide your palm under your chin to offer a bit more comfort. At least you have something to look forward to tonight before the weekend strikes and your time becomes consumed by homework and responsibilities. The only good thing about this weekend is that your parents aren’t coming to town. Not that it wouldn’t be nice to see them, but their arrival is never under good terms and it always heralds the depressing reality that you so desperately try to avoid all the time. 

This won’t do, you think and pull yourself to your feet rather than stay wallowing in the windowsill like a fool. Despite your claims about it not mattering, you spend twenty minutes placing the bouquet on the counter in a vase and arranging them as best you can. The dullness from talking with Hifumi is diminishing by now, and the previous excitement and anxiety of having dinner with Taehyung returns with full force. It’s not a date but… You can’t help but to start laughing to yourself as you think about it, tied between the embarrassment and excitement, and you tug your phone out of your back pocket to send a text with the news.

from y/n, 5:47 p.m. unread

    - remember the cute boy from the flower shop i told you about?? i’m getting dinner with him tonight!!! i’ll let you know how it goes~

You hold the phone to your chest after sending the message.

“Okay, Y/N, try to get some work done before getting ready for dinner. Don’t think too much about it. This is chill. It’s chill. Chill.” You snatch your backpack off the floor and lug it to your room, tossing it onto your bed while you sit down at your desk. “Chill,” you repeat once more as you stare at the empty desk. Needless to say, you can’t focus much even after you set your psychology book down and try to read it, spending the next thirty minutes staring at the same paragraph while bobbing your leg up and down. Once you shut your book, determined to work on something else to occupy your time, you still sit and stare at the cover of the textbook blankly.

When you finally tug yourself back into reality, the clock reads 6:52, and you realize that you’ve almost run out of time to get ready.

“Shit!” You cuss, pushing your chair back and rushing to your closet. “It’s a chill thing, Y/N. Remember that. You don’t need to dress up or anything, just at least look presentable.” You frown at the selection of clothing before you, suddenly upset with your taste in fashion. Your palm connects with your forehead, and the sound of the slap echoes through the small closet. “Ah, I don’t have time to be worrying about this right now!” 

Within the next five minutes, you are tugging knee high socks up your calves and hobbling to the kitchen while trying not to slip on the wood floor. You nearly stumble as you snatch your converse off the floor. When you slide them onto your feet and reach the door, you realize that you’ve left your phone on your bed. A loud groan of frustration escapes your lips. The rush back to your room seems to take forever, and when you finally lock your apartment door behind you, the clock reads 6:59.

"You're heading out late, aren't you?"

"Do you just wait out here to bother me?" Your question is accompanied by a frantic anger, and Hifumi laughs at your response.

“Calm down, Y/N. I’m heading out as well, although for different reasons no doubt.” You take in Hifumi’s outfit — if you can even call it that based upon the lack of material over her body — and bite the inside of your cheek. “Should I drop by and say hello to your flower boy as I go?”

“Please no.” You don’t mean to sound desperate, but you also didn’t mean to be late to meet with Taehyung. Hifumi cackles, tucking a sparkling clip into her dark hair.

“I’ll see you later, Y/N. My offer always stands, by the way. You just need to stop letting your ego get in the way of what really matters.” Her heels click against the floor as she walks away, heading for the elevator rather than the stairs. You should already be on your way down the stairs yourself, but the curiosity bubbling in your gut prevents you from moving an inch without asking the question at the forefront of your mind.

“And what would that be?”

Ding. The metal doors of the elevator slide open, and Hifumi steps inside. Her dress ruffles around her as she spins to face you, a coy smirk stained red by dark lipstick.

“I can’t answer that for you, love.” The smile stretches as the doors close over her face. You blink at the dull metal for a moment, then snap back to reality and start jogging down the stairs. Stupid Hifumi. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why did I even expect her to give me an answer? 

The later time provides cold breezes, and that makes you realize that you forgot to grab a jacket on your way out in the rush to not be late. Jokes on you now, because you are both cold and late, leaving the apartment building with arms tucked under your armpits. Just across the street is Taehyung’s shop, one light keeping the stall alight. Taehyung isn’t the only person standing beneath the canopy, however, and you spot a shorter man across from him, back facing you. You hesitate by the road, an odd sense of foreboding striking before your foot touches the asphalt. 

The man accompanying Taehyung is shrouded in black. Black hat, black leather jacket, black skinny jeans, black combat boots: he’s worse than you, and that’s saying something because you have way too many black articles of clothing in your closet. Taehyung doesn’t wear his trademark boxy grin either, which is another source of discomfort for you, but you don’t have time to dwell on it. Taehyung starts glancing around, and you can see his lips moving in haste even at this distance. His scanning gaze finds you across the street. 

Eyes widen. 

Mouth freezes halfway open.

You blink, and Taehyung is shooing his companion away while waving at you. You force a smile in return. Checking for traffic, you jog across the street to join Taehyung on his side of the pavement. Instead of making eye contact with him, however, your gaze finds the man alongside him. Now that you’re closer, you realize that he isn’t nearly as short as he seemed to be from a distance, Taehyung is just tall enough to make him seem short. He also has a black shirt under his leather jacket, adding the already existing obsession with the color. The low cut nature of the tee provides a clear view of his collarbone and a bit of the space below it, but you can’t see much skin behind the spread of black ink across his pale skin in a design you can’t wrap your head around with staring closer. You aren’t going to get any closer, or stare any longer, because tension spikes between the three of you now. Silence is present, Taehyung seems caught, and neither you nor the man across from you have anything to say.

“Y/N! This is a…friend of mine from school! Studies music and yea, uh. He was just leaving.” Taehyung laughs a few dry chuckles then send a pointed glare in his “friend’s” direction. You get the sense that there is more to the story than simply that, but you don’t want to press the topic too much because of how intimidating this guy is. “Leaving,” Taehyung repeats, pushing the man with his left hand. “I didn’t tell him that I was busy tonight, so he thought we were, uh, gonna — you know, hang out or something. Like friends do. Yea, uh, but I said I was busy. So he’s leaving. Now.” You drop your chin, the discomfort rising to new levels.

“Right. Leaving.” The man’s voice is low and raspy, far different from Taehyung’s low tone that is warm and inviting. No, this person’s voice holds a coldness to it that sends a chill down your spine. “The name’s Yoongi, by the way. In case we end up…running into each other again, Miss?” He seems to be asking for your name, but you don’t get the chance to respond. Taehyung steps in front of you instead, cutting off Yoongi’s line of sight to you, and motioning to the street. You glance in the direction his hand points, noticing a motorcycle parked next to the sidewalk that must belong to Yoongi.

“You won’t! I mean, you probably won’t run into each other any time soon ever again, don’t you think? That’d be weird. Say, I’ll see you in class, Yoongi! Or at the library tomorrow night with the other guys, okay?” You squint at Taehyung’s back. He said he’s a business major, didn’t he? And Yoongi studies music? Why would— Your train of thought is cut short when Taehyung snatches your wrist. “Are you ready to go, Y/N? I have the perfect place in mind for us to eat!” Taehyung seems a bit frazzled and frantic, as though he’s in a rush to get away from Yoongi now that you’re here.

“Oh, yea! I’m sorry for being late, by the way!” You let Taehyung tug you down the sidewalk and glance over your shoulder to where Yoongi is climbing onto his motorcycle. 

“No worries! It’s not a problem at all. I had an unexpected visit from my friend there anyways, so it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?” 

“Yea, your friend…” You look away from Yoongi when he looks up at you from the motorcycle. The trailing off of your words sends Taehyung into a panic.

“We don’t hang out much! I was surprised he came by, because we aren’t the closest of friends. You know? Well, no, you probably don’t — uh, I mean, we all have those friends, right?”

“Of course!” You’re quick to agree, eager to see that precious boxy smile find its way back to Taehyung’s lips in a genuine way rather than the forced manner it is in now. A sigh of relief passes through his lips. “So, where are we going?”

“I hope this isn’t too plain or boring, but there’s this amazing diner down the road that I go to every Friday night. I normally go alone but…you know, since we’re — well, I think we should go there.” You can’t contain the laugh that rips through your lungs, and soon enough Taehyung is laughing along with you. You vaguely conscious of his grip on your wrist that won’t go away, but honestly you have no complaints. 

With the levity now hanging in the air between you, Taehyung seems much more at ease and comfortable. The two of you reach the diner within a few minutes, a quaint yet busy place that you recognize all too well. 

The red door with the round window on it, white awnings hanging a bit lower than you remember but still bearing the dead leaves and twigs on top of them. You haven’t been here in a long time, before you moved into your apartment down the street and well before you started buying flowers from Taehyung’s small shop. 

Taehyung is saying something, but you can’t hear him. It’s as though you are stuck underwater, drowning in an endless dark ocean, and you pull your phone out of your back pocket to open your messages again.

from y/n, 5:47 p.m. unread

Unread. It’s always unread. You sigh under your breath, making sure that Taehyung doesn’t hear the exasperated noise leave your lips.

“Now that wasn’t very fair, was it, Y/N? C’mon, you gotta play fair!”

“I am! I haven’t done anything unfair. You’re the one who is supposed to be good at games, aren’t you?”

The memory stings, cuts too deep, and you wish Taehyung had chosen any place other than this one.

“Now that wasn’t very fair, was it, kid? Why don’t you play fair with me?”

Pressure on your chest, the constriction of your throat, and at some point, you must forget to breathe because the world is starting to swirl around you.

“Y/N, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Y/N!” Taehyung’s shout pulls you out of the water, and you gasp for air. You touch your chest with a shaky hand, fully expecting to find the clothes there soaked, but they’re dry. “Are you okay? Is something wrong? You look really pale. Are you cold? Here, let’s get inside so you can warm up.” Taehyung drags you along while you struggle to catch your breath and find a way to get a grip. “Hi guys!” Taehyung yells as you two step through the red door, and his greeting is returned by a few cheery shouts from the waiters behind the counter. “Is it better in here?”

“Huh?” You respond, eyes darting from the interior of the diner to Taehyung’s face where he bears furrowed brows.

“Is it warmer in here? Are you still cold?” There must be goosebumps across your skin, and that’s why he’s asking. At least, you boil down the reasoning to that. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” you reassure, placing a hand on his arm. He grins back at you, seemingly convinced by the small white lie, and leads the way to a booth over in the corner. “Oh, uh, Taehyung?”

“Hmm?”

“Would it be alright if we sat closer to the door?” Taehyung squints, eyes flicking around the diner and from booth to booth. 

“This booth back here isn’t next to a window, so the cold won’t hit through the glass. Is that alright?” You relent and press your lips into a thin smile, but when Taehyung sits on the side of the booth that faces the door, another surge of panic hits. 

“Y/N, don’t turn around, okay? When I tell you to, slowly crawl under the table. Got it?” 

You lower yourself onto the booth, barely placing weight on the cushion as you settle down. 

“You seem a bit on edge,” Taehyung comments.

“What? No! I’m fine. Just exhausted from school today.” Taehyung nods along with the excuse, and you cheer to yourself for the successful diversion. 

“Speaking of school, you mentioned you’re a third year, right? I’m assuming you go to the main university.” Taehyung drums his fingers against the table, nails creating a soothing rhythm that calms your heart rate a bit. You nod along with the rhythm and affirm Taehyung’s assumptions. He’s about to continue his train of thought when a waitress walks up to the booth.

“Hi, Taehyung! It’s strange seeing you with a friend, or…?” The older lady trails off, sending a wink your way. You flush immediately, certain that your cheeks are now ten shades redder than they were moments ago. Trying not to look at the man across the table, you bring a hand up and cover your face.

“No! Ah, no, no, no! Not — not, no, uh friends! That’s what we are. We’re friends.” The waitress laughs at Taehyung’s fumbled attempts to clarify the situation. “Ugh, you know what, can we just — let’s just forget this happened. Can I get my usual?”

“Of course, of course. I won’t pester you two anymore about that, don’t worry. What can I get for you, dear?” The waitress redirects her attention to you.

“Um, let’s go for a surprise actually. I’ll get whatever he’s having too.”

“Coming right up! Drinks will be out in a few!”

“How do you know that my usual isn’t something disgusting like a bunless cheeseburger with extra mayo?” Taehyung asks once the waitress walks away from the booth. You laugh, settling into the booth a bit more.

“Hm, you don’t seem like the type?”

“Is that a question?”

“Well, I don’t know. From what I can tell, you don’t seem like a heathen who would do something so controversial. I think you’re a bit more traditional and classic.”

“Traditional and classic? Is that a way of calling me old?”

“No!” You can’t contain the smile on your lips any longer, surely looking like a grinning idiot at this point, but Taehyung beams back at you with such warmth in his eyes that you don’t care what you look like. “No, you aren’t old. Gosh, Taehyung. What kind of person do you think I am?”

“Someone too good for this world,” he responds without a beat of hesitation, smile faltering a bit as he speaks. “You…you are a person who has seen a lot of terrible and evil things, but you still see the good in the world nonetheless. You want to expect the best from people, and yet you’ve been disappointed so many times that you aren’t sure anymore. That’s why you’re studying linguistics and psychology. So that you can do something good in the future, something with an impact, something meaningful. You’re too good for this world, yea…no doubt about that.”

“Sorry, what?” Your hands are shaking in your lap. How could he…what? How did he figure all that out?

“I’m just assuming things!” Taehyung puts his hands up in defense, leaning against the back of the booth, and releases a huff that sounds like forced laughter. “I guess I said all that because I knew someone very similar. Projecting, that’s all. I’m projecting old thoughts and feelings. I should change the topic, yea? This is getting weird and creepy again. Have I always been so creepy?” Despite the nervousness swirling through your system, you revel in the levity Taehyung’s question brings.

“Yes,” you tease.

“What? I have not!”

“On occasion!”

“What does that mean?”

“Commenting on the flowers in my window qualifies as creepy!”

“Okay, but that was today. What about before today? I haven’t been creepy before now, right?”

“I’ll have to think about it, but I’m sure I can dig something up.”

“Oh, now you’re just playing games with me. That’s not fair, Y/N!”

“Now that wasn’t very fair, was it, Y/N? C’mon, you gotta play fair!”

You aren’t sure who you’re looking at anymore, who sits with you at this booth, what person laughs across the table — whether it be Taehyung, or some buried figment of your memory that digs its way out of the grave you stuck it in so that it can haunt you now — but it feels comfortable. Warms your body, makes you forget about the panic in your bones and the cold outside.

“I haven’t done anything unfair,” you counter. A grin plays at your lips as Taehyung tsks and shakes his head. The waitress returns to your table at that moment, interrupting the tension to deliver your food.

“Alright, you two. I’ve got two cheeseburgers with fries and two chocolate milkshakes. Enjoy, but not too much!” She scurries off before you or Taehyung can say anything about her cheeky comment.

“Traditional and classic enough for you?”

“I expected nothing less from a guy who sells flowers out of a small shop on the side of the road.”

“Wow, rude! I’m so offended, Y/N. My heart is hurt. I don’t know if I can recover after this. Maybe I’ll have to drop out of school and quit my business. This is too much.” Taehyung holds his hands over his heart, faking being struck by your words.

“Why did you set up the shop there anyways? It seems like a random spot, especially since there are lots of other places good for shops like yours.” You nibble on a fry after you ask the question, genuinely curious as to why Taehyung chose the spot he did. Not that you’re complaining because look where you are now haha. 

“Oh, I live nearby so it seemed like the only logical option for me.” You tilt your head to the side. Are there other apartments nearby? I looked all over when I bought mine, but I don’t remember seeing any others.

“If you don’t mind me asking…where do you live?”

“Look who’s being creepy now,” Taehyung teases. He flicks the toothpick on top of his burger at you, and you shield yourself with a fry.

“At least I’m asking! You just started talking about where I live with no context.”

“Okay, okay. I relent. You may be right, but you’re gonna kill me when I tell you.”

“Why?”

“I live in the same building as you.”

“You—what?” You nearly choke on the fry now lodged in your throat as Taehyung reveals the bombshell information. He scratches the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I thought you would figure out sooner because we’ve nearly run into each other multiple times. Also, I spilled a bunch of dirt on the stairs once when trying to re-pot some plants, and I definitely heard you complaining about it a few minutes later.”

“Wait, that was you?”

“Yea, I’m sorry about that by the way. I tried to clean it up with a rag, but then I realized that dirt plus water equals mud. So yea, that’s why there’s a dry patch of mud on the stairs.”

“Wait, that’s on the third floor set of stairs…” You think aloud, trying to put two and two together. Oh god. “Do you live on the third floor?”

“Hi neighbor?”

“Neighbor?” You do a double take, and your elbow connects with the edge of the table a bit roughly because a searing pain shoots up your arm as it hits.

“Surprise?”

You doing your best to think about who lives on your floor, the people who live on your left and your right, but to be honest, you don’t run into many people at the building. The only person you’ve come into contact with is Hifumi, and it’s always been unwilling encounters. You have no clue who you live next to.

“Wait, please tell me you don’t live in the apartment to the left of mine.” You press your thumbs against your temples in attempts to alleviate the pressure building there. Taehyung’s sheepish smile gives you the answer you don’t want. “I’m so sorry.” How many times have you slammed your fist against the thin wall because there’s been an ungodly amount of noise at an ungodly hour in the night? Or loudly cussed him out because of said noise? 

You really don’t want to think about the one time you brought a one night stand home just so that you could be as loud as possible to get revenge on your neighbor for the noise. 

Yea, no.

That would be a nightmare.

“I mean, I should be the one apologizing because I make a lot of noise some nights.”

“It’s fine!”

“Your response to it tells me that it really isn’t, but—”

“No, ha, no, it’s okay!”

“Although, you’ve been loud too on a few occasions. There was one night where I almost went to knock on your door because—”

“God, please, Taehyung! Let’s not talk about that. That was…a low point in my life, okay?”

This is a nightmare.

“This is not how I imagined meeting my neighbor.” Taehyung laughs at the exasperated expression on your face.

“What were you expecting?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Something stupid like “oh hey neighbor, I ran out of sugar for the cookies I’m making, got any extra?”. I can’t believe this.”

“Is that how you invited that guy over?” He’s snickering behind his hand, trying not to show how amused by the situation he is, but you are melting under the embarrassment. “He seemed to have a lot of sugar to give.” You slump further down in the booth and squeeze your eyes shut.

“Please, Taehyung, can we please drop it? I was — it didn’t mean anything.” Behind you, the door dings, signaling either the entrance or exit of a customer. You keep your eyes shut for a few more moments as though it’ll make the embarrassing situation fade. When you open your eyes, Taehyung is no longer looking at you. He isn’t smiling or laughing either. No, he’s staring at something behind you, something off in the distance. Eyes wide, and in his dark brown irises you see a reflection that feels all too familiar.

“Y/N, don’t move. Listen carefully, okay?” His voice has dropped an octave, if that’s even possible, and you can barely hear him through the sound of your heart beating in your ears. “Don’t turn around. Don’t do anything unless I tell you to. I need you to trust me, okay? I am going to pass you my phone. The code is 4488. You are going to pull up the messages — try not to look at any of the conversations. Type in Yoongi’s name and send him this message: I’m working on homework at the diner, wanna come hang out. Okay? Tap your index finger against the table twice if you can do that for me.” 

There are far too many thoughts running through your mind right now, and all of them relay memories that you never want to revisit. You can barely process Taehyung’s words. Nothing he’s saying is making much sense. People are yelling behind you, but their words bleed together into an incoherent mess. Still you manage to do as Taehyung says and tap your finger against the table twice. He slides his phone over to you and pushes his way out of the booth. You want to stop him, to grab his wrist and tell him to sit back down, because dammit. Dammit this can’t be happening now. Of all times, why now? 

“W-Wait, Tae—” 

“Trust me, Y/N. When you send the message, crawl under the table and keep your back against the wall as best you can. This will be over soon, I promise.”

“I-I can’t, I, Tae—” You can’t finish your train of thought, so you instead fumble with Taehyung’s phone. You can barely type the code in, and typing Yoongi’s name is another mess of its own, because you accidentally catch a glimpse of one of Taehyung’s messages.

They asked for 16 kilos to bank.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you cuss to yourself, feeling pinpricks in the corners of your eyes.

from taehyung, 8:02 p.m. unread

    - i’m working on hw at the diner, wanna come hang out? 

 A tear hits your cheek as soon as you send the message. You don’t glance behind you to see what Taehyung is doing now, the yelling continues, and you slide under the table while cradling the phone to your chest. It buzzes, vibrating against your skin.

read 

That’s all. 

No response, just a small notification saying “read”.

You dig your own phone out of your pocket, hastily typing a message of your own and sending it without double checking. You wouldn’t be able to see the words anyways because of the blur of tears. The shouting is intensifying, growing louder and louder, and you can hear a series of clicks resounding alongside the yells. Another buzz, and you glance at Taehyung’s screen only to find it dark. No, the buzz came from your phone instead. You want to throw up. The fry still stuck in your throat is giving you lots of good reasons to force it to come up.

from y/n, 8:06 p.m. read

    - i wish we’d never gone to the diner that night, i wish it never happened, i wish we never met so that i didn’t have to go through any of this. i wish you were here rn because it’s like a sick repeat of what happened that night and i’m so scared to lose another person the way i lost you. please please please don’t let this happen again. i can’t take it again

The fry does end up on the floor, along with the other contents of your stomach. It comes out with a quiet heave mixed with your silent sobs.

read

...

written by: jungtaeyoongles

a/n - WHOOPS that’s a cliffhanger so uhhhhhh new series i guess??? why do i do this to myself ;-;

consider sending me a ko-fi!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[silverwhiteraven]

Borne of the Stars - Chapter 9 - An MLB Kryptonian AU

Tag List:  @eve-valution @weird-pale-blonde-person @kris-pines04 @soulmate-game @abrx2002 @amayakans @vixen-uchiha @heldtogetherbysafetypins @raisuke06 @dorkus-minimus @captainartsypants @mopester-is-here @moonlightstar64 @annabellabrookes @maribat-is-lifeblood @toodaloo-kangaroo @the-navistar-carol @elspethshadow @chocolatecatstheron​ @ivymala07

[ Posted on Ao3 ] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 8 ] [ Chapter 10 ]

[ Summary: Lunch was enjoyed, Félix has a message, and more talk happens as they return to school. ]

The group of students spent the remainder of their lunch period eating to their hearts’ content. Marinette and Barbara had pitched in together to make sandwich wraps, something the latter had compared to being “just like a burrito!” Everything else was bread and pastries brought up from the bakery below.

“Those were the best scones I ever had, I wish I could live here and eat them every day,” Babs lamented as they all gathered their things, preparing to return to school.

The others giggled at her antics and Marinette shrugged. “You get used to them; besides, those were only the rejects, you should try what they sell in the counter displays.”

“Rejects? Those were rejects? But they were perfect! Absolutely delicious!” 

Marinette only shrugged again with a sheepish grin. Kara chuckled, knowing the reason for the ‘rejects’. Nino, who also understood the reason, hid his laugh at the continued dramatics and answered the unspoken question.

“Yeah, dude, they’re the stuff that didn't come out quite right. Not good enough to sell, y’know? But they're still just as edible as everything else, so they bring them up here to eat with meals.”

“Anything we don't eat with lunch or keep for dinner, we donate,” Marinette finished the explanation, standing from her barstool perch at the countertop table. 

“Is that where you get the macaroons for your class?” Karen gestures to the now empty macaroon box sitting in the recycling can. The last of them had been taken by the girls, Nino content with his scones.

Marinette shook her head, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “Made those ones myself from our home supplies. I stopped letting Maman and Papa give me some from the bakery once I perfected the recipes myself. Still as good as my parents’, Nino?”

The boy gave her two thumbs up and a nod with a big smile. “Can’t even tell the difference, dudette.”

“Aw, sure you can, Major!” Kara exclaims, calling Nino by one of her music-based nicknames for him. “Can't you taste it? She puts much more love into the baking she does for her friends.” 

There’s barely a beat before the group bursts into laughs and giggles at the claim, and Marinette covers her blushing embarrassment with her hands. However, she can't help but smile with a bit of appreciation and pride at the statement.

“Thank you, Kara, I’m glad you liked them. Come on guys, it’s a bit of a walk back to the lycée.” She sighs, and adds in lament, “I’m going to miss the days of walking to the collège; living right next door is a blessing I never savored.”

Nino nods in understanding, patting her back and staring at a chain of all the girls following suit in their own pats of comfort, bringing out a giggle from the now comforted girl. 

As everyone files out the door and heads down the stairs, Marinette holds the door and leaves last. “Head out the ground floor’s back door, the lunch rush is too busy to get through,” she reminds the group as they head down. Her phone chimes in her pocket as she descends the last of the steps, and she pulls the device out as she exits outside. 

“Félix?” Her brow scrunches in confusion and she frowns, pulling the attention of her friends.

“Adrien’s cousin?” Nino asks, stepping closer.

“The Luthor boy?” Babs voiced her own curiosity.

“You mean the Graham de Vanily heir?” Karen pitches in, a little more excited.

Kara breaks the chain of questioning the identity of Félix with a: “What did he say?”

“‘Something doesn't seem right about today. Be careful. And just in case, keep that reporter’s contact open. Paris may need assistance.’” Marinette read the message out loud, her confusion turning to worry.

“I've never gotten a message like this from him before. He never contacts me during school hours, either, even breaks. I wonder what’s wrong…” As she muses, she sends a simple return text: ‘Will do. And you too, Fé. Let’s hope it’s nothing.’

She doesn’t voice her reply before she puts the phone away, or the last one from Félix. 

‘We shall see.’

“That was…ominous,” Babs voices skeptically as the group resumes their walk back towards the school. 

“He can get like that sometimes, it’s nothing to worry about,” Maritnette shrugs, trying to brush the new worry off everyone’s shoulders. As the only one of them who had been around him the most so far, she was the only one at the moment who could reassure them. And as such, she didn’t voice that Félix’s hunches were usually right in some way or another. Yet she refused to worry anyone else any further, and kept the tidbit to herself.

Her efforts seem to work as the others seem to relax. All except Kara, looking pensive.

Marinette and Kara both drop to the back of their small group, a couple paces behind the other three who had struck up a new conversation about Nino’s hat and the girls’ preferences of headgear that didn't act difficult with their longer hair. 

“Rolling Penny for your thoughts?” Marinette jokes to the hero, who snorts at the play on words with their shared interest in music.

“Get me a Stone with Jagged edges and you can have your pick of thoughts for the rest of our lives.” Marinette laughs as she imagines handing over her only famous commissioner as a trade offering.

She shakes her head and chuckles, “No can do, that’s a free Stone, no keeping it like a pet rock. You'll have to settle for the Penny.”

Kara taps her chin in thought before snapping, smirking with a tease; “How ‘bout a nice crystal cluster instead? I hear Geodes are pretty and valuable.”

The teased girl snorts and shakes her head. “This crystal is already around you often enough. I’ll add in extra tarts to our next hang out, would you consider that payment enough?”

“It’ll do, for now,” was the joking return, and the two shared a laugh.

“But really, Kara, what is it? Is Félix’s text bothering you?”

A shrug, and then, “Well, yeah, I’m still a little wary around him, ya’know? His dad was still Lex Luthor, and no hero, let alone any Kryptonian, could trust that man to be as far away from us as we could throw him; and trust me, we could have thrown him far if we wanted to. And you say Félix says things like that a lot?? It sounds a lot like something similar to my original suspicions about you.”

Marinette glances back up at Kara quizzically. “What suspicion in particular?”

“Well the whole ‘Kryptonite in your body’ thing isn't exactly a common thing. Seeing Félix at the same time I saw those crystals in you? Painted a really bad picture. Lex wasn't exactly against human experimentation.”

She recalled a few of the stories both Supergirl and Alya had told her about Lex Luthor, even a few of his family getting their hands dirty in the same villainous business, and factoring in the new information, Marinette understood a bit more about how easy  it could be to have suspicions like this against people around the Luthor family. Not to mention the family itself.

“So, you think...Monsieur Luthor did something to Félix?” She was a bit alarmed at the conclusion, worry coating her words and thoughts. 

“That, or he’s just a really observant guy. But! Now it’s your turn not to worry about it!” Kara explains, her voice gaining a light cheerfulness and reassurance as she pulls Marinette against her side with one arm. “School is no time to fret over anything except making it to the last bell.”

Marinette laughs and leans into the side-hug, taking comfort in it. “Since when did you prefer school over thinking about all the potential future dangers you could be punching into the sun?”

“Since I had friends to hang out with,” was the returned quip, and an added, “And no more etiquette classes was a huge bonus, too.”

“They have etiquette in America?”

“Nope, on Krypton, it was kinda a thing for me. Kal got lucky.” The Kryptonian scoffs. “But I have a feeling I'm going to dread being at my new home because I'll be suffering through it again,” she groans, nodding out towards the school they could now see down the street.

A glaringly obvious person decked out in all yellows, white and black was standing out front.

“Chloé? What did she do this time? Is this why she was glaring at you all morning?”

“Yep,” Kara scowls, “Publicity stunt from her dad, he offered to host the cousin of world-renowned reporter Clark Kent during her stay in Paris. Lady Bourgeois over there doesn't like my ‘uncivilized, barbarian lifestyle’,” she mocked with a sarcastic one-handed air quote and an eye-roll.  

“She’s a bit of a handful, I can agree with that,” Marinette smiled sympathetically, suppressing a laugh at the inaccurate jabs. “I’ll help you out if you want, I’ve dealt with her for enough years to gain a life-long tolerance.”

“I’ve got your number; I’ll call you if I need to. Or,” came the teasing tone, “I’ll just do it anyways; I could never get tired of talking with you.” 

With a laugh and an eye-roll of her own, Marinette stepped away from the other and picked up her pace to catch up with the rest of their group. “School first, we can figure out our new phone schedule later, if we even need one now that we share a timezone.”

“Touché, lil’ Butterfly, touché,” Kara concedes, catching up only a step behind.

The Parisian girl raises a brown, “Butterfly?” 

“Beautiful, always a step ahead, and always dodging around everything.”

“Dodging?” Kara, I can't dodge anything for my life without warning first.”

The two laughed, and Kara nudged the other girl reassuringly. “Besides avoiding compliments you shouldn’t, I think you’re doing just fine on your own.”

“Well, besides those embarrassing compliments, if there's anything I shouldn't be missing, warn me, okay? I’d hate to leave anything hanging.”

Kara gave a big sideways grin, her eyes hinted with wistfulness. “Sure, Geode, I’ll do that; at least for anything that doesn't want to wait for a perfect timing first.”

“Like?”

“The fact that we’re back at school and the warning bell just rang?”

“AH!! Kara! Warn me next time!”

[ivendarea]

The Kitu

We Persist

Banner art based on and supported by my Patrons ♥

The Kitu originate from the small island chain Drua Shye. Many centuries ago large numbers of them arrived in Ivendarea as refugees, having to flee their homes due to fear of enslavement, exploitation, and worse. The Kitu are a subgroup of the Jali people making up the majority of the population on Drua Shye. At the time of their mass exodus they diverged from the ruling norms established by the fascist government to a degree that threatened their very livelihoods. The Kitu honour a different god than other Jali, and practised magic in ways that were prohibited. Those who were caught worshiping the wrong deity or not adhering to the established laws regarding magic had to face severe legal consequences - from imprisonment and forced labour to death.

Despite living a mostly secluded and peaceful life, many Kitu nevertheless tried to oppose their government, which led to them becoming even more oppressed and in the end prosecuted as a whole. The only way to survive for those who didn’t dare to fight but also didn’t want to give up on their beliefs was to flee their homes.

Hundreds of years later the fascist government of Drua Shye has meanwhile been overthrown, and the remaining Kitu are no longer prosecuted, but still small in number. Few still live the way they used to and are trying to bring back long lost traditions. Those who have fled to Ivendarea meanwhile consider the peninsula their permanent home, generally accepted and integrated into Nyr society, while being able to stay true to their used way of life and religious beliefs. While most wouldn’t consider leaving Ivendarea to return to the land of their ancestors, a lot of Kitu do still have a desire to at least visit their country of origin some day, knowing it only from tales.

Table of Contents:

Culture and History

Cultural Heritage

Language and Dialect

Shared Values

Common Etiquette

Fashion

Art and Architecture

Ideals

Beauty Ideals

Courtship Ideals

Relationship Ideals

Continue reading below or on World Anvil

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Culture and History

The Kitu honour a deity called Yatana that represents the essence of magic. Yatana gifted the first mortals with magical abilities, who then proceeded to shape their own world and surroundings to their liking and advantage. The Kitu believe that the first mages were almost god-like people themselves, but over the course of the eons the following generations’ magical abilities declined until they reached a level comparable to their powers today. 

Cultural Heritage

All Kitu possess magical abilities, as all Jali do in fact. What sets the Kitu apart is that they believe their powers have been granted by Yatana, while the Jali as a whole honour the aforementioned group of first mortals with magical powers as gods, which the Kitu resent. They don’t see themselves as descendants of gods, more as Yatana’s creation and outstretched arm in this world. “Kitu” as a term for their people does in fact mean something along the lines of “hand” or “tool of creation”. Therefore all actions they undertake in their lives should be carried out in honour of Yatana. 

Since the Kitu consider themselves tools of Yatana, not descendents of gods, their understanding of magic is wholly different from most other Jali. In Jali culture there are very strict laws on who even is allowed to perform magic, and to what degree. It is a godlike power that must be used carefully and with intent, never casually. Using it too intensively will make it dwindle. The Kitu though honour Yatana’s gift by using it as much as possible even for more mundane tasks, which is considered dangerous, wasteful, and disrespectful by other Jali. This is one of the reasons why the Kitu try to stick to themselves on Drua Shye, and why they were so heavily prosecuted in the past as traitors and blasphemers prior to their mass exodus. 

In Ivendarea, its land downright brimming with magic, they did not have to fear prosecution or judgement to the same degree as in their homeland. The Nyr, all magically talented themselves, were a little suspicious at first but generally welcoming of the Kitu once they learned about the reasons for their exodus. At the time of their arrival in Ivendarea the Aman’a Valeethi were already the dominant religion in Ivendarea, meaning the Nyr believed in a pantheon of gods that had little influence in this world. While the Kitu only honoured one god, Yatana’s overall “concept” bore many similarities to the Nyr’s gods, and so their religious beliefs were never as scrutinized or questioned as in Drua Shye.

Language and Dialect

In Ivendarea the majority of the Kitu speaks Nyrval in day-to-day conversations, most are also fluent in Trade and Azash. Jalani, the official language of Drua Shye, is spoken more rarely by the Ivendarean Kitu in everyday life, as part of their history and heritage though it is of course still taught in most Kitu-run schools.

Shared Values

Generally well-spoken and modest the Kitu are overall pleasant members of society that easily blend in with a crowd - sometimes they tend to be overlooked though, not always on purpose. 

Having brought forth many great and powerful mages they are a people of knowledge-seekers.  Inherently spiritual beings they feel a close supernatural connection to nature and others, despise conflict of all kinds, and put great emphasis on building strong communities that will help each other and stand by each others’ side in good but particularly bad times.

Common Etiquette

With the given historical background of oppression by their own government, often forced into seclusion and secrecy, the Kitu generally don’t share a lot of personal information with strangers - and similarly consider it rude to ask or press others about their backgrounds. Tolerance of others’ beliefs and cultural differences is thoroughly preached, as it is something the Kitu don’t take for granted and cherish. Modesty and reluctance are also virtues very important to Kitu culture - bragging or other public displays of one’s power, wealth, or influence are frowned upon, sometimes even shunned by the community as a whole.

Fashion

With their exodus to Ivendarea, and over the course of many centuries, the Kitu have over time adopted many parts of the Nyr’s fashion into their own wardrobes. They try their best to blend it, standing out enough already through differences in outward appearance.

The Kitu prefer muted or darker colours, and more often than not tend to wear the style of flowing robes often seen in central Ivendarea. Darker colours not only help with blending in, they also bear some symbolic meaning. Before the Kitu were blessed with magic by their deity Yatana, the world was bleak and lifeless. Through their hands, Yatanas tools, they shaped it, created beauty and life. Dressing in dark colours therefore often is a spiritual statement - a reminder that without Yatana, without magic, darkness would still be omnipresent, and the Kitu are to work against this. It is the burden they carry in exchange for their power.

While the “typical” Kitu wardrobe might appear bleak at a first glance, it is actually very versatile. Upon closer inspection one will notice not as commonly seen textures and dyeing/weaving techniques not as commonly found in traditional Ivendarean textiles. Kitu fashion walks the fine line between being form-fitting - useful for impromptu training sessions to hone their magical skills - and comfortable. Many times translucent fabrics are used to showcase tattoos, making the conscious decision to show a part of themselves that would otherwise remain hidden.

Art & Architecture

In both Drua Shye and Ivendarea not many examples of Kitu architecture can be found. In Drua Shye, during the exodus, the majority of Kitu settlements were destroyed as individual communities tried to rise up against the unjust government.

In Ivendarea the majority of Kitu settled down in larger cities, integrating themselves into the existing communities. The only significant examples of Kitu architecture here can be witnessed in their shrines to Yatana, small temples often build from stone and clay, the larger ones possessing a layered, pyramid-like appearance. Kitu art though, while mostly vanished from Drua Shye, is much more present in Ivendarea. There are many well-known Kitu authors and poets, even very sought-after cooks specializing in Drua Shye’s traditional cuisine.

The Kitu also have a distinct and varied culture of tattoo and body art. Very much in contrary to their often reluctant attitude in social situations, the imagery of the Kitu’s visual arts is bold and loud, expressing what they are not able to express through language or action. Tattoos in particular, beyond sometimes simply worn for aesthetic or spiritual reasons, can carry a lot of hidden meaning. Some depict social status and accomplishments, which is why high-ranking and older individuals are often more heavily tattooed. Other tattoos can also depict a goal a person has set for themselves, be it spiritual or more mundane - those tattoos often appear “unfinished”, e.g. are missing parts or are not at all or only partially coloured-in. As soon as the goal is achieved they are completed.

Ideals

Beauty Ideals

The Kitu value modesty, generosity, and gracefulness. “Beauty” is a vast term that encompasses all these and many more things beyond physical appearance - how a person speaks and acts, how they treat their surroundings and each other. For the pure physically aesthetic aspects, the Kitu consider tattoos on a person beautiful, because they can tell a person’s entire life’s story without a single word being spoken. Baring their inside to the outside world makes them vulnerable, but also brave and proud of their heritage, which are valued qualities.

Courtship Ideals

Holding themselves back and being generally raised to not be too brash, Kitu courtship is accordingly reluctant and slow-paced. If a person is drawn to another, few Kitu would openly approach the topic in conversation. Actions do more than words in this case, from spending time together, to little gifts, or writing each other poems to express one’s feelings in a less direct manner.

Relationship Ideals

The Kitu usually settle for relationships meant to last, most of them staying with one partner their entire lives. While not technically believing in the concept of soul-mates or rebirth, they do believe that there is a life after death in which lovers, friends, and families will be reunited again.

Thanks so much for reading ♥

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[sumeshi-t]

the idea of making hc’s of children is sosososo cute. i’ll follow ur steps chloe @akaashit-baeji lolol this is gonna be really self-indulgent buuut my excuse is that it’s my birthday so here it goes... i'm writing the last half of this with a hangover and a bad case of dysmenorrhea... sucks 2 be me

Oikawa Teru (及川 輝)

his name “輝“ means “bright”, and this boi lives up to it because, let’s face it, he’s gonna be like his dad. he embodies this “brightness”, in a way that he’s smart, and he makes sure he and his team’s (or whichever team he’s going to be in) will shine on the court

wavy/curly hair and a victim of my and his dad’s astigmatism. always has this cheeky smile, and he gets my brimming energy so he’s really approachable and charming

very good with words; it’s like he always knows what to say

when he plays he also wears contact lenses

but don’t be fooled. in their generation, it’s him who has to put iwaizumi’s son in check. he knows everything about his teammates too, he knows more than what he lets on (which sometimes, they find creepy, but they all know he means well)

anyway, unlike his dad, he doesn’t really mind having geniuses around. instead, he watches them very closely; something like “mutualism”. he knows what he lacks and he knows he can learn from them too, vice versa.

is into horror games. in his free time, he and his sister take turns playing. and they decide it by seeing who can last the longest without flinching/screaming. he’s annoyed because his sister’s better at it 

has fans, ngl. i mean look at him. however, the female fans especially, are pretty on guard. he’s approachable, but anytime they see him with his sister... they back out. he doesn’t mind, he loves his sister and it actually amuses him. he’s the same when it comes to the boys who hang around her too!

basically protective siblings who are always there for eo

is very neat. can’t concentrate when something is out of place. he keeps his nails short, has a somewhat flowery scent. yes, he uses female perfumes because he despises strong smells.

bug-catching was his childhood hobby just like mine’s was. used to sneak beetles in iwaizumi’s son’s backpack back then

he will never admit it but he actually asks his sister for fashion tips because his taste sucks ass so bad

basically his major problem or issue in life is getting compared to his father (he’s also a setter). he hates that so much, being hidden in the shadow of his dad, and when people just recognize him for being oikawa tooru’s son.

something he and ushijima’s child relate to so strongly. they’re friendly rivals; might end up being teammates in their career hmm

so when he’s the one stressed, he skips practice for a day just so he could recollect his thoughts. usually stays in the library to read books he picked up based on the titles; might either open up to iwa or his sister later on, it depends. then when he’s okay, he doubles the amount of training

Oikawa Rie (及川 麗恵) it’s /ri-ye/ oki

so the kanjis are: "麗" meaning, beautiful and "恵" is blessed. tooru thought of this name obviously

also has curly hair like mine. has that tiny mole below her eye just like i do. actually has lots of moles over her body; one time she fell asleep on the couch her brother drew connecting lines between the moles on her arm and called them constellations. it was nice she thought but still, the next day, teru had to wear a band-aid over his nose bridge.

she’s just a year younger. is less “vibrant” than her brother, a bit more serious. has a resting bitch face and she’s not even sorry about it and i love her for that

she’s actually relieved she looks like that, or else she knows the girls in her class would flock to her just to get in her brother’s pants. usually brushes them off with “ask him, not me” or “do you think that’s any of my concern?” 

her tongue her words damn never get to this baby girl’s bad side she’s gonna burn you alive. like fr when she’s angry, oh she’s gonna show you that she’s angry. but tbh she's very sweet, leaves little notes or little gifts to her friends every now and then

she just doesn’t want her brother’s heart to be broken (she’s heard stories from her mom about her dad’s many hs exes), and she knows teru’s struggles

therefore

doesn’t really like volleyball that much. it’s because she didn’t get to grow up with her dad around, she felt like it separated her from him. she’s not mad at him though. she’s very supportive of him and her brother.

used to play vb though when they were kids. but that’s all it was for her

she’s the team’s honorary manager lol the occasional “i brought you guys sumn” or “something-kun, a girl from my class says she likes you so do your best” etc

the team’s lil sister how bout that

despite being tolerant of horror games, this girl is vvvv squeamish. she cries at the sight of internal organs or blood. biology lab was the worst time of her life 

when she dug up my hs videos she was shook to discover i once did theater. and thus begins her interest in theater too

and??? baby girl is actually???? really really good???? 

the girls she used to shut down nicknamed her “prima”, short for “prima donna” she hates it. hates it more when her closest theater buddy was the one who spread that around

immediately went to the gym to spike some balls from her brother. baby girl was crying because she was just so pissed.

she was given ice cream and sweets afterwards. ugh it’s so cute idk she’s baby to the team skksksk they protecc

in that upcoming play, her first ever performance, the whole team got front row seats and howled when she came on during curtain call; it was vvv sweet and memorable even if the guys were kinda reprimanded afterwards lmao

which is why, in return, boiis also have a hard time approaching her because damn??? the vb team as your knights???? excuse me??? 

oh have i mentioned she has a sweet tooth? mygod. she has a stash of sweets in her room. teru has had to sneak some away because she might get tooth aches or diabetes

her pastel nail polish is arranged by shade, her body clock is fucked up lmao she hates the mornings; has succulents by her window which she names after various characters from books/plays etc she’s for sure gonna be a theater actress tho

asks help from iwa’s son for math. even her brother’s 0% help. teru is smart but a terrible teacher. she’s an above-average student and that’s all that matters for her. she can leave the spotlight to her brother because she only craves one type of spotlight

Miya Seiichi (宮 聖一) and Miya Seiji (宮 聖二)

their names literally mean “聖” sacred then “一” is one, and “二” is two

atsumu thought it was funny. when they were kids, seiichi’s nickname was “juan” and seiji’s was “tutu” (i gave them the nicknames)

when the twins discovered the meaning behind the nicknames, they hated it. especially seiji, he despises it vvv much

so when they were hs, seiichi = chi, seiji = ji for the people they're close with

as we can see here, the twins unfortunately got my curls. seiichi likes his hair as is. he doesn’t like the thought of dyeing his hair just to be differentiated from his twin. in fact he enjoys twin jokes, enjoys tripping people up about it. seiji on the other hand, grew tired of his brother’s jokes and by the time hs started, he sacrifices his soft hair. 

between the two, seiji is the one who has my ugly eyesight. add to the fact that he reads a lot (once he starts he can’t put it down. so he reads in the dark, in a moving car etc)

the piercings was a thing that happened between them, and their cousins (which were also twins wtf)–it was a 2v2 vb thing and they lost

surprisingly, the cousins weren't pleased bc atsumu didn't scold them for getting piercings (but for playing half-heartedly). seiichi wanted the piercings tho tbh it was the perfect excuse. ngl, seiji also wanted them.

first let's talk abt seiichi, aside from the fact he also got my mole (he feels it makes him look cuter tho)

seiichi's into vb, but not a setter. he's the ace. may or may not push through with it as a career. he hasn't decided yet. is actually a bit sad that seiji didn't join the vb club in hs, he wanted them to be like his dad and uncle.

seiichi doesn't have any uh, quirks like shutting the whole cheer squad up like his dad does. but he usually dribbles the ball five times before any serve (this is something i did before) and he likes the 'ooooh hey' thing the crowd does when he goes for a serve

his side of the room doesn't have much stuff going on except workout equipment. he follows what exercise plan i give him as da PT mom that i am, and he is very strict with his diet and with what he eats–he's close to not needing a calorie counter anymore; but not a picky eater. he loves his uncle's cooking very much and he is jealous he can't cook even if he tries

he can do beatboxing, he learned it through youtube lmao his spotify playlists are da bombest; he learns a lot in youtube tho in his free time. his current interest is magic tricks and french (he thinks he can use it to woo that girl from class 4)

he hates insects, and hates mess. he has had to scold his twin about it that it escalated to them having this imaginary line in the middle of the room

anyway, he's straightforward. but not rude. he just doesn't like any pretenses so he says what he thinks or feels is right. may or may not have led to some misunderstandings, but he owns up to his mistakes if he crossed a line

next, seiji

even if he looks like a nerd with his glasses tbh he is not he actually hates studying. you can love reading without having to love studying right? he's that dude

the only time that he regrets dyeing his hair was when he realizes couldn't change identities so his brother could take his exam for him

his side of the room is littered with his sketches, notes from books, pencils everywhere – he drew a bunch of ants one time on a paper and made it look like they're real ass ants and placed it on seiichi's pillow

to solve this problem, atsumu has planned to give him a tablet for his next birthday

quits vb in hs because he kinda lost interest? he still finds it fun but he doesn't wanna be put under the pressure that his dad and uncle left for them lmao

he's in art clubs tho

he designs banners/posters for the team anyway. they use his strategic mind from the shit he's read for any plays and stuff so when he's not drawing, he's thinking

he might look like he has no emotions, but tbh he is more emotional and empathetic than his brother. he cries easily over the simplest things, like those grandparents vids, or rescuing animals and stuff

and thats why he doesn't let people in too much bc he knows he'll be hurt (dw seiichi knows this vvv well, and even if they do have arguments, he loves his lil bro and helps him about this)

has once begged to have a cat at home–seiichi didn't want bc he knows his twin is gonna leave him for clean up lmao

he can cook period.

he's gonna either be an architect or an animator, still hasn't decided.

his music taste sucks lmao. his youtube recents are filled with cooking stuff; in constant conversation with his uncle abt cooking lol it be cute sometimes atsumu is jealous bc he feels his son is closer to his brother than with him

he is forgetful that's why his stuff is messy lol he keeps misplacing stuff, sometimes it's literally in front of him and he's just 'where????'

but remembers dates well, remembers plays well. he's good at nitpicking tiny nearly insignificant details. just anything outside studying? he's good. dw he passes his classes but he hates giving effort for that shit lololol

[currentlyreadingmanga]

Toilet-bound Hanako-kun: Chapter 10 - The Young Exorcist (Part 2)

Previously: we had a mostly Kou centric episode! We learned more about his family, in particular about his kinda scary brother Teru. Kou made it his mission to find evidence that proves that Hanako is not a bad supernatural, which lead to some very cute bonding moments between the two boys. Kou decided that he wouldn’t exorcise Hanako because he considered him a good guy, but Hanako doesn’t take this change of heart well since he clearly doesn’t think that killing someone can be justified in any way. He goes overboard, though, and threatens Kou with his knife and it’s at that precise moment that Teru arrives and zaps Hanako with his own exorcist weapon and I was left with very high levels of stress

Now onto the next chapter!

Okay I really like this cover page, because it while it can be seen as the two exorcist keeping the aparition at bay, since they’re the ones that can (and have to) do it, you can also see other nice details. There’s also the contrast between both of their expressions while holding Hanako back: how calm and collected Teru looks while Kou looks uncomfortable. And how Kou’s weapon not only is keeping Hanako in check, but is also holding Teru’s sword back so that it doesn’t touch Hanako. 

Anyway, yes, it’s a very good drawing that conveys this arc very well.

Okay so Kou is remember all those times he would sneak out to watch his brother fighting against supernaturals and how cool he looked while doing so. Teru always greeted his brother with a kind smile and Kou had assumed that that was the expression he wore into battle but

Yeah, can’t say I’m surprised, those are the main expressions we have seen on his face when it comes to Hanako and apparitions. Still, Kou’s face is honestly heartbreaking, he must feel so helpless

I feel like I need to reiterate: his calm smile in moments like this kinda scares me, Like, I get it, I understand why he’s acting this way (he found Hanako pointing a knife at his baby brother, what’s he gonna do? let him go just like that? no, that would be stupid) but still, it’s slightly unnerving

But in spite of what his brother says, Kou stands his ground defending Hanako but Tery reaches for his bead bracelet and oh. it’s a capture weapon. fantastic, this just keeps getting better and better

Hmm, idk if I’m reaching, but it kinda feels like Teru is babying his brother a little too much. I don’t know their full family situation, and while yes, Kou is clearly inexperienced in dealing with supernaturals, I feel like Teru shouldn’t dismissed what he had to say so fast although, again, the knife pointed towards Kou really doesn’t help the situation 

Hanako calls out to Haku-Joudai but holy fuck Teru really is much more powerful than Kou since he can create a lightning cage so he can’t summon his tsueshiro.

This is real bad. Things really aren’t looking good for my ghost child here

That’s interesting. Does that mean that Teru is just THAT much more powerful that his spiritual energy can control the lightning like that even if his weapon is mainly used for attacking? Also, does that mean that Kou’s weapon is better for controlling said lightning? 

It looks like Hanako is gonna tried to defend himself with his knife but Teru just tells him that “no matter how you try to cover it up, in the end, you can never hide what you truly are” with his scary face TM. And Hanoko looked angry before but after that he looks honestly shocked

It’s really something how he can looked so small and terrified while holding that knife. It conveys a very hopeless feeling, idk maybe I’m reaching

Oh wow 

Now this is some beautiful and haunting imagery.

I mentioned during my last recap that while there’s a real underlying danger that we can see in Hanako, but again, he doesn’t seem like a genuinly bad or vengeful person. So this description is suspicious to me. It could be true, but after everything we’ve seen so far, it could very well be a case of rumors twisting the original story of him murdering someone and blowing it our of proportion

 Okay so they start fighting and I’m too scared to scroll down because so far Teru has clearly proven that he’s not someone you want to mess with ahhhh

ヽ(ﾟДﾟ;)ﾉ!!

━Σ(ﾟДﾟ|||)━    OH MY GOD NO NOPE NO

Σ(ﾟ口ﾟ;)// Σ(ﾟ口ﾟ;)// Σ(ﾟ口ﾟ;)//  IT JUST KEEPS GETTING WORSE NOOO BABY that looks so painful ahhhhhhh

I don’t want to keep scrolling but hnnnnng I must know if my child will be okay (and I know that he most likely will be but still jfc this is so painful to look at)

Kou explains how Teru usually fights against supernatural and ngl it’s kinda horrifying and yes, it looks like it’s best to stay out of range but Hanako is trapped there with no way out

And ahhhhh now Kou is second guessing himself, thinking maybe his brother was right and that Hanako should be exorcised but nooo baby you should listen to your instincts if they tell you something is not quite right here

Ohhhh. Okay, so we’re dealing with a layer of self-confidence issues too. I didn’t consider it, since it just seemed like he admired his brother a whole lot, but it isn’t just that. And it makes sense, since from what we saw last chapter, Teru seems to be some kind of prodigy, and it’s not rare that Kou started to compare himself to him (not only thinking that he wants to be like him, but also seeing what he’s lacking since Teru seems to be so “perfect”). So yeah, to him, his brother “knows what’s best”, because that’s the way it’s always been

Teru says that Hanako has been near the shore for a long time and that it’s time for him to face his punishment, but Hanako seems to have something to say about that and

oh. oH no.  he’s crying oh nO he looks so sad oh god ಥ_ಥ

So to Hanako, being exorcised wouldn’t be a fair way to pay for his crimes. He’s telling Teru that if he expels him right now, then nothing would be gained from it since he would just be released from the mortal plane without actually doing something to atone. And “atone” is a fitting way to put it, since from what we’ve seen, he doesn’t want (or expects) to be forgiven, he just wants to do things right, to find a way to repent for what he has done. It’s is also in line with what he told Kou before, about how he cannot let himself be exorcised yet because he has a task he has to acomplish.

And Kou is thinking back to all the ways in which Hanako has been helpful and the times when he protected both him and Yashiro. And he makes a fair point, he (and us readers too) has no way of knowing if Hanako is telling the true, he could be lying. But still, Hanako’s actions are out there on the table, and Kou needs to make his decision based on what he believes is the right thing to do.

( ⚆ _ ⚆ )

Σ(ﾟДﾟ；≡；ﾟдﾟ) !!!!! FUCKING HELL WHAT OH GO D

KOU YOU’RE A PRECIOUS ANGEL THAT DESERVES THE WORLD BLESS YOU

Hanako and Teru look so shocked but Kou isn’t backing down, no sir, he’s here on a mission and he’s not gonna let his new friend/tolerated acquaintance be exorcised. Also holy fuck he body slammed his brother into the ground wow he’s really not playing around and

This is good. He needs to let this out or it’s gonna eat him up. And yeah, it seems like I was right on the money with the too much babying before. Kou makes some very valid points here: yes, he’s not his brother, he’s nowhere near Teru’s level of experience and he should have been more catious when dealing with Hanako, but he has also seen things his brother hasn’t. He’s seen how Hanako behaves around him and Yashiro, and how he tries to protect all the students in the school, so he’s not gonna be blinded by the “all supernaturals are bad” speech because he knows it’s not true.

He admits that he needs to get stronger and he’s confident that he wiil, And then he will decide if Hanako needs to be exorcised or not, that’s a responsability he’s willing to take. I’m really proud of him, for sticking to what he believes it’s right, even against his brother’s wishes.

And thankfully, Teru relents and decides to let Kou handle things on the forefront because he doesn’t want his baby brother to hate him. They’ve reach a solid middle ground, the only thing Teru asks is for Kou to remember what he’s said all that and to be conscious that this is Hanako’s last chance if anything happens. Next time he won’t be so kind.

Now Kou and Hanako are left alone, and Kou tells Hanako to behave properly since he doesn’t trust him fully yet and that at the moment he starts acting suspicious, he’ll exorcise him

...................okay, no, I call bullshit on that. There’s no way Hanako had time to apply the eyedrops during his fight with Teru. Even if he had them handy for something, there’s no way. He has to be doing it to lighten the heavy atmosphere because he’s a little shit like that.

Ohhhhhhhhh okay we’re cutting to back to Yashiro in the library. Hopefully this will be more lighthearted, I feel like the previous confrontation was too much for my heart

She’s researching the seven mysteries but it seems like she’s not having much luck since everything she finds is about the girl Hanako-san.

OH

Hello there, suspicious green haired girl that’s shown to spread the rumors in the anime and that was with that suspicous guy that sent a spirit orb to spy on my babies. How nice of you to appear...........I’m sure only good things will come out of this

Oh, looks like there’s a preview of scenes from the next volume of the manga

.......It certainly looks like we have quite the ride ahead of us, doesn’t it. Also!! That white haired guy from the anime intro is finally here! Since he was right next to Yako in the intro, I’m guessing he must be one of the mysteries we’ll deal with, possible number five since Aoi mentions it right there.

Awwwww they have a little sister! She looks so cute! It looks like Teru isn’t a morning person and judging from the apron Kou is wearing, it looks like he takes care of the cooking? or some kind of housework? I wonder if this means that their parents are out of the picture

[carnal-agony]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔬𝔡𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔲𝔠𝔠𝔲𝔟𝔦, 𝔄𝔯𝔞𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔗𝔲𝔧𝔄𝔯𝔞

"𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚖, 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚜, 𝙱𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐."

In light of my blog being revamped officially I am creating a Muse sheet for all of my mutual followers and silent worshipers. I won’t be going into immense detail about my Muse’s past/creation as I have had multiple threads that dissected every ounce of it including a few AU’s where her history was either less enticing or she was mortal. Stick around until the end for a special ‘shout-out’ for my partners who have helped shape my blog in one way or many. 

Bɾιҽϝ Hιʂƚσɾყ

Aramath and TüjArä are one of the same, they share a body, heart, and mind but not a soul. The Queen was not always split between good and evil, however, she was created as one being- a part from each Ancient that attended her Creation. With her being ‘born’ the mortal world was introduced to the power and weakness of Lust, the Goddess of Succubi, TüjArä. Although in the beginning of her history she was a cruel ruler who only wished for her children to divulge in the tasteful wants of the lesser species as well as going on massacres by their mother’s word.

Her world changed when the Goddess found what was at the root of all her lust- that being love. Don’t start smiling now, this isn’t a typical love story, matter of fact I wouldn’t consider it a love story at all. TüjArä fell in love with a viking and bared a half mortal child with this man- against every ruling of the Ancients that stated it was forbidden for a woman of pure lust to pursue. Knowing this, TüjArä stepped from her throne and above into the mortal world, hiding from those who wished to put her back into place. For six years she lived with those she loved, learning what it meant to have humility and compassion as a mortal would.

Aρρҽαɾαɳƈҽ; Vαɾιαɳƚʂ

In the original story I write Aramath rocks a crimson hairstyle, usually quite lengthy and wavy in previous cycles that was her iconic look. However after a long debate I had wrote her into isolation from those she learned to care for and in this she became immensely ill- the red of her hair fading until it became a ghastly platinum. It is very important to note that the original Aramath and the current one I am writing for both possess their own personality differences as well as differing internal conflict with TüjArä. 

Her body is covered head to toe in an array of stories about her existence as well as other oddities that come alive upon the command of her Oracle. Aramath is usually seen in black leather of all sorts, her style has toned down over the years but she is a rocker at heart, which is seen in various band tees and skull based clothing and jewelry. A few things stay the same however- the rings she wears each possess their own special abilities, ranging from her own internal power to the unique array of her kind, Oracle, and lovers. 

Wԋαƚ Gɾιɳԃʂ Hҽɾ Gҽαɾʂ

Aramath is a very tedious creature to write for, she is hot headed yet well tempered, childish at heart yet cold and stern mentally, and while she does not wish to end humanity anymore- that does not mean she is in love with humans. Most she can barely stand so she approaches with a bitter tongue and sharp wit, however when a very special few come to make her acquaintance they are met with soft smiles and the exposure of what a monster looks like when they are tamed. Humans are meat sacks to her, ones that have ruined the Earth they all inhabit due to their selfish ways and this mindset finds her at crossroads- she wishes to rid Mother Earth of the plaque that is humanity but that seems like a waste of good talent. Isn’t that a blessing in itself? 

Creatures on the other hand; God or grunt they always amuse Aramath as she sees them full of themselves- no exclusion to her dear friends either. Being around for most species creation has come with clear visions of what the creatures are, humanized or not they all have a sense of higher being in this world dominated by meat sacks. However depending on your class and how you act, Aramath might just consider you something worthy.

Wԋαƚ Tσ Exρҽƈƚ

Well for starters, expect the unexpected my dear children of the night. Aramath as tamed as she is has a thirst for violence and agony, it gives her a sense of life just seeing the simple fear of women when she snatches the attention of their partners. Although she tends to keep the violence to more of a sexual nature she isn’t hesitant to rip off a man’s crotch or sew a demon’s lips shut, all while taking her sweet time. Don’t be mistaken just because she is a succubus that she will sleep with anyone- that is far, far from the truth.

Aramath does not ‘sleep around’, she goes through a very emotional process to choose who enters her bed. This isn’t just for the sake of morality however, to take a succubus use to be a very primal and romantic thing as their kind does not necessarily need to lay with someone to feed. Those who are chosen as special tend to experience hallucinations, feelings of true ecstasy, and in some cases Aramath shares her life experiences with them through touch. With this being said, it is important to understand pushing yourself upon this Goddess- will end with your head mantled on her fireplace. You’ve been warned.

EʂƚαႦʅιʂԋҽԃ Rҽʅαƚισɳʂԋιρʂ; Tԋҽ Mυʅƚιʋҽɾʂҽ

Through the years I have been writing Aramath one thing is clear, once you have a place in her heart you will forever have that spot. This is no different for myself as I wouldn’t have lore if it weren’t for those who helped grow with me. These characters may be an OC or in their own universe- either way they are all loved equally. Here are a few of the characters I most frequently interact and/or click with during threads, some Aramath is very possessive over and others she views as equals. Please do not be discouraged if your muse is not on this list, it does not mean I love you any less my dears.

Henry Pearl, Sunset Peach, the Oracle of the Goddess.

@henry-pearl-battlecreek​

Roman Godfrey, a White Tower Dragon in Prince skin.

Eddie Brock, Snarky Reporter, Kingsman In Training.

@venom-inside-you​

Venom, Parasitic Terrestrial, Unknown Limits, Enjoys Flesh.

Pan, Horseman of Death, Man of Knowledge.

@thedarklibraryworld​

Michael Langdon, Son of Satan, Your Dark Lord, Puppeteer of the Apocalypse.

Jerome and Jeremiah Valeska, A Pair of Laughs, Equally Charismatic and Deadly.

Kai Anderson, Terrifying Candidate, Godlike Ego, Could Make Me Drink the Kool-Aid.

Iɳƚҽɳƚισɳʂ

If you want angst, joy, or death Aramath is the girl to go with. She is very versatile in every aspect that I write her, if you wish to have a particular plot please invade my inbox so we can discuss what you’d like. If not, I frequently post open threads with an already settled plot, starter calls, and interactive dialogues. Never be afraid to send a meme or random prompts into my inbox, I love interacting with my followers! 

Mυɳɳҽԃ

Now as we get to the end of this long, long sheet I just want to take a moment and say a few things as a Mun. I- am so terrible about timely responses, between working, streaming, and studying for my degree I do not find a lot of time for my writing passion. However, if you bare with me through the odd times of night when my responses flow I promise you we will have amazing threads together. Now that you know a little about my existence let’s get my blog rules out of the way;

ℝ𝕌𝕃𝔼𝕊

No persons under the age of 18 allowed- period. This blog has intense scenes and NSFW threads, I will not be held responsible for the corruption of children so turn away now or blocking will occur.

As much as I preach love and acceptance, absolutely NO threads will occur with me that involve animals or characters under the age of 18. I do not condone the act of pretending to be an underage child, nor will I bring children in as extras to my thread. 

Unless your character is an actual God of some sort, do not attempt to God-mod our threads, I will not allow it to happen and it will terminated immediately. Clarification: Yes you can toss my Muse, but no you cannot kill them (unless discussed or of course- you’re Pennywise.)

Sexual themed threads must be discussed with Mun prior to the beginning of it, if not my character will act as normal- and your muse will lose a hand or two. Discussing is a key point when it comes to certain topics in writing, and as everyone says, Consent is Key.

Remember, we’re all here to enjoy ourselves with our characters, even if the thread is violent and hateful please remember. I am not my Muse and my Muse is not me, you are allowed to spit and curse them but do not dare step past that line and spew venom at me. I have a zero tolerance for drama, hate, or sheer stupidity. 

Fιɳαʅ Cσɱɱҽɳƚʂ

Well my loves we’re at the end, it is time to say my final goodbyes as I finish off this sheet on a good note. I will always be open to new partners, new ideas, new universes so please again- never feel scared to shoot me random things. With this revamp I am turning my engines over and putting the pedal to the metal- and it’s only just beginning. With all love, and secret lust- Shalom and Blessed Be.

{Will be updating frequently throughout these next few weeks, stay tuned!}

[imaginesmylife]

Could I ask what it would be like to be best friends with the dragon slayers?

imagine-fairytail-dorks answered: Natsu: I mean what do i even say here… if you watch fairy tail and his interactions with Lucy…yeah. expect him to invade your house / dorm constantly and he totally peeks inside your furniture’s drawers- ‘ I must unveil the deep dark secrets of ___’s room! ‘ dragging you off to missions out of nowhere like you could be going shopping or taking a bath, it doesn’t matter to him if it’s day or night, you’re COMING. totally draws on your face while you sleep (again this is cannon) - do not play monopoly with HIM. I REPEAT DO NOT. THERE WILL BE PIECES MISSING AND DISAPPEARING EVERYTIME likes to steal food from your fridge a lot “ NATSU, YOU HAVE YOUR OWN FOOD! “ “ but yours is better. “ you feeling down? he will not promise to listen to a long hour rant, unless its really tragical, but he will probably open his arms like ‘ ya wanna hug ? ‘ makes silly hairdos to your hair on purpose and laughs it off.

Gajeel: sleepovers in which he will probably help you so much with the meals, like # secret master chef gajeel at your service steals food from your plate when you’re not watching and thinks he’s fooling you but really he isn’t. Okay but he’s that guy who if you need help on really weird occasions he won’t mind helping you out: “ Gajeel, i forgot my towel can you hand it over? “ “ Gajeel, you mind going downstairs to get me some pads / tampons? I just noticed i ran out of them…. “ “ Gajeel, we’re out of pasta, please make a quick run to the mini! “ the old ladies are chuckling at him and it pisses him off a bit but he feels …manly? to be able to help you? like so blessed so moved # this is what a man is! - quoting elfman. poking you randomly while you’re watching tv or reading books, specially if he’s bored like “ gajeel …” “ shh, weren’t you watching it?” he’s really clueless on how to comfort others in times of need, so all he’s going to do is listen to your problems without saying a word if he can’t find a way to better them, and /or open his arms weirdly for you to receive the hugging . him being salty about others with you like “ uhhh i can’t tolerate that fake arse. “ “ me too , mate. wish they’d just get a vase thrown at their heads. “ #saltmates fist bump

Wendy: Tea sessions with her and Charle reading club time!!!!! doing intricate hairdos to each other and SLEEPOVERS !!!!! 1! !!! 1 !! ranting about your life  … specially boys if you want wendy to turn red like a tomato “ Wendy, stop being so flustered over this! “ “ I can’t help it, Charle… “ light sparring sessions if you wanted to, specially since she needs to be on pair with her dragon slayer friends cooking sessions shopping downtown on fridays. telling each other bedtime stories to sleep one of the best at comforting people, will do anything to help you, and feel bad if they can’t. cuddling sessions and sad disney movies are a must.

Laxus: Beware the raijinshuu will probably be after you too. either jelly or anxious lots and lots of indirect jokes, innuendos or puns like “ ya know what’s up right in the morning? “ “ hOE DON’T DO IT.” He actually gives pretty good input on stuff - he could go with you to stores and be like: “ no that pattern doesn’t suit your figure that well, you have wide hips so it will only make you looked even larger than usual. “ “ look i don’t want to influence you but… this earphones brand is better, it’s durable, the sound is great, and it can allow you so many more functions blahblahblah… “ Not even the raijinshuu know about this side of him but he must always pet the wandering animals in the streets and feed them if he can like AWWWWWW ANIMALS !!!! 111 !!! 1 !!1! Shares food with you no problems. he’s just chill countering your sarcasm with his sarcasm and vice-versa “ Do i seem amused to you? “ “ hmmmm in a scale of  1 to 10? “ “ hahahaha. very funny. “ “ you’re welcome. “ B) surprisingly affectonate when others are out of it - his hugs might crush you a bit tho but he does not mean it - can’t measure his strength tbh “ Laxus…. you’re .crushing me.. can’t breathe, and my boobs – “ “ OH SORRY. “

Sting: Walking in unnanounced on accident sometimes inside your room and being like ‘ OH SHIT SORRY! but nice ass by the way. “  cue a finger gunning at you while he walks out and tries to play it cool but you’re throwing objects at him randomly “ STING, YOU IDIOT! “ “ i guess you can say he STINGS. “ - Rufus “…Frosch thinks so too! “ ba-dum-tss. Watching a movie in a mess of limbs and legs while you share blankets and fighting over the last popcorn / chips /cookies like “ STING, NO THAT ONE’S MINE! “ “ FIRST COME FIRST SERVE ~. “ an d he just casually grabs it and yep they’re gone. he’s faster than you anyways # gdit sting “ unless you wanna take it out of my mouth now? “ “ eww no, keep it. “ # not sure if win or hurt - Sting you must have at least a sleepover once a week or month. he will probably be really deep questioning things in life before you go to bed # phylosophical sting hour ‘ why is the color blue called like that? why is the sky full of stars (coldplay reference badumtss) ? why couldn’t it be full of cheetos? i mean, why are they even like that? starts don’t look like what we draw even it’s jsut a whole mass of galaxy inside another massive rock thing, but from here it seems so small,… i feel like an ant. “ “ how much deep do you think the ocean is? “ # help him. Sting would be that guy that if he were best friends, specially with a girl, would probably go like: ‘ please unveil the darkest secrets of your gender to me, because seriously i don’t get most of you, i’m confused af. ‘ with such a very serious face you end up laughing. “ I’m not joking, ___ . “ staring contests in which he always loses because he starts snorting at something anytime: “ what is it this time, Sting. “ “ your clock…pfft, it’s making  a very..pffft– weird figure in the wall ! “ if you feeling down he’s all up for cuddling session. of course,he will try to the best of his ability to help you with your problems but he prefers to firstly focus on you and spoil you.

Rogue: more mature than Sting but still a bit salty also good at giving remarks like Laxus be it at shopping or life decisions, but sometimes he comes out too strong.. “ Huh, okay Rogue.. Okay. “ “ JUST DO IT, ____. Really– “ he secretly collects candy every time he can, he has a hidden stash of candy in his bedroom- sting once found it and almost died. # do not unleash the kraken probably offers himself as poison taster to each of your recipes and vice versa “ HMm it’s good but what if we added—” “ Rogue, no the last time we improvised it ended as a disaster. “ searching for warmth, he will accidentally inch towards you like in a chase if you’re sleeping over at his room; kick him away or you’ll end up on the floor. (!!!) (THIS IS BASED on a true story) he is a roomcon lover don’t even tell it to the guildmates. he would never hear the end of it. “ NO, JACK! JAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!! “ good at consoling people but slightly awkward since he’s unused to it - he’ll pat you your back weirdly #save him.

Erik / Cobra he’s that guy who’s making snarky remarks at everything and anything around him # so salty will turn to you in a joke and be very inoportune and nosy like: “ so what pattern is it today? hello kitty? bows? hearts? stripes? or is it plain?” ERIK NO. he’s very protective of you though like no kid – if you ever trade him for someone lese, like let’s say you were supposed to have lunch with him at the tuesdays and you went off somewhere instead and cancelled it. he’s hurt and ONTO YOU . no escape. throws food at you while you’re distracted - be it a popcorn , a candy, a chip…. but he pretends he’s innocent likes to invade your room once in a while but is at least more respectful than the other dragon slayers…. sometimes he’s deep af though like he might just vent about life indirectly: “ if you could what would you’ve changed about your life , ____ ? “ protect him gives really nice hugs to be honest will beat the crap out of anyone who makes you sad tbh.

Source:  imagine-fairytail-dorks