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cozy-the-overlord · 3 years

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Dances and Daggers

Summary: The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor’s betrothed, Teki’s only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn’t find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn’t the only prince in Asgard…

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 15: The Truth

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Word Count: 3,000

Chapter Summary: Teki finally gets answers.

A/N: The beginning of this chapter turned out decidedly more Mockingjay than I intended ... that wasn’t on purpose, but I guess it’s fine. Also, we’re nearing the end, guys! I can’t believe we’ve only got three chapters left :(

Thanks for reading!

TW: Mentions of violence, child abuse

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @moumouton4 @berriemalfoy @whatafuckingdumbass

if you want to be tagged, feel free to just send me an ask/message! :)

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Teki had wings.

Big, beautiful wings, more ornate than any butterfly, sprouting from her back and extending high above her head, a kaleidoscope of different colors swirling around her as she soared higher and higher into the paint-splattered sky. She flew with the ease of one who had flown all her life, drifting down the air currents and landing to rest on a gossamer cloud, so high in the atmosphere that when she peered over the edge she couldn’t even see the ground.

It’s real! she thought as she floated so far above the world, I’ll have to tell Brant!

For a while, she was safe on her cloud, breathing in the crisp air of a world beyond concerns, her gorgeous wings basking in the glow of a billion little stars.

Until she wasn’t.

Without warning, the cloud dissipated from beneath her and she was tumbling head over heels down to the fast approaching terrain, nothing to grab on to, nothing to stop it. Her wings turned to dust at her side. Gravity cackled as her final scream ripped from her lungs.

Her eyes popped open. Her vision was awash with a burning orange light, but she didn’t need to see to feel the cold metal pressing around her neck. In a rush, she remembered Osvald’s hand at her throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. She clawed at the metallic piece, gasping in a frenzy, but it didn’t budge.

What did he do? What did he put on me?

A figure appeared in her periphery, hands reaching out towards her throat. Teki shrieked—or she tried to, at least. The sound that came from her mouth was rough and weak, more like a harsh gasp than a proper scream, but the effort of it seemed to tear her vocal chords to shreds. She coughed uncontrollably, even as she writhed away from the reaching hands.

“Lady Tekla, calm down, you’re safe.” The figure held her wrists down, pulling them away from her neck. “Don’t try to speak. Just breathe, my lady. You’re in the healing ward. You’re safe.”

Gulping, Teki laid back. She was in the healing ward, wasn’t she? She recognized the golden lights on the ceiling. The woman sitting next her was draped in blue robes, smiling reassuringly. But… why was she here? In all the times Teki had gone to the healers after something Osvald had done, she had never stayed longer than a few hours. Her hands returned to the metal thing at her neck.

“What—” she rasped before the healer hushed her once again.

“Don’t try to talk,” she said firmly. “Not for a little while. Not until your throat has been healed. Your injuries were severe enough that we were concerned about overwhelming your body if we attempted to heal them all at once. We decided to focus on your ribcage first.”

Teki’s hands flew to her abdomen. The burning pain that set her chest on fire was nowhere to be found. She heaved a sigh of relief.

“We’re going to give you a bit of time to recover from the exhaustion of the healing before we work on your neck,” the woman continued. “Until then, you’ll have to wear this brace, to keep things from getting worse. You understand that?”

Teki jerked her head, as much of a nod as she could manage. A part of her brain still felt as if it were floating in the clouds. Had that all been a dream? She couldn’t wait to tell Brant about—

Brant!

She shot up again, this time coughing out her brother’s name. Once more, the healer shushed her, pushing her back into the pillow.

“Brant is fine,” she assured. “He just had a bit of a bump on his head, but he recovered .” She pulled the covers back over Teki’s chest. “You’re very lucky your stepfather got there when he did.”

Teki froze. What?

The healer didn’t seem to notice her bewilderment. She only patted her knee. “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit,” she said. “Try to get some sleep.”

She watched the woman in blue walk away with a tightness wrapped around her heart. Of course her mother would never tell the truth about what happened inside their apartment. But Teki could only ponder what possible story she had told instead.

Luckily, this wasn’t a mystery for long. Her mother came to visit that afternoon, seemingly with the sole purpose of coaching her on what to say happened.

“You opened the apartment door to find an intruder,” she whispered huskily into Teki’s ear. “He demanded you bring him all the jewelry in the apartment. When you refused, he attacked. You screamed, Osvald ran in, and rescued you and Brant. The intruder fled. You understand that?”

Teki only stared blankly into the distance. It was just a lie, just another lie she had to tell to maintain her mother’s dream. Really, it was no different than what she had been doing her whole life. But there was a sour taste in her mouth that had nothing to do with her injuries. She wanted her to paint Osvald as the hero. She wanted her to be thankful for him, to praise him…

Her mother bristled at her silence.

“You realize how important this is?” she hissed, leaning in. “If the royal court thought there was something wrong with our family, they’d throw us out. Void your marriage contract, take our apartment, and abandon us. Do you know what I’ve had to do to get us to this point?”

Empty vials flashed through her mind.

I have an idea.

Áslaug huffed. “Are you truly so selfish that you’d destroy all of our lives—you’d destroy your brother’s life—just because you don’t want to do something?”

Teki turned away, as much as she could with the brace. Including Brant was low and her mother damn well knew it. Had she always been this manipulative, and Teki was only now seeing it?

With a sigh, her mother rose. “I have to go,” she said emotionlessly. “I hope you feel better tomorrow.”

Teki watched her glide from the room without a sound, the picture of dignity. There was something different in the air, something heavy. Even as Teki tried to relax into her pillow, it weighed on her chest, pulling her deeper and deeper away from the golden lights, until the glow of the healing ward had been replaced with something far more prismatic.

The Rainbow Bridge still gleamed at night, but it was a quieter sort of gleaming. There was no horseback riding this time, no princely arm wrapped around her waist, just Teki and her unhurried step, her shift fluttering around her knees in the spectral breeze.

The path to Himinbjorg was miles long, yet Teki crossed it barefoot in a heartbeat. A figure stood in the center of the golden dome, a horned silhouette that seemed not to have budged one bit since the last time she had walked through those doors.

You’re not asking the right question, he had said. She had stormed out in frustration. What question could he want? What question could possibly be more direct than “where is he?”

But now, she understood. When Heimdall turned, his armor glittering with the reflection of the moon-kissed night, she spoke before he could even open his mouth.

How did my father die?

The gatekeeper said nothing. He lifted the great sword and settled it into the mouth of the platform as the lightning crackled. Around them, the Bifrost whirred to life, burning brighter, brighter, brighter…

Teki blinked when the light holding her in place dissipated without warning, washing her surroundings away with it.

She was standing in the living room. Her living room, on the first story of her family’s apartment. And yet, it was different. The olive curtains hadn’t yet been changed to garnet, a decision that followed Teki’s engagement announcement. The couch hadn’t yet been reupholstered. Instead of her mother’s liquor cabinet, a piano lay nestled in the corner.

The dinner table was set for two. On one end, her mother fussed with the cutlery, her silky hair running down her back in an elegant braid. She ran her fingers across the rim of her goblet, expression distant and unreadable. She perked up when the stairs creaked, someone shuffling down from the upstairs bedrooms. The man turned the corner with a casual stride, pushing the hair out of his muddy brown eyes with hands that Teki had once covered with hers, long ago when she would curl up in his lap on the piano bench and breathe in his soft melodies. Her heart caught in her throat.

Daddy…

She tried to run to him, hug him, call to him, please, but she remained glued in her spot on the other side of the table, her voice frozen in her throat. The scene before her had already played out. Teki could only watch.

Still, her eyes burned with pinpricks of tears as he stood just beyond her reach. Daddy, her mind cried as her father surveyed the room, Daddy, I’m right here.

Steinn didn’t hear her. He stopped just before the table, eyebrows raised as he studied the display before him. Her mother beamed up at him with her angelic grin.

“Good evening,” she smiled.

He hesitated for a moment, searching her face for... something. Teki wasn’t sure what. Nor could she tell whether he found it there.

Still, he sank into his seat. “Good evening.”

Áslaug reached for the plate of bread without taking her eyes off her husband. “Is she in bed?” she asked conversationally.

He nodded. “Yes. Fast asleep already.” A smile ghosted at his lips as he cut his meat, mirrored on Teki’s face. Me! He’s talking about me! “It was a big day for her.”

Her mother shook her head. “You spend too much time in town with her.”

“At least I spend time with her.”

They lapsed into silence. Steinn fumbled around with his food, very pointedly avoiding his wife’s gaze. Áslaug didn’t move. She seemed to be waiting for something.

When that something never came, she inhaled with artificial cheeriness. “How’s your writing coming along?”

“Well enough.” He took a gulp of his wine, then with a sigh turned to look at her. “Áslaug, you’re wasting your time.”

She cocked her head, still smiling. “Am I?”

“I’m not signing off on that proposal.”

Teki’s mother huffed. “I don’t understand why not. You’re always so concerned with Tekla’s well-being. I can’t imagine anything that would better safeguard her future than a marriage to the future king.”

He groaned. “You want to force a lifelong role on to her before she can even write her own name—”

“You’re being dramatic!” she snapped, waving her hands above her head. Teki flinched. “What if she wants it? What if she wants to be queen? What if we’re depriving her of a dream?”

“She’s a child. Right now, her dreams consist of flower picking and extra slices of cake.” Steinn rolled his eyes, taking another sip of wine. “She’s not capable of making that decision yet, and I have no intention of making it for her.”

“You are making it for her! You’re taking away her chance at royalty—”

“And you’re taking away her ability to control her destiny. Are you truly so desperate to mother a queen that you’ll run the risk of forcing her into a position she doesn’t want, married to a man she doesn’t love, trapped for the rest of her life?” He laughed bitterly, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I thought you of all people would understand what that’s like.”

Áslaug glared at him. “My father worked hard to get this offer from Odin. Do you know how many strings he had to pull, how many favors he had to cash in to—”

“I couldn’t care less.” Her father’s cheeks were flushed. He wiped his brow again before continuing with conviction. “She’s my daughter. I won’t agree to it.”

“Very well.” The statement was resigned, but her mother stared at him with a sort of barely masked excitement. His hands were trembling.

“Are you feeling all right, Steinn?” she asked, leaning forward delicately on her knuckles.

Her father looked up abruptly. “What?”

“How are you feeling?” Áslaug leaned her head to the side. Her voice was still innocent, but her smile was quickly morphing into a smirk. Teki’s stomach gurgled with dread. “A tad warm, perhaps? Chills? A bit of a headache?”

Steinn’s eyes widened. He jerked away from the table. “What did you do?”

“Nothing much.” She pulled the empty vial from within her dress, rolling it between her fingers. “Just gave your wine a bit of flavoring. Embers of Frost. It’s all the rage, I’m told. The woman I got it from said it would be lethal in half an hour.”

It seemed to dawn at him all at once. In a panic, her father stumbled to his feet, knocking the chair over in his haste to reach the door. Teki whipped back to her mother, who seemed unbothered in her seat, a smug grin on her face.

The door swung open before Steinn had the chance to twist the knob. Teki’s blood ran cold as Osvald stepped into the room, calm as can be as he blocked the exist, his eyes glittering like volcanic rocks. Her father lurched backwards.

“Steinn,” Áslaug called out from the dinner table. Her voice dripped with false regard. “I’d like to introduce a dear friend of mine, Lord Osvald Audinson.”

Her father surveyed his successor with wild eyes, sweat dripping down his temples. “Which one are you?” he asked.

Osvald grabbed his shoulders. “The only one that matters.”

Teki nearly screamed when her stepfather jerked him to the side, but instead of tossing him into the wall, he simply steered him back into the table and plopped him into his seat like a rag doll. Osvald remained standing behind the chair, a villainous snake posed to strike. Steinn’s collar was soaked. He shook profusely as his wife stood.

“Now, my sweet husband, I do have the antidote right here”— Áslaug brought out the burgundy vial, shaking it between her fingers like a toy rattle. Teki’s father lunged for it, but Osvald yanked him back, holding him to the chair—“which I would be quite happy to share with you if you would just be so kind as to take my dictation for me.”

He was gulping air now. “What dictation?”

Áslaug pushed aside the dinner plates, sliding an inkwell and a sheet of blank paper before him. “We’re separating, darling. You’re dissolving this marriage right here and now so we can both move on with our lives.”

“All this for a queen?” he panted, leaning against the table for support. “You’ve gone mad!”

“And you’re going to be dead soon if you don’t do what I say.” She tapped the page. Reluctantly, Steinn took the pen in his shaking hand. “Now, write this: I, Steinn Kjellson…” She went on, reading from a folded page in her hand as he struggled to keep up with her words. When she got to the part addressed directly to Teki, he stiffened.

She rolled her eyes. “What’s wrong now?”

“You—” he choked on his words. “Áslaug, please. You think about her—Teki—you take care of her—”

He sounded so broken. Teki tried to reach out to him again, blinking the tears from her eyes. How many times had her mother tried to tell her that he left because he didn’t love her? Because he didn’t want to see her again? And here he was, even at the end, begging for her safety and her well-being.

I’m sorry Daddy, she sobbed in her silent prison. I love you so much. I’m sorry. She prayed that somehow, he could hear her.

But he only groaned when Osvald smacked the back of his head. “You’re running out of time, friend.”

Straining, Steinn finished the last few lines.

Teki’s mother scanned it, nodding approvingly. “Good. Now sign it.”

He did so, a scribbled signature that left him absolutely breathless.

“There.” His skin was slick with sweat, his chest heaving up and down as he collapsed into the chair. “The antidote. Please.”

She turned the vial between her fingertips, picking at the wax holding the cork in place. A horrible smile stretched across her cheeks.

Teki knew what was coming, but still she shook with silent sobs. Don’t do it. Mama, please don’t do it…

“I think not.”

Steinn shrieked in horror. “Áslaug!”

“You made your bed, darling.” Her mother turned to walk away. “Now sleep in it.”

Her father sat there for a moment, eyes bugging out of his head. One last gasp, he lunged for her mother across the table. He didn’t even make it out of his seat before Osvald had him in a chokehold.

Teki couldn’t look away fast enough.

She screamed at the sickening snap, at the thud that echoed through her bones as her father fell to floor. She was still screaming when the scene faded away into the night as she came to, thrashing in a knotted mess of bedsheets and nightclothes, her throat burning something horrible as the harsh sound ripped from within.

They killed him! They killed him!

Besides her, someone made a gentle shushing noise she barely heard over the sound of the blood rushing to her head. Cold hands hovered at her side, holding her flailing arms to the mattress.

“Teki,” a familiar voice whispered, tinged with fear. “Teki, it’s all right. It was only a dream. You’re safe.”

The sound cut through her panic like a silver knife. Teki turned to the right, wondering if she was still somehow trapped in her mind. But there was nothing imaginary about the emerald eyes that shone through the dark.

Her heart leapt.

Loki.

#loki marvel #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #dances and daggers #dances and daggers chapter 15 #the truth #cozy writes

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thetownwecallhome · 4 years

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I’m glad you asked! We have quite the variety in fact, even just of mortal creatures. Here, have a look:

Halloween Slurpent - The serpentine fauna of Halloween are almost all constrictors (the town’s famous toxins come from bugs or plants). They’re also twice the size of a ‘normal’ snake. The largest Halloween reptile is the Giant Slurpent, which can grow up to sixty feet in length. Slurpents like these love getting their stomachs around things, and that includes their handlers. On the positive side, their insides make for great, slippery summer fun which keeps the children entertained.

Halloween Hill Goat - Halloween once had a populous amount of wild Hill Billy goats which roamed the pumpkin patch and graveyards for lichen and garbage. Unfortunately, Slurpents, Sandworms, and certain gluttonous boogiemen have diminished the population. Now the only remnants of their existence are their skulls - which Dr. Fink used when he needed some deer-ish heads for Jack’s Christmas Even excursion.

Mosquito - Mosquitoes in Halloween Town are rather bad at sucking blood and are often considered pests. Sometimes they’re kept in cages and eaten at dinner parties or used in decorations, but other than being the size of a dog there’s nothing that remarkable about them. Ho-hum.

Tapeworms - Tapeworms make for both great tape and great worms. However, they’re also very fun to lick, which parents should discourage if ever they spot their kids doing it. Halloween tapeworms secrete their eggs through their skin and use this licking to get into children’s stomachs. It’s a necessary part of life, perhaps, but it’s very inconvenient for Halloween production.

Dark Lagoon Leech - Respected members of the community (yes, ALL of them). The leeches are very sweet and very adaptable despite lacking any brains. Unlike the Vampire Brothers, they don’t get out much on Halloween Night so the residents of the town pay tribute to them by dumping mortal blood in their home. That way they can swim in the lagoon without being drained of all fluid.

Black Rat - Though lighter in color than the grey rat, black rats are a popular delicacy in Halloween Town and a favorite treat to be found at the bottom of your trick-or-treating basket.

Wolves - As our resident Wolfman can attest, all the wolves of Halloween Town are lone wolves. They’re big, ferocious, and great singers. Rather than hunt, they tend to fight each other over scraps of food while they scavenge through town late at night. Compare this to Christmas Town wolves, which are small, swift, live in packs, and devour elf children and reindeer in droves.

Ravens - The differences between the common raven and the uncommon raven are obvious, yet only the town’s gatekeeper and Mayor have any interest in bird watching and keeping tabs on their behavior. It would appear that uncommon ravens prefer acid birdbaths and like rotten eggs on the sidewalk, where common ravens usually make nests in people’s hats and eat eyeballs straight out of the socket.

Common Vulture - Vultures are Halloween’s choice of delivery bird. They’re very dependable and very intelligent, though they have to be trained by the utmost talented keepers to get them to do your dirty work. Not an animal to be taken for granted.

Black Bat - Halloween bats are not always vampire bats, except when they are, in which case they’re probably one of the Vampire brothers in disguise so please don’t catch them for batwing soup - it’s very awkward explaining to your neighbor that yes, you DO think all bats look alike, and yes, you were going to eat them.

Black Cat - Black cats have been one with Halloween Town for ages - even back when it was known as the Land of All Hallows. Cats are very good pets and even help set the mood for scares on Halloween night. In fact, they are scarers themselves! What’s more thrilling in a dark, quiet room than a nervous, possibly rabid cat crossing your path?

Hallow Gator - One of the few corporeal(?) beasts to swim the motes and acid lakes of Halloween Town. Hallow Gators can be trained but they are not a beginner's pet. They come in handy mostly for circuses or any kind of water ballet, but even the most skilled keeper must prepare for their loving (crushing) snaps.

Bullfrog - Another beloved Halloween resident, mostly used in potions and brews. They can be all sorts of shapes and sizes but the rule is that the biggest ones eat the smaller ones. Sometimes they puff up like balloons and will pop into clouds of gas - thick, delicious smelling, rancid gas. Great for sneak attacks or dramatic smoke exits.

I hope this helps!

#the nightmare before christmas #nightmare before christmas #halloween town #ask #reply

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kingstylesdaily · 4 years

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Why Harry Styles Just Scored His First No. 1 Song

Like any boy band alumnus, he first had to overcome radio’s bias against teen heartthrobs.

Late summer is a great time for sleeper hits: songs that have been hanging around the charts for months and finally hit their stride. Four years ago, in August 2016, Sia’s “Cheap Thrills” reached No. 1 after knocking around the charts since the prior winter, getting its final boost from a Sean Paul remix. In September 2018, Maroon 5’s year-old “Girls Like You” slipped into the top slot after wafting around the Top 10 for more than four months, with a Cardi B verse putting it over the edge. Last year around Labor Day, Lizzo finally topped the Hot 100 with “Truth Hurts,” a song that was two years old and had been rising gradually on the chart since the spring.

This year’s sleeper hit is “Watermelon Sugar,” a wisp of a song by boy bander–turned–self-styled rock star Harry Styles. With a name inspired by Richard Brautigan’s hippie-era, post-apocalyptic novella In Watermelon Sugar, Styles’ lackadaisical tune is not only a sleeper but a grower, the sort of hit that sneaks up on you—I wasn’t sure it even had a fully written chorus the first time I heard it, and I’m pretty sure I’m not alone. Indeed, the whole nation took its time deciding that this quirky ditty would give the starriest, most eccentric member of One Direction his first-ever U.S. chart-topper.

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“Watermelon Sugar” is the third single promoted from Styles’ second solo album Fine Line, which was released last December. That alone is remarkable, given the challenge in the digital age of generating chart interest in anything other than an album’s first couple of singles. Generally, in an era when all of an album’s songs are available to be consumed the day the album drops, you need a remix or a special guest of some kind to gin up chart action months after the song first hits streaming. “Sugar” has none of those. To be sure, there was some gimmickry fueling the song’s leap to the top, albeit of an old-fashioned kind: The song had its best week of sales ever thanks to an assortment of limited-edition vinyl and cassette singles that came bundled with a digital download. Those sales got “Sugar” the last mile on the charts, but Columbia Records wouldn’t have put the physical goods on sale if the song wasn’t already a radio smash—“Sugar” currently has the second-biggest U.S. airplay audience—and they knew they had an opening between current hits by Taylor Swift and a pair of lascivious female rappers I’ll almost certainly be writing about in this space next week. So, fair play to Team Harry: They took advantage of an open chart window, a tactic as old as the Hot 100 itself.

As “Sugar” leaps from No. 7 to No. 1 on the Hot 100 this week—essentially switching places with his ex-girlfriend Taylor Swift’s “Cardigan,” which falls to No. 8—Styles scores only the second-ever chart-topper by a member of One Direction. That includes all of the hits by 1D itself. In its five years of recording, from 2011 through 2015, the band never scored a Hot 100 No. 1. This despite topping the Billboard 200 album chart with its first four studio albums, the only group in history to launch a career with that haul. So … what was that other 1D-affiliated Hot 100–topper I mentioned? It was by ex-member Zayn Malik, the only member to break from the crew while it was still active. Zayn’s smoldering, Weeknd-esque boudoir jam “Pillowtalk” debuted at No. 1—and spent a solitary week there—in the winter of 2016, fueled by blockbuster streams and downloads ginned up by 1D superfans still mourning his departure the prior year and the group’s resulting, presumably permanent hiatus.

Explaining how the top-selling boy band of the 2010s could shift so many CDs and downloads but generate only two No. 1 singles means briefly recapping the fraught history of boy bands and the charts. Selling albums has never been hard for pinup pop groups, since the days of Meet the Beatles! and More of the Monkees. And in the ’70s and ’80s, such precision sing-and-dance troupes as the Jackson 5, the Osmonds, and New Edition managed to generate both gold albums and chart-conquering singles. In 1989, New Kids on the Block had the year’s second-biggest album and four of the year’s top singles, including a pair of No. 1s. But starting in the ’90s, as U.S. radio networks consolidated (fueled by the 1996 Telecommunications Act) and programmers more narrowly targeted specific demographics, radio stations shied away from maximalist teen-pop that appealed primarily to under-18 audiences. By the end of that decade, even as boy bands were enjoying a new wave of TRL-fueled popularity, radio became a chart handicap for them. The Backstreet Boys and ’N Sync had the top-selling albums of 1999 and 2000, respectively—the diamond-selling Millennium and No Strings Attached—but only scored a solitary Hot 100 topper between them, ’N Sync’s “It’s Gonna Be Me.” (Backstreet never hit No. 1: The deathless “I Want It That Way” peaked at No. 6.)

This radio bias against boy bands has persisted into the 21st century. And ever since the Hot 100 went digital about a decade and a half ago, teen-pop’s chart placements have been the result of a battle between rabid downloaders and radio gatekeepers—massive digital sales compensating for modest radio play. For example, radio was what kept the Jonas Brothers from scoring any chart-topping hits during their original wave of teen idoldom; their biggest hit of the ’00s, the No. 5 hit “Burnin’ Up,” sold 2 million downloads but only ranked 55th at U.S. radio. By the ’10s, the same fate befell one-man boy band Justin Bieber. In this long-running Slate series, I have chronicled the blow-by-blow between Justin Bieber and radio programmers that swung from Justin as hit-starved teen idol in the early ’10s to dominant young-adult chart-dominator in the late ’10s. In the early ’10s period, Bieber was a YouTube and iTunes demigod with not a single radio smash to his name. He could sell a half-million downloads of “Boyfriend” in a week and still fall short of the No. 1 spot, thanks (no thanks) to radio.

For One Direction, the chart patterns were the same. A Frankenstein’s monster that Simon Cowell famously threw together in 2010 on his televised competition The X Factor from five solo competitors—Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Harry Styles, and Louis Tomlinson—1D continually found its singles dragged down on the Hot 100 by radio, even as the band sold truckloads of albums. The pattern was set in fall 2012 when “Live While We’re Young” debuted with a staggering 341,000 downloads but could only get to No. 3 on the Hot 100, thanks to its 50th-ranked radio airplay. In the summer of 2013, the slyly Who-interpolating “Best Song Ever” became 1D’s highest-charting hit ever, debuting at No. 2 with record video views and near-record downloads, but at radio it never got past No. 53. “Story of My Life” (No. 6, 2014), “Drag Me Down” (No. 3, 2015)—no matter how many downloads sold or videos viewed, 1D could never top the Hot 100 so long as its radio spins remained limited.

The reason I’m running down all of this granular chart data is it reveals the hurdles both 1D and its post-breakup soloists had to overcome to top the Hot 100. Like Justin Bieber, they had to become credible radio fodder with adults as well as kids. With his early break from the group, Zayn was the first to pull this off. Though “Pillowtalk” debuted at No. 1 largely due to massive sales and streams, the carnal song did eventually become a No. 4–ranked airplay hit. Cleverly, Zayn had chosen a then-current EDM-inflected R&B mode and dropped his debut while the Weeknd was between albums. Other former 1D-ers have had their share of solid radio hits, including Liam Payne’s hip-hop–inflected “Strip That Down” featuring Quavo of Migos (No. 10 on the Hot 100, No. 4 on Radio Songs) and Niall Horan’s softly bopping pop jam “Slow Hands” (No. 11 Hot 100, No. 2 Radio Songs).

And Harry Styles? He decided to make things harder on himself. His 2017 debut album was chockablock with old-school classic rock. This would be like launching a career in 1964 with big-band jazz. While Styles’ fame ensured a big launch for his Bowie-esque single “Sign of the Times”—it opened, and peaked, at No. 4 on the Hot 100, fueled by strong downloads—radio showed only moderate interest. It eventually reached a modest No. 21 on the airplay chart. Later Harry singles like the twangy “Two Ghosts” and the thrashy “Kiwi” missed the Hot 100 and had little radio profile beyond a handful of pure-pop stations that were loyal to Styles from his 1D days. One admired Harry for following his artistic muse—more Joni Mitchell than Justin Bieber—but as a pop star, he arguably squandered his momentum coming out of One Direction.

What has made Fine Line, Styles’ sophomore album, such a clever left turn is he retained the rock flavor he naturally gravitates toward but converted it into mellow California-style surf-pop, and he let his production team—Tyler Johnson and Thomas “Kid Harpoon” Hull—fashion the songs into percolating radio jams. Each single has opened the door a bit wider: “Lights Up,” a No. 17 last October, is lightly strummed beach music with ethereal backing vocals. And “Adore You,” a No. 6 hit in April (for my money, still Styles’ best single), is thumping electropop. “Adore” in particular served as Styles’ entrée onto radio’s A-list—it reached No. 1 on mainstream Top 40 stations and No. 2 on Radio Songs by early summer.

With this beachhead established, Harry was finally free to let his freak flag fly with “Watermelon Sugar,” which is simultaneously his oddest single and his most infectious. The chorus consists of nothing more than the line “Watermelon sugar high” repeated a half-dozen or more times, with emphasis on the “HIGH.” (TikTok users have keyed into this idiosyncrasy, sharing videos in which the “high” gets its own video edit of the user playacting her best stoner face.) Last November, when Styles did double-duty hosting and singing on Saturday Night Live, “Sugar” was one of the songs he performed, and in that indoor setting, it came off as willfully quirky and seasonally incongruous; the song’s first verse line is “Tastes like strawberries on a summer evenin’.” Now, timed for 2020’s beach season—complete with a video filled with beautiful people on the shore, shot just before the pandemic and, according to a title card, “dedicated to touching”—it’s sitting atop the hit parade.

In short, Harry Styles finally has a profile on the radio and on the Hot 100 that matches his profile on magazine covers, and he achieved it on his own schedule and something like his own terms. Like John Lennon in the ’70s—the founder and nominal leader of the Beatles but the last former Fab to reach the toppermost of the poppermost as a solo artist—Styles just had to find his own way. As that onetime teen heartthrob sang, “Whatever gets you to the light, it’s all right.”

source: Slate

#kingstylesdaily #harry styles #hs: watermelon sugar #august 2020

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windwakerpony · 3 years

Text

Male / 22+ / Bi / Self-ship positivity / Neurodivergent + Autistic / Plays a lot of Zelda

🧁 Nov 7

If you see a like from @astalosinhyrule, it’s because my account was made connected to my brothers main. But he doesn’t use Tumblr as much anymore, so it’s still connected to his.

F/O List

Likes

Spacecore

Legend of Zelda

Monster Hunter

FNAF: Security Breach

Collecting keychains

Fall/Autumn

Ravoli (lots of pasta is good, but I LOVE ravioli!)

Big sweaters and fluffy hoodies!

Dislikes

Discrimination of all kinds

Gatekeepers

Toxic Masculinity (i have to deal with this a lot)

Summer Heat

Caramel or Artificial banana flavor

Heavy Metal (Mostly Screamers. I’m fine with rock!)

#about me #me 🦇

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fire-emblem-supports · 3 years

Text

CYL5 Predictions & Hopes

I ALMOST FORGOT I USUALLY DO THESE not that i think anyone really cares, but i'd feel weird if i didn't

Expect Three Houses spoilers but also it's been two years man go play the game

Marianne: White Heron Dancer

"I won this garb in a contest five years ago... I still can't believe someone like me won."

I don't know that I consider this particularly likely, but I think it would be more interesting than the sword or magic cav she's likely to get, and it could maybe even break the curse of the red units being the worst, seeing as support units are powercrept at a much slower rate than nukes. This Marianne would be a Sword Flier wielding Blutgang and she would also have the Dance skill. Blutgang gets Beast Fang's effectiveness against dragon and cavalry units and has adaptive damage, but also gets the +4 to all stats from Dancer Berkut's weapon. I think an interesting adaptation of her signature Animal Friend skill would be to allow Beast units to transform when next to her, while also healing 10 HP to herself and all cavalry and flying allies at the start of each turn when she is on a team with two or more cavs/fliers. Letting it heal her allies helps solidify her role as a support unit, though Blutgang and her self-healing means she can be offensive if need be, like Triandra. It would be her B-skill.

For art, I'll put forward Kurahana Chinatsu as decently likely to do either hers or Gatekeeper's, since they like to use the original artists where possible (they didn't last year, but that was probably to avoid showing favoritism to Edelgard, Dimitri, or Claude). I'd lean Marianne is more likely since she's more of a "canon" character. If not, though, Niji Hayashi (Summer Hilda/Marianne, a Marianne Cipher card), Konfuzi Kokon (Faye, Fiora, Marianne's Cipher card as a Dancer), or Fujikawa Akira (Marisa, Celica, Fallen Celica) are all good options.

Gatekeeper: Sworn Protector

"I'll keep this castle safe as long as I'm here, promise! Right now, there's nothing to report!"

Gatekeeper is a bit tough to theorycraft, since there's obviously... not a lot to go off of, lol. I think that, like Brave Lysithea, he'll probably end up with an outfit based on one of the Master Classes, so I'll put forward a version of him that is Axe Cavalry based on the Great Knight class and wielding the Axe of Ukonvasara. The Axe of Ukonvasara is effective against armored foes, heals 10 HP every hit like the Sol Lance, and enables [ Canto (3) ]. Whatever his special skill is called, I predict it being an omni-Save (Near and Far) that grants Atk/Spd/Def/Res+3 when Savior triggers.

Like Marianne, Kurahana Chinatsu is a decent prediction for art, but it's worth noting that Kita Senri is actually the only one who's drawn official art for Gatekeeper (for Cipher) and thus could be considered his "original" artist; I'd personally rather see Kita Senri do Gatekeeper and let Kurahana Chinatsu do Marianne. If neither of them, I'd also like to see Tobi (Azelle, Winter Bernadetta, the Morgans), Asatani Tomoyo (Eirika, Ephraim, Berkut), or lack (Beruka, Silque, Brave Dimitri) try their hand at him.

Eirika: Sacred Twin Lady

"Siegmund and Sieglinde... Twins, like my brother and I."

Eirika is hard to come up with anything interesting for because most good ideas have been taken by her legendary and Anamnesis alts and Ephraim's brave alt. So here's what I got: she's a Lance Cavalry, but she wields both Sieglinde and Siegmund. This grants her weapon triangle advantage against blue foes, but doesn't affect the weapon triangle against red or green foes. So basically:

Vs. Red Foe: Eirika gets +20% damage, foe gets -20% damage

Vs. Blue Foe: Eirika gets +20% damage, foe gets -20% damage

Vs. Green Foe: Eirika gets -20% damage, foe gets +20% damage

Vs. Colorless Foe: no effect

On top of that, she gets the dual-phase Brave effect that is now assumed with dual-wielding characters (like Altina and the ninjas). I'm conflicted on whether or not she could get a third effect since both of those are decently broken, but if she does, it would probably be some combination of Sieglinde/Siegmund's skills.

For art, I can't see it being anyone but Wada Sachiko as her original artist and the artist for Brave Ephraim. If it's somehow not, it'll be Asatani Tomoyo, but... come on, it's gotta be Wada Sachiko.

Marth: Hero Lodestar

"This sacred tome was forged from two of the Fire Emblem's spheres. I wield its guiding light against darkness."

And finally, Marth. I'm honestly a little lost on an outfit for him, but I agree with most people that he'll probably be a Blue Mage Infantry wielding Starlight, which would grant him effectiveness against magic foes as well as Odd/Even Recovery's penalty erasure at the start of the turn. I also think he'll probably come with Fire Emblem, even though it's a little unfair to Eirika. Unique special and assist skills tend to be treated differently, like Brave Micaiah's Sacrifice and Lif's Open the Future.

Like Eirika, I think Marth's art is pretty guaranteed: Daisuke Izuka, as artist for the Shadow Dragon/Mystery remakes and Legendary Marth. If it's somehow not him, it'll probably be Mayo (Groom Marth), Tobi (Resplendent Marth), or (if Eirika doesn't get the art she deserves) Wada Sachiko (normal and Young Marth). Maiponpon (Lucina and Masked Marth) or Kozaki Yusuke (Brave Lucina) are also decent possibilities. I'd personally prefer Tobi, Wada Sachiko, or Kozaki Yusuke, but... come on, just let it be Daisuke Izuka.

That's all I got. Once again, I think basically anything for these units would be fine. The biggest travesty would be if Marth just gets Falchion like how they screwed over Alm, and I'd personally be a little upset if Gatekeeper was an armor unit without any movement shenanigans, but generally speaking I doubt any of these characters will get anything too terribly disappointing, and I'm sure art will be fine no matter what. Can't wait for Bravekeeper!

#not a support #nutty theories #choose your legends #cyl5

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years

Text

S.T. REWRITE - S2:E9; Chapter Nine, The Gate - [Pt. 2]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

The survivors turn up the heat on the monstrous force that's holding Will hostage, and Y/n's powers are put to the ultimate test in the process. Eleven makes plans to finish what she started.

A/n: **PEAK** Mama Steve here. Don't forget to get him something nice next Mothers day, okay?

||3rd Person POV||

"It's not like it was before," Hopper recounts to the rallied group in the kitchen. "It's grown."

He leans against the counter, everyone is packed inside the kitchen with him. The majority circle the table but everyone is listening intently regardless as Hopper continues.

"A lot. And, I mean, that's considering we can get in there. The place is crawling with those dogs."

"Demodogs." Dustin quickly corrects.

Lucas and Y/n meet eyes and shake their heads in matching disbelief. Somewhat dramatically, Y/n rolls her eyes and drops her forehead on top of Lucas's shoulder in exhaustion. She shakes her head and he chuckles weakly and noiselessly down at her before they return their attention to an equally aggravated Hopper.

"I'm sorry," he says flatly. "what?"

"I said, uh, Demodogs. Like Demogorgan and dogs. Like, you put them together, its sounds pretty badass--"

"How is this important right now?" Hopper demands, cutting him off.

"It's not. I'm sorry," Dustin mumbled.

El speaks up, looking directly at Hopper knowing he might resist her statement.

"I can do it."

Hopper and Mike share a brief and subtle look before Hopper shakes his head at her protectively.

"You're not hearing me."

Never blinking, her eyebrows raised in a challenging manner right back at the man.

"I'm hearing you. I can do it."

"Even if El can," Mike cuts in, looking around the room. "there's still another problem. If the brain dies, the body dies."

"I thought that was the whole point," Max asks.

"It is, but if we're really right about this... I mean, if El closes the gate and kills the Mind Flayer's army..."

"Will's apart of that army." Lucas finishes.

Mike nods gravely. "Closing the gate will kill him."

A heavy silence befalls the room, and soon all are wearing the same grave and fearful expression as Mike. All apart from Joyce Byers, who's eyes sit wide and her heart racing.

She had an idea.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Everyone follows her closely into Jonathan's bedroom where Will slept. She looks at his sleeping form. He was completely on top of the blankets, as he had been sleeping the past few nights. The final pieces click into place when her eyes trail to the open window. The curtain dances in the air as a steady stream of chilly autumn air was being pumped into the room.

"He likes it cold." She mutters.

Hopper looks on in confusion between Joyce and Will. "What?"

"That's what Will kept saying to me," Joyce mutters. "He likes it cold."

She marches across the room and shuts the window without hesitation. She turns to the others, agitated.

"We keep giving it what it wants."

Nancy nods in thought.

"If this is a virus, and Will's the host, then..."

"Then we need to make the host uninhabitable," Jonathan confirms.

"So if he likes it cold..."

"We need to burn it out of him." Joyce nods.

Several hearts spiked at the conclusion, but none more so than a certain individual lingering at the edge of the group. Her mind had been racing at inordinate speeds as they developed their theory. Her mouth ran bone dry, and her throat felt like sandpaper. But much like El just minutes ago, she knew that despite the risks, she had to what she had to do.

She steps forward into view, catching everyone's eye, looking to Will sadly. The state he was in was enough to assure her of her decision, to put to rest any lingering unease. She eyes Hopper and Joyce, and with a definitive nod, Y/n speaks.

"I think I can help with that."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The house was now completely abuzz with activity as everyone prepares. Will's sleeping form - now wrapped in the Byers' warmest and thickest blanket - was now being carried outside by an urgent Hopper.

"Take Denfield, then you'll see a large oak tree." He orders to Jonathan quickly.

After a brief, but hefty catchup on Y/n's developed abilities - a conversation that rose many questions, and was news to some - the final details of their plan began to fall into place.

"Sweetie, what are you saying?" Joyce had asked.

Her, Jonathan and Nancy were the last to receive the shocking news of her origins. Hopper only asked one question, and it did not surprise Y/n as to why seeing as he had discovered and previously possessed the Missing Experiment files.

"You're the one they were looking for all those years, aren't you?"

Y/n nodded and pulled out the files from her jacket again. She handed them to him and he examined the folder in surprise. It quickly evaporated before he returned his gaze - and the files - to the girl, nodding.

"I always wondered, but I thought it was too big of a coincidence." He mumbled.

Y/n shrugged weakly, with a hint of a deflated smile. "Guess not."

Now the matter at hand was getting Will somewhere he wouldn't be able to recognize.

Hence their trip to Hopper's cabin.

It was decided fairly quickly they would need to split up. Groups were formed even quicker. Y/n would go with the Byers to Hopper's cabin, where hopefully they would be able to smoke the Mind Flayer out of Will. This group was inappropriately but rather aptly named by Dustin as the MacNeil Team after his favorite horror film, the Exorcist. But not without some hurried scolding from his sister.

Dustin, that is literally the least important thing right now!

Hopper would be escorting El to the gate so she could close it once and for all. Another group coined by Dustin, as the Gatekeepers. Dude! And the rest would remain stationed at the Byers home, on-call should either group need assistance. And much to everyone's great agitation, Dustin declared them the Brady Bunch.

"You're gonna swing a right. That road is gonna dead-end," he continues. "And it's about a five-minute walk from there."

Hopper lowers Will into the now open car, Jonathan gripping the edge of the door tightly as he runs through the checklist in his brain.

"Okay. Denfield to oak tree. Swing a right." He repeats, nodding. "That's it. But it's channel ten, right?"

Jonathan swings the door closed, and Hopper nods, placing his hand on the kid's shoulder.

"It's channel ten. Listen," he pants, still out of breath from the sudden rush of things. "You let me know when that thing is out of him."

Jonathan manages a nod, and Hopper stalks off. He shifts around to face the car, and peered inside he sees his brother. He looked so fragile, but it was also threatening knowing what was inside him. A great sigh escapes Jonathan and he pulls his hand down his face in a nervous manner. Before tearing his gaze away to help the others prepare, he makes a silent promise to his sleeping brother.

'We won't give up, Will. I promise.'

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Two shaky beams of light skitter across the pile of discarded things in the Byers backyard. They grow larger and larger until Nancy and Steve stand at the edge and begin fishing through the storage, flashlights in hand. Crickets and the sound of the wind snaking through the trees nearby fill the silence created by the two. Finally, Steve speaks without meeting her eye.

"You should go with him,"

Nancy looks up at Steve questionably. "What?"

"With Jonathan," Steve replies.

He's now kneeling beside the heap, his eyes are hollow as he holds the bundle of Christmas lights from the previous year. His mind is flooded with chilling memories.

"No, I'm," Nancy scoffs lightly. "I'm not just gonna leave Mike."

Steve dropped the heavy bundle of lights, rises to his feet, and nears Nancy. His eyes spotting a useful contraption among the clutter.

"No one's leaving anyone." He assures simply.

Seeing it too, she pulls a large summer fan by the handle and holds it up, allowing Steve to dig for the heater buried beneath it. He pulls it from the heap and smiles sadly, though a hint of pride in his voice as he thinks of his brief time with the kids.

"I may be a pretty shitty boyfriend, but..." he laughs weakly, his smile still lingering. "turns out I'm actually a pretty damn good babysitter."

He hands her the heater and she takes it reluctantly, her gaze finds his bittersweet stare. The guilt she had previously shelved in the past few days returns and all she can find herself saying is his name.

"Steve..."

His tone matches his eyes, and he shakes his head softly. "It's okay, Nance."

"It's okay." He reassures her.

She wracks her brain for the words, but by the time she manages a syllable, he's already walking away. Nancy watches sadly, his words bouncing around her mind as she watches him disappear into the house, leaving her with nothing but the heater and her thoughts.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Just be careful, alright?" Mike pleas. "I can't lose you again."

El shakes her head definitively and gazes up into Mike's wide and glassy eyes. The ones that had always made her heart flutter.

"You won't lose me."

The last of the preparations had been made, and everyone had begun to split up, not without plenty of heartfelt goodbyes, Mike and El among the last.

Mike's cheeks are already pink from crying, and she watches sadly as a single glossy tear streaks down his face. She can hear the sadness in his voice, and her grip on his hands tighten in a reassuring and gentle squeeze.

"Do you promise?" He croaks.

El swallows the lump in her throat and puts on a sad smile.

"Promise."

Their eyes lingered on one another and as they both so longed for during their time apart. Slowly, they drew closer, their eyes flickering to one another's lips.

And all too quickly the moment ended at the sound of Hopper's perfectly timed voice.

"El," took a puff from his cigarette, his eyes glazing over Mike's in a warning. "Come on, let's go. It's time."

With a deep and shaky breath, she turns back to look at Mike. They share a sorrowful and understanding nod filled with a thousand promises.

They would see each other again.

Tentatively she backs away, not wanting to part from Mike any more than he did and that's when she spots Y/n on the front porch. She was locked in a bone-crushing hug with Dustin, who didn't seem to want to let her go. His eyes were squeezed shut and his hat was pushed up higher against his head as he tucked himself further into the hug, and she saw his lips moving as he spoke something to her. No doubt words of encouragement and pleas to come back safe.

El smiled sadly.

"El, what is it?" Mike followed her eyes over his shoulder, and his face hardened a bit.

El tore her eyes away from the tearful siblings - feeling quite tearful herself - and back at Mike. Her thumb stroked the back of his palm lightly, bringing his attention back to her.

"Mike..."

His lips were still pressed into a firm line, but he eases immediately when he saw El. "Yeah?"

"Try to understand,"

"Understand what?"

"She was keeping you safe."

Mike searched her eyes, not quite knowing how to react.

"Because I made her promise."

Mike bit his lip in thought, his emotions battling one another. El saw this and squeezed his palms once more before locking her gaze with his to assure her word.

"'Mike needs to know'"

"Huh?"

"That's what she told me. When she saw me. She wanted you to know."

Mike looked taken aback, and timidly he looked over his shoulder once more at his friend. She pulled away from Dustin, a sad and sniveling smile on her face before she sensed eyes on her. She turned her head to find Mike looking at her, and for a moment she didn't know how to react. She just waited to gauge his reaction before offering him a weak smile. He looked back at El before the moment could dwell any longer.

"El," It was Hopper, he was now climbing into the truck. "Come on."

She returns her gaze to Mike one final time and nods before departing. Mike feels the presence of his friends collecting behind him in front of the porch. They all watch with a worried stare as their friends and loved ones pile inside their respective vehicles. Nancy climbs into the front seat with Jonathan, El does the same with Hopper. Y/n, meanwhile, joins Joyce in the backseat of Jonathan's car to be with Will. With sinking hearts, they watch as they disappear down the driveway and into the night. Unable to do anything but hope they will see one another again.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

El's head rests against the seat as she watches the trees fly by her window. Neither her nor Hopper have spoken a word since they left the house, but Hopper quickly changes things.

"So, what? We just not gonna talk about it?"

Without leaving the seat, her head lazily rolls across her shoulders to face Hopper. "About what?"

Hopper shrugs halfheartedly. "Oh, I don't know, just curious why all the sudden you look like some kind of MTV punk."

El looks back at the scenery, not answering and Hopper continues.

"I'm not mad, kid, I just wanna know where you've been... That's all."

Hopper spares a few moments away from the road to look at her, gauging for a reaction then she finally speaks.

"To see Mama."

His head snapped back to the road in shock, his heart plummeting and guilt swept over him. It's quiet for another moment as he processes this, and he speaks again his voice is gentle and listening.

"Okay...?"

Silence.

"How'd you get there?"

"A truck." She answers.

His heart leaps into his throat, and he does a double-take. He tries to suppress his onslaught of emotions, knowing he can't let his worry for her fester into anger again. As best as he can, he tries to remain calm.

"A truck?"

She looks at him. "A big truck."

Jesus, this wouldn't be easy.

"A big truck? Whose truck was it?"

Her answer did not calm him in the slightest.

"A man's."

"A man's?"

"A nice man."

His mouth hangs open in a small gasp as he tries to process the information, his head, all the while whipping back and forth between her and the road.

"Okay. So let me just get this straight in my head, so a nice man in a big truck drove you to see your Mama, and then what? Your Aunt Becky gave you those clothes and that make-up?"

El ponders this for a moment, her mind returning to her interaction with Y/n just days ago. And without tearing her eyes away from the road, she wonders aloud.

"Nobody likes trucks. Why?"

Hopper finds himself bewildered at her comment.

"Wh-? Why does everyone hate trucks? Whatya mean, kid?"

"Y/n. She didn't want to ride with the nice man." She finally looks at Hopper. "She said he might hurt us,"

He eyes her cautiously. He had no previous reason to believe anything had happened to her, and he firmly believed she could have kicked his ass had anything happened. But he had to ask! He still cared about her, and that kind of shit left a lot of baggage.

"Well... he didn't, did he?" He asked gently.

Almost offended, but quite confused as to why no one trusted her or the nice man who helped her, she frowned. She was growing quite agitated, didn't anyone understand the term 'nice man'?

"No." She answered shortly.

"Good," he mumbled, glad that part of the conversation was over. He cleared his throat. "Well, Y/n was still right El, that's very dangerous."

"Why?"

He sighed, taking one hand off the wheel to rake down his face anxiously. It drops into his lap, and he thinks for a moment and glances at her, shaking his head.

"That's a discussion for another time," Another car passes them during their silence, the headlights jumping from Hopper's face to El's and he sighs. "So Y/n came with you to see your Mama?"

No answer. She just stared out of the window.

"'Kay, well those files of hers were at home, so I can only assume you found them and gave them to her? Maybe that's when you two left with the," he sighs deeply. "the 'nice man'?"

Again, no answer.

"Again, kid, I'm... I'm not mad," he tries not to choke on his words. Without his eyes leaving the road, he shrugs, the lump in his throat growing. "I just worry about you... 's all."

He sighs again, and for a few minutes, the car is filled with silence again. The only sounds filling the car is the hum of the engine and the occasional rush as cars zoom by in the other lane. He is surprised when she is the next to speak.

"I..." And then he feels her wide brown eyes on him, her voice is raspy showing she is trying not to cry. "I shouldn't have left."

"Mmm-mmm," he mumbles. "No..."

She feels her gut sink and twist at what she assumes is his agreement with her. He sounds disappointed. And it hurts her. But what she doesn't realize yet is he feels the same. And even though she speaks the words he had been looking for just days ago, they strike daggers into his heart now and all he knows now is regret.

What shocks her is when he continues, he shakes his head in great disappointment, but it is not in her.

"no, this isn't on you kid. I should have been there."

Her lips part slightly in shock, her throat grows sore as she fights back tears but already one is already threatening to spill.

"I should have never lied to you about your Mama... Or about when you could leave."

Her hollow gaze is now fixed on the road as she processes his words as he speaks them.

"There's a lot of things I shouldn't have done."

Her eyes fall to her lap, her heart is pounding faster as the minutes march on, but still, she listens, entranced. His voice is genuine and hoarse.

"Sometimes I feel like..." he stops to fight the tears threatening to spill, years of suppressed heartbreak rushing back to the surface at once. "Like I'm just some kind of black hole, or something."

Her eyes are as foggy as is, but she manages to look at him and speak clearly enough. "Black hole?"

A silent tear breaks through the dam and cascades down her cheek as he answers, unaware.

"Yeah, it's a, you know it's this thing in outer space... it sucks everything towards it and destroys it. Sarah had a picture book about outer space, she loved it." He sniffled.

"Who's Sarah?"

"Sarah?"

He does another double-take, surprised at himself for not sharing that fact of his life sooner with her. Especially since she had reminded him of her all too well and in the nicest ways. He's suddenly aware of the blue band around his wrist again, something of Sarah's he never, ever took off.

A small smile of pride twists his lips, but it's been touched by sadness.

"Sarah's my girl. She's my little girl."

El saw the sadness in his eyes, and as she spoke the words aloud she feared she knew his answer.

"Where is she?"

"Well, that's kind of the thing, kid. She, uh," he says sadly, taking a brief moment to glance up at the stars. The things she loved most. "She left us."

"Gone?" El choked on the word.

"Yeah," he nods. "the black hole... It got her. And somehow... I've just been scared, ya know?"

Another tear escapes her eye, and she feels her head being pulled towards Hopper at what he says next.

"I've just been scared that it would take you too."

He begins to choke up again, and she sees that his eyes are welling with tears.

"And I think that's why I get..." his voice goes away for a moment, and he shakes his head trying to will it back through his tears. "so mad. I'm so sorry. For everything. I can be so... so..."

"Stupid?"

They both crack a smile, and their chuckles break through the air and warm their hearts, melting away the last of the remaining tension and hard feelings. Hopper shakes his head, and on his face sits a wide grin he finds hard to shake.

"Yeah," he laughs. "Stupid. Just really stupid."

Her eyes fall from his smile to the hand that still sits in his lap, and she reaches over to intertwine it with her own small hand. She smiles weakly.

"I've been stupid, too."

"I guess we broke our rule," he chimes, making her smile. "I don't hate it by the way."

His hand gives hers a quick and gentle squeeze before taking it away to gesture to her outfit.

"This whole," he fights a smile. "look."

She looks down at her new outfit and the small sense of pride from before returns. Hopper's hand returns to the wheel, and he smirks at the road, trying not to sound too much like a cheesy dad.

"It's kinda... cool."

The warmth in El's chest spreads, and she finds a grin creeping up on her face at the new word she had taken a liking too.

She nods.

"Bitchin."

The grin on Hopper's face stretched wider, a feat he did not previously think to be possible. He nods, trying hard not chuckle, not wanting her to confuse his happiness as amusement.

"Okay, sure," His grin stretched nearly to his ears. "Bitchin."

No sooner did he speak the word - his eyebrows shooting up in an amused manner now with every intention of being a cheesy and embarrassing dad - did El burst into a quiet fit of laughter. She looked away, wiping the tear away from her cheek but utterly unable to rid herself of her beaming smirk.

El couldn't recall a time she had felt this happy, this hopeful - this at home - in a long time. And neither could Hopper. Even with the frightening and strenuous task before them, they couldn't quite shake the smile off their faces even if they wanted to. And for the first time since he had taken her in all those months ago, they finally felt at home with one another.

Both of them were the missing family they had been looking for.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Alright," Dustin pants, swiping at his nose. "He-It should fit."

Steve stands across the kitchen with a deadpan look on his face and a dead Demodog wrapped in a blanket in his arms. Dustin had just finished dumping the contents of the freezer onto the floor, shelf and all, so they could store the corpse temporarily.

"This really necessary?" Steve asks.

"Yes, it is. Okay, this is a groundbreaking scientific discovery. We can't just bury it like some common mammal, okay? It's not a dog!"

Steve's eyes widen briefly, mumbling a 'yeesh' under his breath as he steps towards the fridge.

"Alright, alright," He sends a scornful look at Dustin as the boy steps aside. "But you're explaining this to Mrs. Byers, alright?"

In one swift motion, he swings the dead weight up onto the ledge, but it struggles to fit. It's limp petal-like jowls scrape against the rim of the freezer and when its pulled back, several thick layers of slime remain stitched between it and the fridge. Steve grimaces as he tries to maneuver the Demodog in with little luck, and with disgust still obvious in his voice, he calls out to Dustin over his shoulder.

"Help me out, would ya?!"

After a great deal of shoving, and a whole lot of arguing the boys had managed to close the fridge door with the creature inside. They both sigh, staring at the fridge once again wondering how things had turned out this way. Steve brings up one hand and places it on top of Dustin's head, and ruffles his hat into curls before stalking off.

In the living room, Max knelt before the pile of broken glass where the window had shattered. Using a dustpan and brush she had managed to find lying around, she set to work cleaning up the glass, less no one gets hurt, hoping it would keep her mind somewhat occupied. Lucas had soon joined her with a broom he had remembered being in the kitchen and wasted no time in helping. The silence was much more tolerable in each other's company. Though Mike was no help to their nerves, his footsteps echoed around their skulls non-stop as he paced.

"Mike, would you just stop already?" Lucas breaks.

Mike turned to his friend, his face hard as stone with worry.

"You weren't in there, okay Lucas? That lab is swarming with hundreds of those dogs."

Dustin's voice carries across the house from the kitchen. "Demodogs!"

Mike rolls his eyes, what little patience he had wearing wafer-thin.

"The Chief will take care of her!" Lucas assures.

Max rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath. "Yeah, like she needs protection."

"Listen," Steve said joining the conversation, Dustin lingering by his side as he dries his hands with a rag. "If the coach calls a play, bottom line, you gotta execute it, alright?"

"Okay, first of all, this isn't some stupid sports game," Mike retorts. "And second, we're not even in the game, we're on the bench."

"Ri-uh-we-" Steve stammers. "So my point is,"

The kids all stare at him expectantly, but he just stares off into space as he tries to find the words that never come. Finally, he nods.

"Right, yeah. We're on the bench, so, uh, nothing we can do." He stated, throwing his used dishrag over his shoulder.

"That's not entirely true," Dustin says hopefully, grabbing everyone's attention. "I think these Demodogs, they have a hive mind. And when they ran away from the bus, they were called away."

Lucas spoke up excitedly, latching onto Dustin's thinking.

"So if we get their attention,"

"Maybe we can draw them away from the lab," Max adds.

"And clear a path to the gate!" Mike concluded.

Steve folds his arms, growing more anxious as they grow excited.

"Yeah and we all die!"

"Well, that's one point of view," Dustin argued.

Mike's eyes grew wide as the gears in his brain began to turn, and hurriedly he stalked off passed a bickering Steve and Dustin.

"No, dude, that's not a point of view, that's a fact," he corrected in what was almost a concerned tone.

"I got it!" Mike called, drawing the others after him into the kitchen.

They find him kneeling in front of the fridge, he points feverishly to the large open spot on the map.

"This is where the Chief dug his hole, this is our way into the tunnel!"

Suddenly he jumps back up to his feet and scurries over to where the hall meets the living room.

"Here, right here!" The others catch up and pool around his sides as he points to the large blue spot beneath his feet. "This is like a hub. See where all the tunnels feed into here?"

He drops to his knees, his eyes widen as the plan begins to solidify as he speaks and he gestures around the map excitedly. "Maybe if we set this on fire--"

"Uh, yeah, that's a NO," Steve scolds, completely appalled. And ignored.

"The Mind Flayer would call away his army!" Dustin chimes.

"They'd all come to stop us!"

"Hey!" Steve tries, growing far more worried.

No was listening. Not to him. They all kept feeding into one another's ideas.

"We circle back to the exit-"

"-guys?" Steve chuckles nervously.

"-by the time they realize we're gone..."

"-hEY?"

"El will be at the gate!"

"HEY! HEY!" Steve shouts, even clapping his hands to get their attention.

Finally, though, it works. They all turn around to find him glaring at them with his hands rested on his hips, the dishrag still hung over his shoulder. His eyes are wild with panic and he wags his finger at the map and at them, shaking his head.

"This is not happening."

"But-"

"No, no, no, no!" He rebukes. "No 'buts'! Listen, I promised I'd keep you shitheads safe and that's exactly what I plan on doing,"

Max rolls her head back in annoyance and Lucas sighs as he scolds them.

"We're staying here, on the bench, and we're waiting for the starting team to do their job. Does everybody understand that?"

"This isn't a stupid sports game!" Mike whines.

Steve rips the rag off his shoulder and jabs it in Mike's direction, seething. "I said does everybody understand that?"

Nobody answers.

"I need a yes," he demands.

Still, nobody answers. Mike merely glares at the floor, Max stares boredly at the ceiling, Lucas looks at Steve weirdly, and Dustin just gives him the same deadpan and unimpressed stare he gave earlier.

He's about to say something, his fuse dangerously short when suddenly the obnoxious sound of an engine revving in distance pulls everyone's attention to the living room window. Everyone seems confused at first, except for Max whose face immediately drains of all color.

She races to the window, having heard that sound far too many times in her life for it to be a coincidence. She jumps on the couch and has to crouch a bit to look outside the of the window, but it's unmistakable.

She feels the cushions shift beneath her and a presence beside her, it was Lucas who was the next and only other person to catch on as to what it might be. They watch in horror as a bright pair of headlights approach the house at an alarming rate, and Max knows she has no more time to gape.

"It's my brother," she chokes out. "H-He can't know I'm here, he'll kill me!"

Her wide and fearful blue eyes meet Lucas's, and he recognizes at once she worries just as much for him. Sure enough, she speaks confirming his suspicions.

"He'll kill us."

Steve's head shoots up at her words, his heart thumping. He knew exactly who her brother was, the guy who seemed a little too obsessed with "taking his title" at school. Something about him was off-putting to Steve. But what scared him was the fear in the kids' eyes and her words of course. He had no trouble believing her, and he knew with absolute certainty these kids were in danger.

His eyes flew to the door, knowing what he had to do.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · CONTINUE FIGHTING FOR BLACK LIVES. BLACK LIVES MATTER. BLACK LIVES ARE PRECIOUS. BLACK LIVES ARE BEAUTIFUL.

"We've got to make noises in greater amounts! So, open your mouth, lad! For every voice counts!" - Dr. Suess

Helpful links:

NATIONAL ACTION AGAINST POLICE BRUTALITY! PROSECUTE POLICE WHO MURDER UNARMED INDIVIDUALS! [petition]

"THEREFORE, PETITION IS MADE BEFORE THE ATTORNEY GENERAL OF THE UNITED STATES TO NOT ONLY ACT ON BEHALF OF THE PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES, BUT TO FULFILL THE OBLIGATIONS OF THE OFFICE - FOR WHICH HE OR SHE HAS "SWORN AN OATH" TO FULFILL UPON OCCUPANCY!"

[Link]

Pardon Black Woman Imprisoned for Voting

"Crystal hadn’t originally planned to vote in the 2016 presidential elections, but after her mother reminded her how important it was, she decided to do so to set a good example for her children. For that, she is now facing 5 years or more in prison."

[Link]

Black Lives Matter masterlist of links

"I've provided several links to sites you can donate to & sign petitions in regards to BLM + each link provides info on the topic PLEASE VISIT THESE SITES AND DONATE WHAT YOU CAN"

[Link]

+++

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#stranger things #stranger things rewrite #will byers x reader #reader insert #y/n henderson #dustin henderson #will byers #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #el hopper #max mayfield #billy hargrove #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #joyce byers #jim hopper #stranger things 2 #the gate

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adamantiumdragonfly · 4 years

Note

happy trivia tuesday!! 💛 i hope you are doing well!! i’m here for the lieblings :)) anything you want to say about them i’m open! any sorta info you want to just throw out there for us, personalities, moodboards, what they’re like, motivations, stuff like that!!! thank!

Ahhh the LIEBLINGS.....

I'm ready.

Their story, The Gatekeeper, will entail some one shots. Some structured chapters. And a whole of sibling insanity. It will range from 1950s to the early 1970s, since I will be tackling the Vietnam War.

Let's introduce them, actually. Since y'all haven't met the whole set.

Joseph "Jay" Lewis Carroll-Liebgott: Born in 1948, Jay was especially close with his mother, a promise that the war was really over and Virginia was still there. A quiet and shy type, he surprised the family when he enlisted in the army in 1968, wanting to serve in the Airborne. Like his father.

Nathan Richard Carroll-Liebgott has been wrecking havoc since 1951. The favorite of Miriam and Allen, he spent many summers in Chicago, discovering more than a few family secrets. This didn't deter him from serving, if he hadn't been drafted at the age of eighteen, Nate would have joined up on his own. He served as a medic in the 173rd Airborne 2nd battalion with his brother, Jay.

Dorothy Georgia Carroll-Liebgott was born on her namesake's birthday, in 1954.

The third female of the Goldschmidt -Carroll-Liebgott lineage, her future was set before she could walk. While her brothers had fought their war in the west, Dorothy turned to the east and back to her grandmother's homeland, which is divided and unstable. Dorothy has reached the culmination of her family's scars and she has been left to fight their demons.

#Dorothy Carroll Liebgott #the gate keeper #flora skye writes #flora skye ask

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ddaenggtan · 5 years

Text

from eden | myg + jhs

you've been in the dark a long time, overworked and exhausted. the only bright point is your gatekeeper, hoseok, your closest friend and the man you love but can't have. you've accepted that loneliness is inevitable for you. when a voice calls to you, though, and moves you so deeply that you rip open the earth to help them, you meet a mint-haired boy that changes everything you thought you knew about your prison. | monsters and gods pt 1 (masterlist)

pairing | yoongi x reader x hoseok

genre/warnings | greek god au, hades!reader, thanatos!hoseok, persephone!yoongi, fluff, angst, smut, mild depictions of violence, mentions of blood (well, blood equivalent, bc gods), pining, depictions of abusive parenting, v v brief panic attack (seriously, I don’t go into a ton of detail, but it’s enough, pls don’t read this if that triggers you at all), love triangle (kind of), polyamory, , mutual masturbation, oral (female receiving), face-sitting, fingering, dick-riding, double penetration, unprotected sex (gods can't get sti's but u can! Wrap it b4 u tap it!), creampie, everyone hates Zeus but what's new, demeter sucks and is the literal worst

word count | 15.6k | cross posted to ao3 monsters and gods masterlis

a/n | hello! i’ve renamed this fic at least ten times, but it’s here!! the first part of monsters and gods!!! i keep seeing hades!yoongi (who i LOVE, don’t get me wrong, seriously you should check out @/seokoloqy’s hades yoongi fics because they’re PHENOM) and while I love hades yoongs, I also keep seeing him in flower crowns and being soft and sweet and, as we know by now, I am ultimately a slut for soft bangtan. so this happened. and then i thought ‘wow this mc is dark af i need some contrast here’ and that’s how thanatos hobi happened, also i couldn’t stop thinking of his Judgement Face, which is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and how fast he switches between that and his smile, plus.....sope, I mean. c’mon. sope. and then it all kinda spiraled into a whole series of fics, only one other of which is even started tho its close to being finished whoops lmao so yeah!!!! pls tell me what u think, i’m not used to writing angst at all, so it may not be suuuuuuper prevalent in this, but i tried!!! also i really recommend listening to hozier while you read it bc i had his first album on repeat while writing it and from eden fits this pretty well imo!!!

It's dark when you open your eyes. You've spent so long down here, you're used to it, but the shadows always seem to make the air colder than it should be. Though you suppose the land of the dead isn't supposed to be warm.

You stretch and wince at the crick in your spine. Another night sitting at your desk, greek fire burning through the hours so that you can scratch away at the papers in front of you. Your siblings always enjoy doing whatever they want, using mortals and throwing them away however they please, cleaning up after each other whenever they can spare the time.

No one ever seems to think about you, nor do they remember the chaos up top only worsens your constant migraines.

No, instead they start their wars and slaughter their enemies and are absolutely oblivious about the fact that the Meadow is at 80% capacity as it is, with more souls arriving each day. Thanatos did well at his job, as did Charon, and you were always sure to be thankful to them, but you wish, not for the first time, that there was someone - anyone - to help with your work.

Your brothers have the naiads, the winds, and the lesser gods to help them with their oceans and skies. Gods of vengeance and retribution help with war, while the fertility goddesses and the muses aid the lovelorn.

And yet here you are, still alone after all these years. Millenia, you've been stuck down here, forced to live out your days in the cold darkness and manage the dead mortals. You've always been introverted, even before you drew lots with your siblings, but never like this. You've tried to leave, of course; at first making short visits to Olympus or the mortal realm, just to speak to another living soul again, someone else who understands what it's like to be trapped in your own life. It seems like every time you came back, though, the underworld had gotten smaller and smaller, nearly suffocating you in an attempt to keep its claws in your skin. And then, of course, came the curse.

You haven't felt the sun on your skin in nearly a thousand years, and while you've always been one for the shade, you miss it. You miss the smell of the flowers in the temples, you miss the sound of the river as it babbles past, you want to feel the warm summer breeze ruffle your hair as you stand in the middle of a marketplace. You're tired of the Fields, you're bored of walking the streets of Elysium with the weight of their stares at your back, sick of standing at the steps to the Isles and wondering if it is, truly, euphoric and if any mortal would ever find out. You don't wear your sandals around the palace anymore; you don't want to hear the footsteps echo. It's just a reminder that you are, truly, alone.

Even the other deities in the Underworld have stopped calling on you. The aura that surrounds you is enough to wilt most any plant, unnerve most every animal, and the gods are no exception. The only exceptions are Hecate, who makes it her personal mission to bribe you into visiting the Meadow if only for a moment, and Thanatos when he can slip away for longer than a moment to distract you from your work. They rarely succeed, but it's the thought that counts, you suppose.

You muse on this as you walk, bare feet skimming lightly over the soil of the Meadow as you make your way to the Gates. You could probably just shadow-walk, if you wanted, you do enjoy giving your Thanatos a fright, but you figure the walk would do you good. There’s no one to bother you as go, thankfully. The dead wander aimlessly around you. There's no acknowledgment as you pass; there's never any recognition of anything in the Meadow, the price mortals pay for being so utterly inconsequential and mundane.

You smile when you see that your friend is busy, and you give a silent command to Cerberus not to alert the man to your presence. The dog whines a little, but sits back on his haunches, shaking the ground as he does so. You're silent as you move up behind the judge.

"You wanted me to tell you my judgment and I have," Hoseok says firmly. "You could have gone straight to the Asphodel Meadow and existed in relative peace for eternity, and instead you request a hearing, and then have the gall to question my decision?" You grimace slightly; perhaps putting Hoseok in charge of judging the souls was not the best idea, but he has yet to be wrong about someone.

"Please, sir," The mortal whimpers. He's on his knees, suit crumpled and dirty where he sits. "I was only doing what I thought was best, please, surely that matters."

"You used children!" Hoseok says in shock. "As slaves! It's 2019 and you had nearly a hundred seven-year-olds sewing clothes together in a cramped warehouse with one bathroom. You seriously expect me to give you leniency because you thought that was best?"

"Their families would have starved without that money," The mortal says. He's on the verge of tears, which has always made you uncomfortable, so you stay hidden for now. "I kept them all fed and safe, didn't I? What would they have done without me? Gone to work in some factory, with dangerous machines and cruel managers, whipped every time they needed to eat?"

"You used children as nearly free labor, barely allowed them time to piss, fed them once every twelve hours, and you expect that to be okay because they could’ve had it worse," Hoseok says. Disgust drips from his voice and you’re inclined to agree with the sentiment. "I respect your opinion, but you are to be punished for your deeds fittingly." Hoseok snaps and two of the Bones come over. These two are in desert camo, one barely tall enough to be an adult judging by the skeletal build, but their grip is unforgiving as they cart the mortal off to the Fields. You don’t even need to mold together a punishment for him; the warehouse you sent others who’d done the same wasn’t quite crowded enough yet.

"Well, that was fun," You call, and delight at the way Hoseok jumps nearly a foot in the air. He glares at you as he turns and you don't bother to hide the smirk on your face. "Child slavery, huh? In this day and age?"

Hoseok tsks. "I know we used to allow some crazy shit back in the old days, but you'd think that people would know better by now. Using children like that, kids…” He trails off, still fuming, and you nod.

“I know.” You pull a piece of lint off his suit with a wrinkle of your nose. “You made the right decision if it helps.”

“I know I did,” He says with a smirk. “I always do.” You roll your eyes and turn away from him, watching the lines of souls head through the gates to their eternal blandness. It's the best way to hide the flush he brings to your cheeks. “What brings you out here, though? Aren’t you supposed to be doing something important?”

“Don’t I wish,” You mutter. “All I’ve got to do is figure out how to expand the realm again without Zeus’ approval.”

“Wait, he didn’t approve the expansion?” You shake your head and step closer to where Cerberus is laying, all three heads focused entirely on you as you rub his middle nose. “Where does he think we’re going to put all of the souls, up your ass?”

“Clearly,” You spit.

“I know it’s not exactly great down here and that they would all rather be thrown into the Pit than visit, but they need to sometimes. If only to see what it’s like. I mean, honestly, what do they expect us to do, just toss everyone in the Meadow and call it a day until there are so many that they’re tripping into Elysium? What the f-”

“Thanatos,” You say quietly, and Hoseok stops. It’s not often that you call him by his title rather than his name, preferring the familiarity of his friendship over the detachment of your positions. “Even here, the gods have ears. You know better than to criticize them like that.”

He huffs but nods his head. You press a kiss to Cerb’s middle nose and coo at him until he starts wagging his tail. When you turn back around, Hoseok is stumbling to keep his balance on the shaking ground. You laugh, which he does not appreciate, but before he can say anything in his defense, another soul is escorted to him by a Bones. The guy is already pleading with Hoseok, who’s returned to the stony mask he usually wears. The silver aura that surrounds him always brings you comfort, reminding you of the moonlight that bathes the surface world, but it has turned colder and is as deadly as mercury. You envy the way he can switch back and forth between his professional mask and the bright, loving man you know; if only it were that easy for you. Without so much as a wave, you weave the shadows around you once more, ignoring the soul's cries to you for mercy, and let yourself disappear into the darkness.

When you emerge from the shadows, you settle at the base of your garden tree. The only living thing that would grow down here, the sole reminder of the world above. Its branches show that it should be close to the harvest soon, maybe a month away at the most. You reach up, weaving through the darkness to pluck a pomegranate from the tree. You don't even like pomegranates anymore, you think as you inspect it. Ripe, juicy, and utterly disgusting; the gods' idea of a joke. The thing that brought about your isolation, your solitude, yet it continues to be the only thing that grows in this wasteland.

You laugh bitterly before tossing the fruit up in the air, letting it fly through the shadows to land beside Hoseok, whatever he's doing. He always appreciates your little gifts, the only real thing you can do to show that you aren't cross with him and are glad for the work he does. He's long been stuck here with you, but the fruit doesn't turn to bile on his tongue the way it does yours. Perhaps the willingness he had that first time made a difference.

Please.

You glance around, looking for the voice that suddenly echoes around you. It's soft, a memory of a whisper. It's not rare for you to hear the voices of the dead in your realm, but this is different. This one strikes you to your core, for this…

This one sounds hopeful.

The prayers that make their way to you are never hopeful. They are sad or angry or scared, always filled with tears and regret and more than a little hesitancy, but never do they have any shred of hope in them.

You stand, eyes narrowed as you look through the darkness for whatever soul may be calling to you.

Please. I don't want to go back. Don't let her take me.

Without thinking, you reach into the shadows. The blackness swirls around your fingers, unsure where you're trying to go. You don't know yourself, and you wish you did. You aren't sure why you're doing this; you rarely answer prayers, least of all the ones that don't mention you specifically, but something in this voice calls to you. It resonates in your chest, shakes your very being because you remember that feeling. You remember the way it felt to be free, standing in the sun and clawing at the earth as Gaia dragged you back down to your post, tears mixing with the dirt as you pleaded, begged her not to take you back down there.

With a jerk, you pull the shadows apart, and the ground quakes above you. You watch, anxiety pooling in your gut, and it's only the intensity of your focus that lets you see it: a figure, falling limply through the earth that you've opened. The string of curses you let out would make even Ares blush, and it's with a rush you haven't felt in millennia that you weave the shadows together into a net and toss it upwards. The figure falls into it with ease, shadows wrapping around the body to glide gently downwards until they can deposit the person with ease at the roots of your tree.

Your breath catches in your throat as the darkness recedes, revealing soft mint hair with flowers woven into it, pale green robes that are sliced nearly in half at the back and caked with mud. The man is beautiful and soft and bright, every inch the antithesis to your own black and grey clothes. You hesitate to even look at him, too afraid of dulling that sun-kissed skin with the death you carry on your fingertips.

His brow furrows and he winces, though his eyes remain closed. You blink owlishly before guiding the shadows around him once more; when you're sure he's secure, you pull him along behind you until you reach the only spare room you have in the palace. You situate him on the bed there, fluffing pillows and smoothing blankets until you can almost pretend he fell asleep there of his own accord. With pursed lips, you assign three of your Bones to watch him; one just inside the door and two outside of it, just in case whatever he was running from attempts to come for him.

You don't want to leave him, but you have work to do, and the land of the dead cannot rule itself.

It's dark when he opens his eyes. There is Greek fire in the corner, and shadows dancing on the walls around it, but he cannot make out much else. When he sits up and slides his feet off what feels like a bed, he hisses. The marble is cold and unforgiving against the bare skin of his feet and he doesn't know of any feeling like it. He's too accustomed to the dirt and grass from his mother's domain, and even the white marble of Olympus was warm to the touch. This is different. Alarming. New.

He eventually works up the nerve to stand fully. Looking around, he doesn't see any kind of light sources other than the brazier in the corner, so he grips one of the coals in his palm and uses that bit of light to find the door. The fire tingles against his skin, but he's long since grown used to holding fire in his palms for his mother. The warmth is comforting for a brief moment before the image of his mother flashes through his mind. He flinches at the memory of her face, twisted with wrath, and the stone drops out of his grip before he can catch it.

The marble of the wall is cool against his back as he slides to the ground, knees brought up to his chest and his eyes screwed shut against the darkness. There's a vice around his chest and he can't breathe and he can't see and he doesn't have any idea where he is or if he's even alive or if she's stuffed him somewhere he'll never be able to escape and the thought makes his head spin as the air catches in his throat and gods don't even truly need to breathe and yet he can feel the cold claws of death tighten around his throat and all he can see in his final moments is the horrifying face of his mother's anger and he can feel the vines and roots around his ankles once more and-

"Who the hell are you?"

He looks up, pushing the sweat-covered hair out of his eyes. There's a man, in the darkness, who exudes a faint silver light around him that illuminates the walls and black marble floor. The man doesn't seem angry that he's there, or even all that surprised; just curiously resigned. There are so many questions on the tip of his tongue, so much he wants - needs - to know but only one makes it past the rock lodged in his windpipe.

"Am I dead?"

The man frowns and shakes his head. "I seriously doubt it, since you didn't cross the river." The man looks him over, taking in the flushed skin and sweat beads and the purple robes he donned the moment he decided to run and seems to decide something. He crouches down so he's eye level, poised on the balls of his feet with his elbows on his knees, and even in a full suit, he looks impeccably put-together. "I'm Thanatos. You can call me Hoseok. If you'll let me, I'd like to take you to someone who probably has a better idea of what you're doing here." All he can do is nod, and Hoseok extends a hand, which he uses to bring himself to a shaky stand.

"I'm Yoongi," He says, hesitant and quiet. "Um, I'm Kore. Or, Persephone. Either one."

"I think I'll stick with Yoongi," Hoseok says. His smile lights the hallway that Yoongi stands in, and it eases something inside him, though he isn't sure what. Hoseok doesn't let go of his hand as he guides Yoongi through the corridors, and talks to him the entire time. He speaks of his duties there, souls he's judged that day, ones he wished he could do more for, comforts Yoongi when a walking skeleton in Roman armor passes him and explains that those are the security force of the palace. By the time they make it to a large room, lit on each side with braziers of Greek fire that give the room an eerie glow, Yoongi has a fairly good idea of where he is, and who Hoseok is taking him to see.

The large ebony throne at the end of the room and the black-robed figure sitting atop it only confirms his fears.

When Hoseok enters the throne room, you're only slightly surprised. It wasn't entirely uncommon for him to take a break from his judicial duties, and so long as there were plenty of Bones to watch the gates, you had no issues. Years would sometimes pass before Hoseok needed to return, relieving the judgment council once more and returning them to their own afterlives.

To see him shadowed by the mint-haired boy you pulled through the earth, however, is a shock.

You set the papers you'd been writing at to the side. Your robes, woven from shadows and dipped in the Styx, swirl around your bare feet as you move to sit correctly with your back straight instead of lounging as you'd been doing before. The darkness you’d brought forth to cushion your chair, plump and fat and soft underneath you, shifts as well, keeping the hard edge of the marble from digging into your skin. Hoseok stifles a smile at the sight and you narrow your eyes at him. You wish he'd say something about it, the punk.

"What can I do for you, Hoseok?" You eventually ask as he and his companion reach the steps just below your throne. Even now, you can barely bring your eyes away from the boy behind him; he's radiant, the light in the room seemingly drawn to him despite the way he's slouched into himself.

"I was just wondering if you knew how this young man came to be in the underworld, my lady," Hoseok says. Your eyes dart back to him and you can't help the way your heart softens at the soft silver shine around him. You look to the mint-haired god again; his eyes dart around nervously as if he expects something to jump out at him, and he's close enough to Hoseok that if the other were to step back, they'd both likely fall to the floor.

You lean forward in your throne, doing your best to project a calm and friendly air to the shorter of the two gods. "Do you not remember?" You ask quietly. Your eyes don't leave his big brown ones, and you can see the moment the panic sets in. "It's fine, you don't need to answer me. Just know that you're safe here."

"Yoongi?" Hoseok says quietly, drawing the boy's attention. "Hey, it's alright. We're not gonna let anything happen." It takes several minutes but eventually the boy - Yoongi, apparently - nods. He hasn't relaxed at all, but he doesn't seem like he's about to bolt out of your throne room, so you consider it a success.

"You were praying," You tell him softly. "You asked for my help, so I gave it, as best I could. I don't think you meant for your words to reach me, but they did." Yoongi frowns ever so slightly as he takes in the knowledge. There's a hint of anxiety in his face, his brow furrowed adorably, but he doesn't startle when Hoseok rests a hand on his shoulder. He looks up, though, and the two of them seem to have a silent conversation. Something settles in your stomach, seeing the ease with which Hoseok interacts with him, and you swallow down the lump in your throat. It's ridiculous to feel anything like this; Hoseok is your subordinate and friend, and you've hardly known Yoongi for five minutes.

"He can stay here, right?" Hoseok asks. You look to Yoongi, wondering if he even wants to stay, if he even wants to be here at all or if he wished someone else had answered his prayers. Hoseok calls your name softly and your gaze flicks to him. "Can he stay?"

You find that you're debating with yourself. Yoongi clearly doesn't belong here; he is soft and sweet and gentle and completely at odds with the harsh, depressive atmosphere that lingers in your palace. He looks terrified even now as he takes in the room, eyes lingering on the bones that were fused together to make your throne. And yet...you cannot escape the fear and hope that had echoed in his prayer, the sheer desperation that someone would help him. He had been running and terrified, which could only mean that he was being chased by something or someone, and you couldn't force him out if he was in danger.

"If you would like to stay," You say after a moment too long, "Then you are, of course, more than welcome to do so." You rise from your throne, shadows dissipating as you do, and take a couple of tentative steps toward the pair. He doesn't shrink back in fear, which you take as a good sign. "The guest quarters will be yours to do with as you please. Hoseok can show you around the palace and grounds, so you don't get lost, and the Bones can bring you anything you require." You move to press a hand to Hoseok's arm, and you level him with a careful look.

"Of course, my lady," Hoseok says. He turns to Yoongi with a radiant smile. "And you can leave whenever you'd like."

"Of course," You agree quickly. "Hoseok can take you back and forth across the river as you wish. Charon can be quite fussy about it." Several times, your guests have been stuck on the wrong side of the river until someone brought your ferryman his payment. Yoongi looks slightly less terrified, and in the emerald glow of the fires, you notice how wide his eyes are. "Oh! You're from the surface, of course, I forgot."

With a snap of your fingers, the sconces along the walls light themselves, and the candles ringing the large chandelier in the center of your throne room surge to life as well. Yoongi startles a little, stepping closer to Hoseok.

"Ah, I forget you surfacers can't see as well down here," Hoseok mutters. "We'll get you a candlestick as well, just in case." He nods to you, Yoongi copying him in a most adorable way. They're halfway out of the room when a thought occurs to you.

"Yoongi?" You call after him. He turns, and the green halo around him makes your heart falter. "Don't eat the pomegranates. Not even the seeds." His brow furrows in confusion but he gives a hesitant nod before he turns and hurries after Hoseok.

As much as your chest aches for him, you won't subject him to this life. You watch him go and wonder how long he'll last in this hellscape.

When their shadows have long disappeared from the walls, you turn and retake your seat on the throne. With a wave, a small team of Bones appears in front of you - the same uniforms, with the same unit numbers, stamped on their dog tags, and the same haunted look where their eyes once were - and you do a quick count. Ten should do fine for what you need.

"Scour the earth. Do not speak to anyone. Find out what he was running from, and if it still searches for him. Don't let anyone see you, and don't let anyone know why you're looking. Return if you're in danger. Report to me immediately." They salute, and you watch their forms slowly disappear, becoming more and more transparent until they glide upwards and through the cracks in the ceiling.

You sit back and wonder how long it will take for you to get answers, and if it will be before or after Yoongi realizes he's too good for this place.

Yoongi is quiet. That's the first thing Hoseok notices about him. He doesn't initiate conversation, really, instead content to listen to Hoseok talk about the various souls he's judged and the occasional escape attempts someone has made. At first, when Yoongi speaks, he's quiet, like he doesn't really want - or expect - to be heard, and he always looks pleasantly surprised when Hoseok answers his question or responds to his comments.

It makes his heart ache, and he wonders what exactly Yoongi has gone through to make him so shocked that anyone would actually listen to what he has to say. It takes weeks for him to warm enough to Hoseok to start speaking more often, to ask questions about his day, to actually request specific things. The day Yoongi asked Hoseok, soft and hesitant, if he could show him the Meadow and the tree, Hoseok almost cried. Yoongi was so obviously ready to be told no, fully expectant for Hoseok to decline such a simple request, and it only reinforced Hoseok's need to give the god everything he could ever want.

"What are you doing, Yoongi?" Hoseok asks when he looks up. They're at the gates, Hoseok in the usual position, eyes roving over the lines of souls slowly shuffling forward, and Yoongi sitting nearby. Cerberus is curled up behind him, dwarfing the god with his massive body, all three heads snoring and slobbering as they sleep haphazardly on top of each other. Yoongi glances up at Hoseok as he grabs another flower from the basket beside him.

"I'm making Cerb some flower crowns," Yoongi answers as if it was obvious. Hoseok frowns.

"Flower crowns?" He echoes. "What's a flower crown?"

Yoongi gives him a disbelieving stare. "It's a bath salt. What the fuck do you think it is, Hobi? It's a crown made of flowers." Hoseok is caught off guard by the sarcasm, as he has been every time Yoongi has spouted off some kind of sass to him. He strides over and crouches beside the mint god to watch him.

Yoongi's fingers are sure and steady as he weaves the stems of the flowers together. It's already half-dozen, Hoseok thinks, the crocus blossoms blending together prettily and not straying in the slightest from where he places them. Hoseok hasn't ever seen anything like it, and he's entranced by the way Yoongi's fingers move and the way the flowers seem to just do whatever he wants without much coaxing on his part.

"I had the Bones bring me back a basket from their last excursion," Yoongi says. "Since none grow here." He stops with one last crocus and eyes it critically before apparently deciding it was good enough. Hoseok can't take his eyes off the thing, enraptured even as Yoongi sets it gently on his head. Hoseok can feel his eyes widen and his cheeks flush red.

"Thanks," He says after a second, one hand darting up to steady the crown as he shifts his weight. He smiles, unable to help himself and poses. "What do you think? Does it suit me?"

"Ugh, you wish," Yoongi says. Hoseok can see the smile in his eyes and is satisfied with the mirth threatening to bubble past Yoongi's lips.

"Y'know," Hoseok says after a while, hands in his pockets as he watches Yoongi make the second crown for Cerb. "I bet if you planted some seeds near the pomegranate tree, they'd grow." Yoongi's hands stop moving, his eyes drifting up to look past Hoseok. Something similar to excitement hides behind his eyes, and Hoseok wants nothing more than to bring it out to shine. Yoongi cocks a brow as if to say 'really' and Hoseok nods.

The gummy smile he gets in return, full of hope and light that the underworld hasn't ever seen before, is well worth the potential scolding you may give him for suggesting Yoongi fiddle with the tree's courtyard. And the way he keeps the flower crown nearby, hanging off a hook on the gates long after the blossoms have wilted and died, is worth the shy smile Yoongi gets every time he sees it.

You don't see Yoongi for the first few weeks he's there. Not really. You catch glimpses when he passes through the palace halls with Hoseok, and he sits with Cerberus while you visit Hoseok at the gates, but he makes no effort to seek you out, and you respect that distance. You can't bring yourself to force your company on him. You're an acquired taste; Hoseok has been in this realm for so long that he's accustomed to the darkness that follows you, the aura of death and despair that usually surrounds you. He's been surrounded by the dead almost as long as you have, so you know he can't be affected by it. Yoongi, though…

Yoongi is life. He's the springtime blossoms in a summer breeze, he's the sound of birds chirping in the treetops, he's vibrant and fresh and lovely and you cannot ruin that. You can't watch him wither away like a winter garden, you can't watch the color drain from his skin until he's just as much a ghost as the souls that wander the Meadow, you can't let him become just as dead as everything else in this cursed place.

So you leave him be. You offer curt nods when you see him with Hoseok and polite waves because giving any more of yourself to him without letting yourself get closer would be too dangerous. Even with the distance you keep, your chest tightens with every smile that graces his lips, you ache to hear his voice even just once, and it's too much. It's too much for someone you haven't even had a real conversation with. Someone who looks at you with apprehension and anxiety, yet brings undeniable joy to the man you've always held in your heart.

It's too much for you to feel like this for someone who makes Hoseok smile as if he's seeing sunlight for the first time in thousands of years. You love Hoseok too much to stand anywhere near them.

You've been avoiding both of them for days. You can't bear to see Yoongi's gummy smile and Hoseok's adorable dimples as they gaze at each other, and you're busy enough to make a decent excuse for it. Expansion isn't difficult, but keeping it quiet is. Plus you've been on the hunt to figure out what had been after Yoongi with such ferocity that it sliced right through his robes and had him praying to anyone who would listen.

You had a few helpful leads, but nothing concrete, and it was more than a little frustrating. Which is why you find yourself stepping out of the shadows of the pomegranate tree, hopeful that it could help to ease even just part of the emotions rolling in your gut.

The sight of Yoongi surprises you, even more so when you see that he's on his knees beside the tree with dirt covering his hands and a smidge of something on his cheek. He looks absolutely wondrous, like everything you've been missing from the world above, and it would bring tears to your eyes if you let it because he's so far out of your reach.

"Hi," You say after a long debate with yourself. Yoongi's head shoots up and he fixes wide eyes on you. He reminds you of the ones who come to you with no memory of what's happened to them, scared and alone and about to get the worst news of their lives. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," He says immediately. "I didn't mean to, not really. You just said not to eat them, and I'm not, so I thought it would be okay. Hobi suggested it and you two are so close that I figured he'd know if you'd be upset."

"I'm not upset." Your voice is as gentle as you can make it. "I'm just curious. Hoseok didn't mention anything to me, and no one really comes here."

"Oh." The relief is palpable as it courses through him, and he looks back down at the ground in front of him. "I'm just planting some flowers so I can make more crowns for Hobi and Cerb. The others died so fast, and I don't want to keep sending the Bones out to get more if I don't have to."

"Oh, you made the flower crown for Hoseok?" You'd figured as much. No one else in the underworld knew how to make them, and Yoongi was the only consistently around him. "He showed me that, it was gorgeous."

"Obviously, it was made by me, after all," Yoongi spouts. You gape at him, and he gives you a contrite grimace. "I'm sorry, my lady Hades, I forgot who I was with for a moment. It won't happen again."

"It should," You say before you can stop yourself. He glances at you curiously. "I don't mind if you're relaxed and casual around me. I've never been one to enforce the rules that Olympus has. Hoseok is proof enough of that. And you can use my name, I don't mind."

The way he whispers your name, almost as if he's practicing it to himself, makes your heart flutter in your chest. It's so dangerous to be around him like this, relaxed and casual; it's so easy to forget that it's Hoseok that gets this, that deserves this small piece of sunshine.

"Well," Yoongi eventually says. "In that case, you can get to work. I've got an entire basket of seeds left to plant around this thing, and I can only work so fast. Plus I'm getting hungry."

"Oh. Okay, show me what to do." You don't hesitate to mirror his position, robes bunching under your knees in the dirt as he points at the small holes he's carved out of the dirt with the trowel and rake the Bones nabbed for him.

Yoongi is patient, you learn. Not extremely so, but he walks you through what you need to do with clear directions. The seeds are small in your hands, which amuses you to no end, and there's an odd delight in packing the soil around them and dripping water down onto them after. You're smiling for the first time in...you don't know how long, and the feeling of Yoongi's hands around yours as he shows you how to use the trowel is something akin to paradise.

His hands are rough; calloused and weathered and wonderful against the softness of your own. You start to talk freely to him, asking him about each seed you plant and what they are and how they look. He tells you about each one, the deep timbre of his voice like music to your ears. He rolls his eyes at every joke you make, despite the way he smiles, and hits back with several quips of his own. He listens as you tell him, voice shaking, about the pomegranate tree, and how it curses anyone who eats its fruit to stay trapped in the underworld forevermore. He talks and listens and jokes and laughs and it's only after you've made a particularly ridiculous joke that you realize your mistake.

"You've spent too much time around Hobi," Yoongi says. "He made the same joke yesterday." He's looking down at the last few seeds, plotting where in the courtyard to put them, and doesn't see the way the smile dies on your face. You'd forgotten. For a brief time, you'd forgotten that this is just pretending.

You don't get to keep this. You don't get to stay here, in this courtyard, with Yoongi and his rough hands and the mint hair that falls in his eyes and his gummy smile. This isn't yours. You don't get flower crowns and jokes and soft kisses, no matter how much you want them, just like you don't get Hoseok's bright grin or his dimples or his long fingers intertwined with yours. Your heart aches for these two beautiful boys, both of them everything you could ever want in so many different ways. And yet you have neither of them, you don't get either of them. They are each other's, and there is no room there for the death you bring in your wake. You kill everything you touch; the mortals whisper about the cold grip of your hands on their neck as they pass over.

You look back over the seeds you've helped Yoongi plant and wonder how many you've killed before they even lived.

You stand and brush the dirt off your robes. "Well," You say, careful to keep your voice level. "I've got some things to do. I trust you'll be alright on your own." You can't bring yourself to look at Yoongi, can't bear to see the dirt that smudged along his cheek, can't stand to see the way the orange robes drape along him and remind you of the way the autumn leaves looked coating the grass in the meadows.

He doesn't even get a response out before you flee, but you feel his eyes on your back long after you've hidden in the shadows and sunk down onto your bed.

It's astounding, you think as you rinse the dirt off your hands later, how a single afternoon planting seeds with someone can be so detrimental to the walls you'd put around your heart. Tears blur your vision and your fingers are trembling, but you keep scrubbing until the phantom slide of his hands against yours is gone and there is no more evidence of the planting you'd done. When you finally stop, your skin is raw and throbbing, and there are tears running down your face.

You had long accepted that Hoseok could never be yours. You were in two different positions, and he was much too bright to want to be with someone like you. Your shadows would have suffocated him, so you resigned yourself to being his friend. Friend is safe. Friend is good.

You’d known the same when you met Yoongi. Bright and colorful amidst the darkness of the underworld, you wouldn’t dare to get any closer to him, too familiar with the fluttering of your chest and the jumping in your stomach every time you saw him. Just being friendly was enough, ensuring he is safe and happy is fine with you.

But this? Watching the two of them grow closer and closer, able to love each other so wholly while you stand alone in your darkness, watching their bright smiles and soft looks, all directed only at each other, for eternity? This was too much for you to bear. Being hopelessly in love with one man you can’t have is bad enough, but two of them…

You wish for the first time that you were not immortal, but a meager human upon the surface, unaware and blissful in your ignorance.

He never expected this. Not from the moment he woke up, not when he was sprinting through a forest to escape his mother, not for a single heartbeat could he ever imagined everything that has happened to him since he arrived in this cold land.

He’s been alone for so long, hidden away in his mother’s garden with only the rare visit from Artemis or Hestia as he learned how to do anything and everything his mother wished. He’s never had friends before, he’s never had the subtle inside jokes that he shares with Hoseok, familiar enough that even just a quick glance can have them both bursting with laughter. He’s never known a goddess like you, able to weave together the darkness into something tangible, something useful, something real. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen, and Hoseok’s uncanny ability to bend the environment around him and use his silvery aura to turn almost invisible to the naked eye never ceases to amaze him. The two of you are so powerful, so utterly awe-inspiring, and every single thing his mother had told him is so far from the truth that it almost hurts.

Neither you nor Hoseok is standoffish, really; he can see the hesitant friendship in every smile you send his way, and Hoseok’s primary concern at any moment is making sure he’s happy and safe. It warms Yoongi in a way he could never explain, not even in a million years, simply because he’s never felt this way. In all the books he’s read, the plays he’s seen, every mortal he’s watched, he’s seen this.

He’s seen how they turn red with just a look, how their hearts stutter when hands brush, how they smile, soft and private when they think no one is looking at them. He’s seen this feeling, the bubbling in his chest that he gets every time Hoseok laces their fingers together while walking and the moment you step into the courtyard and see the kaleidoscope of colors that you helped plant. He never would have guessed that he would feel it, though, too isolated from the rest of the world until he came here. Until you pulled apart the earth itself to help him escape, without even knowing why or who he was.

The feeling grows inside of him, thorns pricking into his every breath because he knows it can’t last. He’s seen how you and Hoseok look at each other when you think no one is watching, can feel the pull between you and the years upon years of familiarity that lie between you. The two of you are closer than he could ever get, two sides of the same coin, and more suited to each other than he would ever be.

And he can’t stay.

That’s the worst part. He knows it, knows that she will find him before long and wrap her claws around his throat and drag him back into that gilded cage she calls a greenhouse just to leave him. It’s for the best, my dear, she’ll say, it’s to keep you safe.

Yoongi doesn’t want to be safe, though. He wants to be happy and free, and he’s found that place here, surrounded by death even as he carves out his own little area of life. With Hoseok’s warm grin across from him and your own cool fondness beside him. With flower crowns atop his head and Hoseok’s, and the small buds are woven into your own crown of bones and grief as a small reminder that even in death, there is life.

But she will find him. She always does. And though he cannot bear the thought of leaving you, he will, if only to keep you safe.

Yoongi's been there almost a year when you summon Hoseok to dine with you. By the time he gets to your office - a very understated term for the sprawling library - you're already sitting at your usual desk, food pushed aside and forgotten in lieu of the papers stacked in front of you. Even with your head bent low and bags under your eyes, you're the most beautiful person Hoseok has ever seen.

He remembers the first time he met you when Zeus had assigned him to be the gatekeeper for the underworld. You were so young, so skittish and worried that you were going to be a terrible ruler as if the dead could be disappointed in you. You'd been beautiful then, too, but not in the same way. You've grown into yourself since then; you're no longer afraid of being a bad queen. You know that you're competent and capable, you know you can do this, and you frequently prove wrong any Olympian who says otherwise. You're mature now; strong and confident and brilliant, and even with the bags under your eyes and the shadows that lick lovingly against your skin, you are absolutely radiant.

Hoseok is so in love with you that it physically hurts him, and every time he looks at you, he is reminded of how you are just out of his reach.

He clears his throat and you look up. The tired smile that graces your face warms him, and he settles into a chair on your left with practiced ease. This isn't the first time you've asked him to dine with you, and it won't be the last.

"What's the occasion?" He teases, delighting in the way you roll your eyes and gesture to the food and nectar that sits in front of him.

"How is Yoongi?" You ask. It doesn't escape him that you don't answer, but you always have your reasons, so he doesn't call you on it.

"Well. He wanders around on his own and doesn't seem to jump at the slightest sound anymore. He came with me the other day when I judged and managed to pick fifteen people for Elysium in a row." An expression passes over your face that he can't decipher. He continues anyway. "He still won't talk much about what happened, but he also doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry to leave. I imagine he'll get bored eventually, and we'll need to give Cerb extra treats when he does, but I'm not concerned just yet."

You nod and Hoseok starts to eat as you rifle through a few more papers. "You know he's Persephone?" You ask, and Hoseok nods. He'd forgotten to share that knowledge with you, but clearly, you had your own way of finding things out. "So then you're aware that his mother is Demeter."

Hoseok pauses for a minute. He swallows the food in his mouth and really looks at you for the first time since he sat down. The bags under your eyes are more prominent, and you're wearing your Hades expression. The one that stays professional and controlled and tells people nothing of your true thoughts. Well, people that haven't known you for more than a thousand years.

"Hoseok, he can't stay here forever," You eventually say. "She's been looking for him everywhere. The humans' crops are ruined, ice and snow have covered the earth, more people are dying than we can hold right now. She won't stop."

"And that means we kick him out?" Hoseok hisses. You close your eyes and he can feel the sigh you're holding back. "You said yourself that he could stay as long as he wants. You can't just rescind that because some wheat goddess is going on a rampage. We still don't know what he was running from, or if it's still out there, and I won't watch him-" He stops, frozen by the way you're pressing your tongue into the side of your cheek. It's the only tell you have and he rarely sees it, because you rarely keep things from him. "What do you know?"

You don't answer, and he repeats the question, louder this time, as he surges out of his chair.

"I was running from her," Yoongi's voice echoes through the library. You and Hoseok both turn to see him standing in the door, and Hoseok's heart swells at the sight. He's in soft, muted pink robes that Hoseok knows he made himself. His cheeks are rounder, and he's no longer curled in on himself. He looks stronger. Confident. Unafraid. "I was running from my mother. That's what you found out, right?" Hoseok looks to you, and the regret in your eyes just confirms it.

"I'm sorry, Yoongi, I was only trying to make sure you were safe, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright," Yoongi says as he moves to run his hand along your cheek. "I know." He smiles at you. Hoseok looks between the two of you - Yoongi's hand resting lightly on your cheek and a soft smile on his lips while his eyes crinkle with rare happiness, your own eyes wide and full of what can only be described as pure, unadulterated love - and his stomach rolls violently. Even after all the time Hoseok has spent with you, and with Yoongi, and the times he's entered a room to find the two of you in comfortable silence, he never expected this. He should've, he realizes; the two of you are a perfect match, complementing each other to near perfection, each fault being smoothed over by the other's strengths.

How could he have thought you wouldn't fall in love with Yoongi? Soft, kind Yoongi, who had just enough snark inside of him to make every word out of his mouth an unexpected joy. Yoongi who braids flower crowns with the flowers he's started to grow in the courtyard, surrounding the pomegranate tree with the beautiful blooms. Yoongi, who encourages Hoseok to judge more and more souls, ones that don't request it, who can somehow pick the good people from the bad just by looking.

And how could he have ever expected Yoongi not to fall for you? Strong and intelligent, determined and kind. You who opened your home to him in his most vulnerable moment and never expected anything in return. You who did everything in your power to find what was chasing him, and find a way to stop it. You, with your lonely smile and your bare feet. You, who Hoseok himself has been in love with for tens of thousands of years.

How could he have expected either of you not to fall in love in the months that you have known each other when Hoseok couldn't even stop himself?

“I’ll go back to her,” Yoongi says softly, finally dropping his hand from your cheek and turning the radiant smile on Hoseok. “She’ll have no reason to continue this if I return.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Yoongi,” You say immediately. ““You were desperate to get away from her, and...what she almost did to you, that’s unacceptable.”

“Let her rage,” Hoseok agrees. “You’re safe here, no one can get to you without getting through the two of us first, not to mention Cerberus and the Bones. No nature goddess will last in this place, not with our full force around you.”

“Thank you, Hobi, but no. I can’t ask you both to do that, not when it could end so badly for you. You don’t know what she can do, it’s not-”

“You aren’t asking us,” You say. Your voice is as quiet as always, but there’s a firmness there that Hoseok recognizes. It’s usually saved for the throne room when some mortal has been particularly annoying or stubborn, and it’s a shock to see it directed at Yoongi. “We are offering. Let us protect you, Yoongi. At least let me speak with Zeus about this. I may be able to convince him to intervene.”

Yoongi hesitates, the indecision is written all over his face, and Hoseok leans to lace their fingers together. It’s a familiar gesture, done so often to prevent Yoongi from getting lost that it’s second nature at this point.

“Please,” Hoseok pleads when Yoongi looks at him. “Please, Yoongi.”

The reluctant nod is all the confirmation needed. You’re already scribbling out a summons for Hermes to carry to the lord of the gods, and Hoseok is halfway through the halls to reinforce the gates and ensure Cerberus knows his task. He tries not to think about the way Yoongi lingered behind, one hand on your shoulder as he watched you write and the other caressing the flower-riddled braids he’d made earlier that day.

He doesn’t think about it, because in the end, it doesn’t matter. Hoseok is so deeply in love with the two of you, so grossly enamored, that he would go to the end of time itself if it meant keeping the two of you safe and happy. Even if that meant watching you love each other and not him.

“What do you mean, he won’t help?”

You massage your temples without looking up from the letter Zeus had sent back with Hermes. He was, unsurprisingly, not helpful. Hoseok had appeared not long after the messenger had left, and is, also unsurprisingly, irate.

“According to him, he has no dog in this fight, because Yoongi isn’t his son, he’s Demeter’s, and if he were to get involved, he’d side with her since the humans are dying so quickly, which isn’t exactly good for worship numbers.”

“Are you kidding me? He seriously said he’d take her side in this?”

“Not in so many words, but yes. And I get it, Hobi. His job is to keep the peace between everyone in Olympus, and without actually coming here to give me an audience, all he has is Demeter’s side of the story.”

“Which is?”

“That I kidnapped her son and am currently holding him captive in a dungeon down here.”

“That’s absurd. He’s not captive at all, he’s happier here than he ever was up there, and you didn’t kidnap him!” You give a slight nod to show that yes, Hoseok, you’re aware of the truth. “Does he know what she does to him? How she treats him?”

“Hoseok, please,” You mutter. The weight of Zeus’ words is like a blade against your throat and you want nothing more than to help Yoongi. Clearly, the Fates have decided against that. “You know how he is. Do you honestly think he’d care? She has a claim to him, despite what he wants, and unless we find a way to get Zeus down here or go there ourselves, our lord won’t be able to hear any other side of this story.”

“Then we’ll...we’ll go there! We’ll make them listen! You could talk sense into him, make him see that he needs to help.”

“You know I can’t do that, Hobi.” Hoseok flinches, as if just remembering that you are as captive here as the souls you keep. You’re glad, not for the first time, that Death Itself cannot be contained, so that Hoseok, at least, is free to come and go as he pleases. “And before you say it, no, we can’t ask him to go. It isn’t safe. The second he sets foot outside this realm, she’ll pull him back. We’re lucky that he hasn’t already told her where Yoongi is.”

Your statement is punctuated with a muffled thud, and the anxiety that runs through you is mirrored in the look Hoseok gives you. Another thud echoes through the palace, the ground rumbling under your feet, and you stand.

“Where is he?” You ask, already pulling the shadows around you.

“Just past the gate, walking through the Meadow. If we hurry-”

“Go.” You disappear into the blackness, never more glad that Hoseok can sense the living in your land. When you step away from the shadows, Yoongi is there, confusion written across his face and fear in his eyes. “You have to run.”

“No,” He says. “I’m not going to keep running from her. I’m staying here, she can’t take me back.”

“Yoongi, please,” You beg. He’s too vulnerable here, too open, too easily seen with his spring green robes billowing around his feet and flowers woven into a crown atop his head. He takes your hands in his and pulls you close, and you’ve never seen a fire like this in him. It burns hot and strong and it makes your chest ache for what could have been.

“I won’t let her hurt you while I hide away like a coward,” He whispers. His thumb wipes away tears you didn’t know were there, and determination floods through you.

"Please, Yoongi. Let us help you. Let me help you. I-" The words choke in your throat, but Yoongi nods as if they made it out.

"I love you, too." His voice is soft, barely audible over the shaking ground and the deafening sound of hooves slamming into your gates. You feel more than see Hoseok land beside you, and his hand rests on the small of your back without hesitation.

"Take him," You tell Hoseok. "Go to the palace. You'll be safe there. Don't let him leave."

Hoseok's eyes are fire-bright as he wraps an arm around Yoongi's waist. The god's protests fall on dead ears, even as you let your hands brush over the softness of Hoseok's ink black wings. Just one moment, that is all you want, just one single second to pretend.

"I'll see you after, my lady," Hoseok says firmly. You don't have the heart to correct him, nor the time, so you just nod. Yoongi's screams echo in your ears even as you turn, the blackness that lingers at every corner of your realm swirling around your feet and ready to be whatever you need. You let one last year fall from your eyes as the gates crumple, and the furious eyes of Demeter fixate on you and the black-winged figure carrying her son away.

Hoseok flies faster than he ever has, determined to get Yoongi into the palace and relative safety. The god sobs in his arms, still struggling to get back to where you stand in the Meadow, the massive form of Demeter towering above you, but Hoseok doesn't relax his grip. You gave him an order; he hadn't disappointed you yet, and he isn't about to start now. Not with Yoongi caught in the middle.

He doesn't hesitate when he touches down in the palace, wings retracted and brushing ever so slightly against the black marble floor. He turns to the nearby Bones and orders them to the doors, summoning as many others as he can spare from the gates and Fields to help barricade the palace from the goddess.

"Hobi, you have to go, you have to help her," Yoongi sobs. "She's gonna...I can't, Hobi, please, you have to keep her safe."

"I have to keep you safe," Hoseok replies. He's got a vice grip around Yoongi's arm as he pulls him deeper into the palace, doing his level best to avoid any window or door to the outside. "That was the order she gave and that's the order I shall obey."

"How can you say that?! Don't you care that she could-"

"Of course I care!" Hoseok spits, rounding on the shorter god the second the words leave his lips. "Do you think this is easy for me, Yoongi? Do you think I enjoy choosing between the two of you like this? Because I don't. I want nothing more than to be helping her right now, but I can't...I can't leave you alone here. It's too dangerous."

Hoseok isn't stupid; he knows exactly how he feels about you, and Yoongi, and he's not oblivious to the way the both of you look at him. Still, the two of you are powerful deities, worshipped and loved, feared and prayed to. He's just a guardian, content to sit in the background and watch for threats. Yes, he loves you, with every fiber of his immortal soul, but he also loves Yoongi, and he knows you love Yoongi, and you gave him an order.

"Hobi," Yoongi whispers, eyes wet and red and beautiful. "Hobi, please, you have to help her. She needs you. I can manage, I can hide, but she needs you. No one else can help her."

The fact that he's even considering this shows just how easy it is for Yoongi to manipulate him. Hoseok understands now, what you meant all that time ago. Yoongi's voice is rough and lingering and fearful but it carries so much hope that it digs into Hoseok's skin like a hook. He curses and bundles Yoongi into the corner.

"Stay hidden. Don't make a noise. You can't let her find you." Hoseok hesitates for a split second before pressing a quick kiss to Yoongi's forehead. "I will see you after this."

"I know."

It's never been harder for him to turn his back on someone, but Hoseok manages, with only one last look back before he takes to the air and surges forwards to where you stand, keeping Demeter back with every piece of your power.

Yoongi runs. He runs and runs and runs, the bare skin of his feet silent on the cool marble. The braziers have long since gone out, but he stopped needing them months ago. He knows where he is, even as he tucks himself into a small, nearly invisible niche in a corner. He hardly dares to breathe, too scared that the sound will alert his mother of his location. The palace is silent, not a single sound in the entire thing, and it's deafening in the aftermath of the rumbling screams that signaled your battle with her.

He isn't sure how he managed to convince Hoseok to leave him, whether it was the obvious love the god felt for you or the sheer desperation in his own eyes, but he could only pray the two of you made it out. As gods, you're all difficult to kill, but it's not impossible. Not for other deities.

Come out, little flower.

Yoongi stifles a whimper, panic coloring his vision white for a long while before he can breathe again. Memories flash behind his eyelids and he pried them open just to stare into the darkness.

You can't hide forever, little flower. You know that.

Her voice echoes against the marble. It makes her sound like she's everywhere and nowhere at once, able to find him even as he hides. He clenches his teeth and reminds himself that you and Hoseok are the only ones that know this palace better than him.

You're making me very angry, little flower. Why do you run? I only want the best for you, and you insist on causing such a fuss.

The sound of her sandals reaches him, reverberating off the walls and telling him that she's far too close. He slips silently out of the niche and pads across the floor on the balls of his feet. He doesn't make a sound, something he perfected in his time with her, and just as she slips around the corner, he's darting down another hallway.

Look at what you've done, little flower. All this mess, and for what? Do you like it when I'm angry? Do you enjoy this game of ours?

He slips into another hall just in time. Exhaustion has made him slow. The marble of the wall is cool against his heated skin, and he wonders where you are. Where Hoseok is. If you're alright or if you're laying in the Meadow, golden ocher pooling around you. The thought enrages him, and for the first time, he can feel power at his fingertips; real power, not the simple gardening magic she taught him as a child. He's ready to use it, he thinks. He's so tired of running, so tired of being afraid, and he's so fucking angry that the people he loves have had to fight his battles for him.

Found you, little flower.

Warmth circles his ankle and pulls before he can jerk away. Her nails are sharp than before, like sickles at the end of each long finger, and he scrabbles uselessly at the smooth stone floor. She's speaking but the sound of her voice - wind whispering through a field of wheat, a brook babbling in the summer - is drowned out by the blood pumping in his ears.

"No, I won't go back, you can't make me," He hisses, kicking at her hand with his free leg. He doesn't feel the cuts on his soles, doesn't register them at all until he sees the gold dropping onto the floor; the adrenaline masks the pain. She says something else and he stops kicking, though he doesn't know what she's said. He isn't listening, too busy thinking of a way out of this.

It comes to him, all at once, and he relaxes in her grip. His chest heaves in a sob, because he knows exactly what he has to do, and you will never forgive him for it.

"Alright," He says flatly. Demeter stops in her monologue. "I'll go with you. Just leave them alone." The smile that splits her face is more grotesque than any corpse he's seen in the Styx, but the way she releases his ankle is a blessing. He keeps himself hunched and downtrodden as he pushes himself up, into her waiting arms. The hug is bruising and brings vile to his throat, but it is necessary.

It's with a flash of green as he pulls away from her that he makes his move. The flower crown previously atop his head has morphed, grown into thick, thorny vines around her arms and keeping her in place.

Yoongi is gone before she can so much as screech, sprinting as fast he can through the halls to the one thing that can help him. He feels it when she rips through his flowers, his very soul shaking at the pain that rips through him, but he's determined. He's made good ground, he only had a little further to go.

The vibrant colors of the courtyard have never felt so welcome. He's halfway through, blossoms crushed under his feet as he tears through the carefully tended flowers, when she catches up. The blade of her scythe rips through his back, but the adrenaline masks the pain. He's bleeding, he knows, but he can't bring himself to focus on anything but the way the bark feels under his grip, branches reaching down to help him reach his goal.

She tears him out of the tree violently, no longer wearing the carefully sculpted mask of love. The scream that she unleashes when she sees him shakes the entire realm, soft pebbles falling from the ceiling of the cavern miles above his head, but he doesn't care.

The pomegranate is ripe against his tongue, juice tinting his lips pink, and the weight of it against his chest has never been more welcome. Demeter screams for what could be centuries, but Yoongi does not care, because he has won, and he has never tasted anything so sweet in his entire life.

"Come to bed," Hoseok pleads, not for the first time. You look at him with a sigh. His wings are gone, hidden away until he needs them again, and his arm is free of the bandages he's been wearing. It has taken so long for him to heal, and you still aren't sure he should be up and about. There's a small, barely perceptible scar along his forearm, the faintest reminder of what the two of you survived.

"I have to finish this before he returns, Hobi," You tell him, also not for the first time. Hoseok scoffs and comes around the desk to stand behind you, eyes roving over the documents in front of you.

"It's been over six months," He whispers in your ear. "Zeus has approved your expansion requests. I'm fine. You're fine. Yoongi will be back from Olympus soon."

"Hoseok," Your tone is warning despite the way he whispers your name. You deflate, falling back in your chair and letting him rub your shoulders. "I just miss him."

"I know. I do too." You're both quiet for a while. It has been six months since Demeter crashed into your world and rampaged through the Meadow to find Yoongi. You remember it so vividly, the way you struggled against the unbridled fury she had, the way Hoseok screamed as she broke his wing, the pain in your chest as you'd crawled to him and just held him in your arms until the Bones had made it to the two of you and carried him to the palace.

You had been, and still are, vastly proud of him and Yoongi for fighting back, but that didn't change the fact that they had both put themselves in immense danger by doing so. Even with the - admittedly brilliant, if stupid - plan that Yoongi had come up with, things never really worked out for you. Hoseok had been bedridden for weeks, unable to even more because of the pain in his wing. Hermes has helped with the healing process, which you were unendingly thankful for, but Yoongi had been carted off to Olympus almost immediately for negotiations.

Zeus, benevolent leader and incompetent moron that he is, had decided on a compromise: Yoongi would stay with you in the underworld after the harvest was finished, free to do whatever he liked, but until then he had to stay in Olympus. The letter had mentioned something about reparations to the mortals for the utterly obscene amount of crops they had lost - which was ridiculous really, they were doing their level best to kill the planet and you are gods, since when do gods pay reparations to mortals? - that Yoongi was required to use his abilities to help with.

You'd sent Hermes back with several colorful threats of what exactly would happen to the billions of dead you kept here should Yoongi return in any way other than utter perfection, and you've been anxious for days to find out whether you get to follow through on them. It only worsens when you remember that you have a decision to make when Yoongi returns. You remember the way he looked when he said he loved you, returning words you couldn't bring yourself to say, and you remember the elation and subsequent depression that came after the battle at the realization that you could have had him, were he not gone for half the year.

And yet you also distinctly remember the way Hoseok looked, wings splayed over several tables to hold them in place as they healed, vulnerable and shy as he told you that he was sorry for disobeying you. You won't ever forget his face as he explained, the way his lips formed around your name when he told you he couldn't beat to see you hurt, not after so many years spent loving you. The feel of his lips against your skin is like a phantom even now; Hoseok had waited until he was healed to do anything more than press chaste kisses against your knuckles, and even still you've not felt him the way you want, but it hasn't stopped him from trying.

"Come on, my lady," Hoseok says, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Just for a while." You grumble under your breath - you really do have work to finish before Yoongi arrives - but you allow Hoseok to pull you from your chair and lead you down the hall to your bedroom.

So lost in your own musings, you don't notice the figure lounging on your bed until he speaks.

"Six months and I don't get even so much as a hello?"

Your eyes shoot up and your breath hitches in your throat. Pale green robes lined in the most beautiful black and silver embroidery pool around him, matching the braided crown that rests atop his head. You didn't know flowers like that existed, let alone that they could look so wonderful on someone.

"I didn't know you were back," You breathe.

"That's the point of a surprise, my love," Hoseok says from behind you, hand tightening around yours. Guilt begins to grow in your chest and Yoongi tsks at you. He rises and comes to stand in front of you, brow furrowed.

"That's no way for a queen to look, is it? What has you thinking so hard?" His thumb smooths the space between your brows and you can't help the glance to Hoseok.

"I can't...I don't want to hurt you." Your voice is barely a whisper, and the familiar sting encircles your heart once more. You couldn't choose between the two of them, not if you tried, not even if it meant getting out of this place.

"You won't," Hoseok tells you with a familiar grin. "Yoongi and I have already talked about what we feel for each other, and for you. The only question now is if you'll have us. Both of us."

Months ago, you would have called them crazy and had them exiled for fear they'd gone mad. You never imagined you could have one of them, let alone both; you had been ready to tell them both that you had been mistaken because having one by your side while your heart still yearned for the other was far more cruel than anything you could put in the Fields of Punishment.

Now? Now you know what the Isles must feel like. It is Yoongi in front of you, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek while Hoseok's warmth is steady behind you, one arm encircling your waist and keeping you steady.

"Both of you?" You echo. Yoongi nods.

"You don't have to," Hoseok says from behind you. "But we know how you feel about us, and we're sure in how we feel for each other. There are stranger pairings in the world, aren't there?"

"Only one of you could be king." You aren't sure why you say that, can't remember why it even matters when Hoseok trails his lips over the shell of your ear.

"I never have looked good on a throne," He says. Yoongi's chest rumbles in a laugh, and you could cry at the sight of that familiar gummy smile.

"Please," Yoongi eventually says. "Please say yes." You search his eyes for any hint of indecision or regret, and when you find none, you turn to Hoseok. He has a soft, encouraging smile on his face, and he holds your crown in his free hand. The cool black metal is harsh against his tanned skin, but what draws your eye isn't the way the bones are fused together or the etchings of historical scenes across each. No, it's the soft pale green blossoms woven in among the metal, a stark contrast to the harshness of the bones, and the silver thread twined around all of it, dipping in and out in various places but clearly noticeable in the light. It's a perfect representation of the three of you and it makes your chest swell.

"Yes," You breathe. They don't move, and your eyes dart between them. "Yes, absolutely. I can think of nothing I have ever wanted more."

Yoongi surges forward, capturing you in a long-awaited kiss. His lips are soft as blossoms against yours, warm and gentle as the hands that cup your jaw and draw you closer. You're aware, distantly, of the soft clink of metal on stone as Hoseok sets your crown to the side, though his arm never leaves your waist.

Hours could have passed with Yoongi kissing you. You aren't sure. Time runs together and blends, a dizzying whirlwind of slow drags of his lips across yours followed by quick, messy bursts of his tongue. You can barely focus on what is happening, mind split between the absolute euphoria of kissing him and the heat that comes from Hoseok's fingers dancing along your waist and shoulders, his breath ghosting over your neck as he watches. When Yoongi finally detaches from your lips, he ducks down to suck at the exposed skin of your collarbone, and Hoseok turns your chin so you face him.

"May I, my lady?" He asks. His voice is rough and deeper than you're used to, affected by the sight of you and Yoongi. His fingers twine with the strings holding your robes together and you give him a nod. It doesn't even take a full breath before the black material is pooling at your feet. Hoseok stifles something that sounds suspiciously like a moan behind you, and you think Yoongi actually purrs. They both run their hands along your skin, basking in the goosebumps that they raise and the shivers that crawl up your spine.

"Absolutely ethereal," Yoongi mutters. You pull him into another kiss, one hand coming up to rest against his shoulder while your other tangles in Hoseok's hair where he's doing his level-best to leave his mark on your neck.

"Please," You murmur. "I want to make you happy."

"You've already done that, my queen," He says. His smile is soft and the glint in his eye is sharp. You huff a little and tap twice at Hoseok's neck; when he pulls away, pouting but compliant, you push Yoongi until he's falling back onto your bed. He goes with no objections, one hand twining his fingers with yours and you crawl up to straddle his hips. "Let me please you, my queen. I've been waiting six months to taste you, and I don't want to waste another moment if I don't have to."

Your breath hitches as Hoseok steps up behind you. The bare skin of his chest is a shock as it presses against your back, and he slides his hands along your sides before beginning to tease your nipples. You stifle the moan, emitting more of a whine than anything, and you think you nod. All you know is the heat between your legs and the knee-deep ache to make them happy.

Yoongi's between your legs in a flash. You can't be sure how exactly he moved so quickly without jostling you, but the thought is all but shoved out of your mind as he swipes his tongue against you for the first time. You're glad Hoseok is behind you because your legs are already trembling where they're curled under you and your head drops back to rest against his shoulder. As merciless as Hoseok is in his torment of your chest, Yoongi is doubly so.

You imagine a man starving and dehydrated in a desert wouldn't be this invested in a sudden banquet laid in front of him; Yoongi worships you, circling your clit several times before dipping down to dart teasingly in and out of your hole. He laps up every single drop of your arousal, dutiful in his mission even as Hoseok begins to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. The heat of his breath has you closer to the edge than you want to admit, but the sheer love that radiates from his words at the same time Yoongi rumbles out a heavenly moan straight into your folds, tongue buried inside of you, is what drives you over the edge.

You aren't surprised when neither of them stop; you get the sense Yoongi is thoroughly enjoying himself between your thighs, based on the growing tent in his robes. Hoseok grinds against your ass, and his own hardness presses against you with every painless thrust of his hips. A pang of guilt shoots through you and your hands drop. It's a bit of an awkward angle, but you make it work as you glide your hands over him. He's thick, that's for sure, and nearly as long as your forearm. How you're supposed to take that inside of you is anyone's guess, but as Yoongi brings you to yet another orgasm with his mouth, you realize that's exactly what they're preparing you for.

The whimper comes unbidden, walls clenching around nothing at the thought of them filling you, and they both shudder. "Please," You gasp, "Please, I need you. Both of you."

Yoongi graciously lets you rise off of him, and when you settle on your back, he sits up to smile at you. His lips and chin are absolutely coating in your slick, the sight erotic and exciting. The feeling is doubled as Hoseok grips Yoongi's chin, turning the mint-haired god to face him.

"How does she taste, my flower?" He purrs. You don't hear Yoongi's response, just the deep thrum of his voice, but you see the way Hoseok runs his thumb across Yoongi's lips, collecting your juices, before sliding it into his own mouth. You moan at the sight, Hoseok's eyes falling closed as he relishes in the taste of you. Yoongi strips out of his robes while he can, and he doesn't seem to miss the way your and Hoseok's eyes watch hungrily.

"Tell me what you want," Hoseok says, pulling you closer as Yoongi settles behind you. "We're here for you, my queen."

"I…" You falter. You aren't even sure what you want now; you've spent six months trying to figure out how to tell both of the men you love that you can't be with either of them and now you have both of them naked in your bed, waiting to please you. You can hardly think, can't focus beyond the feel of their skin against yours and the heat of their gaze, but you know one thing.

You need them to know how desperately you love them, and with the fire burning between your thighs, there is exactly one way you can do that.

"I need you inside me, Hobi," You tell him. "I need to feel you inside of me. Yoongi, too. Both of you." Hoseok's cock twitches and something in his jaw clicks. You don't wait for more of a response, choosing instead to slide across the sheets to straddle Hoseok's hips. His hands rest lightly on your hips, tentative now, and you smile at him. His hands are gentle now, soft as the smile he gives you in return. His cock is dripping and red, a warm heat in your palm as you guide him to your entrance.

The look in his eyes, the small moan he releases, the hitch in Yoongi's breath behind you as you slowly sink down onto Hoseok will forever be etched into your memory. You're so full that you could cry; he feels absolutely perfect inside of you, and it only gets better as he guides you carefully up and then back down onto him. Your moan is felt more than heard and it only gets louder as he speeds up. His fingers are marble against your his, unmoving and firm as he slides in and out. He doesn't look away for a second and neither do you; all the years you've spent thinking about him, the millennia you've ached to love and be loved by him, it has all led to this. Your hips moving against his, connected in a way you've never been before; if it were possible to read his thoughts, you think you could at this moment, because they must be a mirror of your own.

"I love you," You whisper. Yoongi's warmth presses against your spine as he slides a finger between the two of you to rub slow circles into your clit, and you gasp. "I love you, Hobi, so much." The words are a mantra on your lips, and you think there may be tears in his eyes but you can't be sure because you're coming again, shuddering on top of him, and Yoongi is gently pulling you off.

Hands turn you, and now it's Yoongi between your legs, cock red and throbbing where it sits against his stomach. He isn't as long as Hoseok, but he's wider, and you clench again at the sight.

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something, but you stop him with a soft kiss pressed against the corner of his mouth. You slide down onto him, welcoming the slight burn that comes with the stretch. It takes two breaths for you to become impatient and begin to move, grinding your hips down against his. Yoongi isn't as loud as Hoseok, soft pants and whines where Hobi is echoing moans and groans, but it's just as attractive. He moves his hips in tandem with yours, and the muses themselves couldn't have created a better rhythm. The words fall from your lips again; it's easier, now that you've said them to someone, to let them go. They don't ball in your throat, aren't a lump to swallow down anymore, and you revel in the feeling.

"I love you," Yoongi returns, thumbs ghosting over the skin of your thighs. "So much, both of you. Saved me, can't fucking...fuck, can't tell you enough." You nod and loose another moan when Hoseok slides a finger in alongside Yoongi's cock.

"Do you think she can take us both, my flower?" Hoseok asks. His voice is raspy in your ear and you shudder as you orgasm again. There's a moment when you wonder just how many times you can come from the two of them, but it's gone the second Yoongi speaks.

"I think she could," Yoongi responds. "She's certainly wet enough. Absolutely soaked, aren't you, my queen? Do you want that? Both of us in here, filling you up?" He punctuates every word with another thrust of his hips and you nod. You don't think you've ever wanted anything more.

Hoseok is careful as he fingers you, working you open with one, then two, then three fingers as Yoongi slides in and out. You'd commend them both on their stamina if you could spare a single thought to anything but the feeling of them. Yoongi looks wrecked, covered in sweat with swollen lips, panting and desperate as he writhes beneath you.

When Hoseok finally decides you're ready, he slides his fingers out and asks you again if you're sure. You barely have the presence of mind to nod, too close to coming again, but it's enough for him. He slides in, and all three of you are moaning. You can't be sure what it feels like for them, but you're in absolute bliss. Hoseok peppers your shoulder with chaste kisses, murmuring encouragement as he sinks deeper inside. His cock drags against your walls and Yoongi's dick, and the thought makes you clench around them both. You're so full, you may explode, but it's perfection. When Hoseok bottoms out inside of you, you're all still for a while, just getting used to it.

"You're perfect," Hoseok whispers into your skin. "Both of you, you're both fucking perfect. Fuck, can I-?"

"Yes," You interrupt. You're already grinding down onto them, desperate for any kind of friction. "Please, Hobi." He grunts as he starts to move, and Yoongi does the same. They get a steady rhythm after a while, one sinking in as deep as he could get as the other drags outward, only to slam back in at the last second.

A sob builds in your throat, the sheer pleasure rolling through your body too much to handle as orgasm after orgasm slammed into you. There are hands everywhere, two on your hips keeping you steady, two roaming your body and teasing your nipples, on one Hoseok's neck to keep him close as another rests lightly against Yoongi's throat. You aren't sure which are yours, can't tell where you end and they begin, too fucked out to be able to think beyond the drag of their cocks against your walls and the growing ache inside you.

"Please," You gasp. "Please, need it. Fill me, please, need you both to fill me, make me yours, forever. Mark me. I'm yours, always, please, fill me with you." They both groan at that, and their pace speeds up. They're hitting harder and deeper and brushing against the spot inside of you that makes your vision turn white. Something gushes down your thighs as you spasm around them wildly, hips jerking of their own accord, and you feel it as they come together, hot seed spilling inside of you as you ride out your highs together.

You're panting and sweaty and hot and still, you don't think you'd trade this for even a moment of sunlight. They slide out of you and their cum seeps down your legs before you can stop it. You fall to the bed beside Yoongi, chest heaving even as he wraps you in his arms. A wave of your hand creates a small fan near the bed, shadows churning out cool air that feels like ambrosia on your skin.

Hoseok reappears with water for you both, and you thank him. Your voice is nearly gone, but it's worth it, you think. You pat the space beside you and Hoseok climbs in. His skin is hot against yours; the three of you are essentially a furnace at the moment, but you can't bring yourself to care. You can't count how many orgasms you had or how long you spent with them; it could have been minutes or hours or even days. It doesn't matter to you, really. Sprawled between an already-sleeping Yoongi and a Hoseok that's tracing invisible designs onto your skin, you have everything you could ever want.

Later you sit atop the shadows near your bed, chin in your hand as you admire the card between your fingers. Yoongi and Hoseok are wrapped around each other in your bed, lightly snoring as the sheets rise and fall against their naked chests. As you watch them, Hoseok’s brow furrows and he lazily stretches his arm to pat against the bed in search of you. He snuffles a little, and Yoongi nuzzles deeper into the crook of his neck until they’re both quiet again.

Silver foil glints in the light and you look back at the card in your hand. There’s a stack a hundred high beside you, all of them identical to the next save for the curling letters that make up the recipients, but this one is special. This one is your favorite. If you didn’t absolutely have to send it off, you would frame it and hang it above your throne; ultimately, though, you’d rather bask in the aftermath that’s sure to come.

With a small smile, you set it atop the others and wrap the bit of twine around them all. It’s gone with a wave of your hand, no doubt appearing wherever Hermes is. You wish you could see the look on his face when he realizes what they are, but he’s not the one that you really wish you could watch.

The raspy call of your name brings you back to the present, and you look up to find Yoongi watching you, lids heavy with sleep and eyes dark. “What are you doing?” He asks.

“Nothing.” You grin and stand, letting the shadows underneath you fall away. “Just sending out a quick notice.” You slide in beside him and Hobi, the latter still asleep but turning to wrap his arms around you nonetheless. Yoongi presses kisses to your knuckles and you pull a stray flower petal from his hair.

“You’re gloating, aren’t you?” He mutters. There’s a smile behind his eyes, and it warms you.

“Maybe a bit.” You lean over and kiss him, gentle and tender and you hope that it conveys everything you can’t put into words. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

“No,” Yoongi answers after a long pause in which he moves to straddle Hoseok’s hips in order to get close enough to suck marks into your neck. His lips are slow against your skin, tired and lazy from sleep. “I think I enjoy this side of you, actually.” “I, for one, am very much enjoying this side of you.” You grin at Hoseok’s words, smiling down at him. He’s half-hard again, hands resting lightly on Yoongi’s hips and eyes fixed on the bruises that bloom on your neck. “I thought we were sleeping.”

“We were,” You tell him. “You can always go back to sleep if you want.”

“You wish,” He mutters. Yoongi groans against your neck and you look down to see Hoseok palming him, working him up to fullness as Yoongi fucks into his hand. You wrap one of your own around Hoseok and return the favor; the way his moan echoes through the room is better than anything the nine muses could have created.

It’s slow and tired, each of you already spent from your earlier activities, but when you eventually drop between them, chests heaving from your orgasms and already half-asleep again, you think it’s worth it.

When you wake later and find a card sitting on the flower-woven throne - a new addition to the hall, one most welcome - crumpled and half-torn with a thorn sticking out of it, you know it’s worth it.

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