After his...let us say, dramatic reveal, Anos had taken to calling him some variation of my friend regularly.
It made his heart soar.
It tore his heart in two.
"I am. I'd hate to admit what about," he replied, sheepishly scratching at his cheek, "I fear it will make me look rather foolish for someone my internal age."
Anos crossed his arms, "It's more foolish to work yourself up over nothing when you could let it all out to someone willing to listen."
Aaah, Anos's unshakable confidence. Words spoken with unmatched conviction.
He'd always loved that.
"You're right, as you always are," sighing, he gripped the edges of the window ledge he sat on, "My heart is in two places at once."
Anos sat beside him. He was always amazed at how someone brimming with such power could have such an approachable aura, sit in a position that assured you it was fine to bear your very soul, "You are in love with two people?"
It was a question, but Anos likely had known from the start. Damn his intellect, both analytic and emotional.
He fisted the cloth covering his heart, "I am. You reside in the deepest parts of me, millennia spent just trying to grant you the peace you so wished for. The burning desire for your happiness propelling me forward. Even at the time, even as enemies, I had always wanted...those eyes...for you to smile" he leaned back, head thumping against the window glass, "But Misa... grants me peace. I don't feel the desire to chase, there is no burning. I simply wish to bask in her presence. I look at this necklace and feel as though I might cry."
"That is quite the dilemma."
Anos's tone wasn't unsympathetic, but it was distant. Unreachable. Like he always was.
"I can't tell you how to move forward, my friend. I suppose the advice someone born in this era would give would be to move on, but I understand better than most how long two thousand years truly is. There are some things I would suggest you determine for yourself, though."
Rather abruptly, Anos's hand reached out to grab his friend's chin, forcing their gazes to meet. His Ruin eyes weren't active, but they felt as though they might as well been.
"Are you Kanon? Or are you Lay? Does it change depending on who you speak to? Is it Kanon who loves me, or is it Lay? Does Lay love Misa, or is it Kanon? Are they of the same opinion? Are they even the same man?"
Anos released his chin, smiling confidently as he always did, but the expression was warm.
It was the smile he gave the Hero as he ran a holy blade through his chest. A smile reserved for a friend, "Ponder those, and your answer will come."
Vague spoilers for MGS4. Also xtremely fucking sad fair warning lol
“Snake... Dave?” Hal immediately corrected himself upon entering the room. The veteran’s (finally they could use that term, with there truly being no fights left to fight) request to drop the codenames they had maintained for nearly a decade had been a little sudden, but entirely understandable, “We think we’ve found a place to stay, for the moment. A nice house, close enough to a town that Sunny can go to school in, but far enough ouy most folks will leave us alone.”
David simply nodded- taking a deep breath that would normally be an intake of smoke into his lungs, but he was sincere in his declaration of quitting. Even if it wasn’t for very long, he could do that much for Sunny and Hal, after all this time. The tech wiz stood awkwardly in the doorframe, posture so closed in on himself David would see the gangly nerd he once was before he had started spending more time eating and moving around than seated in front of a computer.
He still did plenty of that, but years on the run had shifted the ratio considerably until just recently.
“Out with it, Hal,” he croaked out in a voice that was becoming increasingly unfamiliar to both of them. This seemed to shock his companion out of his own thoughts, and he finally moved closer.
“Ah, well, you see- what do you want for your last name, Dave? You know I’ll be formalizing Sunny’s adoption, which means we’ll finally be obtaining,” emphasis was put on the word, because in reality it meant forging, “papers for her, and I thought you’d probably be in need of some too. We can use whatever is on your birth certificate, but if you want to pick something out yourself...”
A smile formed under Dave’s mustache.
“I already know what I’m using.”
Hal perked up, “You do? What is it?”
With the same simple, to the point gruffness he would never quite be rid of, the one legendary soldier answered in a single word.
“Emmerich.”
All sounds except the Nomad’s machinery working overtime on her last voyage and David’s unfortunately heavy breathing ceased for an eternally long moment, Hal’s face journeying between every emotion he possessed. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, and his attempt to stifle his sniffles failed.
He probably wouldn’t have admitted it at the beginning, but something David had always loved about Hal was his ability to keep crying. No matter the hardships he faced, the traumas, the evils and cruelties he bore witness too, he didn’t run out of tears. His compassion was a well that ran deep, and those tears were just a result of it overflowing.
“Dave...of, of course,” his expression betrayed some amusement past the waterworks, “Do you want me to list you as my brother, or-”
“You know exactly what it’s going to say, Hal.”
They both laughed now, such different sounds than it was just a year ago even. David had been sitting on the edge of the bed, and Hal had been across the room, but that distance closed as Hal kneeled on the floor, placing his hands on David’s knees. It was a gesture that David had previously classified as pitying, but he knew better, now.
It wasn’t for his comfort at all.
“Thank you, David.”
David had half a mind to ask what it was like to kiss an old man with a mustache, but they didn’t have the time for jokes like that anymore, so he just closed his eyes and enjoyed it.
---
The eyeroll David had given when Hal told him the name of the town they’d be living in was named Jupiter was so legendary it surpassed his previous exploits with ease. But, despite how silly it was, he couldn’t deny the warmth in his chest.
They’d gotten their trip to Jupiter, just a little late.
Jupiter, Washington, was as small as a small mountain town got. It didn’t even have an elementary school for Sunny to attend (she was bussed to the neighboring, larger town). Most residents were the descendants of the people who had first lived there, so their new faces stuck out for awhile, but they eventually concluded what was essentially the truth, albeit missing some key details, and moved on- they were just two retirees, hoping to live out what was left of the older one’s life in peace with their orphaned granddaughter, nothing exciting.
Hal laughed at how huffy David had gotten at the granddaughter comments.
For the first month, their time there was peaceful. Content. Happy.
The second month, David starting being able to spend less and less time out of bed.
In the third month, he took Hal aside.
“You should stop sleeping in the same bed as me.”
His husband was a genius, he knew exactly why, but he still asked anyway.
“Don’t make me say it.”
That he didn’t want Hal to wake up one sunny spring morning cuddling a corpse.
Tears were shed, as they always were, but he complied nonetheless. All of David’s belongings were transferred to the guest bedroom (Hal had tried to convince him to stay in the master bedroom, it was more comfortable, but David was adamant- that was where Hal would be staying in the future, and he didn’t want his ghost lingering in the air whenever he slept).
On the first day of the fourth month, right after sending Sunny off to school, Hal told him they were getting a dog for her.
“She loves those chickens, and I thought she might like another pet.”
“Or is it to replace me?” he asked, morbid mirth nearly buried under the pure gravel that had become his voice, “Seems to fit perfectly.”
Hal’s eyes, sad and weary, seemed to want nothing to do with this conversation, but he participated for his partner’s sake, “How so?”
“It’ll bark at strangers, bite the hand that feeds, and just generally be a pain in your ass.”
Despite himself Hal did laugh, not entirely bitter, “We’ll train it better than that.”
“Don’t train it too well. Won’t remind you enough of me.”
Fifth month, they had a dog. Rex, a joke on two layers- a name so common it was funny, and a reminder of one man’s shame that he’d never quite shake off. Not a husky, because while that would please David, they’d be keeping it long term and that level of energy just wouldn’t suit their needs. Rex was an adolescent Golden Retriever.
The dog of the American dream.
Almost like he could tell David wouldn’t be around long enough to justify getting attached, Rex mostly ignored him. The feeling was mutual.
Sunny loved them both dearly, and that was enough.
---
They had been there half a year, and Sunny made them breakfast. Her specialty, eggs fried to methodical perfection, toast just a little browner than anyone would like, maple sausage microwaved for ten seconds more than the instructions said just to make sure they were thoroughly cooked, and a glass of pulpless orange juice tucked precariously into the crook of her arm as she carried the meal to Uncle Dave’s bedroom.
It was two minutes after Hal watched Sunny depart from the kitchen that he heard a loud crash, glass and ceramic shattering, followed by Rex’s insistent barking and whining. He was on his feet and rushed to the scene, fearing the worst and finding exactly that.
“Oh, Sunny... Sunny...”
“U-Uncle H-Hal,” she barely managed through her cries. Rex, to his credit, ignored the food on the ground and nuzzled at her face, whining, confused and upset by the noises of unparalleled distress his beloved human was emitting. Stifling his own grief, Hal went over to the young girl and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.
He didn’t do a great job at holding that grief in after all.
“Sunny, Sunny, Sunny... I’m so sorry... I should have checked up on him when I woke up... It’s okay, Sunny...”
“H-He’s d-d-dead. J-Just,” her stutter was exacerbated by her choking sobs, “J-Just l-like my m-mother.”
The downside of having such a bright child was that you couldn’t shield them from life’s harsh realities that easily. There was no convincing Sunny that Uncle Dave was with the birds in the clouds, or any other such comforting tale.
He was dead and gone, and she knew that.
---
The gravestone read:
David Emmerich
Beloved father and husband.
All three of those titles were ones he had only worn for six months, but he had worn them with honor.•
"Ya know, Q," Helena began, easily ducking away from a punch thrown by a third rate goon, "You're pretty cavalier with my real name, for a paranoid guy like you."
The thug seemed enraged by her nonchalance, but that barely pinged on her radar as her boyfriend responded, "I'll make sure no one finds out your identity," his voice was distracted as he downloaded the file, like her concern was not a concern at all, "So it doesn't matter."
"Constantly making sure it stays secret seems like a waste of time and effort," she retorted, growing tired of playing with her adversary and delivering a hook right under his jaw that knocked him flat. Now that all the hired muscle was out of her way, she cracked her knuckles as she approached Question.
He pulled the drive out of the computer, slipping it into his pocket. Before he spoke, he paused thoughtfully, and lifted his leg to kick the computer screen in.
"It's a trifle for me."
"Q, you're really-"
Wait. Q didn't brag about stuff like that. And he had better things to focus on than constantly monitoring his, uh, network(?) to make sure her true identity didn't reach the wrong ears. He must have a reason... oh.
Oh, baby doll.
Quick as a flash, she fired a bolt from his crossbow that whizzed past his head to catch his attention.
"Any reason for the failed assassination attempt? You normally don't miss."
She hooked the weapon back on her belt, approaching her boyfriend with the kind of conviction in her eye that led to men being dead in every sense but the legal one, and he was smart enough to back up. Eventually, the back of his knees hit the office chair that he had risen from earlier, and he fell into sitting in it with a soft thump.
"I have a theory, Q. Humor me for a minute."
He swallowed thickly at her low tone, and nodded, clearly thankful for the impassivity of expression inherent to his mask.
She reached his spot and boxed him in by putting both hands on each arm of the chair, "I was wondering why you'd go through all the trouble of tempting fate with my identity. You don't take unnecessary risks, right? Except you do. In one circumstance."
Leaning in, her black hair framed her face like a dark halo, the effect accentuated by the flickering overhead light that had been broken by a stray bullet in the earlier brawl. His avenging angel. His heart rate increased at a concerning pace, "When you want to impress me, you can get a little reckless, huh baby doll? You get off on the thrill of protecting me. That's why you do it- you make a situation where you create and solve the problem."
She pulled his tie loose from his vest, yanking it forward so her unmasked nose bumped into his masked one, "I unraveled one of your little mysteries. How's that make you feel, baby?"
"Do you want the long answer or the short one?"
She laughed, nearly low purr, "Let's make it quick."
"Good. Very."
She let go of his tie, but not before hooking a finger under the knot and loosening it just a bit, "As much as I like putting on a show, let's head back before these idiots wake up so you can do whatever it is you need to with that data, and then I can give you your reward for being honest," her smirk grew as she whispered, "Vic."
For the first time, he found that being bested at his own game wasn't so bad at all.•
He decorates them with little flowers made of frosting, and big swooping letters that say “Happy Birthday!”. Sugar is still hard to come by, but they make an exception, just for us. They owe us, they say.
I don’t care that much, but Peeta, he cares.
I think he makes them to make up for all the birthdays his brothers, and Prim, never got to have. In the day's leading up to their birthday, he gets sad. Not the nightmares, not the flashbacks- though those do still come sometimes, but we never can really prepare for those. On the day of, he wakes up before me, before the children, before the sun, and starts preparing everything he needs for the cake.
So I don’t care about the sugar, but I do care about the cakes. Because Peeta does.
When it’s Lily’s (we didn’t name her until she was three. People looked at us like we grew extra heads, but we just wanted to be sure to not be too attached. Just in case,) tenth birthday, I wake up with him.
“Can I help?”
“You want to bake?” he asks me. In a way, he means it. I have always left the kitchen things up to him. But he’s also joking with me- we’ve gotten better at joking over time, now that he’s more certain that when I say something to him, I mean it.
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t argue.
We don’t live in a very big house, because we discovered that big houses bring back memories we both spend most of our time running from, so the walk to the kitchen is short. Like every time, he prepared everything over the course of the last week, so he just pulls down each item from the cabinet one at a time. Cake flour, sugar, leavening, and vanilla. He asks me to get the milk, butter, (we use goat’s) and eggs from the refrigerator, so I do, placing it next to everything else.
It took awhile to get used to the fridge, but less time than other things- being able to keep things cold year round is nice. We had one when we lived in the Victor’s Village, but that’s another time we like to forget about. I barely ate at home then, anyways.
“We have to let the eggs, milk, and butter sit for an hour. We can make the frosting in the meantime.”
Baking is a lot like making medicine with Mom and Prim. Lots of waiting and a test of my patience.
Peeta looks peaceful as he mixes the sugar, milk, and vanilla to make the frosting, so baking isn’t so bad.
Next we preheat the oven, we get the pans out, and butter them up. After that, we mix the ingredients. Saying “we” at this point is generous, really. Peeta does it, and I just stand there awkwardly. I mostly wanted to see him do it, not help, and I think he knows that, because he explains each step like he was talking to Lily or Benjamin.
“Bring the pans over here and hold one of them steady for me.”
“Got it.”
He tips the bowl and the batter slowly drips inside, filling it up to just before it gets full. We repeat this four more times, then put them in the oven. Now it’s time to wait again. By now, the sun has started to rise, filling the kitchen with much warmer light than the lamps had been doing. I lean into his side and he puts his hand on my waist and we’re quiet for a while.
“Peeta?”
“Yeah?”
Before following up on my question, I kiss him, quick and soft, and very much real.
The room was filled with the scent of beer and pizza, a common combination for the two of them after a long day of training. Kurt bought the beer of course, he was knee deep in drink debt after all their bets; a German import, not because he was truly the type of care about the origin of his alcohol, but because it was quite funny to pretend that he was. They had ordered a pizza, Kurt having scared the daylights out of the poor teenaged delivery person by 'porting in front of them when he forgot to tip.
(The face they made would have Logan busting his gut for weeks.)
They were in the aftermaths of their feast now, lounging in the living room, bellies full and content. Logan sat on the couch, holding a bottle with only a few sips left, feet up and crossed on the coffee table, while Kurt was perched on the edge of the couch, either like a scheming gargoyle or a playful cat depending on who you asked.
"Sorry for what, mein Freund? You have done me no offense, at least not recently."
"Watch 'yer smart mouth, pal," Logan growled, but his closest companion knew the difference between anger and friendly irritation, and this was the latter, "What I mean is, I'm sorry for all the idiots who don't understand what they're lookin' at when they see you."
A warmth filled Kurt's chest at the declaration For all Logan's bluster, and very, very sharp edges, he cared for his friends. There was no one among them quicker to defend Kurt's appearance than him, even if rarely as straightforwardly as this, "Ah, tausend dank, Logan. I am not so bothered by it now, at least when it is a stranger. The support you all have given me means far more to my heart than their fear."
Logan knocked back the last sip of his beer and placed it down on the coffee table with a thunk, "That's good ta' hear, elf, but not what I meant."
With a curious tilt of his head, Kurt climbed down from his perch to sit beside the other, tail flicking around behind him with interest, "What did you mean, then- Autsch!"
The exclamation came more from surprise than pain, as Logan had reached out abruptly to grab hold of Kurt's tail to stop its movement and ensure he had its bearer's full attention. Of course the man could just teleport away, but he was far too stunned to do anything but look at Logan with wide, golden eyes.
"No one's quite like you, elf."
"Ja, ich... Yes, I..."
The hand on the upper part of his tail traveled downwards, and a shudder wracked through him at the sensation.
"Who needs 'normal' when you got looks like yours? I'd rather be lookin' at you than anything else."
Heart thumping a kilometer a minute under Logan's intense, unmasked gaze, Kurt swallowed thickly, "Let me make sure I'm understanding what's happening here. You are, flirting with me, yes?
The hand gripping his tail let go, but before Kurt would mourn the loss, a tender hand came up to touch his fuzzy cheek, and it's gentle caresses felt more meaningful because he was all too aware of the deadly power they were capable of, "If 'ya have to ask, I've been doing a bad job."
"Nein, nein, you were fine. More than, really. I just feared it was wishful thinking, mein Freund. Mir kommt es vor als würden wir uns schon seit Ewigkeiten kennen," the confusion on Logan's face tipped Kurt off that he had slipped into his mother tongue, "I feel like we've known each other for an eternity, but I did not want to make the assumption that you felt the same."
"I might as well have been alive for an eternity, elf, but it woulda been a helluva lot better if you were around for it."
While the flirtation was definitely working on him, Kurt couldn't help but laugh, "You are deceptively smooth for all the prickles you possess."
Grinning, Logan's began to rub his thumb against the short fuzz if Kurt's cheek, "I'm choosin' to interpret that as you saying it's working?"
Kurt returned the expression, before leaning in so close their lips brushed, “If you have to ask, I am doing a bad job.”
Pizza and beer was perhaps not the most pleasant combination of flavors to share a first kiss with, but neither of them really cared.•
I wanted some MinPalla childhood sweethearts, inspired by their mini-alts in FEH. Part of the Archanea Chronicles.
When their mother died, Palla did not cry.
Est was one, but due to their mother’s illness she had seen more of the local midwife and her sisters than she ever did of their mother, so only cried as much as a baby normally cries.
Catria was five, and she cried a whole, whole lot. She gripped Palla’s skirt and wailed, snot and tears dripping down her face. She woke up and cried, and went to sleep crying.
When you’re eight like Palla, you’re a big girl- so that means no more crying. That’s what she reminded herself over and over when the tears threatened, anyway. She knew Mother wouldn’t agree, would tell her that it’s okay for big girls to cry, that it’s okay for anyone to cry.
But Mother was gone. They had lost Father only a year ago, and now she was gone too.
It was just the three of them.
So she was going to be the best big sister ever, and be super tough. If she cried, they would know that there was a chance things wouldn’t be okay. She was going to work to be so strong that nothing could ever hurt her little sisters ever again.
The captain of the pegasus division of the Macedonian army, Mylla, had always told her she was too young to follow in her mother’s footsteps, that she had a few more years to grow.
But the day after the funeral, her mind had changed.
First thing in the morning, training lance gripped in hand, Palla approached her again, mouth knit into a tight, determined frown.
“Lass, look-” the older woman began, as always, but now she paused, expression stricken with an emotion that Palla couldn’t yet decipher, “That’s quite the face you're making. Not the face of a young girl anymore.”
Her grip tightened.
Sighing, the captain’s shoulders slumped, “If you’re so determined, you can train with the Princess. Normally only the royal family start this young, but I suppose she wouldn’t mind a sparring partner her own age. Follow me.”
Her face perked up at the mention of Princess Minerva, “Oh, thank you!”
Of course, she had known about the first princess for some time. Her mother had been the queen’s personal vassal before both their deaths, so Palla had been told from a young age she would likely inherit a similar duty. She followed close at Mylla’s heels, into the castle walls. Another place she had visited briefly with her mother, but she had never gone through this way, into the royal guard’s training area.
When they arrived, they found a girl who couldn’t be any older than she was having her footing be critiqued by an older man.
“Oi, Odger!” Mylla called out to catch his attention. He turned to look at them, his grizzled but not unfriendly face reminding Palla of her father in many ways. The girl, who she realized must be Princess Minerva, looked at her with curiosity. Maybe she didn’t get to see a lot of other kids?
The man named Odger relaxed his posture, gesturing to Palla, who was overcome with a sudden wave of shyness and hid behind the Captain, “What’ve you got there? New recruit for the guard? A little young, ain’t she?”
Mylla stepped aside and gave the young girl a gentle push, sending her stumbling forward into focus. Mustering her courage, she stood up straight, holding her lance in the way she remembered seeing her mother do when speaking to the late queen, deferential yet confident, “I’m Palla, sir. Atheleys daughter. I want to become a pegasus knight like my mother was.”
He gazed at her impassively, “What if I said you’re not old enough? Isn’t that what Mylla has been telling ‘ya?”
She knew that she shouldn’t say what she was about to, that with the strict way the Macedonian military operated, she could ruin her chances of ever getting a position in the corps, but the repressed feelings from her mother’s passing bubbled to the surface as she replied, heatedly, “I would say that I am old enough. I watched my Mother my whole life. Give me time and I’ll surpass everyone!”
For a moment following their outburst, there was silence, but it was quickly followed by raucous laughter from Odger, who pat his belly jovially, “Careful talking to yer superiors like that, little lady! If I was anyone but a retired knight turned combat instructor, there'd be some real consequences,” he calmed down, settling his face into a soft smile, “I see you’re truly serious. It won’t be easy, and you won’t get any special treatment- just like this one here doesn’t.”
The Princess nodded gravely.
“Show up tomorrow at sun up, and be ready. I won’t be teaching you the basics.”
“Thank you, sir! I’ll do my best!”
---
He was serious when he said it wouldn’t be easy. Every evening when she came home to her sisters, it was in a state of exhaustion and ache, every muscle complaining at once.
That doesn’t mean she wasn’t enjoying herself.
Every lance swing, every knee scrape, made her feel closer to her mother, which in turn made her stomach churn less when Est looked up at her and called her “Mama!” before being corrected,
And, of course, there was her training partner.
Princess Minerva was a serious girl, in much the same way Catria seemed poised to become. There was a look on her face that Palla knew meant she planned to be a fighter her whole life, and that this training was not just exercise- but might one day keep her alive.
But if you got her talking about her brother, baby sister, or the pegasus she had been working with, it was an entirely different story. Her eyes would light up and she would laugh and swing her arms around recounting the story of the way her little sibling finally said her name for the first time.
“She can only call me ‘Min’ right now,” she recounted as they took a break to eat some lunch, smiling as she wiped some crumbs off her face, “But the nursemaid told me that in a few months she will likely be able to say my full name.”
“I remember when Catria used to call me ‘Pal’,” Palla replied, swallowing her bite of bread, “Its’ nice that you’re a big sister too. I get lonely sometimes when I only get to see my sisters.”
Minerva nodded, “I understand. I love my brother and my sister, but I enjoy speaking to someone close to my own age. Father said it would be good for me. He wants me to be strong, but,” she leaned in conspiratorially, “He’s actually nice. Him and my brother can be scary, but they’re both very kind.”
Palla giggled, “My mother was the same way. Everyone said she was so serious, but she always played with me and read me lots of stories.”
“...do you miss your mother very much?”
Her head snapped up at this abrupt question to look at Minerva, who was turned away to hide her face, “I miss my mother.”
She sometimes forgot that the Princess had lost a parent as well, “...Yes. I miss her a whole lot. But,” she reached out to pat her companion’s knee, “I’m doing just fine! I’m going to be just as strong as she was. So you don’t have to worry about me!”
Because she was a big girl! Big girls didn’t think about their mother and cry into their pillows, or want to scream whenever they saw someone holding their mother’s hand!
Minerva moved to face her now, face twisted in confusion, looking like she had something to say but just didn’t know the right words, “Palla, I-”
“Times up, kiddos!” Odger’s voice shattered the tense atmosphere between them. So the conversation was left behind- but not forgotten.
---
It was many months later, nearing Palla’s tenth birthday, that Minerva stopped her before she headed home. The sun was setting and it’s final rays were streaming into the open area of the royal training area. Odger had already left, so it was only the two of them.
“Palla.”
“Yes, Lady Minerva?”
Minerva’s hand was on her wrist, holding her in place for the ensuing silence, before the Princess finally gathered her courage, “I was thinking about... when we get older.”
“When we get older?”
“Yes,” she took a deep breath, and spoke in that serious, assured tone she always did, “We should get married. That way, I can always make sure you’re not lonely or sad.”
Palla’s eyes widened, cheeks reddened, and jaw dropped, “Married!?”
Minerva’s face twisted like it had that day nearly a year ago, but this time, she was able to voice her thoughts, “When you leave, my heart hurts, because I know that you are sad- you always smile when you come here, but there are times I see you nearly in tears. The thought of you being lonely makes me quite angry. I want to make sure you’re always actually happy. Marriage seemed like the easiest way to do that.”
This never happened in any of her mother’s storybooks. There was usually an epic adventure and love story before the princess decided she was to defy her station and be with the knight she loved.
And they usually weren’t nine years old, either.
However, the offer made Palla’s stomach warm. Minerva was strong, and reliable. She never expected Palla to be more than she was- just a girl her own age, a peer, a friend. Sometimes she even thought that it might be okay to share how she really feels to her, to open up, to... to cry. Even though she was a big girl.
She thought that maybe, she didn’t have to be a big girl around Minerva.
“You mean it?”
“Yes. I want to make you happy.”
The tears started coming down, and big girl Palla was gone. All that was left was Palla- a not-quite-ten year old child who missed her mother, and just wanted to be a kid. The quiet crying quickly became hiccuping sobs, dragging her forearm across her eyes to dry the deluge as it came.
“I’m,” she sniffed loudly, “I’m lonely! I love my sisters, but I want my mother! I want my father! I want someone to take care of me sometimes too!”
In a flash, she felt a pair of arms around her, and realized slowly that she was being hugged by the taller girl. It was an awkward, unpracticed hug, but it was the first time she had been hugged by someone bigger than her in nearly a year. It wasn’t Catria or Est hugging her leg before they scurried off to play, it was a warm, enveloping hug that made her feel safe.
“I will take care of you. We can be together always. Father tells me that one day I shall get to be in charge of my own unit, and you can be in it. And we can get married. That way you’ll always know I will be there for you.”
Sniffling weakly now, she squeezed back tightly, “Thank you. I’ll do my best to get as strong as you so I can stay by your side.”
They stayed like that for a moment, the setting sun now having almost fully retreated, casting them in the cool darkness of the early night. In the back of her mind, Palla knew that Minerva was probably beholden to whatever marriage promises her father makes for her, but she couldn’t get herself to care.
Not when she could finally, finally, be herself.
---
It was thirteen years later when they were actually wed.
Of course Palla’s doubts had been correct at the time. The king had just laughed at his daughter, pat her head, and sent her on her way. He had several marriage contracts in talks with other kingdoms even at that time, so as much as he loved his daughter, one freedom he hadn’t planned to allow her was romance.
But, of course, before any of them could come to fruition, his life was snuffed out by his own son.
Over the years, Palla kept her promise, and was the first pegasus knight assigned to Minerva’s unit, later followed dutifully by her younger sisters and becoming the Whitewings that were known far and wide. Together, the two women had fought two wars, overcome adversity in all its forms, and a childhood friendship became... more.
So when Minerva renounced her claim to the throne, and wandered the land helping the war restitution with her own two hands, Palla followed suit. Their marriage was a small affair, done in the halls of Lena’s convent by the woman herself. It wasn’t for the public’s eye- it was just for them.
That night, as they curled together in bed feeling a peace that had been out of reach for months, Palla remembered her wife’s first proposal.
“You were ready to marry me at nine years old,” she reminiscenced fondly, enjoying the brief embarrassed tense up from Minerva, “I don’t think I could ever forget.”
“That seemed to me to be the only solution at the time,” she pulled Palla closer, “Everyone was always discussing marriage around me, so I believed it to be the solution to every ‘adult’ problem.”
“You turned out to be right, all these years later. I’m happily married to you, and I never feel lonely when you’re around.”
Minerva placed a kiss on her wife’s forehead, who hummed appreciatively at the gesture, “I did think about asking you again, many times, as we grew up, but by that point I had learned what it truly meant. And glad I am that I waited. I want to give you a peaceful, happy life.”
“And I want the same for you,” Palla replied, more certain than she had ever felt before. Happy tears welled in her eyes, just like they had when they exchanged vows.
Kirk’s hands were shaking as they held Spock’s cheeks between their palms, tracing those sharp features he so admired with his thumbs. Before, it had always been from a distance- a secret desire, an urge he suppressed.
But now? There was no more holding anything back.
In forty eight hours the Enterprise would dock for the final time of her maiden voyage, her crew departing for what might be forever. Most people would be relocated, positions shifted, relationships that had formed torn apart.
So Kirk was done waiting.
“Spock,” he said the name languidly, feeling like he had run out of time yet had all the time in the world, “Spock.”
When Spock spoke in return, it was soft as feather falling to the floor, “Yes, Jim?”
Titles and rank had been discarded at the door. At this moment, they were raw, tender men, bare without the shielding of their positions to hold their overwhelming feelings at bay.
“Does this make me a cruel man? Asking this of you now, of all times?” Kirk’s gaze never wavered from Spock’s, drinking in the subdued brightness of those dark eyes. He searched them for any signs of doubt, but saw only resolute will, a firm belief in... whatever this was.
“If this is cruelty, then it is such that I invited upon myself, and will bear the punishment accordingly.”
Kirk couldn’t help but laugh at that, quietly and adoringly, “Love is no punishment, Spock. At least, It shouldn’t be.”
Spock paused thoughtfully (or perhaps he too was admiring his companion, Kirk could hope) before speaking again, “I cannot say I agree or disagree, on the grand scale. But at this moment, I feel no regret.”
“That’s all I can ask of you.”
Those were the final words Kirk spoke, because speech outlived its usefulness to him at that moment- what he felt could only be conveyed through action. As their lips met, Spock brought a hand up to cover the one resting on his cheek, sending a warmth he had never felt before down Kirk’s spine.
In forty eight hours, they might part physically, but this small piece of the universe they carved out together, this brief moment, would be unending.•
"You know," Diana contemplatively traced the edge of her mug with her index finger, staring into the muddy depths of her mocha, "I had many partners before I even came to the world of man."
Bruce waited a moment, to see if she was planning to elaborate.
She did not.
"And if nothing kills me, Hera willing," she continued, "I will outlive most of you, and will likely take more lovers after you all die."
He furrowed his brow, taking a sip of his own straight black coffee (not how he preferred it, but he had an image to maintain), "Is there some sort of point you're trying to make?"
"Hmm, a small one," she smiled, eyes filled with mirth at having stumped him, "Just that really, you're not all that special, yet here I am anyway. Think about it, will you?"
She knocked back the rest of her drink, stood, and departed from the Commissary with a deliberate sashay of her hips.
There was a jitter in Bruce's blood, and it wasn't from the coffee.•
