#A bit to vibrant a bit to dull au
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lartiel · 5 months ago
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@tmntaucompetition okay so I didn’t know this but apparently I have to make ‘propaganda’ or smth for votes? Ummm, I fixed the previous art-
VOTE:
A BIT TO VIBRANT, A BIT TO DULL
Bleh, I’ll make cover art later but I’ve spent to long on these already-
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earthtooz · 6 days ago
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: THE GRASS IS WARMER ON YOUR SIDE :*+
in which: you hate okhema. it's too loud, too busy, too many bad memories associated with home. until phainon shows you otherwise.
or, in which you really were not expecting to fall in love with your friend, but fate has always been particularly funny, especially when you agree to be his fake partner for the upcoming kephale festival.
warnings: 20,000 words, slow burn, fake dating!au, modern!au, university!au, gn!reader, fluff with a good dash of angst, familial issues and toxic home environments, happy ending, two idiots in love, PINING, he falls first and harder, aglaea as a mother figure to both phainon and reader
a/n: more detailed notes here, this fic was a monster to write but is my new magnum opus. i hope you enjoy. if this flops, i'm cancelled both my mydei long fics that are in progress.
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You don’t like it back home. 
The city of Okhema is a metropolis haven with beautiful architecture and lush outdoor spaces, but, the streets are too busy, the people too obnoxious, and the memories you have there are dull and uninteresting. You don’t like it, you don’t like going home every summer, you don’t like leaving the Grove of Epiphany and returning to the lackluster life of your growing years, forced to spend another summer with your nose pressed in books.
People who aren’t from the Holy City like to proclaim it as a dream destination as it is beautiful, a lush paradise of bustling markets, expansive bathhouses, theatrical performances. It welcomes people from all corners of Amphoreus, and will be especially busy with the upcoming Kephale Festival.
While you’ve avoided going home for the past two years, you might be pushing your luck too far now for your parent’s pleasure.
“Y/n, are you alright?” Hyacine’s sweet voice snaps you out of your reverie, and you realise now that perhaps you’ve been staring down at the wooden table for a bit too long to be considered normal. 
“I’m fine,” you wave your thoughts away, suddenly feeling very scrutinised under everyone’s gaze. “What was the question?” 
“I just asked if you were going back to Okhema for break,” Castorice asked from across the table. “You don’t normally go back during the holidays, right?”
“I have to this time, it’s been a while since I’ve seen my family, they’re kind of
 demanding I come back,” you rest your chin in your palms, trying to mask the displeasure that churns in your stomach. “Why’d you ask?”
“Oh, what a shame. I’ll be staying behind for once, I was hoping we could spend some time together, but I guess not.”
“Aw, that’s such rotten luck, I would have loved to spend the holidays with you, Cas!” You visibly deflate in your seat. Spending time here with a close friend would beat out anything Okhema has to offer, and suddenly it feels even harder to go home. You wonder if you could conjure any kind of excuse that would suffice for your absence. However, given long it has been since you last saw your family, they’d be severely displeased if you flake out this last minute.
The wrath of your parents is not one you’d want to induce.
“Hey, while you’re in Okhema, will you be at the Kephale Festival?” Phainon’s chipperness cuts the conversation like a warm knife through butter, his bright smile stealing your attention. 
The Kephale Festival was an annual celebration and one of the more important dates in the Holy City’s calender. To celebrate, the entire city comes alive with games, banquets, and performances from human dancers to chimeras alike, turning into a spectacle to behold. So much so, that people from all corners of Amphoreus come just to witness it, wanting to partake in the celebrations themselves. After all, no other city knows how to celebrate like Okhema.
Despite being such a distinguished event, you’ve historically kept to yourself during it. Friends would invite you, but you’re not particularly enthused, maybe at most traversing through the streets a little to find some food to indulge in. The more vibrant celebrations, however, you’ve kept up a streak of avoiding them throughout the years.
Surprisingly enough, this isn’t even Phainon’s first time asking. This was your third year at the Grove of Epiphany, and for the last few times, you’ve said ‘no’ each time whenever he asked.
“I don’t have plans for it,” you admit. 
“What? You’re in Okhema for once and you don’t attend the Kephale Festival? That’s unheard of.”
“Not everyone is a socialite like you, Deliverer,” Mydei chips and you laugh underneath your breath. Phainon pouts at you, as if pleading for you to come up his defence when you know very well there’s a myriad of smart retorts he could respond with.
“In all fairness, it is a huge yearly celebration, I even think my family has plans of going.” Hyacine intervenes. “Are you maybe too familiar with the festivities?” 
You shrug. “Maybe, but if you’re in Okhema this year, then we should hang out!” 
“That sounds great! Would you like to join us, Phainon?”
“Of course!” He nods enthusiastically, “We should show you around!”
The conversation flows onto something else, which you’re grateful for. Eventually, the group splits when Castorice and Hyacine head to a class together, and Mydei follows, leaving just you and Phainon.
You two move to a different section in the expansive gardens of the Grove, seeking shelter from the bright sun by sitting under a large magnolia tree. The dirt surrounding you is littered with droppings of the white petals, Phainon idly fidgeting with the blooms and grass, even making little knots and threads of them.
Sitting with your knees tucked and a book resting on your legs, you can’t help but get the feeling that the white-haired man wants something from you, his gaze flickering over to you and lingering for a few seconds before he turns his head away.
There’s a question he wants to ask but doesn't know how to approach it, like the words won’t roll off his tongue in the way he wants it. There’s also a furrow in his brows, and you know that determined look all too well. You saw it when he was failing Professor Anaxagoras’ classes during the first half of the semester and worked hard enough that he managed to scrape a distinction from the scholar. Whilst his efforts were fuelled by him desperately wanting to prove himself, you gave him the push to really go for it. 
So, exactly like you did then, you nudge him in the right direction.
“Something on your mind, Phainon?” 
His bright blue eyes widen, flickering back to you as he straightens his spine, clearly being caught off guard by your question. “How’d you know?”
“You’re fidgeting.”
He laughs in that boisterous way of his, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You speak as if you know me like the back of your hand.”
“Well, I wasn’t wrong, was I?” You turn your attention back to the pages. “Fine, don’t tell me if you don’t want to.” 
“No, that’s not it, I do have a favour to ask of you, I’m just afraid it’s a bit embarrassing.” His hand goes to scratch the back of his neck and he refuses to meet your eyes. 
It’s amusing to see Phainon, who’s exuberance is larger than life and unapologetic about it, suddenly become as shy as a small child asking for extra sweets from Okheman vendors. However, for how long you’ve known Phainon, you’ve learnt that whenever he displays this quieter side of his, he’s trying to express a concern that worries him, so you wait patiently for him to answer. 
“You know how I asked if you were going to the Kephale Festival this year?” Asks Phainon. You nod. “Well, I
 was hoping to also ask if you could be my date.”
“Date? People need dates for the festival? I thought it was just games and performances and food.”
“It is! However, my mother is invited to lots of galas in celebration, and she always drags me along, somehow landing me a date every time. She has done this since I was fifteen, and honestly, Y/n, I can’t take it anymore,” he grimaces. “I don’t want to have another awkward festival experience, so I was hoping you would be able to accompany me this year?”
It sounds easy enough, maybe a little awkward. What you know of Phainon’s home is that he was adopted by a lady in Okhema who, from the stories he’d tell you, seems like a lovely woman, so you’re not entirely opposed to the idea of attending a gala and potentially meeting her.
Besides, this is Phainon. You may prefer to stay away from galas when you can, but he always has a way of making things fun. Where’s the harm?
“Being your date sounds easy enough. All I have to do is attend, right?”
Phainon laughs awkwardly. “Yes, but that’s not all. My mother believes in chivalry above all else, she will do unspeakable things to me if I’m bringing just a friend. So
 we have to pretend that we’re in a relationship.”
“What?” 
Suddenly, he’s on his knees and his hands are pressed together. “Please, Y/n, I’m begging you to help me out here. I’ll treat you to a lifetime of meals, just don’t make me suffer through another festival with someone I hardly know!” 
“I-It’s just a festival
”
“After years of suffering through awkward scenarios with people I hardly know, it feels like torture. I just want to bring someone who i will actually enjoy spending time with.” With the way he was pleading, you don’t think there is much room to intervene. It’s an odd request, you’re not even sure if you wholeheartedly believe his reasoning because of the many flaws in his logic.
Regardless, this issue seems serious to him, and it truly seemed as if he needed the help, and you’re willing to cast aside reason for someone reliable like him. If it were anyone else, you would have rejected, but Phainon? Who has always been there for you? You don’t have the heart to say ‘no’. 
“O-Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Really?” 
“Really.”
Suddenly, he brings you into a hug so tight that it feels like your ribs are being pressed together. He’s basically proclaiming a series of ‘thank you’s right in your ear, leaving you with barely any oxygen or brainpower to wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake, or if this will just be another funny story to share with your friends.
· · ─ · ☌ · ─ · ·
Pie-non: I’ve arrived at Okhema!
Pie-non: Good to be back
Pie-non: How about you?
Y/n: i’m only heading back this afternoon
Y/n: good to know you made it home safely :)
Pie-non: Hehe 
Pie-non: Safe travels :D
· · ─ · ☌ · ─ · ·
“Welcome home.”
Traditionally, it is a phrase meant to be said with warmth, a phrase of love and care that after being away from home so long, you can not help but feel like you’ve finally returned to where you belong, where you’re forever safe from the anguish and hardships of life. It is meant to be a warm greeting, but the words are so icy it creeps up your spine.
In a cruelly familiar way, you feel your muscles tense, concealing a shiver to let it simmer beneath your skin instead, lest you be scolded for improper behaviour.
“I am home,” you say.
“After all those years spent in the Grove of Epiphany, I had assumed you abandoned us.” There is no humour behind your mother’s words, no lightness underneath.
You thought you would have forgotten the cold edge of your mother’s voice. 
You steel yourself. “I have been furthering my studies.”
“At an underwhelming pace, yes, that would be correct. You may go to your room first and put all your belongings away, however, return to the living room within half an hour, your father will have returned by then.”
“Of course.”
“Dismissed.”
Within these walls, everything is constructed perfectly. From the furniture, to where it’s placed, to the floor boards and its distance from the ceiling, everything was made to be precise and perfect, and not an inch out of place. Within these walls, there are clocks everywhere, and they are all set at the exact, same second, ticking at the exact same millisecond so you are reminded to not waste a single tick. Within these walls, goosebumps crawl stubbornly all over your skin, trailing along your forearm, back, and neck, making your hair stand up.
Within these walls, you always feel cold, despite the bright Okhema sunlight that shines through routinely-cleaned window panes.
Within these walls, is your least favourite place in all of Okhema.
· · ─ · ☌ · ─ · ·
Pie-non: Are you free today?
Pie-non: Let’s hangout :0
Y/n: sure!
Y/n: i have a few errands to run, but i’ll be done before 1pm
Y/n: is that okay?
Y/n: we can get lunch or something together
Pie-non: More than
Pie-non: Do you need an errand buddy? I’m great entertainment :p
Y/n: it’ll be quite boring though
Pie-non: It’s ok, I like spending time with you! 
Y/n: alright
Y/n: meet me at marmoreal markets at 11am
The list of errands to complete your parents left you seemed longer today, and you scrutinise the additions that definitely were not there yesterday– just thinking about retrieving everything is making your head ache. Additionally, given how expansive Okhema is and how there are businesses all over the streets of the city, this errand trip is going to be exhausting. 
You stand up straighter and exhale a deep breath. It’s nothing unmanageable, no need to feel so frustrated over something so minute.
If anything, you feel bad that Phainon has to endure it with you. 
Your father had returned home yesterday exactly the same as you last saw him, perhaps with more wrinkles on his forehead and less hair on his head, but with the same distaste for the world he’s heralded for decades. 
They dropped you a series of tasks to complete, and you immediately resigned to your fate of being an errand runner. 
Couples, friends, and families pass by as you wait for Phainon. The markets are a notoriously busy and overstimulating space, leaving you to continuously glance left and right for any indication of his arrival. 
Thankfully, he doesn’t keep you waiting for long, appearing with two cups of iced drinks in his hands and that usual, easygoing smile of his.
“Hey, Y/n!” He waves at you, his other hand occupied with a carton holding two drinks. “Sorry if you’ve been waiting long, I got us some drinks to keep us cool!” He hands you one of them.
“What’s this?” You ask, eyeing the drink and the way it was presented. There are plenty of famous cafes around the markets that go viral all the time on the web for their cute aesthetics and unique drink combos that oddly mesh very well together. 
“I got you a pomegranate cream latte!” He stabs his straw into his drink, “you do like pomegranate, right?”
Incredible, it’s like Phainon knew you haven’t had your caffeine fix yet. “Yeah, I do. What did you get?” 
“A fig iced tea, want to try some?” He tilts the cup’s straw to your mouth and you hum at the fruity flavour that explodes on your tongue, nodding in approval of his choice, saying something about how you’ll get that next time. 
Then, you take a sip of your drink and hum in approval at his choice again. “This actually tastes pretty good, I would never have tried this if I saw it, thanks a bunch.”
He makes a sound of satisfaction, pleased with your judgment. “I’m glad, otherwise I would have had to drink it for you.”
“No thanks, we don’t need you to be caffeinated today.”
“Aw, why not? I did promise I’d be an exciting errand buddy today.”
“You don’t need caffeine to be exciting, Phainon.”
He laughs, the corners of his eyes creasing. “I’ll take that as a compliment! So, partner, what kind of date do you have planned for us?” 
You roll your eyes. “Unfortunately, this is going to be a date between me and this list of errands to get through, so let’s see how long you last before you regret tagging along.”
It’s like he takes that as a challenge, following along with every task you complete so obediently that you begin feeling bad for putting him through this, even if he’s not complaining or showing any physical weariness. Instead, he’s making small talk with the vendors you visit, asking about business, their days, what they’re selling. They’re far more receptive to him than you, but you’re certain that’s just part of Phainon’s charm and how effortlessly he can draw people in and keep them there.
Eventually, when you’ve finally completed the last task on the list, you and Phainon settle for a restaurant nearby.  
“Thank you for accompanying me today,” you watch as he pours water into both your glasses.
“No problem! It was fun, we talked to so many cool people like that fabrics owner!” Phainon exclaims. “Who knew that deep colour of red could only be achieved with pomegranate wine?”
“Speaking of which, I didn’t realise you knew so much about tailoring and garments and all that, where’d you learn?”
He waves his hand dismissively, “my mother, actually! Of course, I am nowhere as skilled as her, but after watching her weave for so long, I’ve picked up a few things along the way. I could never actually make anything, though, I’d be stuck threading the string through the needle.”
“Wow, so your mother is a seamstress?”
“Yeah! She actually runs a business in it. I really should know more about it, but fashion has never been my strong suit. She’s always picked out my outfits for me and burned the things she didn’t like.” There’s a twinge on embarrassment on Phainon’s features as he recalls the story and you laugh.
“Did she dress you for today?” 
He crosses his arms. “No! I’m not that aesthetically challenged anymore.” 
“I’m kidding,” you take a sip of your water. “Either way, having you around made the day a little more bearable.”
“Just a little?” 
“Just a little.”
“Are you sure it’s not a whooooole lot more than just a little?”
You roll your eyes. “Whatever.” 
He grins. “By the way, lunch is on me. I do owe you a lifetime of meals.”
“What? No, it’s fine,” you insist, “I thought you were just kidding!”
“I wasn’t, you’re my saviour, really.”
“That’s an exaggeration, come on.”
“I’m paying. That’s final.”
Phainon beats you to the register later, successfully covering your portion of the meal before you can do anything about it, smiling smugly at you when he’s successful.
· · ─ · ☌ · ─ · ·
Pie-non: Do you want to come over to mine?
Pie-non: Mum wants to meet you c:
Y/n: omg actually
Y/n: i’d love to! what day were you thinking?
Pie-non: How about Saturday? I’ll come pick you up. 
It dawns on you in Phainon’s car that you actually have to play the role of a loving partner. You knew what you were getting into, but it only hits now that the act has to come alive as you sit in his passenger seat, a box of fruits from Janusopolis in your lap.
When he pulls up at, what you assume has to be, his house, you have to stop and admire for a bit. It’s really nice, and you wonder how on Amphoreus you didn’t know that Phainon might have come from an affluent background. Maybe because the air of arrogance that rich Okheman kids carried around was not present in him- either way, you suddenly feel a lot more nervous for what his foster carer might be like. 
You have had your fair share of unpleasant run-ins with rich people.
He unlocks the front door and calls out a loud “We’re home!”. His voice booms through the expanse of his home and in response, someone exclaims a ‘welcome home’, the voice hypnotising and mature as the sound of heels ricochet down the walls. 
You had an image of what Phainon’s guardian might have been like, but you definitely were not expecting the face of your parents’ number one business rival to turn and greet you.
It’s like the universe is playing a grand prank because you’re certain half the colour has drained from your face, and you’re utterly speechless as Aglaea, the infamous ‘Goldweaver’, gives Phainon a small hug. You’re sure you look like a fool when she turns to greet you. Intimidatingly beautiful and beautifully intimidating, she is every part as terrifying as you were expecting her to be.
The first thing to note is that she is far more beautiful in person, carrying an air of dignity that will take your breath away. The second thing to note is she has an extremely kind smile, and you’re unable to see the villain that your parents have relentlessly painted her out to be.
They say that eyes are the window to the soul, but it seems that Aglaea has boarded hers shut with wooden planks, because you can not sense what she is thinking at all. She regards you incredibly neutral, like you are just another person in the threads of her life, and in a sense, you are. However, you were expecting more scrutiny, more hostility concealed by over-honeyed words, and a piercing gaze that would scan you up and down, considering Phainon just introduced you as his other half. 
You expect her to be like your mother. Instead, she smiles like she has known you her whole life.
“It seems that my boy has met his match,” she approaches you with a dignified air to her, as if all the dust particles in the atmosphere part with each step she takes, never obstructing her perfect appearance. “Y/n, it is an honour to meet you.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Lady Aglaea.” You tense when you realise you’ve addressed her too properly, feeling a grim jab of embarrassment to your gut. Quickly, you recover. “I brought some gifts for your household to enjoy! These are fruits from Janusopolis.” 
“That is very thoughtful of you, and please, drop the formalities, no need to be so polite.”
You relax your shoulders a little. 
“Phainon has told me some stories about you, you’re from Okhema as well, correct? Will you be here for the Kephale Festival?” 
“Yes, I will be.” 
“Good.” She smiles at you, and the gesture alone feels like a pat on the back, despite the fact that you have done nothing but be present before her. “What is it that you study at the Grove?” 
Some small talk is made, you answer each question she fires your way flawlessly, strategic with the tone and language you choose to respond to her with. 
However, unlike most ‘interrogations’ from recognisable members of society, this one with Aglaea feels less daunting and more like she’s genuinely getting to know you, each question not meant to disarm or test you. Rather, her curiosity stemming from interest and careful consideration of all you say. 
You were not expecting that from the most successful businesswoman in Okhema. Maybe even all of Amphoreus. 
After a few minutes, the conversation flows to a close. “Regrettably, I cannot stay to chat- Phainon, do take good care of Y/n. Y/n, you may tell me if he misbehaves, I’ll spin him back into shape.”
You laugh. “I will. It was lovely meeting you!”
“Make yourself at home, Y/n.”
The door closes behind her with a resounding click, and you feel like a massive weight has been lifted off your shoulders. From all the anecdotes you receive in passing from your parents, Aglaea is hardly as devious as they make her out to be. Frightening? Perhaps, but she is not a spawn of malice and evil. 
Still- a little warning would have been much appreciated.
“Why didn’t you tell me your caretaker was Aglaea?” You ask.
A few days ago, when Phainon said his mother owned a business in garment making and tailoring, you assumed it was on small scale, not an enterprise worthy of toppling over her competitors’. You’re pretty certain she runs a tailoring store for fun, external to the rest of her conglomerate. 
He blinks at you. “Would you have known who she was beforehand?”
“Yes! Your mother is the most successful businesswoman in Okhema, some warning would have been nice!”
“Does it matter? Would that have changed how you perceived her?”
You shut your mouth. 
“To me, she is the woman who I am eternally grateful for, without her, I do not know where I would be. That is the only version of her that matters to me.”
Shame crawls up your spine at the realisation you were accusing Phainon under his own roof.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I got ahead of myself, she seems like an incredible woman.”
“It’s okay,” he nods, an understanding look in his eyes, “would you like any food or water?”
“A glass of water is fine, thank you,” you say quietly and he leads you deeper into the pristine abode of his. You pass by pictures hung up on the wall that you merely glance at, not wanting to pry for too long. Despite how neat Phainon’s house is, it feels lived in. Like a space that is clean, yet welcoming, like the decorations and furniture were chosen for beauty and comfort, not just to show off endless vasts of wealth. 
“You’re fine with pets, right?” Next thing you know, he whistles loudly and you hear several, little claws resounding through the halls, pattering against the marble floor. Eventually, a pack of five or so chimeras round the corner, clearly excited by the call of their owner, who bends down to their height so they can all jump onto his lap. 
They’re all over him, rubbing against him excitedly and jumping around like the exuberant creatures they are. The sight is so cute, it almost makes you coo.
(You are, however, not above sneaking a photo that you will definitely send to Hyacine, Castorice, and Mydei later. The latter is going to laugh his ass off at the sight but you know incredibly well that he would love the pack and let them jump all over him too.)
“Hey guys! I missed you too, yeah, I know, I know, but we have a guest!” Almost as if they can understand him, they immediately stop their assault on Phainon to glance at you instead, five pairs of bright, beady eyes staring right at you. “Everyone, this is Y/n!”
It seems like that opens the floodgates, because they are suddenly jumping all over your legs, hoping to knock you down like they did with Phainon. They howl and whine, quietening down when you scratch their ears, keening at your touch. 
“They really like you!” 
“I think they like everyone.”
“Sure, but they like you the most, look! They’re so happy!” Then, you feel a smooth graze against your ankles, as if something was rubbing against it. When you look down, there’s a blue chimera already gazing up at you with sparkling eyes and it mewls when you make eye contact, tail wagging in excitement. “Especially Bubbles! He’s super fond of you.”
You bend down to pick it up and it sits comfortably in your arms, leaning against your shoulder as you cradle it. “He’s cute.”
“I’m glad you think so!”
“Where did you get all of them?” You ask, staring at the litter that was now playing amongst themselves, tackling, laying down, even stepping on each other. 
“I found them abandoned in a cardboard box in a back alley. I was coming home from school one day when I was 16, then I saw baby Bubbles’ nearby, as if waiting for someone to come by. He led me to the rest of the pack and Aglaea allowed me to keep them, it would be cruel to split them up, they deserve to grow up together.” 
“That’s really kind of you.” You suppose it makes sense for someone like Phainon to be so kindhearted that he couldn’t stand the idea of stranding defenseless animals, especially in a city as bustling and busy as Okhema. They would not have survived long without a home.
Fortunately, neither of you need to think about a scenario where that is reality. 
“Bubbles is a smart cookie,” you murmur and the creature in your arms looks at you as if it knew it was being complimented.
You nuzzle your cheek against Bubbles’ head, and he reciprocates by rubbing his against your chin.
(If you squint, the likeness between Phainon and Bubbles is uncanny, the both of them even wearing the same innocent smile with gentle eyes; ones that make you feel like nothing is wrong with the world.)
When you return home, you call out ‘I’m home!’ and hear nothing but silence in response. Moments later, your mother pops through the hallways and informs you of an email your father has forwarded to you– internal documents that required calculations and he expected them finished within the coming days.
You’re in no position to decline, so you grit your teeth and get to work. 
A few days pass since you last saw Phainon. He’s been texting you consistently about a variety of things, sending photos of his chimeras, the views he sees while on his runs, or other miscellaneous things like the dromas-shaped pancake he got from a food stand.
Meanwhile, you’ve been cooped up in your study, the hours passing by nonstop as you work through the pages of financial information forwarded through. 
Pie-non: What are you up to today?
Y/n: nothing fun
Y/n: just finishing up some reports for my parents
Pie-non: Sounds super gross :(
Y/n: the good news is that i’m almost done and can treat myself soon!!!
Pie-non: Yay!! Pie-non: We should hangout then :0
Y/n: hmm
Y/n: i have the day free on sunday! just need to return by curtain fall for a charity event
Pie-non: Lets meet then! Pie-non: The weather forecast is looking nice, how about a picnic?
Pie-non: We should go near the lake!
Y/n: haha okayy sounds good
Y/n: talk more soon, gotta get back to work. 
· · ─ · ☌ · ─ · ·
Your legs are shaking, and no matter how hard you try, they won’t stop. 
The discomfort serves as a sufficient distraction to the disappointed look in your parents eyes as they sit across from you, the low lighting from the living room lamp only highlighting the creases in their forehead and the downturn of their eyebrows. They’re berating you. You have to maintain eye contact as they berate you, forced to watch all the changes in their expression as they vocalise just how disappointed you’ve made them.
From a young age, they have drilled this into you; that you need to look your failures in the eye, that you must maintain their gaze as they ‘tell you how to improve’, but it’s never grown easier over the years. 
Everytime it feels like there is a small child inside the cavern of your chest shaking uncontrollably, its legs are curled to its chest, fighting to preserving what little warmth is left. You feel it trying its best, but you’ve learnt and accepted that one’s ‘best’ is sometimes just not enough, and failure is in the form of a pile of papers smacking the coffee table loudly. 
“Not only that, but you have calculated all of the ratios wrong, our team can not start on the reports otherwise for the quarter,” your father repeatedly jabs the file, to a point where you think it might dent from his actions. He spits “such foolish mistakes.” 
Your mother is no help. She never is against your father’s wrath, instead, she strokes the flames. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I have no excuse,” you murmur, “I’ll get it fixed.”
“By 9 am tomorrow. Do not dream of sleeping until it is done. Dismissed,” your father waves you off and that is your chance of escape. 
With insurmountable amount willpower, you stand and try to conceal the wobble in your legs as you trudge out of the living room and up the stairs to your designated office. 
Sitting down in front of your laptop fills you with dread, your vision is persistently blurry as you open all of the files, and doom is a wet droplet that flows down from your eye to your chin. It’s followed by another, and another, until there are puddles on the mahogany desk below you. 
Crying is a burning feeling you have not felt in years, not since you’ve arrived at the Grove of Epiphany, but this is a dance you will never forget the steps to. Too accustomed to the way your retinas burn, how your nose stings, how it hurts even more to push down the evidence and forcefully collect yourself. 
In Kephale’s name, all you want is to be back in your dorm at the Grove. You wonder what Castorice is doing right now. If things were different, you could be spending the holidays together, sharing drinks or snacks together, laughing. You think about what Hyacine is doing with her family, how they should be preparing for their trip to Okhema soon– you should really text her about it soon. Mydei’s probably back in Castrum Kremnos winning every wrestling competition there is, at least, that’s what he said he was doing when you last asked, showing off the many gold medals he’s won since he’s gone home.
You miss your friends. You hope they’re happy and well and not crying quietly by themselves late at night in front of a fluorescent screen, losing against a set of numbers. 
Your phone buzzes.
Pie-non: [ image attached ]
Pie-non: Bubbles misses you!
It’s a photo of the chimera curled up on Phainon’s lap, and it looks like he’s in the middle of watching a series, having a far more comfortable and cozy night than you. Despite the tears in your eyes fogging up your vision, you laugh at the text, typing back a response in between sniffles and small hiccups.
Y/n: aww :( he’s so cute
Y/n: i really miss bubbles, too
Pie-non: You’re welcome to see him anytime
Pie-non: Sticker
Pie-non: [ image attached ]
Warmth blooms in your chest, a stark contrast to the decrepit sense of loneliness that was settling in your chest mere moments ago. 
Wiping your nose with a tissue, you set your phone down, and turn back to the gruesome folder of spreadsheets your parents have ordered you to look through and fully correct before tomorrow.
· · ─ · ☌ · ─ · ·
The weather is nice today. Okheman summers tend to be incredibly dry and hot, with scorching rays that beat you down and dry out your skin if you stand under it for too long. Here, however, sitting under a tree whose foliage filters out most of the sun, leaving patches of light to decorate the ground and your skin, you think this is the peace summer is meant to bring. Especially whilst by the waterside, where the wind carries its coolness and kisses your face with it.
You’ve missed this part of home, and the natural beauty of the Holy City.
There’s a shriek behind you and you turn around to see where the source of the disruption is, but the sight is more wholesome than you anticipated. A little girl being chased by an older brother, both of them looking no older than seven. There’s dirt on their hands, knees and clothes, and their parents chase after them with noisy concern, pulling out handkerchiefs and water bottles like their lives depend on it.
Eventually, the two children stop and listen to the whims of their parents. The father dabs the streaks off his daughter’s face, saying something you can’t hear before pressing a kiss against her forehead. The mother stops and scolds her son for not drinking enough water on such a hot day, leaving him to go run after his sister again with a ruffle of his hair. Your eyes are glued on the couple, how they look proud and content with their children, the warm day like a blessing. 
(In another life, you’ll receive the love you feel indebted to own, but in this one, you’ll get by chasing the approval of people who may never grant it to you, who may never love you like you deserve.)
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting!” A familiar white-haired companion sits down on the picnic mat beside you, an apologetic smile on his boyish features, paired with a bakery box in his hands. 
“It’s alright, I haven’t been here long,” your gaze lingers curiously on what he’s holding. He opens the lid and inside sits a little, charming cake, seemingly the same size as your hand but with three layers of height. “How cute! What’s the occasion?”
“It wouldn't be right to turn up empty-handed, so I picked this up on my way here! Looks good, right?” 
“How thoughtful of you, very picnic-esque. How should we eat it?”
“I just grabbed two forks and thought we could
 just go at it.”
Phainon is kind enough to let you have the first bite, watching you struggle to find the right place to take the first stab with a small smile of amusement on his face. Cakes are delicate and the first ‘slice’ should always be handled with care, you reason, and he just chuckles when you successfully extract a piece.
“Cheers,” your forks tap against each other and watch each other’s expression when the dessert melts in your mouth.
A look of delight flashes in his eyes. “That’s really good!” 
“Delicious,” you reach for another bite. “I don’t remember the last time I had a cake from Okhema. They really bake it differently at the Grove.”
“Must have been your birthday or something, right?”
“I haven’t been back here in years,” you murmur, “and I never really celebrated. I think the first time I got my own cake was when Castorice and Hyacine made one for me.”
You don’t know what compelled you to share that tidbit, or why you had to bring the atmosphere down on such a lovely and warm day, but now you’re stuck pretending like that bittersweet fact doesn’t haunt you as much as it does. 
“If that’s the case, then let’s think of this one like a
 welcome home cake,” he says. “It’s good to be back, right?”
“Sure.”
The rest of the afternoon is spent talking and slowly chipping away at the dessert. Summer has a particular ability to make life more magical with sunlight flickering through the dense leaves overhead. The two of you are content with watching the water, gazing out into the distance as you chat about a variety of things, the atmosphere comfortable and friendly like always.
“This time of day is perfect for an afternoon nap,” Phainon muses, “I’m feeling quite drowsy.”
“You can take one if you’d like,” you offer.
“It’s alright,” he laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his head, “I’ll manage, besides, I’m here to spend time with you!”
“You would take naps all the time back at the Grove. I brought a book with me, anyways, I can keep myself entertained.”
He presses his lips together. “A nap does sound really good right now
 are you sure it’s fine?”
“Of course.”
After some small adjustments, you find the weight of his head resting on your thighs– something you’ve gotten used to with how fond of afternoon naps he was. He has accompanied you enough that a sacred routine between friends developed; you reading under the waning afternoon sun of the Grove, and him resting with you under the thick shade of the trees that grow there. You have dropped a book on his sleeping face a few too many times, and he has made it even by drooling on your clothes as he rests soundly against you. 
“You were born in Aedes Elysiae, right?” You murmur, watching your fingers that thread through his snow-white hair, one that has gotten long enough for you to curl your fingers around at least three times. “When did you arrive in Okhema?” 
He hums in contemplation, white eyelashes catching the gleam of the sun every time he blinks, fluttering gently. He is resting on his side, giving you a clear view of his side profile.
“I don’t think I was any older than fourteen, nearly fifteen,” he murmurs, “but my hometown was beautiful. The wheat that grew there was so long, I have fond memories of running through it with my friends, and the crops were the best. Something about them was different, fresher, maybe it’s the soil or the way the farmers planted it.”
He continues his spiel excitedly, hands moving animatedly, matching the enthusiasm in his words and tone. 
“That sounds dreamy,” you muse. 
“Right?” Then, there’s a melancholic shift in his futures; a droop of his eyelids, a small downturn of his lips. “I wish there was an Aedes Elysiae to return to, it’s been abandoned since the Black Tide took it all away. My parents, they- they managed to send me to Okhema in the nick of time.”
“Phainon-”
“-it’s okay,” his hands nervously fiddle with the hem of your clothes. “I’m grateful to be where I am now. If it weren’t for a magnificent stroke of luck and Aglaea finding me, I don’t know where I’d be today, she took me under her wing and loved me unconditionally. That’s why I’ll always do what I can to make her happy.” 
Then, he turns his head and cranes his neck to look up at you. 
“If it weren’t for everything that happened, I wouldn’t have gotten to meet you, either.” 
Sincerity shines in his eyes, and your breath gets caught in your throat. Not once in your life have you thought someone would be grateful to have known you.
“Somehow, you still manage to find a way to me, even though I’m the most irrelevant aspect of the story,” you chuckle whilst untangling your fingers from his hair to cradle his face instead, chill palms resting against warm skin. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bitter memories.”
“It’s fine! Really, I’m fine. If anything, I’m happy you asked, I love my hometown and telling others about it, it means a lot that you were curious in the first place. Phew, all that talking’s got me even more tired now, I think I’m gonna take a nap now.”
You nod, reaching for the book you brought in your bag. “Alright, sleep well, Phainon.”
He shifts around a bit afterwards, finding a comfortable position to rest in, but after a few moments, his breathing evens and he falls still save for the rise and fall of his chest. 
Still, you think about the uncharacteristic glumness in his eyes, how it looks like he was on the verge of tears despite the evenness in his voice. There’s a lot behind Phainon’s story that you’ll never know– after all, they say the kindest souls are the ones who have faced the greatest challenges, and you wonder if he’ll tell you about all of them someday.
For now, you play with his hair and read your book, waiting for him to wake up.
Later that night, you’re sat alone, dressed in an outfit picked by your mother that does not match your style, paired with beautiful gems that weigh down your chest and wrists.
There are people mingling away from where you are, and it is a crowd you must return to, but for now, you need a breather and a moment to recollect yourself.
You’ve talked to too many people tonight, smiled for too long that your cheeks ache now, and you’re still nursing the same drink you’ve had since the start of the night. There is no desire to drink it, the champagne merely for decoration so people do not ask you if you would like another and invite you to drink. 
In your hand, your phone shakes with a notification. 
Pie-non: How’s the charity event going?
Pie-non: I hope you’re not having too much fun without me ;0
Y/n: lol it would be so much better if you were here
Y/n: it’s going fine
Y/n: i can’t wait to go home
You open your camera and send him a photo of your barely-touched champagne glass, followed by a silly selfie. You wish he were here with you, the night would be infinitely more bearable.
Pie-non: You look great!!
Pie-non: I’ll be praying that the time goes by faster
Pie-non: Btw Aglaea gave me tickets to a play and suggested we go together
Pie-non: Would you like to go with me? :p 
Y/n: sounds great, i’m keen
Y/n: tell your mother i say thank you!
Y/n: i need to go back now, ttyl
· · ─ · ☌ · ─ · ·
“At the charity ball last night, there were a few offers made by sons of reputable businessmen,” your mother mentions over breakfast the following morning, and you halt your chewing, looking up from the news tablet. 
The idea of being negotiated is revolting, you have to force down the food that is in your mouth as you slowly lose your appetite. 
“Don’t you think it is about time you find a partner? Many of your classmates from high school have, your class president was engaed recently.” Your mother continues, not even glancing up from over the rim of her glasses.
Your thoughts drift over to Phainon. He’s
 he’s not exactly your committed partner, but you are playing the part of being one to him, and you’re merely doing him a favour because you’re friends.
Why does calling him that feel like you’re choking over your own words? Why is your heart beginning to rebel, when did it have autonomy to do whatever it wants? Why is it doing flips as you think about yesterday, how he laid on your lap, how he gently played with the hems of your clothes as his voice fondly recalled vulnerable moments of his youth?
“No, I- I’m seeing someone!” You blurt without thinking and she finally looks up at you, an eyebrow raised.
“Is that so? And you did not check to see if this
 someone is suitable for your father or I’s standard?”
“He is! He comes from a wealthy background and studies veterinary science at the Grove. I
 didn’t want to tell you about it yet because I wanted to make sure he is perfect, you’ve always taught me to bide my time.”
“Oh? Fine, but you need to bring him to us soon for our approval. We would hate for you to be with a hopeless suitor who will merely waste your time.”
“Absolutely. Yours and father’s approval are very meaningful to me.” 
She sighs through her nose. “Very well. Don’t let us down.”
“I won’t, mother.”
The rest of breakfast is silent, leaving you room to dwell with your thoughts. 
You don’t actually like Phainon, do you? Maybe the mirage of dating him has gotten to your head, convinced you to see him in a new light- but nothing has changed since you were just friends. He’s always been kind, made you laugh, invited you to events, bought you your favourite drinks, showed you unconditional support, he’s always been all of these things and more, so why does your heart beat erratically now thinking about it? 
You fall back on your bed, the weight of these thoughts making you toss and turn against the comforter. You think about his kind smile and dig your head further into your sheets, you think about his gentle eyes and scream a little. It feels as if you’re living a scene straight from the romcoms you would watch when you were younger. Maybe
 you’ve always liked him?
You’re going insane. 
(Since when were you the type of person to overthink about how someone perceived you? You stand hopelessly in front of your wardrobe, scanning through the pieces, the growing pile of clothes you deem unsightly sat atop your comforter. Titans, all of a sudden, nothing looks good or sits right, one outfit was too revealing, another not revealing enough– you’re going to go crazy!)
Later that evening, you meet Phainon outside the theatre. He’s dressed in a button-up with black slacks, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off his forearms (and the veins– stop looking so damn hard!). 
He grins widely when he sees you, pushing off the wall to meet you halfway. 
“Hey! I’m so glad you could make it!”
“I’m glad I could make it too, thanks so much for the invite, I’ve heard good things about the drama we’re watching tonight, all the tickets are sold out though, how did Aglaea manage to snag us some?” 
“Oh, you know,” he waves his hands, “friend of a friend, either way, someone couldn’t make it so these tickets are ours. How was the charity event?”
You hug the spare jacket you brought closer to your chest, murmuring “it was fine, honestly, the most fun part of the night was when you texted me.”
“That boring, hm? Well, at least you’re here with me now!”
“That I am. We should probably go inside now and find our seats.”
“Good idea,” then, he jokingly bows and offers an arm to you, like they do in old movies. You giggle before threading your arm through his. “Shall we?”
“We shall.”
The play was great- magnificent even, enthralling during some scenes and humorous in others, the audience clearly reacted well to it when the actors received an outstanding ovation during the bows, but the greatest comedy was your internal conundrum. 
For it was difficult to focus when all you could think about was how his hand was right next to yours, resting on the armrest of his chair. When he leaned in to say something funny or share commentary, your heart skipped a beat every time you caught his gaze, the stage lights reflecting in his aquamarine eyes. It overwhelmed you with an undeniable urge to break free and destroy all boundaries of friendship, a feeling you had to suppress before you did things ‘fake partners’ would regret. 
When you finally left the theatre, he offered to get dessert together before heading home.
As you walked, you were discussing the play together (or what you could remember). However, you were keenly aware of how your hand kept grazing his, fingertips brushing against each other every so often.
To your surprise, he grabs your hand with his and interlaces your fingers. 
“We are supposed to be dating, right?” Phainon scratches the back of his head sheepishly, “I hope you don’t mind.” 
“No
 no it’s fine,” you murmur, shaking your head. 
“Hey, actually, that reminds me; you know how to dance, right? It’s expected of the ball’s attendees.”
You blink at him. A ball that requires its attendees know how to dance? Just how formal is this event? “I know the basics. If anything, I’m more surprised that you know how to dance.”
“Hey! I’ll have you know I am quite excellent, I promise I won’t be stepping on your toes.”
“I was messing with you. With how many years you’ve been attending, I expect you to be the best dance partner I could ask for.”
He turns his face away, hand creeping up to scratch his neck. “Aww, now you’re just making me nervous.”
“I’m looking forward to the gala, it’ll be fun.”
“Me too! It’ll be so much better this year with you coming!” 
“Tell me more about the gala.”
He begins what he’s best at: talking your ear off. While you’ve always loved hearing him tell stories, it’s even better now, listening to his anecdotes as he waves a dripping ice cream cone around, your hand still in his.
On Kephale’s light, this man is not good for your heart at all, matter of fact, he’s merciless without even realising it, but you’re uncertain if this will result in a happy ending. 
When all is said and done and the gala is over, the two of you will return to your normal routine as friends and nothing more. You will continue reading under the shade in the Grove and Phainon will be nearby, either resting, studying, or fiddling with a stray basketball he picked up. You will continue going for snack runs together, picking up the requested items of your friends. You will fall back into normalcy with these feelings devouring your insides, heart forever attuned to a boy out of reach.
· · ─ · ☌ · ─ · ·
Pie-non: Sooooo Aglaea wants you to come over for lunch one day
Pie-non: Would you be able to?
Y/n: that sounds great, i’d love to
Y/n: when?
Pie-non: How about this Saturday?
Y/n: i’ll mark it down on my calender
Pie-non: Yay!
The second time meeting Aglaea feels less daunting. It’s Phainon who opens the door, grinning widely as he greets you with a hug. There’s specks of flour on his face, along with smears of other ingredients, and only then do you smell the aromatic smell of whatever he is cooking. 
“Come on in! Make yourself at home,” he ushers you in, letting you set your things down before leading you to the dining area. Adjacent to it is an expansive kitchen with windows that welcome in generous amounts of Kephale’s light.
“Y/n, how lovely it is to see you again,” Aglaea’s melodic voice chimes and you stand up straighter, hugging the big bouquet of flowers close to your chest.
“Thank you so much for having me! I’ve been looking forward to today, so I brought some flowers to express my gratitude.”
“That’s very thoughtful, thank you. Just set them down on the kitchen counter.”
You do as your told, eyeing the plates of delicious-looking food. “Would you like my help with anything?”
“If you could set the table, that would be great.”
“Of course!” You take the plates and cutlery that Phainon hands you, setting them in the exact way you’ve been taught growing up, in the order that befit dining. Aglaea sees this and leaves a harmless remark that you’ve been taught well, and you graciously wave off her comment, saying there’s more for you to learn.
Phainon carries all the dishes, setting them down on the table. Then, he turns to you with that same excited smile, beaming.
“I’m so glad you could make it, Y/n!” Radiant. He’s so radiant you think his teeth could work as flashlights in the dark.
Still, your heart skips a beat. “I’m very happy to be here, thank you for inviting me. Also, Phainon, you have something on your face.”
“Oh, where?” He rubs his face but it only worsens it, smearing more flour on his face. 
“It’s fine, I got it.” You grab a napkin from the table and wipe off the excess from his skin, trying your best to be gentle whilst he stands incredibly still, letting you do as you please. “There. All good.”
“Thanks!”
Neither of you are aware of the softness in Aglaea’s expression as she watches. It’s only with a clap of her hands do the two of you break out of the little world you were lost in and you jump away from Phainon like he’s burned you, embarrassed as Aglaea laughs.
“Come on kids, lets sit down now or the food will get cold.”
Lunch goes by easier than expected. You had been prepared for another feast where you would sit with your spine straight and shoulders tensed, echoing rehearsed laughs over dry jokes and unfunny remarks. Instead, your mirage has, once again, been completely disarmed by Aglaea’s questions; she seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, like your hobbies and passions, or the little anecdotes you’d share when talking about different topics. 
Naturally, she shares stories as well. Phainon asks her if there’s been any interesting business deals, and she responds with a flippant sigh, vaguely detailing a client that’s been driving her up the wall, which both of you have animated reactions to. 
Meanwhile, Phainon keeps coaxing you to try more dishes, especially the ones he made, watching your expression with keen intensity while his mother smiles fondly from across the table, retopping your glass of water whenever it emptied. By the end of lunch, your stomach is full and your heart even more so. 
When Phainon goes to feed the family of chimeras, you’re left alone to talk with Aglaea while washing the dishes. However, the tranquility of the moment is ruined by a buzz of your phone, soured when you realise it’s your father who didn’t even write a message, just sent two files and a link, no doubt thrust upon you to complete. 
“Who is it?” 
You quickly shut off your phone, taming the agitation gnawing at your ribcage. “Excuse me, it was just my father.” 
When Phainon returns to the room, Aglaea suggests something about taking you to the riverside. “You shouldn’t stay cooped up inside on such a lovely day,” she had reasoned and the next thing you know, he’s pulling you out the door like an overexcited chimera, eagerness dripping off him in waves. 
You yell at him to slow down, heart hammering from physical exertion and the feeling of his hand tightly squeezing yours. He apologises with a sheepish smile but does not drop your wrist, guiding you to a carved path covered by thick foliage and the end of it was a clearing that gazed over a vast river. 
It’s beautiful. Fluffy clouds drift by overhead, following the downstream current. Your feet take you along the direction of the current, the rock and sand crunching beneath your footsteps as the waves roll by.
“It’s so peaceful here.”
“I know right?” Phainon rolls his sleeves up and sorts through the pile of rocks underneath your feet, picking up each one and inspecting them carefully, discarding any he deems unsightly. You don’t quite understand what his criteria is, but when he has a handful of sizeable ones, he throws one out.
It skids along once, twice, many more times before finally dropping into the water. 
He looks at you like he’s expecting a congratulations, so you give it to him and he beams. Next thing you know, he’s instructing you on how he did it. 
“You want to angle your body and hit the surface at a lower level, make sure you’re using the flatter side of the rock, then, with a flick of your wrist
” he throws the rock and it skids across the surface level seven- eight- nine times before silently dropping into the water, and you stare blankly at the dissipating ripples.
He made it look so easy.
“Here, try skip a few stones!” 
You try your best to abide to his instructions. Angle the body, get lower with the water level, and flick of the wrist and it
 plonks into the water without so much a hop.
“Aw,” you murmur, but instead of berating or ridiculing, Phainon hands you another rock, similar to the one you just threw.
“That’s okay! It’s pretty hard to get on the first try, have another go.” 
Maybe it was the sun, but the stone in your hand felt nicely warm, and you let your gaze linger on him for a moment, waiting for the disappointment to appear in his eyes. Yet, it never comes. All he does is beam at you with a thumbs up for encouragement. 
This time, when you flick your wrist, it skips across the water surface one, two, three, four, five times before halting, and the only evidence that you’ve succeeded are the ripples fading away. The only witness claps, softly cheering.
He’s applauding because you skipped a stone on the surface of a river. 
It’s so silly and simple it makes your heart skip a beat. 
You manage to hit a high score of seven, while Phainon manages to go into the double digits, and you find yourself clapping for him too, occasionally high fiving in celebration.
(This is the sense of belonging you’ve been chasing after your whole life. The love you’ve craved for so long but always thought would be out of reach, yet, these two have somehow proven that caring for someone is not a Herculean task.)
· · ─ · ☌ · ─ · ·
If there’s one thing Okhema has taught you, it’s that happiness is fleeting and there will always be those who want to stomp out your light. 
“We didn’t even know you had friends in Okhema. You left all the people you knew behind the second you went to the Grove, disappeared from the face of Amphoreus like some runaway child,” your mother quips, metallic spoon clinking the tea cup she was stirring.
You stiffen. “I thought a change of environment was what I needed.”
She taps the edge of her cup twice, the sound resonating through the room. “If you were more capable, you would have been able to balance both. Unfortunately, not all of us are, you should have been grateful your friends from high school gave you the time of day. They were all such valuable connections to have.” 
You want to defend yourself, tell her about how horrid and small they made you feel, but you suppose she would never understand, not when she treats you the same. Unfortunately, one group is far easier to run away from than the other.
“Do you even have friends at the Grove?” 
“Of course,” you insist, trying to keep your tone levelled. After years of living here, you’ve grown to understand that any display of emotion would be weaponised against you, but it never gets any easier trying to suppress them. Not when the snarky words of your mother are said with the intention of wearing you down.
She raises her teacup to her lips. “Are you sure they even like you?” 
Does she drink poison to stay hydrated? Her toxicity truly knows no bounds. 
“Yes, I’m sure.” 
Your tea finally finishes steeping, and before you can raise it to your lips, your father, who finally decides the conversation is worth entering, chimes up. “I’ve heard some of the people in your grade have started finding success in life, one’s even managed to get a booming startup off the ground.”
“Off the back of his father’s money,” you retaliate. 
“So what? Does that change the fact that he’s operating a successful business and a respectable entrepreneur?”
Rich, you think. Where’s your support, then? They can’t even give you the time of day.
“You finally have a rare break back home, and instead of working, you spend everyday out and about and falling behind. Time is the most valuable resource one can have and you insist on wasting it by going out everyday.”
He smacks his lips together and shakes his head.
“Ridiculous.”
You try to stand up for yourself. “I’m on summer break, I’ve been working hard the last three years to maintain honours with top grades-”
“-We expect you to do better.”
Frustration boils in your chest and clogs up your throat. Defending yourself is never productive in this household, and trying to have the last say only leads to a thundering chest that feels like you’re one breath away from caving in.
As soon as dinner was over and you could leave, you’re out the front door before you can think twice, putting on the most comfortable pair of shoes you can find before darting out. 
You couldn’t stay in that house a minute longer, otherwise your agitation would have boiled over and stained the pristine floors.
The sky overhead bleeds a multitude of warm hues with orange clouds drifting by. The beautiful sight cheers you up minimally, but it’s not effective against the swirling cauldron of emotions sitting in your stomach and the fumes that stick to your throat. You’re so frustrated, you don’t know if you want to scream and kick something or cry.
When will this game end? When will this dance cease? When will this symphony of turmoil finally diminish?
Pleasing them doesn’t change them, rebelling against them just makes things worse, and running away and avoiding them for two years did nothing. 
What did you do to deserve this?
Deep breaths. Inhale
 exhale
 the breeze of summer infiltrates your senses, and you realise that your feet have taken you to a familiar park. One that, whenever explosive arguments occurred, you would come here to calm your racing mind and turbulent emotions. It has been your routine since young, and after two years of not seeing this natural scape, a bittersweet ache of nostalgia returns. Time may pass but old habits die hard.
“Y/n?” 
You freeze.
Your stinking luck. Why now?
“Phainon!” You choke out, along with an awkward laugh that comes out as a pathetic garble instead. Oh Titans, you’re crying. You didn’t even realise you were crying, the dried-up tear streaks staining your skin an incriminating sign that you immediately hurry to wipe away. 
He can’t see you like this.
Scrambling to stand up, you steady yourself with the trunk of the birch tree you were previously sitting under. You frantically wipe at your cheeks with your shirt, the cotton like steel wool against your skin as you scrub and scrub and scrub, ridding the evidence of your emotional display. 
You can’t even look at him, too ashamed.
There’s a warm pair of hands wrapped around your wrists, and you flinch at his touch, “Y/n
 what’s wrong?”
“Nothing! Nothing at all,” the words are a jumbled mess of syllables that get jammed in your throat as you pull yourself away from him, stumbling backwards. “I’m fine.”
“I don’t think you are.” 
“I swear I am.”
“You can tell me if something’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong, everything’s fine!”
“It’s clearly not-”
“-It clearly is.”
“Y/n, it’s pretty obvious something’s wrong.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Stop pretending-”
“-Phainon, please.” 
He’s silent for a few beats before conceding pensively. This time, his tone is softer. “Okay, but you know I’d never judge you, right? So if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”
Unconcealing your face, you still refuse to meet his eyes, gaze glued to his shirt instead. The first thing you notice is that he’s wearing merchandise with the Grove’s logo printed in the centre, along with the words ‘sport and athletics’ underneath. 
“Thank you.” 
“I’m serious. You don’t have to be alone, you believe me right?”
You’re silent for a few beats. “Yes,” you lie.
“Then say it.”
“I
” your swollen eyes flit up to meet his. There’s a steady intensity in his expression that almost makes you cower, so you glance away and find the trees behind him far more bearable. “I believe you.” 
It’s awkwardly silent for a few beats afterwards, neither of you knowing what to say to lighten the mood, but it was him who was dragged into your unfortunate mess, so you squeak a very meek “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”
Phainon blinks. “Why are you apologising? If anything, I should be apologising to you for almost scaring you off.”
“It’s only because you snuck up on me!”
“My bad, my bad,” he scratches the back of his neck.
It falls painfully awkward again, a gust of wind brushing against the back of your legs. You shiver. 
“Are you cold?” 
“No- I’m fine, it was just a chill. What brings you here?”
“I was out on a run, this park is on my normal route.”
“It’s so far from your house!”
He tilts his head, ivory locks swaying with the action. “Is it?”
“Well, I guess this wouldn’t be too hard for you, Mr. Top Athlete.”
“Oh, stop it,” he waves off your compliment. “Would you like to get a bite now that we've bumped into each other? My treat.”
The scalding words of your father echo in your head. “I would but I think my family’s expecting me, I shouldn’t keep them waiting too long, sorry.”
He frowns, dejection glossing over his features. “I understand. When can I see you next?”
“To be honest, my parents were scolding me earlier for going out so much so I might need to stay home for a bit. I’ll text you when I think it’s better.”
“Alright.” 
“Well. Guess I’ll see you later, Phai-”
Without warning, you’re engulfed in a warm embrace, Phainon’s fleece shirt pressed against your chin as you crane your neck to meet his towering height. His arms are wrapped tight around your torso, one wrapped around your shoulder, the other around the back of your lower ribs, pressing you securely against him. His cologne smells like cedarwood and bergamot.
(The setting Okheman sun casts golden rays that illuminate his sky blue eyes gorgeously, but you will never forget the unfamiliarity of how he looked at you, and how even the light did nothing to hide it. He regarded you like something that needed fixing, like you were an antique vase that lay shattered on the floor, like you were his favourite mug, like you were something that took love and intention to create.
Instead of sweeping you aside, he held you close to his chest and cradled you there, determined to piece you back together.
You return his embrace.) 
· · ─ · ☌ · ─ · ·
The coming days are mundane. As always, your parents excel at sweeping tension under the rug. Breakfasts are silent, and you’re trying to appease them so you can make it to Phainon’s gala, careful not to stroke their (delicate) tempers. 
You’ve successfully managed to let them know of your plans with Hyacine. Given that she was in Okhema, you didn’t want this chance to slip out of your grasp, so you’re relieved you’ll get to hangout with her for a day or so. 
Other than that, you don’t have much to occupy your time outside of reading, taking occasional walks, and texting your friends, so your mind drifts back to the white-haired man more often than not. 
You’ve been in constant contact, active on both the groupchat with your friends and private chats, but you think back to what he said to you days ago. By the power of unfortunate timing and coincidence, he had caught you at an incredibly sensitive moment– you’re not embarrassed about that anymore, but you can vividly recall the fire in his eyes. How he seemed
 angry at your sorrow, like it was unfair that you were feeling upset, like it was his responsibility to fix it. 
‘If you need someone to talk to, I’m here’. 
Would he even want to hear what you have to say? There’s no worth bothering him with problems as mundane as yours
 but you can’t say you haven’t been tempted to tell him.
During hours late in the night, when your psyche was tired and rationality worn down after a long day, you were one word away from spilling it all on a late night video call, but the sentence never came out. Instead, they’d crawl right back in your throat and settle uncomfortably in your heart, deciding that someone like him should not need to worry about you. 
What if he is curious, though? He wanted answers, he wanted to console you, wanted you to talk to him, but all you did was jump away when his hands touched yours and refused to speak like some sensitive child.
If you try hard enough, you can feel how hard he squeezed you in that hug, the ghost of his embrace pulling you tight against him. You can remember how he felt in your arms, how the fabric of his shirt felt bunched up in your fists, how grounding it was.
To you, Phainon will always be untouchable, on par with Kephale’s light that beams its warmth on everyone and will always be loved by all. Meanwhile, you’re a puppet tugged along by frayed strings, still trying to discover what it means to be loved and cared for. You are the dust that sits gathered on the windowsill, staring up at the sky outside, yearning for a way out.
Sighing, you savour the sun for a few moments longer. When you cast your gaze downward and see the specks of grey decorating the window frame, you frown, descending to get something to wipe it away with. 
· · ─ · ☌ · ─ · ·
Pie-non: The gala is in 13 days from now :0
Pie-non: Aglaea said that she can help you get ready if you’d like!
Y/n: really?? it won’t bother her?
Pie-non: Nope!
Pie-non: Believe or not, she likes this kind of stuff
Y/n: well, if she’s okay with it, then yes please!
Aglaea gently runs her fingers through your undone hair, classical Amphorean music softly humming in the background from an old record player. The open window welcomes in a warm draft, one that hits the bottom of your neck.
You love the outfit she has picked for you. It’s lightweight and hugs your figure at all the right places but isn’t too tight that moving is a struggle. Most importantly, you still feel like yourself and comfortable in your own skin.
She truly is a tailoring expert.
“I take it that you like the clothes I picked for you?” Aglaea asks, and you glance up at the mirror, unaware of how wide you are smiling.
“I love them,” you announce unabashedly, cheeks beginning to hurt. “They’re gorgeous.”
She laughs, the sound gentle and honeyed as she begins brushing through your hair. “So is the wearer.”
Your gaze flickers back to your reflection. “Thank you.”
It’s silent save for accessories jingling as Aglaea decides which ones best suit you, testing a variety of necklaces, bracelets, arm bands, and more hair pieces. The quiet is comfortable, as if you are more than the (fake) partner Phainon has brought home for the holidays, like you are someone worth a reserved seat at her dinner table.
However, when you leave Okhema at the end of summer, you’ll have to shatter your plate and end this make believe. In the midst of all your new-found feelings, when you and Phainon return to the Grove, he will have to find an excuse as to why you may never return to visit her again. You already feel guilty for wasting her time and energy like this, you can’t fathom how disappointed she will be when it’s time to throw it away. 
“Phainon has been looking forward to today for a long time,” she tells you, a warm look in her eyes when your gazes meet. “Before, he’d be grumpy and petulant whenever I had to get him ready, complaining about all the dates I arranged him, but recently he’s been bouncing off the walls with excitement.” 
You giggle. It’s easy to picture a younger Phainon pouting and huffing, sat in the exact chair you’re in now, throwing a tantrum before Aglaea would straighten him into shape, but you can also imagine current-Phainon eagerly counting down the days to an event he used to dread. Maybe you really did him a favour by agreeing to accompany him. After all, going to big galas with a friend was far more enjoyable than going with someone you did not know.
“Of course, he was never ill-mannered to those I chose, he is far too kind for that, but every year I wondered when he’d finally bring someone of his own choosing.”
“Really? But he’s so popular and well-liked.”
“Phainon is very particular about the people he surrounds himself with. When he first told me that he had a date for this year’s Kephale Festival, I was curious who it was that finally caught his eye. Then, I met you and understood why he liked you so much.”
Your heart skips a beat. “Really?”
She nods. “Admittedly, he has told me about you before and shared pictures you took together from the Grove, along with the group of friends you share. So I have heard about you from all the stories he’d share with me.” 
“It’s a really incredible group, we’re all great friends.”
“I’m grateful he has you all.”
Aglaea smiles fondly. “I’m grateful to have him, too.”
A few beats of silence pass. This time, you’re compelled to speak up. You say “my parents are business owners too. They specialise in a similar industry to you.” 
“Yes, I am vaguely familiar with them. To be successful, you have to know your competitors, but I get the sense they’re not very fond of me.”
“They regard everyone who is not in their circle as rivals and therefore, don’t care about maintaining politeness. I apologise if their aloofness has offended you.”
“Nonsense, I am not holding you accountable for the actions of two different people, not when they should be far more mature. It is baffling that the child they have raised has far more decorum than the supposed role models.”
A feeling of satisfaction settles in your stomach when you hear Aglaea’s remarks, and you don’t even want to defend them, giggling behind your hand. “Did you know of my status before you met me?”
“I know everything in Okhema, so naturally, I recognised you the moment Phainon sent me a group photo.”
You glance up at her, her golden eyes focused on your hair. “I assumed you would herald the same distaste for them and by extension me.”
“Darling, there are a few things we should clear up,” she reaches for a bobby pin, body hovering close to your head for a second. “Apathy is a better suited word than distaste. Business has progressed far beyond a game for me, I do what I do to keep my work afloat, not interact in elaborate mind games with my competitors. Has it turned out that way? Perhaps, but unintentionally. I do not harbour ill intention toward people I have never met, not even when I recognised you for the first time.” Finally, she meets your eyes. “All I discerned about you was that you were a treasured companion to Phainon, and for as long as you make him happy, you will always have a place here in my home.”
Kephale’s light cast her in an angelic light, illuminating Aglaea’s silhouette as she pats your shoulder reassuringly. Your stomach churns at her honesty, the adoring way she speaks about Phainon– would your parents speak of you like this? Have they ever regarded you with this much love and light in their eyes?
Gaze flickering away, there is dust gathering on the edges of the windows.
“Besides, when I see you, I see a powerful individual who has yet to step into who you really are, and that is above the fact that you are also the love of Phainon’s life.” 
Her honesty, the kind way she’s smiling at you– you feel horrible for deceiving her. 
“Phainon and I aren’t really together,” you blurt out without thinking, and you’re immediately covering your mouth with your hands, eyes blown wide as you gauge her reaction in the mirror. 
However, she doesn’t seem the least bit surprised. Instead, she laughs, so animatedly that her shoulders shake, her eyes shut as elegant smile lines crease her skin. 
She inhales deeply with a hand on her chest. “As I said earlier, I know everything in Okhema, and I know that you and my boy aren’t actually together.”
“What? Did Phainon tell you?”
“No, but my intuition is imperceptible, darling. Nothing escapes my eyes. While I could tell you two were upholding a fake relationship, I can also tell that you genuinely like him, don’t you?”
“I do,” you admit softly. “I really do.” You declare it louder the second time. “Is it stupid of me to?”
She shakes her head. “While my guess is that he used me as an excuse to ensnare you, I trust that there is a genuine reason behind his actions, but that is a conversation reserved between you and him. It is not my place to comment on it. However, I can offer you this: when the time comes, know that I am in full support of the both of you.”
“Thank you, that- that means a lot.”
“All you do is thank, thank, and thank people when all they do is show you the basic care you deserve,” she says as she clasps a necklace together.
You fall unnaturally still, eyes stinging as tears begin welling up in your eyes. If Aglaea picks up on your change in behaviour, she is kind enough to not comment, instead, she keeps working on your appearance, pinning and brushing and curling.
After a few minutes, she pats your shoulder and tells you she has finished. So you stand and admire the masterpiece she has styled you into, your hair falling down beautifully, accessories clinging together each time you so moved; you feel ethereal.
“He’ll be speechless when he sees you,” Aglaea smiles at you approvingly.
“Thank you,” you whisper. You hope she knows that you’re grateful for more than just the styling. 
“You’re quite welcome, dear. You shouldn’t keep him waiting, Phainon may be patient, but something tells me he’s downstairs, eager to see you.”
True to her prediction, Phainon is already waiting for you by the bottom of the staircase, fixing his traditional Okheman outfit. When he hears the sound of your footsteps, he looks up but his wide smile falters, shrinking into something more shy and bashful. You carefully descend the steps, holding onto the railing with a gentle grip as fabrics sashay and gold bangles sound against each other, indicating your arrival.
Your date is uncharacteristically quiet, eyes wide and unblinking as they follow your every movement, unable to glance away, even when you come to a stop before him. You anxiously wait for a reaction from the usually-expressive man.
“What do you think?”
He snaps out of his reverie. “I– uh, you- you look incredible.” 
“Thank you. It’s all thanks to Aglaea.”
“Not all, I’d argue,” he wipes his hands on his pants before extending one. “Let me help you down.” 
It felt nice to have his warm palm in yours; how he barely put any pressure on your fingers as his gaze was stuck to the stairs, ensuring you wouldn’t misstep. 
When you reach the bottom, you give him a once-over, keeping your admiration lowkey and refraining from ogling at his biceps. “You look good, Phainon.” 
“I’m glad you think so, I have something to prove tonight.”
“What are you proving?”
“That I’m worth standing by your side.”
Your heart, it’s doing that uncomfortable thing again. You have no idea what to say in response as your face heats up uncontrollably, heat creeping up your neck.
Thankfully, Aglaea saves the day, her heels clacking as she descends the stairs. “Let’s head out now, we’re already running a little behind.”
“Yes, Aglaea.”
A small tug on your hand reminds you that Phainon has yet to let go, and he beams with satisfaction when your attention returns to him. Aglaea comes to a stop beside you and you feel heat creep up your neck at the knowing look she gives you. 
“Was he speechless?” She asks.
“He couldn’t speak for a minute,” you shyly confess and Phainon splutters in protest, causing his mother to laugh, an affectionate smile tugging at her lips when she looks at her son.
Her hands reach over to fix a small part of his outfit. “We were simply teasing. Let’s leave now, the car should be waiting outside.”
The ride to the gala is longer than usual due to closed off roads, but sometimes, you could catch a glimpse of people celebrating. Phainon would point out scenes he found funny or entertaining, delighted by all of the stands with dromas merch, vaguely mentioning how ‘Prof Nax would really like them’. He points to the families who have dressed up, circles of people dancing, and the food stands that he’d like to try sometime soon.
Eventually, the detour ends and you arrive at the steps of the gala. After driving in through the gates, you admire the architecture and construction of the venue. It’s exterior and interior were all thoroughly decorated, and someone guides you through the hallways to arrive at the correct room. 
Before Aglaea can be whisked away by a crowd, she mouths ‘go have fun’ to the both of you. 
“You seem excited, Phainon,” you face him.
“It’s cause I get to spend time with you!”
“Why? We spend a lot of time together regardless.”
He tilts his head. “I always enjoy spending time with you, do I need another reason to be excited about it? Do you want to get food first?” 
“You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
“Maybe, so please?” he pleads with his eyes. 
“Fine.” 
You’re glued to Phainon’s side for the rest of the night. Occasionally people come up to talk to him, greeting him with a big hug and asking how life has been. Then, their curious gaze would drift over to you, wondering who the ‘lucky’ date is.
He’d introduce you enthusiastically, telling you names of people you don’t remember as soon as they turn around and leave. 
Uncharacteristically, it seems like Phainon does not have a lot to say for once as you’re the one to do most of the small talk, asking the partygoers about themselves and showing interest in everything they say. He, on the other hand, is practically too eager to see everyone leave before turning to you with a big, innocent smile, his arm tugging you even closer to his side. 
Then, when it’s the two of you again, he’ll talk your ear off once more. 
“Are you enjoying yourself so far?” Phainon asks.
“Of course, this has probably been the most fun I’ve had at an event,” you tell him. “Everyone we’ve met seems pretty nice so far, and the food’s good! Are you having a good time?” 
He nods enthusiastically, taking a big mouthful of a fig cake dessert. You use your napkin to wipe the crumbs away from the corners of his lips. 
“I’m incredibly grateful for you and Aglaea. This is my first Kephale Festival in a while, and it’s been really enjoyable.”
“You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear that, and it makes me infinitely more happy seeing you get along with my mum. You’re my two favourite people, it means a lot to me.” 
When the night is halfway through, there’s a sudden announcement through the loudspeakers, calling for the crowd to prepare the floor for the partner dances. You raise your eyebrow, it really was true, what kind of events still have formal dances these days?
“You weren’t lying,” you murmur to him.
“Can’t say I didn’t try to prepare you.”
“As long as you don’t step on my toes.”
“Oh come on, I’m trustworthy enough, aren’t I? I promised you I wouldn’t.”
You find a space adequate enough, coming to a stop as Phainon grabs your hand, raising it to shoulder level to prepare. Then, the music kicks in, a lively three-four piece being played by the live entertainment. 
Shaking the nervousness out of your system, he sets the rhythm and you easily follow along. Historically, special dances with their own significance were made in Kephale’s honour, and almost every Okheman learns it either in school or by watching people on the street given how important it is to the Holy City. 
It is said that partner dances are important because Kephale is capable of holding the world on his shoulders alone, so one should rejoice in his benevolent sacrifice and celebrate the gift he gave with another. Furthermore, the steps of the dance follow a circle, as if replicating the world on his shoulders and honouring him.
Mentally, you thank Kephale for his sacrifice, because you get to see Phainon’s joyfully handsome expression as you dance around, following each other’s steps perfectly. He even twirls you around while you move, causing you to throw your head back and laugh, the fabrics you wear twisting and dancing with you. 
You want this moment to last forever. You want to engrain the excited thrum of your heart and the bliss that travels through every vein in your body into memory. You want to be in this moment, under the lights of the dance floor, with him, forever.
He looks at you like you’re something marvellous, turquoise eyes never straying from your face, hand holding yours tightly so you don’t hop too far away from him.
Then, the band builds up to a crescendo, and the dance ends with a final pose. Your chests heave and stray strands of hair stick to sweaty skin, but neither you nor Phainon can think about the fatigue in your muscles. 
People scurry off the floor as new couples take their places. So, you curtsy with a dip of your head, and he bows in return.
“I have somewhere to show you.” He whispers. 
“Let’s go.” 
You find yourself in this familiar situation once again: your hand encased by Phainon’s as he leads you along, this contact an unspoken safety net as you walk through hallways, up staircases, until eventually, you reach a door.
The isolation of this area is not lost on you, there is not another soul in the nearby vicinity as all of them should be downstairs, dancing. You can faintly hear the live band from where you stand. “Are we allowed to be here?” 
He shrugs, “we’ll find out if we get caught.”
“Phainon!” 
“I’ve been here every year so far and no one’s caught me. Just trust me, okay? I’ll cover for you if anything bad happens.”
You look into his eyes that swim with sincerity and brace for the dive. “Fine.” 
He pushes open the door and you gasp, hand covering your mouth. This balcony overlooks the horizon of the Holy City, providing a perfect view of all the festivities occurring beneath. The light of carnival games, the illumination of flower garlands, a ferris wheel that sits in the distance, it looks so alive and vibrant; a warm reminder of all the life and happiness and commemorations that occur in Okhema, something you have taken for granted over the years.
You step out first, stopping just before the tall, stone railings and gazing out at every speck of light you can see, as the wind gently weaves through your hair. It’s so pretty, you can’t tear your eyes away. 
A heavy weight drapes on your back and arms wrap around your waist, bringing you into a warm embrace that you recognise to be Phainon’s. You lean back against him, holding his hands with yours as he rests his chin on the juncture of your shoulder.
You pray he can’t feel the way your heart hammers in your chest, so you fake nonchalance as you gaze out at the horizon instead, content to simply stand and admire
 until you feel a pair of eyes staring at the side of your face. 
So, you turn to look at him and almost flinch at how your noses brush. He doesn’t move away.
“Hey, you,” you whisper. 
He smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing. “Hi.”
“It’s so
 breathtaking,” you look back at the view and ignore the way his grasp tightens around you. “This is a new perspective I’ve never seen of the Kephale Festival.” 
“Then, I’m honoured to be the one to show it to you.”
You feel his chin retract from your shoulder, but his hand then snakes up, obstructing your view of the city as you feel cool fingers on your cheek, gently guiding your face to look at him. “Phainon, what-” 
“-You’re beautiful,” he interrupts, breath fanning against your lips. “I
 I don’t think I’ve told you enough.”
“That’s unnecessary.”
“It’s not, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you all damn night” his fingers lightly tremble against your face, but his gaze is resolute and firm, never straying from yours. The intensity alone compels you to maintain it, to see where this moment will lead, and if the buildup of anticipation in your gut is correct. 
His gaze flickers to your lips and your chest crumbles. What you want is so close, literally breathing down your face, yet he is still so unreachable because you ache to close the gap but fear the unknown of the other side. 
“You’re unreal,” he whispers as his face slowly inches towards yours. Your hammering heart impatiently beats against your ribcage, aching to feel the–
Boom!
You jump away from Phainon in surprise, shocked by interruption, only for you to sigh in relief when you realise it was a firework that is now fizzling out. Then, because you can never just set one off, a barrage of them follow, lighting up the night sky with a series of colours and patterns. One explodes in the shape of Kephale bearing the world, another in the shape of a chimera head– and oh, a purple dromas firework!
Throughout the display, your partner is uncharacteristically silent, his commentary minimal as you point out fun ones.
After a few minutes, it was finally over, and silence settles over you like a heavy blanket. You’re still held tightly in Phainon’s arms, but his lacking eagerness does not sit right, a sense of anxiety creeping in as you think of something to snap him out of this displeased gaze.
“Is something wrong, Phainon?” 
He blinks to look back at you, subtle frustration softening into a gentler expression. “Everything’s fine!”
“Really?” 
“Really.”
You scramble through your brain in search of something appropriate to say. What would he even want to hear? 
Kephale, You can’t even think straight, not with the way he’s holding you so
 possessively, so close to him that it makes your stomach flip helplessly. This, paired with the gentle way he held your cheek, and the sweet words he said to you- you need ten business days to process it all.
But tonight seems to be the day of badly timed interruptions, because there’s a small ding notification from your phone. Fishing it out, the reminder ‘be home before parents get mad!’ is written very clearly on your screen. 
Sighing, you turn it off.
“Do you have a curfew?” Phainon asks, resting the side of his head against yours.
“It’s not necessarily a curfew. It’s just the latest I can get home without triggering my parents. My dad’s a gentle sleeper so he wakes up at any kind of sound I make, especially on nights where he has work the following day.”
He frowns, then his hands grip you even harder, fingers digging into your flesh. Not enough to make you uncomfortable, but enough to dent your skin. 
“I’ve been meaning to ask, and I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable but
 do you
 have a good relationship with your parents?” You freeze in his arms, visibly tense. He’s looking at you- no, analysing you for any kind of changes in your expression that will say what words can’t.
But silence is already a powerful answer and suddenly, your vision of the nightline grows blurry, the lights stretching out into indiscernible lines. Your breathing grows more laboured and the pain that’s accumulated from the last few days come crashing down on you. 
The disappointed look in your father’s eyes, the complacency of your mother who really could not care twice about you, the love you’ve been begging for, the acceptance you may never receive- 
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry!” He frantically dabs at the tears gathering at the corner of your left eye, trying to catch them with his fingers. Then, he begins fanning your face. “Happy thoughts, happy thoughts! I wouldn’t have asked if I knew it’d make you this upset!”
You erupt into a fit of giggles and he halts, gauging your reaction once again. 
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes. “I
 I think I’m okay to answer your question, as long as you genuinely want to know.”
“Of course, but I’m not forcing an answer out of you.”
You inhale deeply. “My relationship with my parents aren’t the best, it hasn’t been since I was young. They’ve always wanted me to be the best version possible, but it feels as if they don’t
 view me as their own child. If anything, our relationship is more transactional; someone they can use to further their position in society,” you tighten your grip on Phainon’s wrist. “If I make any mistakes, they’ll eat my head off because everything that goes wrong is my fault even though they never listen to me. If I don’t fit their own personal image of perfection, then I’m a disappointment and a charity case, they hate that I’m at the Grove, they hate that I haven’t graduated early and started a business, gotten married– they hate that my classmates from high school are
 better. They hate raising me without benefits.”
The words are tumbling out freely now and Phainon doesn’t interrupt, giving you the space to be completely honest about these feelings that have been bottled for too long.
“You must wonder why this is my first year returning to Okhema ever since the Grove, right? I don’t want to be here because this city is just a reminder that I will never have a proper home. That I won’t be loved like I am by our friends, or the people I’ve met outside the Holy City. This place brings painful memories of youth, of never being good enough, of keeping my mouth shut and going along with everything my parents wanted because I could handle any challenge as long as it made them happy. I still can- I still just want them to be proud of me.” Your chest shudders with the weight of your confession. “Yes, they’ve given me so many opportunities I am grateful for, and I’m
 I wouldn’t be as accomplished as I am without them.” 
You crane your neck to look back at him. He’s beautiful, even when your eyesight is all blurry. 
“I want to be loved unconditionally.”
It’s quiet for a few moments, your words marinating as silence settles like the fizzle after a sparkler diminishes, after a fire has crackled its last ember, like the last trails of smoke disappearing from a freshly snuffed candle. 
Unexpectedly, Phainon turns you around in his arms and pulls you into a hug, one strong arm wrapping around your shoulder, the other around your waist.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to, this is enough. You return the hug, wrapping your arms around his waist, finally exhaling all of the frustrations you’ve been holding to yourself for years.
“Thank you for listening,” you huff, taking a step out of his embrace.
His expression is achingly soft. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”
You leave the balcony after a while, deciding it was for the better before security discovered and escorted you out. Going back inside wasn’t appealing enough, so you both take a quick detour to check out one of the markets you passed by on the drive, perhaps get some food after a long night.
Eventually, when the moon is high in the sky and the number of attendees at the festival is finally dwindling, Phainon calls for a driver to send you home together. When you arrive at the gates to your home, he helps you out of the car. 
“Wait–” Phainon looks at you as if he has something to say, but you see in real time the way he shuts down his thoughts and closes his mouth. Instead, he reaches for your hand and holds it gently, like a delicate flower he plucked from a garden bed.
He leans down to press his lips against your knuckles.
“Thank you for accompanying me tonight,” when he looks up at you, there is nothing short of earnest candidness gleaming in his eyes as his thumb rubs the back of your hand. The faint glow from the full moon illuminates his features, makes him look younger despite his already-lively appearance, and you take a good look at the man who has shaken your world. It’s unfair that he is breathtaking in the moonlight, too. 
“Thank you for the night,” you whisper back.
“Sleep well, Y/n.”
“You too, Phainon.”
His hand lingers on yours a little longer before finally dropping it. You wave his car off before retiring for the night, fatigue clinging to your bones like honey, eager to pull you under. 
As you undress and peel back all the accessories on your body, you think about the day, about the tenderness Phainon showed you all night, how his hand felt on the side of your face, how he twirled you around, the conversation you had with Aglaea how she said you were the love of Phainon’s life–
Your hands pause. 
What?
· · ─ · ☌ · ─ · ·
The mystique of the night is over as soon as morning arrives, because your parents are already waiting for you. This time, however, the atmosphere feels thick and heavy with tension and you eye them cautiously before sitting down on the couch opposite them, trying to prepare for what they might weaponise against you.
There’s a tablet in your mother’s thin hands and she drops it in front of you as soon as you’re seated.
It’s a photo taken of you and Phainon from last night, dancing, obviously meant to be taken from an angle where neither of you would notice. Both of you look terribly happy, your hands interconnected as he spun you around. Interesting, you don’t remembering seeing anyone  from your parent’s circle of friends last night, but news and gossip travel fast, there is no point wondering who the culprit is. 
“When you said you were attending a gala with someone, did you hide it purposefully from us that it would be with the Goldweaver’s adopted son?” Your mother begins, her sharp eyes boring into you as she spits Aglaea’s business name like it was poison.
You glance up at her, tucking the tablet under your arms, already preempting where this conversation will go. Except, unlike other times, there’s a fiery determination to fight back, to not let their words break and infiltrate your walls and destroy you from the inside out. This time, there’s something to prove, people to defend. 
“No. I didn’t think it was important to mention.”
“Did you know that he was her child?”
“Yes. Not at first, but I learnt over time.”
“And you met her?”
“I’ve ate with her, she has welcomed me at her table, she is the one who dressed me for the gala.” 
Your mum brings a hand over her chest. “No wonder why you looked so horrid.”
You narrow your eyes. “And yet, it received more compliments than any of the pieces you have dressed me in.”
Your father points an accusatory finger in your face. “Watch your tongue.”
“Watch yours.”
“What is wrong with you? That wretched woman is our rival, the one who has sabotaged our business for multiple quarters, have you no shame?”
“Yes, I’m sure she did it purposefully when in actuality, she simply played her cards better.”
There is steam coming out of your father’s ears. “You insolent, ungrateful brat! After everything we have built for you, you whore around behind our backs.”
“Not just with any vermin, but the Goldweaver’s son, have you no shame?” Your mother’s unempathetic voice grows pitchy; her characteristic nonchalant tone displaying a sound of disbelief that you’ve never heard before. 
“His name is Phainon, and you will address him correctly.” 
Your mother’s eyebrows raise slightly whilst your father’s head seems seconds away from popping off his shoulders. “Pardon?”
“He is not a vermin, nor undeserving of your respect, call him by his name.”
He laughs, and it sounds more like a guffaw, or maybe that’s how he laughs because you have never heard it before. It’s foreign, and atrocious, and like nails on chalkboard and you wish for your ears to bleed before you have to listen to it again. 
“The boy has taught you how to talk back to us! You’re losing it! Our child is losing it! After all of these years of raising you, giving you the best opportunities we could, our child is losing it! Dear Kephale, let this be a mere prank!”
You sigh at the tantrum your father is throwing, pushing yourself up to your feet as you begin to walk out of the room. 
The voice of your mother stops you in your tracks. “Y/n, was Phainon the boy you were telling me about? The one you were waiting before your father and I could approve?”
“...Yes,” you lie.
“You had said our approval is important to you, what changed?”
You frown. “I realised I don’t deserve to be chasing your validation for the rest of my life.” 
“If you walk out of that door, say goodbye to us forever, don’t even think about turning around,” your father spits, and you ignore the way your mother slaps his shoulder, as if reprimanding him; a sight you have never witnessed in your life. 
“All the times you didn’t show up, all my achievements that gather dust in a forgotten box below the stairs, I can not lose people who were never there in the first place.”
You leave after that, closing the door to end the only conversation where you had the last word. 
Phone, phone, where’s your phone? Titans- your hands are shaking, they’re shaking so much, calm yourself, breathe, stop the jitters, you can’t find Phainon’s contact like this, this is unbearable, no, please, stop shaking, pull yourself together.
By some miracle your finger presses the ‘call’ button successfully. It only rings two times, but it feels unimaginably long before you hear Phainon’s voice on the other side.
“Hello?”
You exhale a breath of relief. “Phainon, are you free?”
“Of course, are you okay?”
“Please, just meet me at Marmoreal Park.”
“Y/n,” he demands, and you press your phone closer to your ear. “Breathe, you’re safe, okay?”
His voice gently talks you through your panic, six, five, four, three, two, one. Your vision stops creeping in on the edges, you can feel the shake in your hands cease, rationality slowly seeps back in. You just need to get to Marmoreal Park. Phainon’s insistent on staying on the line until you arrive, even if it’s spent in silence as you sit powerless at the back of a taxi, trying to avoid thinking about what just happened like your life depended on it. 
You
 you just defied your parents for the first time in your life. Finally severed the reliance you had on appeasing them, all because they slandered Phainon, the friend you’ve relied on like a rock since you arrived at the Grove. The person who always makes you feel wanted in every scenario, who will always save you a seat at every table, who is willing to stay on the line just because you called him in a frenzy, and won’t put it down until he knows you’re safe.
The person you love, and will inevitably lose because he doesn’t feel the same.
Was it worth the hellfire you ignited?
It’s all a mess, your head hurts, and worst of all, you’ve arrived at Marmoreal Park. You pay your driver the fee and leave, nerves running rampant as you hear Phainon’s voice come through your phone. 
He’s here and waiting for you, but you see him and start running without thinking. 
“Phainon!” You yell and he turns around, eyes widening when he sees you but he opens his arms. You barrel straight into them, needing nothing more than to ground yourself against something physical, to feel the presence of another because you think you just lost everything.
“Y/n
” his hand rubs circles on your lower back. “What happened?”
After a deep inhale, you take a step away and glance away to admire the blooms in the park. There were Crape Myrtles all around the perimeter, the tree’s special pink blossoms beautifully decorating the space, even littered all over the grass. 
“I
 I had an argument with my parents.”
His gaze darkens, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”
“This might be my last one, though,” you murmur. “I
 I think that was the last straw. It’s fine. I’ll survive.”
“What happened?”
“I-It started because of you,” you notice him tense in the corner of your eye. “Someone saw us last night and took a photo for my parents. They didn’t like that I was with you because Aglaea, they despise her, refuse to be associated with her in any way, and that includes having their child be friends with her son.”
“Y/n
”
“They were slandering you, Phai, saying some incredibly disrespectful stuff and I couldn’t stand it.” You sigh. 
“You didn’t have to,” he murmurs, “it’s fine if they hate me, I’m not worth this fight.”
“I would have done the same for any of my friends. Castorice, Mydei, Hyacine, wouldn’t you do the same for me?”
“I would.” There’s no hesitation in his voice. 
Suddenly, you feel a droplet land. Is the weather was against you today as well? Really? When the weather’s been exceptionally clear for the last three weeks? What is this soap-opera level of pathetic fallacy? There’s another drop, and another, until they come bucketing down, beginning to soak through your shirt.
Using a hand to shield your eyes, Phainon grabs your other one and leads you to a nearby gazebo. Thankfully, the park was reasonably vacant for a weekday morning, so you two were the only one taking shelter. Maybe everyone else but you knew about the incoming summer downpour.
It all feels so ironic. A chill passes up your spine as you listen to the percussion of raindrops hitting the brick roof of the pavilion, watch the torrential downpour grow with no end in sight. 
“So
 what now?” He asks. “Where do you have to go now?”
You shrug. “I’ll figure that out after this shower passes. Realistically, they can’t be mad at me forever, but now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t say I regret it. It felt good to stand up for myself at least once, and even better to have the last word.” You laugh quietly, shoulders shaking as a decrepit sense of satisfaction creeps up on you. “If anything, I think it’s taught me that I should speak my mind more often.”
“Does that mean you have more left to say?” 
You huff. “Is that a bad thing?” 
“No. Not at all. In fact, I think you should get it all out.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
“Even if it may be for the worse?”
“The worst’s already happened, what else could go wrong?” 
“Fine.” You turn to face him square-on, steading yourself. “Phainon, of Aedes Elysiae, I like you. There, now I’ve really fucked everything up- mmhg!” 
The words are stolen from your mouth by a pair of lips sealing against yours. Your squeal of surprise is muffled, devoured by him as big hands cradle your cheeks, tangling in the tresses of your hair. 
Warm. So warm, despite how drenched he is, Phainon feels so warm. His hands are warm, his body pressing up against yours is warm, his lips that are moulding with yours are so warm. Adoration spreads in your body, as if he’s injecting it like the oxygen you need to breathe, letting it trickle like warm, sticky honey that will refuse to leave as it coats your bones.
He’s pulling away and taking the warmth with him too soon. You miss it. You miss it more than you thought you could, which is ironic, because Phainon is right in front of you.
“I’ve waited too long to hear you say that,” he whispers, stealing shorter kisses from your lips by squeezing your cheeks together. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive,” kiss, “I’ll be the best boyfriend ever,” kiss, “I am so happy right now, I could take down an army of Titankin.”
“Wait- wait, let’s talk about this!” You intercept his lips before he could get anymore carried away. “You like me?”
“Holy Kephale, I’ve loved you since I first laid my eyes on you, let me have this moment,” he pulls you in again, bending his neck to meet you halfway. This time, you melt into his touch, letting him lead as he moves his lips against yours. 
Faintly, Aglaea’s words ring in your mind: ‘The love of Phainon’s life’... ‘genuine intentions’. You unwillingly smile against his lips, and he takes that as a sign to part but not without a lick against your nose.
“What
 what was that?” You stammer. 
“Nose kiss.” 
“That wasn’t a kiss, weirdo,” you wipe the wetness off as he smiles affectionately at you, not at all apologetic or regretful. It makes your heart flip. 
“Your weirdo.”
“It’s too early to pull out that corny line. Plus, we have a lot to talk about: what do you mean you’ve liked me since you first saw me? I
 I thought you didn’t like me.”
If it were possible, question marks would have materialised on top of Phainon’s white hair. “I don’t think I could have made it any more obvious. I tried kissing you last night and you thought I didn’t like you?”
“It- it could have been friendly?”
“If you kiss all of your friends then I’m gonna go wrestle Mydei and tear his face off.”
“Phainon!”
“Just kidding!” 
You narrow your eyes at him before sighing, leaning against his shoulder. You stay like this for a while, neither of you speaking as the downpour continues, encasing you in your own little bubble.
“And I thought this trip home would be the same as always, a torturous three months that I’d have to endure by a hanging thread,” you muse, scoffing at the unexpected turn this holiday has taken. “This city is the furthest thing from beautiful, or eternal, or holy, but you have shown me that maybe
 there are many things to love about it,” you glance up at him, and he’s already looking at you. “Maybe, it was all worth it in the end, the grass is warmer on your side.” 
The weather clears not too long afterwards.
 · · ─ · ☌ · ─ · ·
“This photo of us is so cute!” Hyacine exclaims, scrolling through her photo album as you and Castorice peer over her shoulder. “I think I want to post this one, thoughts?”
“I like this one a lot, you look so pretty,” Castorice comments. “I’m jealous, I wish I had gone to Okhema as well now, it would have been so incredible exploring the city with you.”
“Hyacine and I had a blast, but at least your sister came to visit, that must have been good,” you try your best to console her. 
Your pink-haired friend pipes up with an idea: “we should definitely plan out a trip sometime soon, that would be so fun!”
They both look to you. “Well, I probably will be going home now more often,” you admit sheepishly, and await their reactions.
Before Phainon, Castorice and Hyacine were the only ones with a general understanding of your home life as you would vaguely talk about it with them during late nights spent in each other’s dorms. They knew surface-level information; that you hated going home because of strict parents, so their shock was reasonable.
“What!” Hyacine’s eyes widen and Castorice’s hand comes to her mouth. 
“You told me you had to be on your best behaviour for a week so your mum could agree to hang out with me, what changed?” 
You barely get a word out before the reason himself comes behind you and unceremoniously drapes himself over your shoulders. The two girls gasp loudly, the second shock of the day arriving in the form of a clingy boyfriend who is loudly proclaiming that he ‘missed youuu’ while wrapping you in a hug so tight, you think he’s squeezing the air out of you.
“I mean, we both had a hunch based on the pictures you’d send in the groupchat, but
 Y/n!” Exclaims Hyacine as Phainon presses two very loud and dramatised kisses against your hairline.
“Phai, please,” you feel heat creeping up your neck at his bold displays of affection. While you don’t necessarily hate it and actually quite like his attention, all of your friends were staring, and they didn’t need to watch you receiving it.
He gently tilts your chin so you look up at him, white hair falling down and tickling your forehead. “Hi angel,” he greets like nothing is wrong before rounding the bench to sit down on the opposite side, beside Mydei, who is very unbothered, expression as neutral as ever as he eats a protein bar.
Castorice speaks up. “Y/n, why didn’t you tell us earlier?” 
“There wasn’t a good enough time
” 
“Anytime is a good time!” Hyacine squeals, pigtails bouncing. “You can tell us anything, especially something as important as this!”
“I know, I know, I promise I was going to, but there-” you try to explain before your boyfriend interrupts you.
“-tell you what?” He asks innocently. “What’s up?” 
“That you and Y/n were dating,” the purple-haired explains calmly.
“What!” Phainon’s gasp is probably louder than both Castorice and Hyacine’s combined as a look of pure shock and betrayal sets on his expression, “why didn’t you tell them?”
You wave your hands defensively, trying to fight a losing battle. “I was going to, I swear, but there was just never a good time, and I’m shy and hate talking about myself for too long and-”
“-I’ve told Mydei three times by now!”
The man in question agrees. “He has. In excruciating detail.”
“Guys!” You whine, “I’m sorry!”
“Wait,” Phainon visibly perks up, like a dog who was just thrown his favorite treat. “If you haven’t told them, then can I tell them?” 
“I don’t trust your commentary!” 
“What? My commentary is a flawless retelling, you don’t trust your own boyfriend?”
“Let me tell them first, okay?”
He deflates. “Okay.” 
After a nice lunch with your friends, all of you catching up and chatting about what you did in the holidays, you and Phainon find yourselves alone once again, sat under the shade of a magnolia tree. He is, as always, laying on your lap, trying to find a comfortable spot for his ‘optimal time of the day’ nap, happily wrapping his arms around your legs and manhandling them as he pleases, while you’re subject to his whims.
“Happy?” You ask when he finally finds a favourable position, which happens to be his head on your thighs while his arms are wrapped around your stomach.
With the way he hums, you’re certain he’s quite content. So, you thread your fingers through his hair and begin playing with the strands; a habit you have after he told you that it helped him fall asleep faster.
As he dozes off, you take the time to think about everything that transpired over summer.
As soon as your feelings for each other were confirmed, Phainon practically dragged you home to tell Aglaea, who was certainly delighted with the new status of your relationship. She was hardly surprised, though, giving you an ‘I told you so’ look before welcoming you as a new member of the family. The hug felt so nice and warm, it was your second best memory from that day.
It is still complicated back home. Your mother has grown more amicable with the idea over time, so much so that she has suggested the idea of bringing Phainon over, but your father is stubborn and refusing to relent. He has always been too preoccupied with work for you to care, though. As long as you did what he was told, he never got in your way. 
As a magnolia blossom falls from the tree and lands perfectly in his snow-white hair, you giggle at the placement, threading it to sit behind his ear as he sleeps peacefully. 
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© EARTHTOOZ 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.
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help-me-im-in-the-fandom · 9 months ago
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Dc x Dp
Soulmate and Wing Au Prompt
Everyone has a Soulmate Mark, when you are born it is in a bright color outline, just the simple shape.
Then, when you meet your Soulmate it becomes colored in, becoming a beautiful picture of something that shows you and your soulmates love for each other.
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Jason Todd is born with folded wings across his back in acidic green, and when he becomes Robin he knows the wings symbolize that part of him, showing that he had always been meant to fly.
Then when Jason is fifteen, his back goes ice cold in the middle of the day, like someone dumped a bucket of water across him. His outline is no longer vibrant green of life and energy, but the soulless black of a dead soulmate.
It doesn’t take to long for him to go off the deep end and start taking risks as Robin, and even as Bruce yells at him for hurting someone to much and one guy getting in accident, Well when Jason learns about his mother, his true mother.
Well Jason Todd welcomes that blinking countdown inside the warehouse Joker has left him in.
Then he wakes up and all he can see and feel is green rage and pain.
It takes him a long time to notice the changes to his soulmate mark, but when he does it makes his pain all the more real.
Where had once been an outline when he died, was now dull color across his skin, not quite black and white, but washed out color.
Black wings, with red-orange shoulders, the wings of Red shouldered Blackbird.
Jason tries to ignore it, but the knowledge that he had met his Soulmate in Heaven or Hell, despite not being able to remember it, soothes his broken heart just a little bit.
Meanwhile, Danny Phantom searches desperately for his missing Soulmate, across his back large white and green wings beating desperately.
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This started because I wanted to Draw Dead On Main with wings, and then, it kind of drew me in to creating a tiny story for it, so here you go, anyone want to write a fic for me??
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luxaofhesperides · 1 year ago
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Soulmark AU + Sleeping Beauty ; requested by @candeartist422!
For the last few years, Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die.
It sounds cruel to say it that way. But the waiting is more painful, he thinks, than just mourning a lost love. It’s not like most people ever meet their soulmates anyways; his parents weren’t meant to be, but they still loved each other and had a life together. He wishes he could turn his focus away from his soulmate, but Duke is a romantic at heart and has always wanted to find the other half of his soul.
But since he was fourteen, his soulmark has dulled, fading in and out of color. What was once a vibrant blue crystal star, with eight points and a swirl of watercolor hues around it, dimmed more and more until Duke was sure he was watching his soulmate die slowly. 
His soulmate didn’t die then. Whoever they are got better, his soulmark gaining color, but it never went back to the way it was. For years after, Duke would check at the beginning and end of each day, keeping track of when it faded and when it regained its color. 
He thought his soulmate was sick. In and out of hospitals, fighting to stay alive.
And then it went nearly colorless. 
Duke doesn’t remember much about that day. He knows he woke up, brushed his teeth, the lifted up his shirt to check his soulmark in the mirror. The blue was almost completely gone, the star on his left hipbone nearly gray with how colorless it was. He started at it for a moment, shocked, and reality slid away from him as he retreated into the safety of his mind, fully dissociating. 
Bruce had found him when Duke didn’t show up for breakfast. He held him and offered quiet words of comfort that Duke couldn’t understand, but just having someone with him lessened the hurt of losing his soulmate. 
Seeing the color come back the next day, faint as it was, hurt even more.
A year later, Duke still can’t break the habit of checking his soulmark twice a day. It hasn’t changed at all, still faint and dim, but carrying just enough color to show that his soulmate was still alive. At the very least, they were still breathing, but his chance of ever meeting them is basically zero. Still, he can’t help but hope, wishing that he could meet them even once before they die and leave him forever. 
“Same as ever,” he murmurs to himself as he brushes his thumb against his soulmark. He’s terrified that he’s forgotten how beautiful the blue of it was when his soulmate was healthy. 
Duke doesn’t let himself think on it too much anymore. Though his thoughts often turn to his soulmate during quiet moments like these, the busy nature of Gotham is usually more than enough to pull his attention back to the here and now. There’s no use in obsessing over his soulmate anyways; they’re just going to die, sooner or later, and Duke knows he’ll never get to meet them. They’ll just be another empty space in his life, right next to his parents. 
“Come on, Thomas, focus,” he tells himself firmly, then gets dressed and heads down to the kitchen for breakfast.
The manor is quiet. It usually is in the mornings, with everyone from the night shift dead asleep and trying to get as much rest as they can before they have to start their day. Not that many of them stay in the manor these days; Duke and Damian are the only permanent residents at the moment, but Steph usually stays half with her mom and half in the manor during the summers when she’s home from college, and the others drop in whenever they feel like it. 
Bruce lives more in the Batcave than the manor, so he doesn’t really count. It’s also why Duke is surprised to see Bruce awake and dressed like a normal person, drinking coffee in the kitchen as if this is a normal occurrence. 
“Morning,” Duke offers.
“Good morning, Duke,” Bruce replies. “Sleep well?”
“Well enough. Alfred out or something?”
“He may have kicked me out of the Batcave to clean it up a bit,” Bruce answers tiredly. “Want me to make breakfast?”
Duke has heard the horror stories of Bruce’s attempts to make edible food in a kitchen. In the interest of not dealing with food poisoning, Duke shakes his head quickly and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda wanting to eat out for breakfast. Get out there as me, and not a mask, you know?”
“Mind if I join you? Alfred may forgive me for not sleeping if I willingly go outside.”
Duke laughs. “Sure man, as long as you pay.”
“I’ll drive, too.”
“What, don’t trust me behind a wheel?”
Bruce gives him a tired look, eyes dead and dull. “I have taught all my children how to drive. The day I willingly let them take the wheel when I am not actively dying is the day I’ve been replaced by a robot clone of myself who doesn’t know better yet.”
“That is
 very specific. Is that a thing you usually worry about?”
“I’m Batman. I have to worry about everything.”
Yeah, that tracks. Duke wouldn’t be surprised if he has at least five contingency plans for that scenario, should it ever happen. “Well,” he says, “Right now, all you need to worry about is having your wallet and driving us down to The Foodie Nook. I’ve been craving their breakfast plates for ages.”
Bruce doesn’t object to his choice of restaurant and follows Duke down to the garage, grabbing a random set of keys and pointing it out to the many cars he owns. One near the front blinks its lights as it unlocks and Duke cheerfully tosses himself into the passenger seat as Bruce opens the garage door. 
The drive into Gotham is smooth. They don’t hit traffic until they reach the bridge that leads into the city proper, taking them away from the quiet of Bristol. The morning is busy, but not enough that Duke worries about being out as the Signal to help keep the peace. It’s a normal type of busy, one borne from people going about their lives, feeling safe enough to go out. 
The Foodie Nook is entirely local and very popular, so the parking lot is nearly full. But they expanded their space last year, which means he and Bruce don’t have to sit outside while they wait to grab a table. Bruce keeps conversation light and casual, well aware of the many listening ears around them, and it’s nice, feeling normal for once. 
Well, as normal as life can be with Bruce Wayneℱ. The server who comes to lead them to a table realizes who she’s talking to after she gets a proper look at them while holding open the door and promptly stutters over her words. 
“No need for any special treatment,” Bruce laughs lightly, “We’re just here for breakfast. Nothing special.”
“Of course,” she replies, cheeks red. “Um, right this way! We’ve got a table by the windows for you. Just two, yeah?”
“Yup! Just two. Thought this was a good day to spend some time with Duke. He’s a great kid, you know, I’m glad I was given the opportunity to foster him.”
The sunny, cheerful Bruce Wayne persona is so different from the usual Bruce he works with that it feels like he’s standing next to a stranger. But his words are sincere and warm his heart, filling up the gaps that his soulmate has left. 
“Here you are!” their server announces, showing them to their table. “I’ll be right back with some menus.” She’s gone in a rush, and other customers glance over before quickly averting their gaze. 
It’s one of the unspoken rules of Gotham: give the Waynes their privacy while they’re out in public. Questions and conversation are for public events only, but if they see a Wayne out and about during a normal day, everyone leaves them be unless spoken to first. Duke used to follow those rules as well when he was just another Gothamite. It’s strange being on the other side of that now that he’s in with the Waynes.
Duke barely has to look through the menu when it’s handed to him. The breakfast plates are his favorites and he gets one every single time he comes to The Foodie Nook; stacked full with breakfast foods from around the world. As a kid, he loved the Mexico Plate, but these days he’s craving either the Brazilian Plate or the Vietnamese Plate.  
He can’t decide on which one and thinks about tossing a coin to decide, but seeing how that’s Two Face’s whole thing, he decides to hold off and settle the matter with eenie-meenie-minnie-mo. 
He gets the Vietnamese Plate.
Bruce, on the other hand, reads through the entire menu like it’s a novel, then leans over and says rather loudly, “Duke, what’s a tort-illa.” 
The pain he feels hearing that is only worsened by the amusement in Bruce’s eyes. He’s doing it on purpose, playing up the Brucie act for the public so he can psychologically torment Duke. A few nearby customers choke back laughter, turning away to hide their smiles. 
Duke shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just food. Don’t ask any more questions, I just want a peaceful breakfast.”
“Well then,” Bruce replies, “I suppose I know what to order now.”
As if she was summoned, their server reappears before them, cheeks still looking a little flushed. “Hi! Ready to order?”
She writes down their orders quickly, valiantly keeping a straight face at Bruce’s mispronunciation of tortilla, then heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen. 
Rather than draw out a conversation with Brucie Wayne, Duke settles for playing a few idle games on his phone; his current favorite is one quiet cat cafe game where he directs cats into fulfilling cafe orders. 
Bruce, despite being out in his civilian identity, is working. He’s on his Batman phone, which looks the same as his other cell phones except this one has a bat symbol sticker just barely hiding a Superman sticker on the phone case. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads whatever file he’s accessing from the Batcomputer. It’s a little worrying but it could be anything. Bruce makes the same expression when he reads one of Tim’s snarky comments getting quoted in the news.
But that’s not Duke’s problem! He’s here to enjoy his breakfast and it will take the end of the world itself to remove him from his seat before he’s done eating.
The game takes most of his attention until their food comes out, and by then Bruce has tucked away the smallest of his Batman mannerisms. They enjoy a normal, peaceful breakfast. Bruce ends it by asking their server if she has any debt that’s weighing her down, then giving her a tip that’s at least five thousand dollars above that. 
She does cry and Bruce hugs her. It’s very sweet. 
As soon as they get back into the car, his easy going smile drops and Duke knows some superhero nonsense is about to take over his day. 
“Duke,” Bruce starts, seriously, “I received a message from Zatanna.”
“Don’t drag this out,” Duke says, “Just give it to me straight. What terrible thing is about to happen to us?”
“It’s nothing too big. They just recently defeated a magical being who had been tearing apart secret government facilities in Illinois. He had both magic and a high tech weapon, which they confiscated and are delivering to me. The government agency he was fighting was suspiciously interested in the weapon, and based on their behaviors and newly revealed work, Zatanna made the decision to turn the weapon over to us so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
Bruce smoothly merges into traffic as he speaks, getting them onto the road back to the manor. There’s a look in his eyes that means he’s keeping a lot unsaid, and Duke knows without a doubt that whatever this government agency was doing is bad if Zatanna needs Batman to act as extra security. 
He’s not sure about her decision to trust the weapon to be safe in Gotham, either. Sure, Batman will keep it as safe as he can, but with their luck, it’ll end up in the hands of a Rogue and lead to a lot of death and destruction. 
As soon as they cross the bridge and return to Bristol, Bruce steps on the gas and the car tears down the road. Without any other cars to worry about (or traffic laws), it takes barely two minutes to reach the manor, when the gates open for them and let them into the garage. 
Alfred waits for them by the door, looking them over with a critical eye. “I see you have managed to go outside, Master Bruce. What’s the special occasion?”
“Just breakfast,” Bruce answers. “I’m heading back down to the Batcave. Zatanna will be here soon to deliver a weapon.” He’s gone before Alfred can say anything more, hurrying down the hall and turning the corner, disappearing from sight as he heads towards his office. 
“I see we have yet to break that bad habit of his. Did you enjoy your morning out, Master Duke?”
“Sure did, Alfred. I’m, uh, also going down to the Batcave. He’s definitely not telling me a lot about what’s going on, so I’m just going to read about it over his shoulder. I’ll be back up for lunch, though!”
“And perhaps you’ll be able to drag Master Bruce away from that cave of his,” Alfred comments wryly as he walks with Duke towards the office. He gives Duke a nod, then splits away from him, returning to the kitchen where Duke can hear Damian speaking to someone, probably Tim by the annoyed tone of his voice, and mentally wishes Alfred luck in handling them.
Duke sets the correct time on the clock in Bruce’s office and heads down to the Batcave, taking the steps two at a time. 
Bruce is already at the Batcomputer, shoulders tensed, when he arrives. 
“More bad news?” he asks as he makes his way over.
Bruce doesn’t bother looking away from the screen as he says, “More details about the fight. It seems the magical being called himself a ghost and was going on a rampage due to a betrayal. He says they nearly killed his son.”
“Oh, yikes.”
“And two of the scientists working with the government agency said that he stole their son and is keeping them from saving him.”
“Yikes,” Duke says with more feeling.
He doesn’t get to hear anymore details about JLD’s fight with this ghost when he catches a flicker in the corner of his eye. Duke turns and stares at the empty space in the Batcave near the medbay and watches as colorful magic gathers and swirls in dizzing circles. The portal opens a moment later and Zatanna steps out, looking exhausted and lightly singed. 
“Batman,” she greets, holding a white gun that looks like it belongs in an early sci-fi movie from the 60s. “The GIW is trying to arrest us. Constantine keeps burning their badges and documents so it shouldn’t be a problem, but they are determined to get this back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you next. They’ve got some way of tracking things, but I didn’t have time to get any details before I had to leave.”
Bruce takes the gun from her hands carefully, looking it over with a sharp gaze. “Why would a ghost want to use a gun?”
“I don’t know. He had a variety of powers, too.”
“What does this do?”
“Shoots ice. He never let it go and nearly burned me alive for taking it before we subdued him.”
“We’ll keep it locked up,” Bruce promises. 
Zatanna sighs. It looks as though a physical weight fell off her shoulders. “Thanks. I’m going to head back to stop Constantine from getting into a fistfight with the GIW agents.”
She opens another portal with a waved hand and a muttered spell. Bruce is already walking away to set the gun down on a work station, so Duke is the one to wave Zatanna goodbye. 
By the time he reaches Bruce’s side, the gun is already dismantled, all pieces neatly set aside. Sticky notes denote which pieces go together and in what order. It looks the same as most guns, save for the aesthetic, but the heart of it is a glowing blue orb, large enough to cover the entirety of Bruce’s palm, and it brings a chill to the air.
Duke stares at it and feels his soulmark burn ice cold.
“Duke?”
It’s in his hands. He doesn’t remember reaching out to take it, but it’s in his hands. He can’t take his eyes off of it, cradling it gently and bringing it closer to his chest. 
It’s the same blue his soulmark once was. Before his soulmate began to fade, before every day became a waiting game to see how long his soulmate will last before they die. 
This has something to do with his soulmate. He’s sure of it. 
He won’t let anyone take it from him. 
“Duke. Give that to me.”
He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. He’s detached, floating somewhere outside his body, puppeteering his limbs, making them move without feeling the motion. Shadows condense around his feet and Bruce takes a step back, wary. 
“Duke,” he says again, but Duke can’t find any words, can’t draw on his voice, can’t even look away from the bright, bright blue of the orb. It pulses lightly in his hand like a heartbeat. 
Bruce reaches a hand out. 
He’s pulled back by shadows before he can get close, and Duke holds the orb against his chest, right against his heart, and feels the cold seep into him. 
“Duke. I need you to look at me.” This time, Bruce’s voice has Batman’s growl in it, a heavy command that he can’t help but instinctively follow. He looks up and meets Bruce’s eyes, but he can’t focus. All his awareness is in his hands and the heartbeat of the glowing orb.
“I have to protect this,” Duke manages to whisper. “I
 I think it’s alive.”
“Okay. Let’s get you to the medbay so you can sit down. We’ll figure this out, Duke.”
Bruce slowly, carefully, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder. He keeps his attention away from the orb, so Duke allows it and lets Bruce guide him to the medbay and onto one of the medical cots. Bruce leaves him after a minute of quiet fussing, muttering about calling Zatanna.
Whatever. None of that matters when the heartbeat of the orb grows stronger, steadier, and Duke feels it match the beat of his own heart.
Time slips away from him. Distantly, he hears people move around the cave, speaking in low tones. A hand presses against his shoulder, warm, then moves away. 
The orb in his hand moves. 
Duke blinks slowly, then claws his way back to awareness, pushing past the haze that’s fallen over his mind. The orb turns over in his hand, then cracks right down the middle. The glow grows stronger, washing the medbay in blue light and a symbol appears on the orb.
It’s his soulmark. 
Later, he won’t be able to say why he did it. There were no thoughts, no reasonings, no explanations. Duke simply moved on instinct and lifted the orb up to his face and pressed a soft kiss against it. 
One moment, the orb was still.
The next, it had burst in a flash of light that blinded everyone in the Batcave, and then a thin, injured teenager had fallen into Duke’s lap. 
Hands immediately grab him, pulling him away from Duke. The teenager puts up no fight, eyes barely open, but he reaches for Duke weakly. On his wrist is the bright blue snowflake, the color strong and vivid. 
“That’s me soulmate,” Duke whispers as he watches Bruce and Tim set the boy down on another medical cot. 
“What?” Tim says, turning to face Duke, concern clear on his face. 
“That’s my soulmate,” he repeats, louder. Then, panicked, he pulls up his shirt enough to see his own soulmark; the color is still dull, weak, barely there, but it’s more blue that it has been in a while. He doesn’t need to say anything. Tim sees the dullness of his soulmark, looks at the boy, and puts the pieces together on his own.
“I’ll call Doc Thompkins,” he says, already moving to fix everything. Bruce remains where he is, making sure the boy is tucked in and breathing steadily before he returns to Duke. 
“Are you alright?”
Duke swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. He’s pale and thin, as if he’d been starved, and there’s frost beginning to spread on the bedsheet from his fingers. “He’s my soulmate,” Duke manages to say. “He’s been dying for two years.”
Bruce’s eyes a hard, a determined light in them. “We’ll save him,” he promises. 
If anyone can, it’s Batman. 
If anyone can, it’s them, Batman and the Signal, and their entire network of family and friends. 
Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die all this time. Now, he’s going to save him.
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prettydaisygirl · 1 month ago
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Congratulations on 500 followers, you're amazing!! ♡♡♡
đŸŒŒ Let's dive into James Potter's angst with the phrase “i’m not ready to live without you.”
Perhaps where the reader is gravely ill and while she sleeps cuddled to him, James cannot bear the bad thoughts about losing her. 😭😭😭😭
AND Hello! I hope you're having a good day ♡ I came to ask for a James Potter drabble haha đŸŒŒ Where reader knows that being so sick is wearing James down and even though it hurts, she decides that she doesn't want to drag him down with her to her inevitable death, so she breaks up with him. 😭😭😭 “please don’t make me go, i want to stay.”
the fact that two of you had the audacity to ask me for this (im just kidding). In all truth though, I cried the whole time wriitng this. So if angst is what you want, angst you shall get (with a bit of fluff because obvi you know me, I did not have them break up). Hope you both enjoy, thanks for requesting my loves! <33
đŸŒŒ daisy (innocence, loyalty, pure love): pick a character and an AU from the lists above & a prompt from this list and I will write a <500 word drabble
daisy's 500 follower celebration bouquet
James Potter and "I'm not ready to live without you."/"Please don't make me go, I want to stay."
cw: reader has a terminal illness with a bad prognosis, very sad
°˖✧✿✧˖°
It’s nights like these where James feels it the most. In the quiet, there’s no hiding the grief. He can’t laugh and bounce around and smile like his world isn’t ending, because in the darkness of your bedroom, it’s the only truth. His world is ending.
You’re laying next to him, your breathing slightly wheezy as you snore. You look
 dull. Even in your sleep when you’re supposed to be the most peaceful. James remembers when you were vibrant, shining and beautiful, and James thought he’d found an angel on Earth. He still does, he just
 doesn't know why you have to leave so soon. It’s not fair. 
He turns on his side to face you. You’re thinner than you used to be, the changes in your body evidence of its struggle against itself. He can remember the day the two of you received the news. ‘It’s malignant.’ They’d said. ‘The prognosis is
 not good. A year at best.’
A year at best.
Everything has changed since then. You, obviously. Him, more than he’d like to admit. He doesn’t think it’s fair for the two of you to be this young and going through something this devastating.
“I’m not ready to live without you.” James whispers, reaching a hand out to brush your cheek. It’s more hollow than he remembers. You stir, and he immediately feels guilty. Maybe you weren’t as asleep as he thought you were. Your eyes blink open, duller than he’s ever seen them, and your smile is too.
“What time is it?” You ask, voice slightly slurred and raspy from sleep. “I don’t know.” He answers honestly. Your eyes scan the bedroom, finding that it’s the middle of the night. You frown, and something seems to settle over you. James is already shaking his head, he knows what you’re about to say. You’ve had this argument before.
“James-” You start, and he tries to finish this before you continue, desperate to stop your words before you can even say them.
“I’m not leaving.” He presses himself closer to you, his hand finding your lower back. He handles you as gently as he can, and he watches as your eyes turn glossy in the dark. “Please don’t make me go, I want to stay.”
Your eyes pinch shut, and he both hears and feels your shaky inhale. “I hate seeing you like this, James. You need to just
 let me go. Go be young like you’re supposed to.”
“And what about you?” He asks, offended that you would ever ask that of him, that you continue to ask that of him. “I’m not abandoning you. I love you.”
“I love you too.” You finally break, sobs wracking your frail body as you lean into him. “But I don’t want you to die too, Jamie.” 
“I’m not leaving.” He repeats himself, and he hugs you closer. He lets you sob into his shoulders, and a few tears of his own fall too.
He’s not letting you go. Not now, not ever. He’s with you until the end.
°˖✧✿✧˖°
© prettydaisygirl
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bloodb3nders · 24 hours ago
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soldier
| katsuki bakugo x fem!knight!reader |
word count: 8.5k
content warnings: 18+, mdni, violence, reader is also a princess (hehe), reader disguised as a maidservant, bakugo is bakugo lol, a hint of angst here and there, evil king unalives himself, bit of king arthur lore au royalty au, inspired by soldier, poet, king by oh hellos
a/n: i love this, took me five years to write tho lol
NOW PLAYING: iris the goo goo dolls
series m.list | next part: poet
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she will tear your city down, oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.
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what is a weapon? cold steel taught against flesh. a metal bullet grazing skin. two circles connected intended to capture and restrain. a tool once intended to chop wood, to cut wheat. everyone knows typical weapons: swords, daggers, guns, throwing stars, etc.
but what about those never intended to be weapons? those that start out harmless, but grow to become more deadly than one could ever imagine?
but then again, not all objects are lifeless.
and like all weapons, some just crave to be used.
"father please! don't make her go," a weary voice cried out, as two girls begged on their knees, their once vibrant dresses dulled from weather and stained with dirt. you barely would've known they were royalty had it not been for the dainty tiaras that sat on their heads. tears stained their face, as their cries fell upon the deaf of ears of their father, who had succumbed to madness long ago.
"is she not the most skilled knight in my army?" a chilling voice rang out, and the knight and the commander of the army swore she felt a shiver run down her spine.
"she'll die if she goes! they've overcome almost all our defenses, father she will die. do not let her pass along with mama, i beg you," the oldest of the three princesses cried, as she held her hands on her heart, dainty hands showing the wear of a fallen kingdom.
"please father," the youngest spoke, voice choked back by sobs, no more words daring to leave her mouth.
"serve me proud, daughter," the king spoke, dark eyes searing into his middle daughter's own eyes, and she nodded, before bowing deeply. she willed herself to hold back her tears as she took the helmet out of the crook of her elbow, and placed it on her head.
"as you wish, my king," she spoke softly, turning around as the wallows from her sisters grew louder, calling for her to come back. a single tear slipped underneath the protection of her helmet, as she left the palace, her home, and her family, for the last time.
the morning sun cast long shadows across the battlefield as general bakugo katsuki surveyed the siege of avalon's outer walls. for three weeks, his army had pressed against the kingdom's defenses, not as conquerors, but as reluctant saviors. the mindless king who had once ruled avalon's throne was bleeding the land dry and torturing his subjects, and crown prince todroki had sent bakugo to liberate the people as soon as he had received a letter from the kingdom's eldest daughter and princess.
"general!" lieutenant kirishima's voice cut through the pre-dawn air. "the enemy's sending out their last line of defenses. it seems to be their best man."
bakugo's crimson eyes narrowed as he watched a lone figure emerge from avalon's gates. clad in battered armor that had seen better days, the warrior moved with a fluid grace that spoke of years of training. a helm obscured their face, and a sword hung at their hip—not the ceremonial blade of a court knight, but the practical weapon of someone who had earned their scars.
"cocky bastard," bakugo muttered, though there was an edge of respect in his voice. "thinks they can take on our whole army single-handed."
the knight raised their sword in challenge, the blade catching the morning light. even from a distance, bakugo could see the steady way they held their ground, no tremor of fear in their stance.
"if you want this kingdom, you'll have to go through me!" the knight called out, as a group of no more than fifty soldiers followed their commander out to the battlefield.
"i'll handle this," bakugo declared, already reaching for his own weapon.
"sir, you don't need to—"
"like hell I don't," bakugo's gauntlets creaked as he flexed his fingers. "if they want a fight, they'll get one."
"we don't want to spill any more blood, if you're truly this kindom's last line of defense, i propose a duel," he called back, and he watched as the knight's grip tightened on the grip of their sword, seemingly accepting bakugo's invitation.
the walk to the center of the field felt longer than it should have. bakugo's boots crunched on frost-bitten grass, his armor singing a soft metallic song with each step. the knight waited, still as a statue, until bakugo drew close enough to see the intricate engravings on their breastplate—roses and thorns intertwined, the symbol of avalon's true royal line.
"how can you still stand for the king?" bakugo called out, his voice carrying across the empty space between them.
"i stand and fight for my people," the knight's voice was muffled by their helm, but bakugo caught something unexpected, a softness that didn't match their fighting stance. "turn back, general. this kingdom doesn't need your salvation."
"that's not for you to decide," bakugo drew his sword, the familiar weight settling into his grip like an old friend. "your 'king' is starving his own people to fund his wars. he's clearly gone mad. in fact, it was your own princess who wrote to us for salvation, so i'd watch what you say, soldier."
"keep her name out of your mouth!" the knight seethed. "you bring fire and steel to our doorstep and call that salvation?"
"i bring justice," bakugo said as he raised his blade. "now are we going to talk or fight?"
the knight's answer came in the form of steel singing through air. bakugo barely had time to parry the strike, the force of it sending shockwaves up his arms. the blow was fast—faster than he'd expected. the follow-up came immediately, a clever feint that nearly slipped past his guard.
"shit," he breathed, dancing backward. there was a reason this knight donned the seal of the royalty of avalon. they truly were their last line of defense. a knight worthy of his sword, of his battle.
they circled each other like wolves, each looking for an opening. the knight fought with a style bakugo had never encountered among most men. this knight was fluid like water, but with an underlying strength that could only be attributed to endless hours of training. a feeling of perseverance came with every strike, and the will to prove oneself ached in the air. every strike was precise, every countermove calculated. there was no wasted motion, no unnecessary flourishes.
bakugo pressed his attack, his own style more aggressive, more direct. where the knight flowed, he struck like lightning. where they bent, he stood firm as a mountain. tt was a clash of philosophies as much as steel. order against chaos, tradition against innovation.
"you're good," bakugo admitted between strikes, his breathing starting to come harder. "better than i expected."
"disappointed?" the knight's voice held a note of amusement despite their obvious exertion.
"hell no," bakugo's grin was sharp as his blade. "i'd be bored otherwise."
the duel stretched on, neither fighter able to gain a single step towards an advantage. bakugo's army watched from the walls of their camp, while avalon's defenders lined the battlements. the outcome of this single combat would determine the fate of the kingdom, the weight of it carried with every clash of metal against metal.
as the sun climbed higher, bakugo began to notice the subtle signs of fatigue in his opponent, which took him by surprise. surely, a man of this caliber, wouldn't tire so early in battle? the knight's movements, while still precise, had lost some of their earlier fluidity. their breathing, audible now through the helm's ventilation, was becoming labored.
"you're tiring," bakugo observed.
"so are you," the knight shot back, but as the knight spoke, bakugo saw his opening.
the knight's guard dropped a fraction of an inch, barely perceptible, but enough. bakugo's blade swept in, catching them off-balance. the knight stumbled, their sword flying from their grip to land several feet away.
bakugo's sword found their throat, the point resting just below the helm's edge. "yield."
for a moment, the knight stood frozen. then, slowly, they raised their hands in surrender, and dropped to their knees. "i yield."
"smart choice," bakugo lowered his weapon, but kept his guard up. "what's your name, warrior?"
"does it matter?" the knight's shoulders sagged slightly in defeat, arms dropping carelessly to their side. "i've failed my kingdom."
"you fought with honor," bakugo said, and meant it. "that's not failure."
the knight said nothing, head downcast, as if the weight of the kingdom broke in half on it's back. without another word, they turned and walked back toward avalon's gates, the rest of the soldiers following suit as they retreated. nakugo watched them go, noting the proud set of their shoulders despite their defeat.
"interesting," he murmured to himself.
the siege of avalon ended not with a great battle, but with the city's gates opening a few hours later. the mad king had killed himself after he heard of the defeat, and anxiety and worry flooded the people as they anticipated their new commander. however, with the new hand of crown prince shoto came kindness, and the people tired of war and starvation, agreed to follow general bakugo back to the kingdom of musutafu.
upon his return to his kingdom, general bakugo immediately locked himself away in his study, furiously writing a report of the whole siege, not sparing a single detail, as the fight with the nameless knight swirled in his mind. he had just dipped his quill into a pot of ink when a knock at the door caught his attention.
"enter," he called without looking up.
"general bakugo?" kaminari denki called out, a palace guard, his yellow hair coming itno view. "prince shoto summons you," he murmured, and bakugo grumbled, carefully placing his quill down before following the yellow haired guard through the halls of the palace. upon entering the great hall, the general and guard bowed before the prince, and the guard took his leave. bakugo narrowed his eyes at the figure standing next to the king, and he felt his breath catch as the maiden next to prince shoto looked at him, doe eyes rendering him speechless as he took in her features. she was dressed in a forest green dress, some white stitching that made the seemingly plain dress look royal on her figure. her hair was tied up as most maidservant's was, but there was something about her disposition that felt far above that of a servant.
"general bakugo," prince shoto called out, and bakugo snapped his gaze back to the prince.
"you summoned me?" bakugo watched the prince inquisitively.
"this is y/n, she was the maidservant of the three princesses of avalon, she's agreed to help us in our search for them," shoto explained, and bakugo nodded slowly. his eyes flickered back to the beautiful woman before him, who curtsied, her head tilting down slightly.
"it's an honor to meet you general," a soft voice rang out, and it pierced bakugo's heart.
"the honor is mine," he replied, moving in to grab her hand with the utmost care, planting a soft kiss on it. he almost missed the way her hands almost felt calloused. he brushed it off as an incorrect observation.
"i trust you will take good care of her," prince shoto added, and bakugo nodded.
"certainly," bakugo responded.
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"sister, what in god's name are you doing in a tavern at this hour of the night?" you hissed, grabbing your eldest sister's arm, as she stared in awe at the poet reciting yet another poem from the table in the tavern. she had seemed to become somewhat enamored with the green-haired poet's way for words.
"sister, i promise you, i'll come to the palace soon, the poet's words have only delayed me slightly," your sister responded, her eyes not leaving the green-haired man's as she sighed longingly at his elegantly tied words.
"you're a lovesick fool. you're lucky i found you before general bakugo did, he wouldn't have cared for your antics," you sighed, rolling your eyes at your eldest sister. even without her royal attire, she still held a posture of grace and elegance. she wore a simple pink gown, her hair tied back in a braided manner that you recognized as the pattern your mother had taught you. "besides, i thought you said you liked the general, you said so in your letters," your sister spoke, elbowing you slightly, and you groaned.
"obviously not in such a foolish manner as love, sister! in a respectful way, our battle was one of the most noble and well-matched i'd experienced in years. only a fool would fight him and not walk away harboring some respect for him," you retorted, and your sister snorted. "you make me laugh, sister, first with your pretending to be a chamber maid, and your denial for your feelings," she teased, and your cheeks dusted with pink.
"enough of romance! sister, you must return to the castle, the prince grows restless in your search. you've been here two months time, surely it's been long enough?" you agonized, and your sister gave you a soft, guilty smile.
"the poet wishes to introduce me to the prince in two weeks time. apparently they were schooled together," she spoke, and you nodded in understanding. "our younger sister keeps singing outside the palace. she wrote to me speaking of her displays in some local taverns," you continued, and your older sister chuckled.
"she always was the liveliest of us. she could get any crowd moving with just a clap of her hands and a song in her heart," your sister spoke fondly.
"as long as she doesn't get herself in trouble, she'll be fine," you responded. your younger sister happened to find herself in a sticky situation more often than not.
"you're certain the prince has no idea of your true identity?" your sister asked, and you shook your head.
"no, but he has expressed his certainty in being able to recognize you. for now, we are safe. i've overheard bits and pieces from the general's meetings, and it seems mordred, our most dreadful cousin, has launched a hunt for us, but, they've gone in the opposite direction of our current location. we should be safe in musutafu," you spoke, and your sister nodded. applause suddenly broke out in the room as the green-haired poet finished his poem.
"i'll tell the general you're not in this area. but sister, if you do not come to the palace in two weeks time, i will find you. i'm sure your poet does not appreciate you masquerading as something you are not," you spoke sternly, catching your sister's eye.
"i could say the same for the general," your sister responded, and the two of you shared a final moment before you walked out of the tavern, where general bakugo stood outside, arms crossed and his usual scowl twisting his lips.
"no sign of the princess, none of the folk had seen anyone of her description," you reported, and general bakugo grunted.
"how hard is it to find a damn princess these days? shouldn't the tiara be a giveaway?" he huffed, and your lips pulled into an amused smile.
"those who do not seek to be found are rarely ever," you respond, and he rolled his eyes.
time passed on, and over the past few months, general bakugo had found himself growing to tolerate you somewhat. you had a kind soul, and despite having no official schooling, you were wise for a maidservant. he guessed it must've been due to waiting on the princesses of avalon. they were rumored to have minds as great as their beauty. of course, bakugo had never laid eyes on one of the princesses. but he wasn't sure if even their beauty could measure up to yours.
especially here, in the moonlight of the garden, watching as you picked at a few herbs around you.
"how is it you know how to do just about everything? you take care of princesses and garden?" he asked incredulously, and you jumped slightly, startled by his presence, doe eyes widening as you turned to look at him.
"general! forgive me, i- i didn't hear you approach," you spoke, voice floating in the wind.
"sorry. i didn't mean to scare you," bakugo moved closer, noting the dark circles under your eyes. "what brings you to the garden at this time of night?"
"couldn't sleep," you said simply. "my mind lingers on my princesses, they love peppermint tea, so i thought i'd pick some to brew for them upon their return," you added.
"let me help," bakugo spoke, kneeling down softly beside you to your surprise. your eyes studied him as he gently helped you gather some of the delicate mint leaves. "is it true what they say?" he asked, his red eyes turning to look at you, as if you held all the answers to the universe.
"say about what?" you asked, as your heartbeat rapidly picked up, drumming in your ears.
"that their beauty is unmatched by none in all the lands," bakugo spoke, eyes almost daring you to refute his claim. you chuckled softly, eyes crinkling as you thought of your sisters.
"oh well, i think the princesses are quite beautiful. however, they are the only royalty i've laid eyes on besides prince shoto... but, i do admit, the eldest and youngest are quite beautiful, in their own special ways," you trailed off, memories of your sisters echoing in your mind.
"as for the other sister?" bakugo asked.
"i think her beauty is found in her heart. in her will to carry on," you spoke, and the general offered you a rare smile, and you kicked yourself for the way your heart melted at the sight.
"and who is it that taught you to make tea?" he spoke, changing the subject as a slight breeze could be felt in the night.
"my mother taught me. she used to go to the gardens each morning and collect leaves to make different brews. she was an incredibly skilled healer, could cure just about any ailment."
"your mother sounds wise."
"she was," your smile was sad. "she died not to long ago. fever took her in the middle of winter."
"i'm sorry."
"no need, i still see her in my sisters," you responded, and bakugo tilted his head slightly. "sisters?" he asked, and you kicked yourself again for your slip up. "yes, i have two, a foolish poet and a lovesick baker," you said with a fondness, and bakugo laughed.
you finished gathering the herbs and stood, brushing the dirt from your skirts. "what about your family? do you have any siblings?" you quickly changed the subject, pivoting away from yourself.
"only child," bakugo said, rising as well. "my parents are still alive, nearby the area we visited a week ago. my mother never lets me forget how dangerous my job is, or how i've yet to give her any grandchildren." he can't help the way his mind wanders, he supposes even if his rank is a little higher than yours, surely no one would oppose the match?
"she loves you," you observed. "that's precious."
the two of you walked back toward the castle together, the light of the moon painting the walls silver. as the general walked, he found himself reluctant to end the conversation, as he had quite come to enjoy your companionship. however, to his surprise, a soft voice echoed throughout the palace, a mysterious songbird lurking in the shadows.
"oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lord," the voice sang out, and you smiled.
"it seems the songbird is back," bakugo spoke gruffly, noticing the way your face lit up.
"i'm certain she must be from avalon, the song, it is native to my home," you spoke, your eyes glossing slightly as the voice continued on. a voice that you knew belong to one person and one person only.
"what is it's significance?"
"the late queen wrote it many summers ago, a dedication to her kingdom. it was played at every summer solstice, the whole kingdom knows it by heart," you answered, as the heavenly voice drifted throughout the night air.
"there will come a soldier, who carries a mighty sword. she will tear your city down, oh lei, oh lai, oh lord."
"she?" bakugo repeated, and a single tear slipped from your eye as the words flooded over you.
"each verse is dedicated to one of the princesses," you answered, and bakugo's forehead creased in thought.
"which princess was that verse for?" he continues on, and you shrug. "you'll have to figure that out for yourself once you meet them," was all you added, before bidding your goodbyes to the general, and disappearing into the night.
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"you're staring again," kirishima observed one evening as they shared a drink in bakugo's quarters.
"shut up," bakugo muttered, but he didn't deny it. months of working closely with you had made him very aware of your beauty. not only that, your kind soul had smoothed out his rough edges. he couldn't bare to be harsh with you.
"why don't you just like court her or something? you're a war hero, a general. i'm sure a maid like her would be more than flattered."
"idiot. it's not that simple." bakugo took a long sip of his drink. "besides, the princesses have yet to even return, she's worried sick about them. it's hardly an appropriate time."
kirishima raised an eyebrow. "katsuki bakugo, concerned for someone else? and let alone, a woman? the world really is ending."
"shut up, shitty hair. i never even said i liked her like that," he shot back, and the red-haired guard grinned. "didn't have to, it's written all over your face."
in two weeks time since your meeting in the garden, your sister, true to her word, finally made her way to the castle, where she was instantly recognized by prince shoto, and immediately resumed her life as the heir to the throne of avalon, much to her chagrin. you on the other hand, were elated, save for the fact your sister was still confused as to why you wouldn't display the true nature of your identity.
"sis-y/n, i still don't understand why you feel the need to pretend?" she whispered in the hall, and you shrugged. "once our younger sister returns i'll turn myself in as well. just let me savor this life for a few week's time."
"if you're worried about that general, you shouldn't. my beloved poet accepted me, lies and all," she spoke, voice turning soft.
"i don't feel for him like that, i have no time for romance," you respond, not daring to meet her gaze. "and he certainly does not feel any of those sort of feelings for me."
"if you say so," she trails off, and you quickly make your way to the kitchen, the last few rays on sun pouring through as you checked on your dried mint leaves, going through the process of producing a simple mint loose leaf tea for yourself and your sister. you barely noticed the soft footsteps creeping up from behind you. a small cough from behind you shook you slightly, but instead of your heart calming at the sight of the man behind you, it rapidly sped up.
"general bakugo! you truly do carry the element of surprise with you!" you said, huffing slightly, and you saw a flicker of amusement behind his eyes.
"katsuki," he responded, and your brows furrowed, head tilting to the side.
"katsuki?" you spoke, testing out the name on your tongue, and katsuki swore his heart almost stopped beating as soon as his name fell from your lips.
"call me katsuki, when it's just the two of us," he spoke, voice barely above a whisper, and a smile broke onto your face.
"walk with me?" you asked, and he nodded, silently following you outside to the castle gardens. a comfortable silence sat between the two of you, as you walked by the light of the lanterns in the garden.
"what made you want to be a soldier?" you asked, breaking the silence, looking up at him, the light of the moon capturing his face in an indescribable way that made your heart flutter.
"wanted to protect people," bakugo said simply. "my village was attacked when i was young. bandits. i couldn't do anything to stop them, couldn't protect anyone. i swore i'd never be helpless like that again."
"and now you're one of the most feared generals in the kingdom, no soldier for miles can rival your skill."
"high praise," he spoke, and you flashed him a genuine smile. "fear's useful, but i don't think i'd like to be remembered by it."
"what do you want to be remembered for?"
bakugo considered the question, his brows pinching. "for making things better. for protecting people who can't protect themselves."
"that's a noble goal," you replied, and you felt your heart ache as guilt crept over you for how dishonest you were being to this soldier who was being openly vulnerable with you.
"what about you?" bakugo asked, and you pushed your bad thoughts away. "what do you dream about?"
you was quiet for a long moment, carefully picking your next words. "i dream of a world where there are no expectations of me," you said, and bakugo looked at you, confused. "a world where i can be whoever i want to be, no obligations, just me and the world. i'd love to travel someday, this is the only kingdom i've been to besides avalon."
"a beautiful dream, at that."
"perhaps foolish, considering all i've been given."
"no," bakugo said firmly. "it is never wrong to want more than the cards life has dealt you."
before you could respond, bakugo spoke up again. "i'll take you."
"where?" you asked, curiosity brimming in your eyes as you memorized every line of the general's face.
"outside these walls," he spoke, his voice now barely above a whisper, and you looked up at him from your tea leaves, the moon casting and ethereal glow on your face. your soft lips parted ever so slightly, as you stared into the eyes of the blonde general.
"that might be the best gift anyone's ever given me," your voice rang out, soft and genuine, eyes glossing over with tears of thankfulness.
"you are very kind," you added on, and katsuki's ears flushed pink, as the space between the two of you started to shrink, your tea leaves soon abandoned as gravity itself pulled you two together, and you could've sworn your heart was malfunctioning by how you could barely count the beats. his sharp jaw, pretty red eyes, and scars painted a picture of strength, and yet, something soft lingered behind his eyes that you couldn't quite place.
"can i as you something?" katsuki asked through half-lidded eyes, and you nodded silently, eyes darting to his lips as you took another small step closer to him. the light of the moon beamed down upon you two, basking you in a light reserved only for the two of you. his burgundy eyes flickered down to your lips, and he softly bit his bottom lip, the question simmering in his mouth, the words begging to be spoken.
"general bakugo!" a voice called out from the darkness, and the two of you peeled away from each other, and your face flushed pink, as the red-haired guard's footsteps drew close, urgency in his cadence. bakugo's face hardened over, gears shifting as he awaited his soldier.
"what is it, lieutenant?"
"big problem. avalon's enemy and forgotten son, mordred, is making way for the kingdom. he calls for the head of the princess, and others, if we're harboring them. the scouts say he he has many mercenaries with him," kirishima spoke rapidly, voice breathless as he relayed the information to the general. at the mention of mordred's name, you tensed, eyes widening, fear coursing through you at the revelation. mordred must've found out you all were here after your sister's return. your brain started scrambling as you knew you'd have to run to your sister immediately and alert her.
"how long do we have?" bakugo curses, breath heavy, adrenaline starting to pump through his veins at the prospect of battle.
"scouts say they'll be here at dawn."
"shit. gather the captains, we need to prepare for siege," he said firmly, eyes blazing as he moved toward his fellow soldier. he turned back, his eyes softening ever so slightly.
"'m sorry, duty calls," he said, longing still in his eyes, as he left you alone, under the moonlight, disappearing into the darkness of the castle. as soon as their footsteps had subsided, you quickly moved throughout the castle, feet soundless as you made your way to you sister's chambers, slipping in the door, to see your sister crouched over her desk, a candle lighting the room, as she wrote with a quill on parchment. she peered up you, her soft features illuminated by the candlelight.
"sister, you look as if you've seen a ghost. do tell me what's wrong," she spoke softly, and you quickly rushed to your sister's side, dropping to your knees beside her chair.
"it's mordred, he's to be here at dawn with his mercenaries. he seeks your head, and sister's," you spoke, casting your head down as you leaned into her side.
"and why should i worry of our vengeful half-brother when i have the strongest knight of our kingdom to protect me," she spoke, and you turned your head up. "i haven't touched a sword for months, and i also lost my last battle. couldn't even stand up to father," you spoke pitifully, and your sister smiled at you.
"sister, you are far more capable than you think. you are more than our kingdom's last moments. don't forget that," she spoke, and you nodded.
"besides, mordred never could beat you in combat," she spoke, her voice amused as she set her quill down.
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when the first ray of light shone over the kingdom, mordred and his mercenaries advanced, scrambling through a kingdom that could've been mistaken for a ghost town. the royal guard had ordered everyone to board up their homes overnight, as to protect the townsfolk to the best of their abilities. mordred directed all his force toward the kingdom, where the royal guard, the army, and the archers sat waiting, at the ready to stop mordred and his forces at all costs.
and so the battle ensued, and even though mordred had more forces than the guard had on time, the skill of katsuki's army far outranked that of the careless mercenaries. the fighting was chaotic, and katsuki found himself lodged in the thick of it, as his sword practically danced in the air, sword cutting through enemies left and right, never missing a beat to take another mercenary down.
the battle had gone on for hours at this point, and general bakugo finally sensed that they surely had the upper hand. not a single soldier in his vicinity had gone down, but the bodies of many mercenaries littered the ground. just when his confidence had boiled over, kirishima yelled out to katsuki.
"general! some mercenaries came from behind and overtook the guard! they're headed for the castle!" kirishima cried out, and bakugo grunted, his heart skipping a beat as he realized the crown prince, the princess, and you were still in the castle. without the rear defenses, and tha lack of guards inside, you were practically mordred's to kill. and god forbid he let mordred get to you before he could give you the whole damn world. "hold the line here!" he shouted, and made his way towards the castle, boots thundering against the stone floors as he soon reached the castle corridors. his heart started hammering against his ribs, as he imagined how scared you probably were with the princess, and he started praying to whatever gods that prince shoto could hold off mordred long enough for him to arrive. suddenly, the acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils. that bastard had set fire to the east wing, where the royal chambers were.
he rounded the corner to find the massive oak doors of the throne room hanging open, splintered wood scattered across the marble floor. bakugo felt his blood run cold as the scene unfolded in front of him.
"fucking hell-" he muttered, drawing his sword as he stepped through the destroyed entrance.
the grand hall was in chaos. prince shoto stood with his back against the throne, his left side crackling with ice while flames danced along his right. before him, your eldest sister cowered behind an overturned table. advancing on them both, sword gleaming with fresh blood, was a man bakugo could only assume was mordred.
the bastard was tall and lean, with the same refined features as the avalon royal line, but where your sister radiated warmth, mordred's presence felt like winter itself. His dark hair was slicked back, and a cruel smile played at his lips as he stalked forward.
"dear sweet eldest sister," mordred's voice was silk over steel. "did you really think hiding behind foreign princes would save you? father may be dead, but his blood debt lives on through you and your pathetic siblings. you wrongfully stole my kingdom from me, and you will pay with your head."
"mordred, please," your sister's voice shook. "we never wanted the throne. we only sought safety, a new beginning."
"safety? what makes you think you deserve a second chance," mordred laughed, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "you think I care about your wants? you and your sisters are loose ends that need tying up."
bakugo took a step forward, but Mordred's head snapped toward him, cold eyes assessing the general.
"ah, the famous general bakugo. come to play hero?" mordred's blade shifted, pointing between prince shoto and bakugo. "i wonder, do you know exactly who you've been protecting all this time?"
before bakugo could respond, mordred lunged. the man was fast, much faster than bakugo had expected. their swords met with a ringing clash that sent sparks flying. mordred fought like a viper, all quick strikes and clever footwork, constantly moving to keep bakugo off balance.
"you fight well," mordred spoke as he deflected one of bakugo's attacks. "but you're protecting the wrong people."
"like hell I am," bakugo snarled, pressing his attack, images of you basked in moonlight flooding his brain, his resolve wrapping around keeping you safe.
their battle raged across the throne room, neither able to gain a decisive advantage. bakugo was the stronger fighter, but mordred's desperation and madness kept driving him forward. out of the corner of his eye, bakugo could see prince shoto trying to circle around for a flanking attack, but mordred seemed to anticipate every move.
mordred feinted left, and when bakugo moved to block, the bastard pivoted and drove the tip of his sword towards the hilt of bakugo's bakugo's. his sword went flying, clattering across the marble floor several feet away.
"general!" your sister screamed.
mordred's blade swept down toward bakugo's exposed form, and katsuki felt a slight ounce of fear. not for himself, but for what his death would mean. he'd never get to take you beyond these castle walls like he'd promised. never get to show you the world you'd dreamed of seeing. never get to tell you that somewhere between your midnight garden conversations and your gentle smiles, he'd fallen completely, and irrevocably in love with you. you'd be left defenseless, and the thought of you facing mordred's blade without him there to protect you was more terrifying than anything.
however, the killing blow never landed. steel clanged against steel as another sword intercepted the strike, and Bakugo looked up to see a figure in battered knight's armor standing over him, wielding his own sword with practiced ease.
the armor was achingly familiar. in less than a moment, he recognized it immediately as belonging to the nameless knight he'd faced at avalon's gates.
mordred stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock and something that might have been fear. "impossible. you should be dead."
"sorry to disappoint," the knight replied, not taking their eyes off Mordred as they helped bakugo to his feet.
"the knight who yielded to general bakugo. i thought him to be just of a high rank. i had no idea it was you," mordred said slowly, his voice filled with recognition. his eyes darkened, and he chuckled, sending a shiver down your spine. "father's greatest weapon. the sword that haunted our enemies' nightmares. i should have known." his lips curled into a cruel smile. "tell me, do you truly think you can succeed where you failed before? or has months of hiding made you as weak as i always suspected?"
"i was serving my kingdom then," the knight said simply, adjusting their grip on bakugo's sword. "just as i serve it now."
mordred laughed, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "ah, the loyal knight. father's faithful hound, always lurking in the shadows, always doing the dirty work while the golden daughters got all the praise. tell me, how does it feel to know that even now, even after all you sacrificed, you're still just the spare? the forgotten one?"
from beneath your helmet, your brow furrowed. you knew mordred well, and you knew this was just another tactic. you needed to draw him away from your sister, prince shoto, and bakugo. once they were safe, you could deal with mordred.
the two knights circled each other like wolves. bakugo scrambled for his sword, but found himself transfixed by the battle unfolding before him. this knight fought differently than they had at avalon. there was a fierce determination now, a protective fury that made every strike more precise, more devastating.
mordred was skilled, but he was slipping, probably from the soldiers he'd fought to get to this very moment. the knight pressed their advantage, driving him back with a series of rapid attacks that left no room for counterstrikes.
"tou fight like a woman," mordred sneered.
the knight only grunted.
their bladed clashed, blow for blow met with the same power and intensity as the last. "you know," mordred spat out. "i heard that a maid by the name of y/n was claiming to have served the princesses."
"keep her name out your mouth!" bakugo barked out, and mordred chuckled. their blades locked, and in the struggle, mordred managed to hook his sword under the knight's helmet. with a vicious twist, he sent it flying across the room.
long, braided hair tumbled free, catching in the light from the torches above. bakugo's heart stopped for a moment.
it was you, sweat on your brow, determination in your eyes as you stood firm, resolve written on your face.
"but the thing is, the princesses had no maidservant."mordred breathed, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight.
"princess y/n. the second daughter of Avalon. father's perfect little soldier," his voice dripped with years of accumulated venom. "tell me, sister dear, do you still remember what he used to call you? his 'spare blade'? always ready to be used, never worthy of being treasured. no wonder you resulted to servitude, must be the only thing you could do to feel wanted."
bakugo watched as your jaw tightened, but you didn't respond to the provocation.
mordred circled you slowly, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. "the forgotten princess. not beautiful enough to be married off for political gain like our eldest sister, not charming enough to win hearts like our youngest. so what did dear father do with his disappointing middle child? he made her into a weapon. his personal knight, lurking in the shadows, doing the dirty work so his precious daughters could keep their hands clean."
"mordred, you know that isn't true-," your sister started from behind the overturned table, but he cut her off with a sharp gesture.
"oh, but did you know?" mordred's gaze never left you, but his words were clearly meant for the room. "did any of you know that she was the one who executed father's enemies in the dead of night? that she was the blade that carved through rebellions? while you two were learning poetry and politics, she was learning fifty different ways to kill a man. father's dirty little secret."
bakugo felt something cold settle in his stomach. not disgust, never that, but a deeper understanding of the pain you must have carried. however, inexplicable rage soon overtook him, as he watched the bastard near you.
"and the most pathetic part," mordred continued, his voice dropping to a cruel whisper, "is that you actually believed he loved you for it. that being his weapon made you special. but we both know the truth, don't we? you were never his daughter. you were just his favorite tool. disposable. replaceable. forgotten."
your chest rose and fell rapidly, but your grip on your sword never wavered. "hello, brother." your voice was icy, eyes burning into his.
"sister dear, did you really think playing dress-up would save you?"
"it wasn't about saving myself," you said quietly. "it was about saving my people."
bakugo stared at you, his mind reeling. everything suddenly fell into place. your knowledge of the princesses behaviors, knowledge of court etiquette , your 'calloused' hands, the way you'd known the avalon song, your slip-up about having sisters.
you weren't a maidservant at all.
you were the knight he'd defeated.
you were the princess he'd been searching for.
you were the woman he'd fallen in love with.
you turned to him for a moment, a flurry of emotion behind your eyes. before you could even get out a word, mordred lunged at you with renewed fury, and you barely managed to counter his strike. your time away from the sword showed, you were slower than you'd been before, and mordred sensed it immediately.
"what's wrong, sister? has playing servant made you soft?"
another strike, this one slipping past your guard to score across your shoulder. you hissed in pain but refused to fall back, willing your body to continue.
prince shoto pried a sword off the wall, tossing it to bakugo, who caught it and surged to his feet. however, mordred was ready for him. with one hand still on his sword as he fought you, he drew a dagger with the other and flung it at Bakugo. the general deflected it, but the distraction was enough for mordred to land another hit on you, and you winced audibly, clutching your shoulder.
"two against one hardly seems fair," mordred taunted as you and bakugo flanked him. "though I suppose I shouldn't expect honor from a pretender and her pet general."
"shut up," bakugo snarled, moving to attack.
and then, everything clicked into place. two fighting styles became one, as your fluidity matched bakugo's aggression, and the two of you soon began to dance around mordred, swords clashing, an unspoken agreement and respect between the two of you as you defended and attacked against your foe. however, you were slowing down far quickly than bakugo, and one stumble led to your sword getting knocked out of your hand, and a kick to your chest sent you sprawling back a few feet, which knocked the wind out of you.
mordred was quick to turn and hit bakugo with the hilt of his sword, causing the general to stumble, dropping to one knee. his vision blurred, but through the haze, he could see mordred, sword raised to deliver a killing blow to you.
"any last words, dear sister?"
you looked up at him, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth, and smiled. "yes. duck."
mordred's brow furrowed just as prince shoto's ice spear shot over your head and caught him in the shoulder, spinning him around. you rolled aside as bakugo, his head finally clear, lunged forward and drove his sword between mordred's ribs.
the usurper looked down at the blade protruding from his chest, then back up at bakugo with something almost like respect.
"well played," he whispered, then collapsed.
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the next few weeks were a complete blur.
with your identity revealed came a whirlwind of items. you were whisked away out of the servants' chambers, and into the royal quarters. your hair was let down from its simple updo. your once plain dresses were replaced with refined silks, and the tiara you had not worn for many moons sat snugly upon your head once more.
you were paraded around for the public, but for once, you felt a bit of joy from seeing some of your old subjects. you used to go into town quite often, so being able to reconnect with them made your heart satisfied, even if it meant you lost a lot of your previous autonomy.
however, you did find yourself missing one thing, or well, one person to be exact.
it'd been three weeks since you'd last seen katsuki, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't been avoiding him, or well, the conversation that awaited you. but, on a night like tonight, when the moon was out and the air was cool, you couldn't help but wander into the palace gardens, enjoying the soft breeze that floated throughout the night. the moon shone down on you, as you crouched down in front of some herbs, carefully pulling on some mint leaves.
"how is it that i always find you here," a gruff voice called out, and you whipped your head around to see none other than general katsuk bakugo walking towards you, hands behind his back, and an unfamiliar glint behind his eye. he looked devastatingly handsome in the moonlight, which highlighted his near-transprent scars, and you couldn't help the way your eyes started to trace his muscular figure.
"general, i-,"
"it's katsuki, remember?" he corrected you, but there was no bite to his voice, as he crouched down beside you, picking a few mint leaves for himself. your eyes never left him, mouth parted in slight confusion to his reaction to seeing you. you watched as he carefully picked at a few leaves, before popping one in his mouth, a satisfied look on his face. you watched him still, as a few moments passed by, his eyes still trained on the leaves in his hand.
he finally turned to face you, his crimson eyes unreadable. a pregnant pause filled the air, none of you speaking a word.
"you know, you lied to me. for months," he said finally, and guilt washed over you, your face twisting into a slight grimace.
"yes, and katsuki, i'm so incredibly sorry, i just-," you began, but you couldn't formulate any words for your excuse. you hung your head in shame, sighing deeply.
"why lie to me? i could have helped you," he followed up, and you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eye.
"when the kingdom fell, my sisters and i agreed to just try and lay low for the time being. we knew mordred would come. but also, a part of me kind of wondered what it'd be like to be anything other than myself. all i've ever known is my castle walls and violence. i just wanted a taste of normalcy," you answered, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.
"at first i was terrified when i first met you. i thought you'd recognize my voice or something. thought you'd make me a prisoner of war or something," you added on, and bakugo huffed out an amused breathe through his nose, his eyes sparkling.
"but later, i didn't tell you, even after my sister came back, because i just thought you'd see me differently. for the crown and sword, and not just for me," you spoke, voice ending in a near-whisper as you looked back down at the mint leaves in your hand.
"you're the most infuriating woman i've ever met, y'know that?" he barked out, and you looked up at him, eyes wide with confusion as the general snorted.
"i- i don't know what to say," you responded, and katsuki shook his head.
"you're an idiot. you really think that i'd look down on you because you're actually a princess who can best even my best knights?" he said with a pointed look, and you shrugged your shoulders.
"you really think that i give a damn about your title? that i care about you any less?"
"well how am i supposed to know how you feel," you shot back, crossing your arms.
bakugo sighed. "look, you may be the most infuriating woman i've ever met. but i don't care if you're a princess, a knight, or a damn scullery maid. i care about the woman who makes tea in moonlit gardens and knows the healing properties of herbs. Iicare about the person who speaks of her sisters with such love that it makes my chest ache. i care about someone brave enough to face me in single combat and kind enough to worry about a madman's starving subjects," he spoke, voice soft.
he reached up and turned your face toward his with one hand, his calloused thumbs brushing away a tear you didn't realize you'd shed.
"i care about you, you beautiful, impossible, infuriating woman. all of you. every secret, every truth, every lie you told to protect the people you love."
"katsuki," you whispered, eyes shining as you raised a hand to grip his wrist, leaning into his touch.
"and besides, do you know how hard it is to try and court a maidservant without causing a scandal. do you know how much easier you've just made my life?" he said with a chuckle, and your lips pulled into a wide smile.
"though next time," he said, his voice dropping to a growl, "you're going to trust me with the truth from the beginning."
"next time?" you asked, brow furrowing.
"you think I'm letting you go now? after this? not a chance in hell, princess."
and then, in less than a moment's notice, his lips were on yours, kissing you with such such a softness you hadn't felt in ages. he tasted like mint, and you couldn't help but smile into his lips as they moved against your own. when you finally broke away, a faint blush painted your cheeks, as you looked away from him. he quickly gripped your chin, demanding your attention.
"anything else i should know? secret dragon? hidden magical powers?" he mused, and you giggled shyly.
"no dragons. no magic. just me," you responded.
"just you," he repeated. "and the second princess of avalon, one of the best knights i've ever faced, and the most beautiful woman i've ever laid eyes on."
"you know, there is one thing that's been kind of scratching at the back of my mind," katsuki spoke, as the two of you entered the throne room where prince shoto, your eldest sister, and poet midoriya awaited the two of you.
"what's that?" you asked, arm slipping into the crook of his elbow as you let him lead you to the others.
"where's your younger sister?"
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psychedelic-ink · 2 years ago
Text
𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 𝐆𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋.
DAY THREE OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN
prompt: priest au + “worship me. until i tell you to stop.”
pairing: priest!ezra x f!reader
genre: explicit smut, minors dni, dark content
summary: after a breakup, you find solaca at the local church. there, you meet father ezra.
word count: 3.4k
warnings: dubcon, manipulation, brief mention of reader going through a breakup, reader having a brief anxiety attack, reader having confidence issues, loneliness, messy blowjob, degradation, leg humping, dirty talk, facial, power imbalance, dumbification if you squint, use of whore, religious themes, this is written for horny purposes only, priest kink, a lot of 'yes father's and 'forgive me father's
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Comfort is what leads you to your local church.  
You wouldn’t exactly say you’re a believer, but coming to the church and sticking wishing candles into the sandy surface was one of your finest memories from your childhood. You enjoy the chocolaty smell of the wooden benches, the stained large panes of the windows that cast vibrant rainbows upon the polished floor when the sun hits them just right. 
When you sit on the bench, surrounded by a calm dimness and silent prayers, you feel contented, like the world outside doesn’t exist. 
You feel lonely out there in the modern world, especially after your breakup, which was the turning point that led you to the adorned wooden doors of the church in the first place. It wasn’t a messy breakup, still, it left you in shambles. He’d moved on so quickly. Just picking up his clothes and throwing them into the bag before he left. It broke your heart if you’re being honest. He was never overly affectionate or necessarily cared about the things you cared about, but it was better than being utterly alone. 
Just a little bit of comfort. That’s all you want. Just a sense of belonging. 
Here at the church, the sense of commune affects you, even if you’re not exactly a part of it. 
Sitting at the edge of the bench, you look up. The church is empty today due to the heavy downpour, there’s only one more person other than you. They’re busy in prayer so you don’t stare at them for long, not wanting to be rude. 
Your eyes move away from the person, they linger on the confessionals. You always found the idea appealing in some twisted way. As if asking for forgiveness from some random man will solve all your problems. You never went it, always feeling too paranoid that someone might hear how stupid you sound. 
The person finishes their prayer, and as they walk down the middle, you notice it was a youngish man, his hair stuck to his forehead. His steps echo, a second later the sound of his departure rings dull against the cold walls. 
You rise slowly, eyes once again fixed on the booths. They’re barely noticeable thanks to how dimly lit the church is, and with no sun there’s little light to guide you. 
You’re not even sure a Father will assist you when you open the door to the small space. It creaks loudly and your skin crawls. You’re hesitant, yet you still climb inside and take a seat. It’s small, dark, and smells overwhelmingly of wood. It’s oddly comforting. 
You’re unsure what to do with yourself until you hear the door opening and closing from the other side of the booth. 
“Welcome. I am Father Ezra, and I am here to listen, guide, and offer you the grace of God's forgiveness. As sunlit moments blend with shadows, so too do our lives weave intricate tales of both frailty and strength. With open ears and an open heart, I beckon you to unburden your spirit. When you're ready, please share your thoughts, knowing that your words are heard in the spirit of compassion and understanding.” 
Your eyes widen at the sound of his voice. He doesn’t rush his speech, taking time as if every sentence is a story of its own. It’s so smooth, enticing, beckoning you to pour all the darkness that lingers around your heart. You’re surprised to find yourself wanting to hear more of that honey-dipped voice. 
Father Ezra, you’ve heard his name before and from afar, even laid eyes on him. You can barely remember what he looks like now though. You certainly never heard him during sermons, you would’ve definitely remembered his voice if you had. 
You’re pulled away from your thoughts when you hear a creak and a soft flutter of a robe. 
“Sorry,” you say, quick and silent. “This is my first time doing this and I didn’t really have a prepared thing in mind.” 
His soft chuckle echoes—god, why does he sound so good? 
“Sweet, lost, little bird, you do not need to rush it. You can start by introducing yourself. Tell me your name.” 
A shudder that starts from your toes claws all the way up to your spine. All he did was ask your name, yet, it feels like he’s asking for something drastic like your life. You swallow around the know in your throat, lowering your gaze even though there’s no one that can see you. 
You give him your name and something you can’t discern shifts in the air. 
“What a lovely name,” he hums. “Now tell me, what troubles you on this rainy day.” 
“Nothing specific,” a sigh parts your lips, and again, a creak comes through the other side. Your skin prickles. You can feel as if his eyes can see through the thin wall that separates you both. “I’m feeling a bit lonely. I—I went through a break up a couple of weeks ago and. . . I guess I can’t help but feel it’s my fault somehow.” 
You wait for him to say something, but when he doesn’t, you continue. 
“This might sound dumb—” 
“There is no such thing,” you can almost hear the smile in his voice. “There’s no shame in asking for guidance and forgiveness.” 
“There were these things. . . that he said about me. Things like I was too needy, too dependent, and too much overall. And I feel like it’s true because no one ever seems to stay with me,” you let out a bitter chuckle as tears begin to well in your eyes. “I don’t know why I’m like this, maybe—maybe God is punishing me for a sin I don’t know and i-if that’s the case, Father, I seek forgiveness.” 
A breath. A low, violent exhale of breath. Your eyes flit to the grille, a pair of plush lips now visible through the tightly made slats. 
“You ask for forgiveness, atonement, yet do you actually believe?” he coos, voice low. 
“I don’t,” you answer a bit too quickly and blood boils under your nails. “I–I mean I don’t know.” 
“How do you expect me to help when you doubt the lord’s existence, little one?” Despite the provocative question, you see the faint curve of his smile through the darkness. “Are you desperate?” 
“I didn’t mean to offend,” you say quietly. The rain pour had begun again, drowning out the rest of the sound. “I’ve been coming here ever since the breakup. I enjoy watching people pray and smile, looking comforted. I just thought that if I did this, that comfort would extend to me as well. I’m sorry.” 
“The comfort is fleeting when you don’t believe it to be true,” he murmurs, ignoring your apology. “If you seek guidance, I can help you understand better and maybe then you’ll receive the comfort and the forgiveness that you crave oh so deeply.”
There’s a mocking lilt to his tone that you decide to ignore. It feels only right when you had outwardly said that you didn’t believe in the man’s religion. 
With an open heart, you accept his offer of guidance. 
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You visit his office almost every night. 
You found yourself enjoying the church even more after hours. Ezra became a friend, which didn’t surprise you because that man had an essence about him that would charm the pants off of any devil that he might encounter. You guys did bible studies together and talked about other religions as well, and what it means to understand the words inscribed and given to the people. It was interesting to listen to. He would even give you assignments sometimes, telling you to read a specific paper or book. It felt like being at school again. He’d given you something you thought you had lost forever; A sense of purpose. 
It didn’t hurt that he was a sight to look at. His dark brown eyes always held a certain mischief to them, lighting up in amusement whenever you said anything peculiar. 
You knew it was cliche to have a crush on a priest, yet here you were, wagging an imaginary tail whenever he praised you for doing a good job. 
But tonight is not one of those days you feel all giddy and excited to see him. You enter the wide halls of the church and take a sharp turn towards his office, all you sense is impending doom, your insides riddled with anxiety. You’re shaking, barely able to feel your legs as you walk. 
When you enter, his eyes look up from the papers that lay in front of him, his gaze momentarily dropping to where your dress ends, then back up. His brows furrowing instantly at your heavy breathing, “Little bird, what’s wrong?” 
“Everything!” you exclaim, heaving a breath. “Everything is wrong—I’m wrong—I—fuck—” 
Ezra clears his throat in warning, “Language,” he says with a click of his tongue. 
“Sorry, Father.” you look down in shame, your hands balled into tight fists as you fight the urge to pace around his office. “I just—” 
He cuts you off, “Why don’t you take a seat and tell me what happened?” he smiles kindly. “And maybe you can stop shaking while you’re at it.” 
You nod as you take a seat. Your heart continuously rams against your ribcage and you can barely breathe, your throat convulsing in agony. Ezra gestures to you to look at him. When you do, he takes a deep inhale, making a demonstration in showing how his chest expands and contracts, his hand following the movement as if on waves. 
You breathe with him, the oxygen that fills your lungs calming you. 
“Good,” he hums. “Now tell me what happened.” 
“I saw him today. My—My ex,” you shook your head, reliving the moment. “He’s already seeing someone, which is fine if he was just honest about it. It’s some girl from work, the same girl I asked him about when he moved out,” a hiccup parts your sentence and you continue, your eyes dropping away from Ezra’s. “I said ‘is it her, do you like someone else’ and he said no. He pretended not to recognize me, even though his girlfriend did. I could see it in her eyes but he just walked past me, like I never existed.” 
A sole tear trickles down your cheek and you wipe it away with your sleeve, sniffling. When you feel another, you repeat the motion, finding solace in the softness of the fabric. “I’m an idiot,” you say, still not looking at him. “What am I even doing here? I should try to face reality not escape it in some—some church.” 
You hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. The church had helped you when you needed it most, it had given you Ezra, most of all. But you couldn’t help the words, you’re angry. Furious. You feel invisible out there, but here, here people recognize you, and ask where you’ve been when you came back the other day. It’s good to know that if you disappear some people would wonder about you. 
Ezra’s voice rings in your ear, and without even understanding the words he’s saying, you’re looking up. 
“Let’s try something,” he says probably again. “Come here.” 
You’re slightly confused but obliged. He pushes his chair slightly back, making some room between him and the desk. Your eyes drop to the end of his robes, two shiny shoes peaking from underneath. 
“Get on your knees.” 
You snort, “Excuse me?” 
“It’s going to calm you,” he says. “Do you trust me?” 
Your lips part with a faint gasp, you don’t blink as your eyes search his. There’s a tranquility in his expression that makes your heart throb. “Of course, Father,” you get on your knees. 
“Good girl,” he pats his thigh. “Now lay your head.” 
You do so without question this time, appreciating the firmness of muscle under your head. A moment passes, awkwardness starting to settle in, then you feel his fingers touching the back of your neck and gradually they move up to your scalp. Humming a gentle melody, he starts to stroke your hair, massaging your head as he went along. A deep sigh comes from the depths of your lungs, your nerves humming, your rigid muscles finally relax. 
“You’ve been doing so well these past couple of weeks,” he says, a hint of amusement lingering in his voice. “You’ve been learning, little bird, but you still have much to learn. The church is part of the real world, you haven’t been doing nothing.” 
Listening to him so intently, he sends shivers down your spine, the thickness of arousal pooling between your legs. He drags blunt nails down your scalp and comes down to your nape to squeeze from both sides. You’re embarrassed of the moan that rattles your throat but he doesn’t seem to mind it. You lean closer, pressing your cheek further against his leg. 
“Isn’t this nice?” he asks without needing the answer. “You, my obedient girl, listening and eager to please. You’ll always feel like this when you’re with me. No anxiety, no need to compete and try to accomplish something when all you want to do is. . . relax. . .” 
His voice had dropped to a whisper, every word a gentle caress to your skin. Eyes fluttering close, you only focus on the ups and downs of his voice, your body reacting to every stop and turn. The fabric of your underwear dampens, your folds becoming slicker the more you inch towards him. You ache for your fingers—or better yet his cock—but he isn’t allowed to touch you is he? 
You try to remember the lessons in celibacy but can’t seem to remember any of them. 
Your tighs instinctively press together, the brief friction doing little in dousing the wildfires between your legs. You wiggle a bit closer, his voice nothing but a siren song now. 
Ezra notices the constant movement, his fingers slip under your chin, and drags your eyes up to face him. Your breath hitches. The faint moonlight that trickles through the windows behind him cast his face in complete shadow, his features hardening with darkness. He slips his foot between your legs, the floor creaking under the sole of his shoe, “Now, why can’t you stay still when I’m trying so hard to soothe you, little bird?” 
He lifts the point of his shoe, the leather pressing directly against your throbbing clit. A surprised whimper rips from your throat, your body shaking as he drags the leather tip down. Your insides clench with want, with a primal need that you can’t seem to understand. 
You’re haunted by his words and the darkness that lurks in his eyes. Despite yourself, you press yourself up against his leg like some animal. You can’t seem to stop staring at him. And by the way he pushes his shoe further into you, borderline on almost being painful, you don’t think he minds either. 
Your eyes flutter as he parts his robe, your gaze immediately drops to the outline of his cock that’s visible. Your mouth waters. 
“Worship me,” he unbuttons himself with expertise but leaves it at that. “Until I tell you to stop.”
His leg still between your legs, you pull out his cock. The tip is an angry shade of red, precum dotting at the tip, without much thought you lean over and dip your tongue, tasting him for the first time. The taste of him coats the inside of your mouth and you swallow greedily, the blood rush to your ears muffling his voice. 
“Such a sweet whore,” he hums. “You like sucking cock, don’t you?” 
Dragging your lips down the length of him, you answer with him between your lips, “Yes, Father.” 
“I really do enjoy it when you call me that,” his thumb touches your cheek as you finally take him between your lips, you allow out your cheeks and flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock. “All you needed was a little encouragement and now you’re the perfect hole for me. There’s nothing wrong with you, all you need is someone to take care of you.” 
You hum in approval around him, taking him deeper while grinding against his leg, your dress rides up your thighs, your underwear nearly sheer in color.   
“I can feel how wet you are. So needy,” he lays back in his chair and spreads his legs. “I want to feel every inch of your mouth. I said worship, if this is how you think that works you’re mistaken, dove.” 
Your stomach churns at that. You want to make him happy—you truly do. You part from him, strings of saliva following the frame of your lips as you bend down closer to the floor, feeling the full shape of his shoe. You look up to him, the heft of his cock laying directly in the middle of your face, the scent of sex and him clinging to your nose. Opening your mouth, you lick between his balls, taking one into your mouth, you swirl your tongue around it. His eyes roll in pleasure, a thick drop of precome dripping to your forehead. 
“That’s it,” he raps and guides you back up, lining the bulbous head of his cock against your lips. He pushes forward, cock filling your mouth then inching down your throat. Tears trickle down your cheeks, your throat convulsing as you try to accommodate to the width of him. You swallow and swallow, until your nose is buried into the dark curls that crown his length. You can barely breathe. “I knew you could take it all, little one. I know that mouth could do more than talk.” 
The heavy palm of his hand moves down your throat, he feels the shape of himself through the skin. His cock twitches when it feels his hand, straining your mouth further. 
He pulls out and you gasp for air, his grin is wide as he looks down at you. “I want to make a mess of that face,” with the rough pitch of his words, you roll your hips, your clit catches against his shoe and a loud moan spills from your damp lips. He clicks his tongue with annoyance. “Ask for forgiveness,” he growls, hand moving up and down his cock with hard strokes. 
“For what, Father?” your voice is barely above a whisper. And you’re not sure why you asked when you’re going to surrender to his wants regardless of what they are. 
“For being a whore,” he spits. “For talking about a past flame and for taking pleasure without permission.” 
He watches with heavy eyes as you straighten yourself, his cock aimed directly at your face. You watch him with parted lips. His nail gently traces the vein that curls around the length of him, slick sounds filling the normally silent office. He swipes a thumb over his head and thrusts into his fist. 
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you begin. “It has been two weeks since my last confession. I have behaved like a whore, talked about another man in the presence of the clergy, and taken pleasure without permission. I come before you seeking God's forgiveness and guidance.” 
“Will you repeat your sins?” 
“No, Father. Not unless I have permission to do so.” 
His hand quickens, his grip tightening, “Do it then,” he snarls with a devilish smile. “Ask me permission to be a whore.” 
Instead of a verbal permission, you part your mouth wide and stick your tongue out. His eyes widen with shock momentarily before understanding. He seems pleased and in return, you feel genuine jot for finally doing something right. 
He grips your chin, pulling you away from his leg and directly between his thighs. It doesn’t take him long to go over the age—one, two more strokes and you feel the first string of white come spurting over your face. It drips down your forehead from your face. The sounds Ezra make are unhinged, his hips lifting from the seat as he moans openly into the air, defiling you and marking you as his. His seed feels heavy over your face and with your tongue, you catch a bit of it, moaning as you swallow. 
Ezra hunches over you and you feel his tongue on your cheek, taking himself into his mouth, he presses his tongue into your mouth, forcing more of himself inside of you. 
When he parts away, you’re dazed, all pretense of the life outside of this church gone. 
“My sweet bird, so dirty now,” he purrs, this time he collects more of himself over his fingers and stuffs it into your mouth. Your eyes rolling you swallow over and over. “What do you say?” he asks melodically. 
“Thank you, Father.” 
750 notes · View notes
lostiolite · 9 months ago
Note
Saw you liked dangerous fellows and are accepting requests, I was wondering if you could write headcannons for all the characters? Maybe include how they act the first time you meet in comparison to how they are after getting close with them. What they're like with physical affection, holding hands, kissing cuddling etc. Whatever you can think of about a headcannon basically. You don't have to but I'd also love if you could include other characters like Judy, Sue, Jae and Scarlett! (If you think she's redeemable 💀) Thank you so much! <3
so i didnt due jay or hailely but anyways yeah! sorry for taking FOREVR
and its not proof read because i am not proof reading 3.0k words on a laggy laptop
LAWRENCE  
He's interesting, a knight in shinnng armor with some
 things going on. I don't think he’d change much over the course of your relationship. He is down for anything because it's you. 
He's kind, calm, and very attentive. He notices things about you that you don't even realize. He always seems to pop in at the most convenient moments. This has to do with the fact that he's extremely over protective and territorial of you. He doesn’t let  it show early on though. 
After you get close and kind of stuck with him is when he shows his much more overbearing side. Hes like a sick guard dog that scares anyone away. Anyone who steals your attention, female or male, platonic. especially romantic he doesn’t like. He gets jealous, like crazy jealous. Hes insane, he holds your worth over his own family (cannon), but that doesn’t mean he isnt above hurting you. Thank god it wont ever come to that though. Both in cannon, because its too dangerous and the lack of profesionall medical tools could mean the msallest injury could be fatal. And in a no zombie au because, well the law. Korea is the land of cctv afterall, his ass would get caught. 
Overall, hes very helpful. Hes always down to listen to you. To him, your voice and love is a cure to even his darkest thoughts. Hes very genuine in his love with you too. He wont hesitate to compliment you or give you a little kiss here or there or everywhere. He loves holding hands, kissing and cuddling. He wants to be with you, be you and be your savior. He loves you genuinely with all his heart. He could be stuck an eternity with you and you alone and he would be happy for said eternity. To him, you made all the wrong in life right, and the once dull colors vibrant. He actually enjoys waking up now. He’s a very complex man. I dont think he cares about pda, or public appearances much when you’re inloved. He couldn’t give less of a fuck what everyone else thinks, (he does actually).  I dont think he has much self worth. Its hard to explain. Hes smart, pretty and (probrably) athletic, or physically capible. He knows he the guy girls and even guys swoon over, but he doesn’t really have a personality. His only sense of self worth comes from his academics and what others think of him. Hes begun to find life dull, even so he doesn’t know what else to do. Everyone is snakes so when he meets someone (you) whos genuine he latches on with every bit of his being. You gave him the ability to find his self worth as a human and outside of academics, which also means you hold alot of power against him, even if you dont know yourself. I think he really just needs to learn that you love him for him no matter what. Then his extreme tendencies will lessen abit. As for love language i think he exceeds in all of them, though he may lack in quality time for his busy schedule. Study with him, he would really enjoy it. Even if you aren’t talking, just cuddling or embracing as you do your studies is something really intimate that makes every part of him warm. He could genuielnty get lost in thought looking at you. Will do your hair, doesn’t matter what kind of hair you’ve got. He will research and learn how to take care of it. Again, to him intimate moments like freshly showering and in pj’s is something that makes him so happy he could die. He’s also fine with matching outfits. But I think he likes matching stationary and studying tools more. It makes him smile. Back on the topic of studying, he LOVEs when you ask him questions, it could be a simple “9x9 is 81 RIGHT???” and he’ll smile as he nods. I think once he learns some genuelen self love and respect, he will be awesome. Tbh, i dont think he’d raise his voice in arguments, I think he’d be somewhat condescending. “Oh dont you get it?” “this is for the better”. Lowkey i feel like he’d deflate imeediatley after out of fear that you’d leave. When you move in together i think the highlight of his day will be waking up next to you. Wakes up an extra hour early jsut to cuddle you.
As for children, i could see 2 paths. Genuine love after he learns self respect. Or the Aishi route where he only loves them for being the actual embondiment of the love between you and him. But i like the first idea more so- he does everything his parents couldn't. Tries his best to promote their studies while also giving them love. 
EUGENE
Standoffish, and tsundere. Hes very cautious of people. He has firm boundaries of who he considers friend or foe. That being said he becomes much more attentive and protective (different than Lawrence) to you. He wont let anyone defame you and acts like a worried mother, telling you to dress up for the cold and chastises you for forgetting sick. Kind of like a worried mother. Hes very blunt and sometimes comes off as rude but he genuinely doesn't mean to. 
As for physical affection i feel like hes playfully aggressive. Big fan of hand holding in public. I think he likes to hold your head close to him. Hes a big fan of arcade dates, especially the rhythm game ones. He loves playing crane games even if they are rugged. Will do the cliche thing of winning a gift for you at a carnival / fair but its the cutest thing ever. Forehead kisser 100%. Composes music for you, its a huge way of showing his love for you. Makes playlists and burns cd’s for you and to listen to together. Would love it of you were to return the act. If you play an instrument or sing he would 100% wanna duet. Omg imagine starting a band with him. You don't even have to make the music, you could literally be the artist or music video maker. WOuldn't that be so cute (i cant help but think of niigo) 
Much more understanding of fandom culture and things of the like, so yapping about your fav artists or even characters would be nice because he actually understands most of the internet lingo. Likes all your social media posts and makes stupid silly comments. All your moots/oomfies know who he is because wherever you are, he is aswell.
When hes comforting you, he will usually bash the other party for being the cause of your sadness. He usually insults them and their viewpoints while rubbing your hair. Hes really stubborn, so please be patient with him. Hes trying to get better, because he doesnt want to hurt the person he loves.
ETHAN
Unioricnly, a nice bonding time would be sleeping lolololo. Hes extremely standoffish at the beginning, like usual. But once you get his socials, he becomes much more understandable since hes able to communicate better online through sms. Even though hes a rather dry texter, you slowly learn to understand him more. I dont think he would go out of his way to participate in cheesy coupley stuff. BUt, if you asked him to then he would. I dont think his personality toward you would change much and most people woudnt be able to tell that you are dating but thats honestly for the better because hes generally a more private person. However, just because its not visible doesnt mean that he doesnt love you. WIll put his life on the line for you in a heart beat. And considering his physical strength he will not hesitate to put someone in their place if they tried something on you. 
Despite his muscular figure, hes very cuddly and cozy. I feel like hes a crazy sleeper who sleeps in the wackiest positions. But, he always manages to wrap his arms around you. I feel like he would kiss you on the nose or lips.  Please help him study for all the classes hes slept thoruhg. In return he will do something like “this is for you ___” while hes playing baseball or something. Wether or not he misses it still enamores the people viewing because its so weirdw watching ethan, the usually cool and quiet one proclaim his love for you. On that note his teammates find his subtle change in behaboir cute. Like the way he starts constantly checking his phone during practice to see if he got a text from you. Or the small smile that tugs on his lips informing them that he got a text from you.
I just know he would be horrible at comforting you. Probably just stands there confused. He puts his hand on your shoulder then hugs you because thats all he can do. He will text you later, when his thoughts are much more composed. These messages are  heartfelt because you can tell he put effort into it.
ZION
He teases you with malice at first, like he does with everybody. But once he gets a soft spot the teasing become more endearing and he becomes much more protective of you. If you don't like the teasing he will (try) to stop. Only he can tease you and will get one anyone for teasing you (if it makes you uncomfortable). I dont think hes the biggest fan of PDA, more just things like hand holding and thats it. The nail in the coffin for your relationship is when he becomes vulnurbale and opens up about his past. Hes a big and small spoon tbh. As much as he portrays himself as rash, he is ultimately a big teddy bear. He definitely gives big bear hugs. Definetly just a straight up mouth kisser. Oh yeah he would square up with anyone who tries anything on you. Not to mention hes really rich so he would blacklist them from the neverland parks. Spoils you rotten, makes a while fiasco out of any achievement and throws a big fat fucking party, or if your not a party person just buys something really expensive and makes a big deal out of it. Takes you shopping for clothes and anything you like (like
 figurines). I don't think he would be opposed to the idea of ordering custom plushies/figures of the two of you. As for his rich family, they obviously wouldn't be fond of him dating a commoner but he can always marry someone for political gain and just spend his time with his actual partner.
HARRY
Self-depricating and too kind for his good. Hes extremely nice to you as he is everyone at the start so you dont really feel special. Hes the type to be straightforward and as you out. Hes very old fashioned, or tries to be considering his lack of money. Im going to be honest i dont think hes in the best mental state. He would jump off the roof if you asked him too. He feels like a burden to his mother just for existing and will take along time to open up to you. Hes also very manipulatable, due to his lack of selfworth. Hes much more willing to indulge in pda. Afterall why woulnt he showcase his love for you? Doesnt have mch money so his dates usually consist of cheap convenience store runs or hanging out at his work. As self-loathing as he is, would probrabbly be the best partner. He will very much communicate his feelings. Hes very patient with you despite all your flaws. He loves you from the earth and back and would do anything to make you happy. Please get him a violin (im pretty sure he sold it in cannon to pay for bills?). Will play you dozens of love songs and your favoirtes. Shows up with flowers and chocolates on valentines because thats how he is. The very supportive golden retriever boyfriend who will cheer you on no matter what. Hes your best friend and number one fan.
JUDY
Happy trooper! Shes super jolly and just like Harry overly nice to everyone so its hard to tell how much you mean to her specifically. I think she would also be straight forward about confessing but much more nervous and blushing. She starts jumping with joy when you accept. Huge pda fan, will give the biggest fattest fucking smooch to you whereever whenever. Loves cuddling, doesnt care about big or small spoon. Just holding you close is enough for her. Super smily and her demeanor can lift you up in a ,matter of seconds. After getting into a relationship, not much changes other than the blatant kissing. sHe is more real with you and will voice her doubts about things that scare her. shes really good at keeping herself grounded and helping others. Posts you for national bf/gf day and says endearing cheesy things. I cant help but feel like shes silly with text but also unirronicly uses smily faces like an old grandma. 
SUE
Shes similar to lawrence, but like not batshit crazy. She also isnt as playful, espcially when you first meet her. Her treatment towards you will be either one, you dont really care about your studies and act stupid and she kind of just shoves you aside or you are her study buddy or someone she deems respectable. Shes also kind of like a nagging mother but not too a harsh degree. She always takes note of your state and brings you snacks/gifts because they reminded her of you even if she doesnt realize it. She kind of quiet and introverted but i dont really think she minds pda. She doesnt see why she should chare about what others think about her relationship afterall. Though, i dont think she goes out of her way to kiss you in public, she saves it for more intimate or important times. 
If i can recall correctly she was part of student council so trust she will be using that to her advantage if anyone tries to bother you. I think spending time with her is fun especially because she probably helps with school events so you two always have something fun to do. Afterall whats better than helping out at a fair and also getting to go on a date at the same time. Dating Sue has a ton of perks because (especailly if you were already a goodie-two shoes thats liked by teachers) teachers will be way more lenient of you. Practically letting you guys do things that the other kids cant do. Shes definitely big spoon and is surprising really cozy. I think fur coats would look nice on her so hugging her in the winter is definitely a plus. 
SCARLETT
Shes a hard one to get along with. Her abrasive attitude doesnt really change much and its really hard for you to tell when she starts to like you because again, her attitude doesnt change. Its smaller things like her worrying about you under the gaze of simply being curious. If your oblivious or just dont catch on to her, it will just eventually get to a point where she aporaches you, asks you out and demands an answer. Definitely a big pda person, and flaunts you around like “heh! Yea this is MY partner. Goes or drags you on shopping dates. Not only does she dress up but she dresses you up and she has a really great eye for fashion. Its very clear that shes the “bratty princess” characatchure.
Anyways i think she would have a fun time setting up a home date for the two of you, like doing your nails as you two listen to a tv drama channel or just gossip. Very iconic couple and gf 10/10. I think she would switch between big and little spoon, she doesnt have a solid preference, its more of a spur of the moment feeling for her. Kisses you with lipstick and takes photos.
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doahaesunshine · 9 months ago
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Fallin' Flower
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Summary
Seokmin was always the complete opposite of you. Vibrant, colorful, a little silly, and just so unapologetically him. He saw the beauty in the world and was able to capture special moments with his camera. You had no such talent, you mostly saw the world as a bit dull and empty. That’s why you painted. You would rather create something fantastic and other worldly than see the world as it actually was.
Tags
Alternate Universe - Magic, Magic AU, Trauma, Multiple POV, Toxic Behavior, Lose of Memory, Depression, Manipulation, Drowning, the frog the frog the frog the frog (don't worry about it), Different Types of Magic, Empaths, Cheol gets Angry, TECHNICALLY Ot13 if you squint, PTSD, and overall emotional damage.
Co-written by @wooahaeruby
Status: Complete
Word Count: 73,928
Chapter Count: 21
Chapters
Like a mix of sadness with a cold smile
Where the fallen heart goes
I realize that everything has a reason
I want to see you right now
Scars cure and buds shoot
I won't take you for granted
The fallen heart
We can smile together
Hiding my state of mind
To me you are very precious
I am here, you suffered a lot
Don't worry. Don't be scared
One Hundred Eighty-Three
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
Epilogue
AO3 link
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starsofang · 1 year ago
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Call of Duty || Coraline AU || Part 4
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Running away to start a new chapter and escape the troubles of your past, you find yourself in a darker predicament than you had hoped for.
Coraline with a twist. And COD men. Obviously.
PT.1 / PT.2 / PT.3 / PT.5
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You pinched the skin of your arm. Still, the warped version of your mother stood before you. You pinched again, harder, so hard you could feel the slight swell of blood vessels rush to the surface. And yet she wouldn’t disappear.
This wasn’t a dream, nor was it even a nightmare. It was reality hanging in front of you, dangling on a string, swaying, taunting. Everything inside of your stomach turned, and the only thing keeping you grounded was Si perched steady between your feet.
“I was wondering when you’d show up, dear,” your mother – other mother – chirped. “Oh! And you brought a friend.”
The last word seemed almost spiteful, a slight dose of venom leaking through. You nearly missed it, the way it dripped off of her tongue, but you noticed it. Too stunned to let it sink in, you opted to simply stare while Si seemed to have similar ideas.
“Don’t just stand there! I’m making your favorite – chocolate chip cookies. Always a simple girl, aren’t you?”
She knew your favorite cookies. She was standing in the warmly lit kitchen, smiling and whisking away at a mix of ingredients in a bowl. Even the kitchen was strange to see – clean, not a single speck of dust in sight. The colors seemed much more vibrant than the dull ones of your home beyond the door in the wall, but it didn’t help with the unease. If anything, the new lens being placed in front of your eyes to peer through felt like a trick.
“How did you know that?” you asked carefully, eyes flickering between her thin fingers wrapped around the handle of the whisk, to her perfectly straightened hair, not a single strand out of place. Her skin was a ghostly white, much like your real mother’s but her smile wasn’t crooked like hers always was. Her teeth were too straight and bright to be your real mother’s, too.
“I’m your mother, of course I know that! Silly girl.” She threw another radiant smile your way, and for a moment, it caused your chest to tighten. Despite the button eyes and perfectly straight lips, she looked just like your real mother. She was giving you a glimpse into a world of what life might’ve been like, had your mother been a loving and doting woman.
“You’re not my mother,” you corrected with a frown of disapproval.
“Right. I’m your better mother. After all, I’d never hit you.”
The statement was a slap in the face.
“Go on, sit down. I’ll pop these in the oven and we’ll talk! Oh, I really have been waiting for you!”
Your eyes glanced over at the dining room table. Chairs perfectly arranged, a fancy tablecloth lining the top of the table, intricate details sewed in to create a beautiful piece of fabric. It looked as if she had made it herself.
It felt as if you had no choice but to sit down, so you complied. Taking a cautious seat, remaining on the edge in case you had reason to bolt out of there and back in the security of your real home, you watched as she hummed to herself, placing a baking tray full of cookie dough into the oven.
Observing the kitchen a bit more, you noticed that there was no tickling of fur itching at your ankles. Peering down, Si was nowhere to be found, and the slightest bit of panic welled inside of your chest. It was as if somebody had grabbed hold of your heart and squeezed it, harder and harder until breathing proved to be a task.
Your dread was interrupted by the sound of a chair being pulled beside you, and when you looked up, you were greeted with a smiling face. It sent shivers down your spine, the way it seemed so
 emotionless. The button eyes were unsettling to look at. It was like looking into a black hole, peering into nothingness.
Realistically, it was nothingness. It was empty and desolate, despite the way she smiled, how her cheeks puffed up from the curl of her lips, how her chest rose and fell as if she were breathing. You wondered what she was. You hadn’t a clue, and Si certainly couldn’t tell you. God, it was silly to even wish for a cat to be able to talk.
“I’m so happy you’re here, sweetheart. I’ve been preparing for a long time, and now that you’re here, we can finally catch up on lost time.”
Red alarms went off inside your mind, yet for a reason unknown to you, you found no purpose in wanting to run yet. You hated your mother, truly, but seeing her in a form that was caring and attentive had your inner child reeling for that affection. She never spoke to you this way. Her voice was never so smooth and soft, like a string of melodious chords playing in perfect symphonies.
“Catch up
” you repeated, eyebrows furrowing in deep thought. “What are we catching up on? I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this.”
“Oh, dear, don’t worry about understanding. There’s no need. Just know that you’re safe here, and that I’m so pleased to have you. Everything will be okay here,” she assured, but it didn’t feel all that comforting.
Something nagged in your chest, desperate to tell you how wrong this was. All of the warning signs were right in front of you, yet your shattered heart only wanted the pieces to be glued back together with this act of unadulterated love.
How long had it been since somebody had spoken to you like this? You couldn’t even recall a single time, when you really thought about it. Your real mother was always so cruel. She was a broken woman, so destroyed over her own life that she had taken you down with it.
“Well
” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “What would you like to know?”
You lost track of the time spent with your other mother. Over the course of your conversation, you had felt a weight lifted off of your shoulders for the first time in your forlorn excuse of a life. She listened and cared for what you had to say, button eyes staring into your own with that toothy smile gracing her thin lips. Everything about her felt safe in your heart, despite your mind telling you otherwise.
You told her about your real mother, about your escape, about how lonely you had been until that point. She told you everything you ever wanted to hear, feeding you bits of security. She soothed over the open wounds with a bandaid of love you had never received, and you fell into that pool of comfort like a warm blanket, waiting to engulf you whole.
The shadows of your mind overpowered the logical side, all too eager to step into a realm where for once, you could be a person again. Your other mother was the key in stitching up the holes in your heart, mending them with nimble hands and stuffing them with light so blinding, you dove right into it.
By the time you returned home, making your way through that lovely, little tunnel and back into the sorrows of your own dreadful sight of a home, the sun had risen just barely from the pane of your windows. The living room was quiet when you stepped into it, and you felt a hint of bitterness fill your mouth at the remembrance.
You were alone, in a world that was much too cruel to you. Your scars were still open and bleeding out, urgently needing to be tended and cared for. Lucky you, you had a newfound mother figure who wanted to give you just that.
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“Good morning, Caroline,” John greeted you as you stepped out of your door hours later. “Heard quite a ruckus in your place last night. I do hope that you were alright.”
You took in the sight of John, whose kind smile looked more like a grimace the more you stared at it. Gaz was standing behind him, but offered no smile like John had. Instead, his eyes were hardened as they looked at you, shifting up and down your body like you had just said something to offend his entire family.
Confusion bubbled inside of you. Had you done something to offend them? Surely, you couldn’t have been so loud last night that they had heard you from their apartment down beneath your home.
“I’m alright, thank you. I apologize for any noise. I was doing some spontaneous cleaning around the house,” you lied with a forced smile, shrinking under Gaz’s gaze as his nose flared in what appeared to be annoyance.
“That so?” John hummed, eyes boring into yours for a moment too long. It felt like he knew you were lying, but how would he have known?
It felt like all three neighbors had eyes on you at all times, yet you couldn’t figure out how.
“That’s right,” you confirmed with a nod, attempting to appear more confident in your answer so as not to raise suspicion.
John said nothing and instead stared at you for a beat longer, before musking up another one of his bright smiles that was near hidden behind his facial hair.
“Alright then. Let us know if you need anything, yes, Caroline? Anything at all.”
Weird.
“Actually,” you spoke up before they could walk away. John raised his eyebrows at you, and Gaz glanced over at John then back to you. “I was wondering
 you mentioned there might be something wrong with this house. We didn’t get to talk about it before, but I’m quite the curious person, you see.”
“
I see.”
“Right.” His stare was anything but amused. “Well, I found a door in the wall. It’s all bricked up, but I was a bit nervous about it.”
From behind him, Gaz tensed, shoulders tightening up. If it were even possible, his glare seemed to become more cold.
“Mm. And why’s that, if it’s all bricked up?”
Fuck, you had to come up with a lie. All you wanted was answers, but you knew John wouldn’t give them to you if you told him what you saw. He might’ve even thought you were a mad woman.
“You don’t think, um, rats or anything can get through it, do you?” you opted to ask. You could see his eyes glimpse over to Gaz so quickly, you nearly missed it.
He went silent for a moment, before letting out a thoughtful grunt.
“Don’t think anything can get in and out of that thing. It’d be best to keep the door locked. Don’t go meddling around in it if you don’t want unwanted guests, hm?” he asked. His tone was a bit off, that much you could tell, and it was clear that his words held a certain firmness that showed he definitely knew more than he let on.
You gave him another firm nod, flashing him a smile in hopes of easing the tension, though it crumbled a bit when Gaz sniffed and looked away from you, hands shoved into the jacket of his hoodie.
You bid your farewells to them, even when Gaz made no effort to look at you anymore, and once they were out of sight, you began your trek around the side of the house.
You hadn’t seen Si since he disappeared on you last night, but when you began passing by the stairs that lead upstairs to Soap’s apartment, you felt a pair of familiar eyes piercing into you. Halting in your steps, you bent your neck up to see Si sitting along the railings that Soap was leaning against during your last encounter. He was peering down at you, and just as always, studying you.
“Hello, Si,” you greeted politely. He blinked at you, eyes slightly narrowed into judgmental little slits.
Before you could continue your journey around the house, the door of the apartment flew open and out came the obnoxiously loud Scotsman. His grin was even wider than it was when you had first met him, and he joined Si in staring down at you from where you stood on the ground.
“Miss Caroline!” he exclaimed joyfully. “Lovely to see you made it out this morning!”
The smile you offered him dropped and was replaced with an uncomfortable frown. Si’s tail flicked lazily behind him, like always, and he didn’t tear his gaze away from you once.
“Why wouldn’t I?” you questioned, tilting your head at him.
“It seems somebody didn’t keep their promise. Ain’t that right, Miss Caroline?”
How did he–
“Si tells me everything, sweetheart. He’s a talkative, little thing, y’know.” Soap lifted a hand to affectionately swipe a large hand over Si’s head, causing him to purr. His fuzzy, little head nudged further into Soap’s hand, egging him on, to which Soap granted him scratches behind the pointed ears.
“Cats don’t talk,” you deadpanned, wondering if Soap was crazy or maybe hallucinating.
No. Definitely crazy.
“Si does,” he corrected with that signature grin. “Ratted you out like a little minx. Ain’t that right, SI?”
Si meowed in response, and you stared in bewilderment at how Si was so at ease in Soap’s presence.
“Is he yours?” you asked.
“He’s nobody’s.”
“That doesn’t make sense. He has a collar with his name on it. Surely, he’s your cat.”
“Wrong, love. He’s his own person.”
What the hell did that mean? This dude was definitely insane.
“Right.” You let out a sigh through your nose, shoulders deflating in defeat. Clearly, you weren’t going to get an answer on how Soap knew you broke your promise and went through the little door he warned you about. He would simply tell you that the cat talked.
“Suppose since you broke your promise, I’ll break mine. I’m going to blast my music a bit louder now,” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he peered at you.
You glanced back up at him with a frown. Si shifted his gaze to look at you, and there it was again – that look of disapproval.
“Why do you play that silly music anyway? You have a secret circus in that place of yours?”
Your question caused him to roar with laughter. It was a heart laugh, one that came right from his gut, and it filled the dreariness in the air with a bit of light. Regardless of how infectious it was, you didn’t know what was so funny.
“No, lass, not at all. Si wouldn’t like it if I had a little circus army of rats in my place,” he mused once the laughter settled. You thought he said Si wasn’t his cat. “She doesn’t like it.”
This stumped you. “Who doesn’t like it?”
Soap’s hand trailed from Si’s head and down his back, causing the cat to arch into the touch. He offered you a knowing smile, but for what you still weren’t sure. These neighbors of yours sure loved to play a game of mystery, entangling you in webs of confusion and offering you no resolution in the end.
“You’ll learn to like it, lass,” he stated instead, picking Si up and cradling him to his chest. “Believe me.”
With that said, he turned his back to you and stepped back into his apartment, shutting the door and successfully cutting off any hopes of you getting answers.
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lartiel · 5 months ago
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Oh yeah this au- I forgot
A bit to vibrant, a bit to dull
Umm, the fic might be called ‘bugging out string-lights’
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ianasdraftingdesk · 3 months ago
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R&R World Building Headcanons (Pt. 1)
Since @patch-of-grass and I have really been hyperfixating for both the Romance and Royals books, along with an AU in the works as well. I figured I post some of the headcanons that apply to some World-Building for the books as well as the upcoming au!
I do have a lot of ideas that could be their own separate post once I organize my thoughts. But for now, just some small snippets I've had since they've been bouncing around in my head.
The world outside the holiday spaces appear much less vibrant and colorful to those that live in the holidays.
For holiday folks, since their spaces, along with themselves are filled with Joy. The world outside does appear more desaturated and dull by comparison.
This does mean, that when other humans do emit the emotion of Joy, they can't help but be drawn to it and to make normal humans happy to see more of those vibrant colors.
Also normal humans that are drawn to those from holiday kingdoms mention that they have this sort of bright energy about them.
Holiday folks have slightly pointed ears
When holidays are in Spring and Winter, they tend to point more upwards. In Summer and Fall, they tend to point more downward.
This does make them stand out a bit more in the normal world. However, just like the Joy hides information about the holiday world, it also obscures the pointed ears with an illusion spell that all people learn at a young age.
Holiday Folks are made of 70% Joy.
Unlike humans, Holiday folks are made of 70% joy rather than water.
This doesn't mean that they can go without water or hydrating but they can last a bit longer without it as long as they have access to Joy.
Ascension Sickness, Joy Drain, and more Holiday afflictions?
Both of these illnesses are something that effect Holiday folks.
Ascension Sickness is primarily only something that applies to members of Holiday royalty gaining a higher role. The severity of how this affects them depends on how well they were guided and trained to take that role before the transfer of power and announcing of their new titles into the world. (This is one that I will go into more detail in a separate post in the future if there's interest. Don't want to make this too long.)
Joy Drain occurs when one overuses their magic to the point it heavily affects their own personal reserves. It does act like exerting yourself in exercise and not taking breaks.
The reverse can also happen when using large amounts of Joy that the body can't handle. This is also one that relates to the title and hierarchy so this mostly only applies to royalty. (Also related to titles and how I think Joy operates in the world along with my au.)
Apologies if this all seems too random and not exactly readable but I just wanted to get some of this out! Hope you enjoy!
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tmntaucompetition · 5 months ago
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Can we know the list of all aus that were submitted, even if they didn't make it in?
Yeah sure! Under read more. Creators aren’t listed, but if u wanna know a creator lmk!
Timeblind- 1
Cannibalism/Resurrection - 4
Hidden City Hijinks- 1
Remember Forever - 5
MaskFace - 1
Cursed Treasure - 1
Miwa - 1
Torinokasa Reta AU - 1
Mama Bear - 4
TMNT: Mutate - 1
Prison Dimension Turtles - 6
Kid Leo - 3
A Mirror’s Reflection - 1
Prodigy (Runtverse) - 12
Head Over Boots - 1
The Nexus Heir - 1
Little Warrior - 1
The Monster Inside - 4
Impromptu Apocalypse - 7
Warrior’s Heart - 1
MultiMutantVerse - 1
TMNT: Pure Soul - 1
Spiderlings - 1
Fear’s Embrace - 5
Wanderer - 6
Light As A Feather, Stiff as a Turtle - 9
Just Around the Corner - 3
Mutant Ninja Midlife Crisis - 1
Cracked Conscience - 1
Even More of a Disaster - 3
Life of Violence Era - 1
Firefight - 2
The Canary Continuity - 3
Omniverse - 1
The Day the World Broke - 2
Purple Delusions - 4
Dragon / Fairy AU -1
ReviSplinter AU - 1
Krang Infection - 1
It’s A Complicated Equation - 1
Turtles all the way down - 1
Catch You - 1
Hamato Wanderers - 1
Separated Leo - 3
True Colors - 6
Revelations Timeline - 1
The Little Prince - 2
Soulmates (Evil) - 1
Possessed AU - 1
Indie TMNT - 3
The Mutation Situation - 1
Rise of the Parallel - 1
Lost but Not Forgotten - 1
Endless Void - 3
Old Soul - 1
Lost Standing - 1
Imaginary Friends AU - 1
Tizeline Sep AU - 4
A Bit Too Vibrant, A Bit Dull - 2
Microwave - 2
Feral Leo - 1
TMNT: Tainted - 1
A New Family - 1
I May Be Invisible But I Still Look Good - 2
A Useless Death - 1
Kendratello AU - 1
LFLS - 1
Little Brother - 2
The Neon Void - 4
You’ve Been Portal Jacked! - 2
Here there be turtles - 2
I Care - 3
The Last Something that meant anything - 5
Teenage Mutant Neglected Turtles - 1
Universal Mayhem - 3
And It All Falls Apart - 4
Sub Zero AU - 5
Black and Brown Fur - 2
Dimension Hopper Leo - 9
The Pedagogy or Life - 1
Fearless - 1
Blood is Thicker Than ooze - 1
Eyes on You - 1
Collide - 1
Lav’s TMNT iteration - 1
Little Subjects - 1
Gemini AU - 1
Ashes Ashes Dust to Dust - 3
Pixie Hollow AU - 2
Same as it never will be - 1
Cross Dimension Kidnapping - 1
Sibling Quest 202X - 3
Reciprocity - 2
Puppet Tightly Strung - 1
TMNT Killer - 1
Three Sided Coin - 1
Unlikely Bonds - 2
Tiger Sister - 1
Goosey Leo - 2
That Fangs - 6
Captain X2 - 6
Ides of March - 1
L330-N AU - 1
Good Genes - 2
Perfect Son - 1
Little Artemisia - 1
Krangified AU - 1
Paying for the Mistakes - 1
TMNT: Abnormality - 1
Mirror Maze - 1
I’m Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? - 1
Never Better - 1
Letter From my Future Self - 2
TMNT Dual Team - 1
Point Zero: REstart - 2
Casey Jr Chronicles - 1
TMNT: Clan - 1
The Blue Guard - 1
Leonardo Come Down - 1
Down with the stockholm - 1
DragonTurtle AU - 1
Building Trust - 3
Mystic Prodigy - 1
Clarification - 2
TMNT: Mismatched Set - 1
Feral Casey - 17
F1 AU - 3
Double Mutated Mikey - 1
VelCro Duo - 1
Open Your Shell and Find Your Wings - 1
Bad end Ninja Turtles - 1
Lou Jitsus Kids - 2
Void Brothers - 1
Addams Family - 5
TMNT: Apex - 1
Scout - 3
TMNT: Dusk and Dawn - 1
No Fun in Fungus - 4
Turtle Wrench - 1
Froyo! - 1
Merrow’s Iteration - 1
Until I found you - 7
Step-Brothers - 1
Please Don’t Leave (I Need You More Than You Need Me) - 1
2 Arms Left - (INVALID)
Cinder-Leo - 3
Built to Kill - 1
Turtleverse - 3
Pokemon AU - 2
Onryo - 2
Hunger Games AU - 2
Tangled Shells - 5
In The Real World - 1
TMNT Story Comp - 5
Things Will Be Fine - 1
Fire and Rain - 1
Teenage Mutant Kunoichi Turtles - 1
Call Me Here - 1
Teenage Mutant Royal Turtles - 1
Mutant Manhunt - 1
Gravedigger - 1
Spikey Mikey - 1
Emotional Support Water Bottles - 3
Rise Kingdom of Hearts AU - 1
Cass Apoc Series - (INVALID)
Teetlezverse - 4
Rise in Hell - 1
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erinwantstowrite · 1 year ago
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Hihi I wanted to say thank you ! Bit random but your fic has helped me realize that it’s okay to just have fun with writing a fic and it doesn’t have to follow any rules or such.
I used to only write main ideas for fics I wanted to write but was always too nervous about messing up or it sounding dull that I never managed to follow through, but while reading LoF and such, it’s helped me see that it’s a lot more relaxed than I thought it to be. I can happily say I’m writing my own contribution to the Spidey in Gotham niche and yeah I just wanted to thank you <3
And a a little question of how you decided on all the suits for your AUs ? Like Peter’s jacket in LoF or that INCREDIBLE venom AU suit (it looks so cool)
Ahhh that's so cool!! I really really love that!! Writing is supposed to be fun and crazy and adventurous! You write for yourself first, forget about what could be "cringe" or "lame" to someone else, and go for it! :) I hope your writing journey takes you far and you see many places to write about!
And I've always been fascinated by character design. It started with my first ever anime, Fairy Tail. The designs can be cheesy or fanservicey but I loved that they never really made sense in a set of time or era specific, and that they were always interesting, if a little cooky.
Designing suits is a pain in the ass, but fun. It's a lot of looking at artwork that I really enjoy that other artists made and seeing what I think the character I'm designing for would like the most- or looking at fashion from all different walks of life. It's also a lot of keeping in mind a characters story, the themes of their life, etc. Details, details, details.
I decided on the jacket that Peter wears in LoF because, well, he needed a jacket. It's getting colder and his regular jackets weren't going to cut it for the whole "secret identity" thing. So far in Peter's life, he'd been wearing what is "practical" to have and not what he wanted to have. In LoF, he's starting to branch out in his identity as Spider-Man. He looks up to Jason in a way (thinks he's cool) so I figured he'd want to wear something like Jason. He got the new jacket and he ended up wearing a domino mask too- something to symbolize that his time in Gotham is starting to change him. It's no coincidence that he gets these items and the same chapter, he ends up finally at the Batcave.
But with him designing the jacket, making it his own, and even putting an Iron Man patch on one sleeve? It means he's still himself, Spider-Man, and he's still got his home on the mind. It just also happens that Peter cares about Gotham now, too.
As for the venom suit, I took influence in the Venom designs I saw from the comics or fanart (I didn't make a board, so I can't pull up the exact refs right now), and also looking at other Spider designs from the Spiderverse movies. I kept it mostly the same suit I designed for LoF Peter, just with darker hands (as to say, blood stained), claws, a harsher/more vibrant red, etc, as a way to say that he has not moved past the kid he was when he was first bit, and Venom changed him for the worst. :)
I have more suit designs (such as LoF Peter's suit changing over time) but I can't share them yet,,,, They're technically spoilers,,,, RIP,,,,
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bloodmoonmuses · 1 year ago
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it waits for dawn | lee taeyong
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requested by an anon! send me an ask!
genre: taeyong x reader, friends to lovers, summer coworkers, non-idol au, fluff sorta kinda :)))
wc: 2.3k
warnings: mentions of blood, some swearing
summary: while working your summer job, you meet an eclectic boy who's obsessed with stars and the beauty of the universe.
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Working at the planetarium was an odd summer job, sure, but it was about the same pay as the ice cream shop or (God forbid) the zoo. The facility remained pretty empty most days, save for the occasional field trip or savvy tourist. For the first two weeks you worked there, it was just you and the manager, Taeil. Then, one day, Taeil says he finally found another lackey- some guy who just finished his undergrad. 
You’re not sure why a college graduate would be slumming it at a planetarium, but you don’t question the matter any further. At least now you’d have someone to split responsibilities with. 
“He’ll be here any minute,” Taeil tells you.
When he walks in, you’re a bit taken aback. His cotton candy hair and smattering of tattoos almost clashes with the nerdy polo and khakis he’s wearing. You assume this is his attempt at looking “professional”, which is funny because you’re in a band tee and cut-off shorts and Taeil is practically in pajamas. 
“I’m Taeyong,” he says bashfully, dipping his head as a greeting. 
You shake his outstretched hand and his ears turn red. He has the biggest eyes you’ve ever seen, like a drawing almost. The prevailing word at the front of your mind is “cute”. He’s very cute.
Taeyong is a sticker book come to life, eclectic and vibrant against the dullness of the overcast day. You’ve never seen him around before. You would’ve remembered. He must be new in town- or a figment of your imagination. A part of you wishes it’s the latter.
“I’m ____,” you say, fixated on your still conjoined hands. When Taeyong realizes he hasn’t broken away from the hand shake, he drops his arm quickly, coughing to fill the awkward silence. Taeil is none the wiser. 
“If you could show him around the place, that’d be nice.” Taeil says nonchalantly. He walks back into his office, going to take his daily three hour nap. Taeyong looks at you confusedly.
“If you had any worry about this being a strenuous or uptight job-” Taeil’s snoring interjects, “-I can assure you, it is not.” you contend. “It’s like a movie theater, honestly. We run the projection presentations every other hour, and when there’s field trips, we walk the kiddos around for about 45 minutes or so.”
“Ah, really? That’s it, huh?” Taeyong looks a bit disappointed.
“Yeah. Pretty easy,” you say, shrugging. “Oh, and we stock the gift shop.”
—
The next day, Taeyong somehow manages to bomb his first real shift.. You’re shelving plushies in the gift shop when you hear a loud crashing sound. When you make your way to the supply room to see what happened, Taeyong is buried in a pile of commemorative cups on the floor. 
“You okay?” you ask, trying not to laugh. The moon phase tumblers are the most popular of the gift shop items, constantly needing to be restocked. 
“I think so,” he says. As you help him stand, you notice blood on his hand.
“Need a band-aid?” Taeyong’s eyes shimmer with tears, and he places his cut finger into his mouth, pouting a bit. He nods and you grab the first aid kit off the wall. It’s covered in a layer of dust from lack of use. You blow on its surface.
“How’d you cut your finger?” you ask, still giggling a bit.
“I tried to catch the box as it was falling.” He winces as the air hits his wound. “Ouch.”
You “tsk” at him, shaking your head as you open the first aid kit. “Taeyong, you gotta be more careful. Taeil doesn’t care if we live or die!”
He chuckles. “That’s not true! I think he has a soft spot for me.”
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this cleaned up.” You take some alcohol and soak a cotton ball. Then, you clean his (minor) cut, unwrapping a bandage and securing it around his finger. He looks at you with wide eyes.
“Kiss it better for me?” he asks, jutting out his lower lip and extending his hand towards you.
“You wish.”
—
Taeyong and you become quick friends. If he comes in for a shift after you, he brings you ice cream. If the two of you close together, he walks you to your car. If you take a day off, Taeyong sends you pictures of Taeil sleeping.
He’s a great conversationalist as well. You learn a lot about him over the summer. He wanted to be a firefighter before falling in love with art, dancing and music. Now, he has a bachelor’s degree in visual art. He shows you videos of him dancing and lets you look through his sketchbook. He talks about his sister and how she’s just as kind as him. He tells you about his love of stars, and how he mediates on them as if they’re lost lovers. 
Despite the warmth Taeyong’s eyes fill you with, there’s also an underlying sadness in them- stress beyond his years swimming beneath their sparkling glory. He doesn’t speak much of it, but you can feel it. You can also see that stress leaving his body everytime he cranks up the projector for the solar system presentation. His favorite planet is Saturn.
You’re quite fond of Taeyong. You realize this when you catch yourself staring at him on a particularly slow day. A few elderly couples have come to see the permanent exhibit in the front of the facility, but other than that, it’s just you and him here. Even Taeil has taken a day off, the sloth of summer’s near end seemingly blanketing the entire town. The day progresses in slow motion.
Taeyong’s sleeves are rolled up, exposing his arms. You study his tattoos, committing them to memory.  His ever changing hair has been black for a few weeks now, which was a bit out of the ordinary for him. He looks a bit pedestrian, if that’s even possible, and not elven like his usually colorful hair makes him seem.
Despite the snail pace of the day, Taeyong is working way more than is actually necessary- always a self-starter and ready to please. 
“Take a break, Taeyong. You’re gonna have a heat stroke.” The A/C unit is busted. Again. You’ve plugged in a few portable fans, but they’re not doing much.
“Inventory’s gotta get done eventually.” You’re enamored with the multitudes of Taeyong’s character. He’s often an easy going guy, but stern when it counts. Not a killjoy, or anything to that extent, just more upright than you’d assume at first glance. Such is the issue with assumptions; they’re just asking to be subverted. 
You feel bad watching Taeyong lug around boxes by himself, so you push your laziness aside and begin helping.
“I got it,” Taeyong says.
You continue to lift a box, following him on the trek from the supply closet to the gift shop. “I know you’ve got it, but you’re gonna die if you carry all of these on your own.”
“I’m not gonna die,” Taeyong says, blowing a few strands of hair out his face as wobbles about.
“Tell that to the red flush covering your whole body, Superman.” 
Taeyong huffs at you. “You’re so mean to me,” he says. There’s that lower lip again. It’s becoming your weakness, the more he pouts at you. Sometimes you tease him just to see it more often.
“Fine. Want me to stop?” you say, putting down the box you’re carrying. You pretend to walk off.
“No, don’t leave! I feel like I’m gonna die!” Tayong shrieks.
You deadpan at the cartoon of a human standing in front of you.
__
It’s a field trip day and the planetarium is packed. Unlike the usual, Taeil is actually helping, saying something along the lines of “all hands on deck” as if that doesn’t entail a total of six hands. The children stream in like a school of fish, neon summer camp shirts glowing in the bright sun. They’re beaming at one another, skipping and running around with boundless energy. Their liveliness sparks something in you, smiling so much that makes your cheeks hurt. What hurts more, however, is seeing how sweet Taeyong is with the kids. He takes the lead on showing them around the permanent exhibit, explaining the solar system and composition of stars and other space rocks. You watch from the back of the crowd, blaming the flush of your face on the temperature and not on the fact that Taeyong’s smile makes your breath hitch.
You should think he’s the nerdiest person in the world right now. This whole exchange would be great material to tease him with (-something about how he’s a softie and a loser or whatever). However, all you feel is a terrifying fondness taking over you, ripping at your chest as if it’d been ravaged by a lovesick wolf, its claw marks creating deep caverns where your heart lies. It fucking hurts how much you simply like him. You don’t even want to imagine- no, you can’t  even imagine what’d it be like to fall in love with him. 
One of the kids asks about Saturn and Taeyong nearly erupts with excitement. He talks in detail about its rings, tracing his fingers along the ridges of the replica of the planet. His eyes are sparkling, mirroring the faux stars above him. 
When kids leave, you glance at Taeyong. A tired smile is plastered on his face and he contently sighs. “That was so much fun.”
“I’m not sure who enjoyed it more- you or the kids,” you state. Taeyong chuckles. 
“Definitely me. I almost don’t wanna go home,” he says. 
“Then let’s stay.”
After finishing your closing duties, you and Taeyong meet in the planetarium’s theater. In the center of the rows of seats is a projector.  
“Lemme start the presentation,” he says, queuing up a video about Navajo astrology and constellations. “I’ve never actually gotten the chance to watch Southwestern Skies from the seats.” 
After he presses play, the two of you sit right in the middle of the theater. The video comes to life on the dome shaped ceiling. Your jaw drops in wonderment, feeling less self conscious when you see that Taeyong’s mouth is also agape in your periphery. Then, you’re drifting in outer space with him, your seats floating away into the ether as you become completely absorbed into the stars that surround you. You rest your arm on the divider between your chairs, subconsciously inching your hand towards Taeyong’s. As it draws nearer, your desire to interlace his hand in your own grows. The nerve endings at your fingertips buzz. Taeyong is magnetic. 
“This is my favorite part,” Taeyong whispers, awestruck. You try to break away from looking at him, to instead look at the display above you, but you can’t. Instead, you watch the stars in the reflection of his eyes. 
The dome bursts with an explosion of stars as various constellations fade into view. Orion’s Belt, The Big Dipper, Libra and Virgo- Taeyong had told you about them in detail, insisting on thumbing through his astrology textbook as he explained. (He stole it from the library, leaving five bucks on the counter to rid himself of any lingering karma.) Finally, the Milky Way comes into view- referred to as It Waits for Dawn by the Navajo people. Taeyong audibly gasps. 
“I think the whole thing is your favorite part," you tease. 
“Mmm.” He nods in agreement.
Distantly, your mind wanders to how the summer is coming to a close. You’re not sure what will come of you and Taeyong’s friendship. You hope he won’t be a memory, or strangers like the two of you started as. You want him to be a fixture in your life- a constellation to familiarize yourself with and never tire of, even as the universe expands.
You realize you’ve been laying your head on Taeyong’s shoulder.
“Sorry,” you mumble as you move to sit up. 
“It’s okay,” he says. Then, he places his hand on your head, guiding it back to his shoulder. “Unless your neck hurts, or something. Then, I won’t force you,” he adds hurriedly. 
“No, no. It’s good. I’m good,” you say, returning your head to its original position. When the presentation ends, the lights in the theater automatically come up. Suddenly, the moment feels too intimate for daylight, and Taeyong must agree, because he’s tense. You can feel it in his shoulder, the anxiety radiating off of him in waves, but he doesn’t tell you to move, so you continue to rest your head on him 
“Does the universe scare you? All the stars and planets and the unknown...” Taeyong says out of nowhere. Before you can respond, he says, “Ah, nevermind. Forget I asked.” He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck as he backtracks.
“I like the question, silly!” You consider your answer for a moment, lost in thought. “ How infinite it is, yes. But the universe as a concept is very romantic. Like, philosophically speaking.”
“How so?”
You shrug. “It brought us together.”
“What a pretty thought,” he says. 
Life’s a bunch of little universes sewn together. Self contained and finite worlds that exist within infinity. Like your summer with Taeyong- a blip in the grandeur of your life, simply due to how little time he’s spent in it. You want to sew a little bit more of him into your universe. To make him more than a blip. To make him your entire universe. 
“Can I kiss you?” you ask suddenly, throwing caution to the wind.
“I’d like that,” he contends. 
You lift your head from his shoulder and place a delicate peck to his cheek. Taeyong gently grasps your chin, guiding your face to his. He then kisses you on the lips, tenderly, his lips just barely grazing yours. The moment seems to stretch on for infinity, though only lasting a few minutes, and you make haste to sew it into the fabric of your memory.
a/n: unedited + feedback is always appreciated!
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fireflies-owl-city · 2 months ago
Text
Dead Inside Part 1: First Encounters
An Epic the Musical: Final Man to Die AU story
Odysseus of Ithaca. A grieving immortal being who just wants to reunite with his family and hates every moment of being alive. Melody, or “Mel”. A young woman living off of spite and granola bars who’s planing to end it all as soon as her parents die, but wants to find a place to settle down first. So different, yet so similar. One is running from her past while the other is forcing himself to face it. One hates her family while the other misses his own. And yet, despite their differences, they’re undoubtedly two sides of the same coin. After an encounter on the coasts of Ithaca and Mel offering Odysseus a snack, this one event snowballs into a developing father-daughter relationship that’s sweet, yet incredibly tragic.
TW: mentions of SH and suicide. Also a lot of swearing
Final Man to Die AU belongs to @bigidiotenergytm!
Mel trudged through sands of the coast of Ithaca, stuffing her face with a granola bar as she stared at nothing in particular, a dull expression on her face. There was sand in her shoes, the sun was glaring in her eyes, and she was overheating in her favorite jacket, though there was no way in hell she was taking off her only sense of comfort and security. Overall, the experience was just plain miserable. She had no idea why she decided to walk here: maybe to pass the time? Feel something? Get a feel for the country and see if this was the place she’d finally want to settle down? It’s not like it really mattered; as soon as her parents croaked she was ending it all, making sure that her shit-show of a family didn’t show up to her funeral and spew lies about how they “cherished her so much” and “couldn’t understand how their darling daughter could do something so tragic”.
Still, she wanted to find a half-decent place to settle before that happened, something her home country of Canada couldn’t provide.
Suddenly, her eyes focused on a strange sight. There was an older man, clothes tattered and expression duller and more deadpan than Mel’s, and he was just sitting cross-legged on the beach, staring through a spyglass with his gaze fixated on the sea ahead. His hair was brown with streaks of grey, his eyes not visible to Mel, and Mel couldn’t help but notice the way he had scars on his eyebrow, nose, and lip, just like her. While the “sitting on the beach” thing was pretty weird, the strangest thing Mel noticed was that he seemed eerily familiar. She thought maybe she had seen him on TV, or maybe she had seen him on YouTube? She was probably just getting those vibes from his cosplay looking outfit. I mean, he looked like he belonged at ren faire or comic con with that fit.
Seriously, who the hell wears a cape, cargo pants, and combat boots to the beach? Let alone in a country known for ridiculously hot weather this time of year, on the hottest day of the year?
Against her better judgment, Mel approached the man, carefully waving to see if he’d notice her out of his peripheral vision.
“Hello? Sir, are you okay?” She asked, a concerned look on her face. In response, the man lowered the spyglass and looked up at her, revealing vibrant red eyes that almost seemed to glow in the beaming sunlight.
“What do you want?”
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Mel replied, “it’s one of the hottest days of the year and you’re sitting on hot sand wearing multiple layers of thick clothing while staring out into the middle of nowhere.”
“You say that like you’re not also wearing multiple layers of thick clothing on the hottest day of the year” the man remarked, an unamused look on his face, “and I’m not ‘staring into the middle of nowhere’. I’m trying to protect my home.” Scanning the woman before her, the man noticed something strange: she looked weirdly similar him, except for a few minor details. She lacked facial hair and her jawline was a bit more feminine, but other than that, she looked almost exactly like him. Same scars, same hair, albeit without the grey streaks, and he even noticed the slightest red tint in her dull brown eyes.
“Protecting your home from what?” Mel asked, confused. There was no one here, let alone out in the water.
“Predators.” The man answered simply, “I’ve made a lot of enemies in my time, some of which have threatened to hurt my family or attack Ithaca as a whole, and I intend to make damn sure they don’t try to hurt anyone on this island.”
“Who the hell are you making enemies with? Poseidon?” Mel asked, even more confused than before, her confusion now mixed with worry.
“You’d be surprised.” He replied, “Now look, as much as I love this interaction with a random stranger interrogating me, I have better things to do and I’m sure you do as well. I am fine, you can leave me alone now.”
“Okay then
” Mel muttered, turning and walking away.
Sighing, Odysseus turned his gaze back to the water. He didn’t mean to come off as so rude- the girl seemed nice enough- but he wasn’t in the mood to be asked if he was “okay”. Clearly he wasn’t okay: he lost his family, pissed off multiple gods and monsters, and now was cursed with the immortality that forced him to watch all the people he cared about die. It had been millennia, and he could still taste the metallic ichor that made him this way. The taste was unpleasant, to say the least, but it didn’t compare to the bitter loss of everyone you’ve ever known or cared about. Unfortunately, it’s not like he’s able to say that to anyone; under the slim chance anyone believed his story of being an immoral being, no one deserved the emotional baggage of being told his life story.
And who the fuck makes such an offhanded comment like that about making an enemy out of Poseidon? Pissing off such a temperamental god is not something to be joking about.
After what felt like mere minutes, the sun had started to set, staining the sky a gradient of orange, pink, and purple. Odysseus hadn’t noticed just how late it had gotten.
Behind him, Odysseus could hear the familiar shuffling sound of footsteps on sand, and after a moment, the sound of footsteps was replaced by a familiar voice.
“Hey, I brought you a snack.”
Glancing behind him, he saw who else but the girl from earlier, Mel. Her expression showed no emotion, but was more gentle than before, and her arm was outstretched, offering him a granola bar.
“I’m not hungry
” he grumbled. Despite his dismissiveness, Mel persisted, moving her hand in a way that emphasized that she was still holding the granola bar.
“Look, I’m not one to be pushy or get in anyone’s business or even particularly social, but you’ve been sitting here for hours and I assume you haven’t eaten anything in the time you’ve been sitting here. You can’t protect your home from predators if you’re passed out from starvation. Now take. The damn. Granola bar.”
Sighing, Odysseus grabbed the granola bar from Mel’s hand unwrapping it and taking a small bite in order to satisfy Mel.
“I know you’re technically supposed to give people cash instead of food when you’re offering people stuff in case they have food allergies, but based on how focused you are on your mission, I highly doubt you’re gonna get up and buy yourself anything.” Mel explained with a shrug.
Odysseus didn’t say anything at first, just turned back to the water, one hand holding the granola bar while the other patted the sand next to him.
“Sit.”
Mel sat down beside him, crossing her legs and propping her elbows up on her knees.
“I can watch for predators while you eat,” she offered, “based on what you were saying about the enemies you’ve made, I get the impression they’re not too hard to miss.”
Odysseus nodded in appreciation, still eating the granola bar. He had to admit, he was pretty hungry. He didn’t have to worry about dying of starvation anymore, but he was still able to feel hungry after not eating for long enough. Besides, the granola bar Mel had given him tasted pretty good.
“This is pretty good.” He mumbled. “Thanks.”
Mel shrugged, smiling at Odysseus. “It’s no problem. I’ve been living off them for a while, might as well find one that actually tastes good.”
Odysseus glanced over at Mel, a concerned look spreading across his face. “This is seriously all you eat?”
“I mean, sort of,” Mel replied, “I eat other stuff too, it’s just what I eat the most.”
Odysseus sighed. This girl was fussing over him making sure he was eating and taking care of himself and making sure he was okay, and yet she could barely take care of herself?
“What’s your name, anyway?”
Mel’s body went rigid, her eyes widening. Her full name was Melody, but she hated that name; it reminded her too much of her past, of what her family had always expected her to be. What was she supposed to tell this guy?”
“Uhh
 call me Mel
” Mel mumbled, biting her lip nervously, “what about you?”
“I am nobody.” Odysseus answered simply. His face was deadpan, not giving away any kind of emotion.
Hearing this, Mel had to hold back a massive grin. See, she was a massive fan of Epic the Musical- having listened to all nine sagas multiple times over- and hearing the man next to her refer to himself as “nobody” made a little part of her very excited; enough so that she couldn’t resist making a reference to it.
“Okay, Odysseus.” Mel replied, a barely noticeable smile on her face. She knew it was a risk saying that; what if this “Nobody” guy didn’t get the reference? Though it was a popular enough meme that even people who weren’t fans of Epic the Musical probably would’ve gotten the reference.
At least Mel hoped, anyway.
At the sound of Mel calling him by that name, Odysseus felt his blood run cold. His body tensed, eyes widening, and his face paled noticeably, even in the dim light of the setting sun.
How the hell did this girl know that name?
@bigidiotenergytm I hope you enjoy!
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