#everyone in this game has some kind of issues or another

[gothicfied]

Can you please do this one? 💛

Basically takes place after 4th game. Nam-gyu finds out he lost the necklase with drugs and goes to the guard, asking if he can go back, after the confrontation that happened in the scene. He goes to the reader and she just basically takes care of him (comforting, hugging him, giving him her water, holding him in her sleep, helping him etc.) And if you want to (you dont have to), you can add there, where she helps him in the jump rope game.

Save me, my love! - a Nam-gyu Oneshot

Pairing: Nam-gyu / Player 124 x Reader

Word Count: ~950 Words

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, drug usage, addiction, violence, death, gunshots, blood (typical Squid Game stuff), I obviously have no idea how addictions or withdrawals work😭, other than that it's just fluff/comfort, not proof read (English is not ny first language)

A/N: He was genuinely so pathetic in that scene, I loved it. So sorry if any if these descriptions are unrealistic or wrong, I just wrote it like I remembered the scene lolololol Also: I am doing a pt2 on the teen reader thing, so stay tuned. Enjoy!

You never imagined that in this place, drugs would be someone's biggest issue. You thought maybe people dying left and right and the sound of the never ending gunshots would wake someone up and make them vote 'X', but no. Some of these literal animals still think money has more value than a humans life. Sadly, one of those people is also someone you grew quite close to.

Nam-gyu somehow felt like you guys were making a great team, or maybe it was because he was madly in love with you that he tolerated someone who voted to get the hell out of here. After Thanos was stabbed to death, as Nam-gyu vividly described — with a fork, he kind of... just lost it.

You did too, after the rebellion failed. You were so sure everyone could do it, but no. Originally, the man laughed at you for even trying to get through the guards or for supporting the idea in the first place, but he was still very glad you didn't.. well, die. He couldn't have handled another death like that (he could've on drugs, but he didn't tell you that, obviously).

The fact that he has used before, outside the games, became more and more apparent. Constant ticking, scratching, sniffling, rocking back and forth... whenever the effects of those little pills started to wear off, Nam-gyu became this angsty, disturbed mess that just wanted to be held by you. And you did hold him tight. You didn't know what it was about him, maybe it was because he made you feel somewhat grounded and not all alone in this place, or maybe it was trauma bonding. Probably the second thing.

During Hide and Seek, the most disturbing game you almost didn't survive, he had apparently lost the little cross necklace that held the remaining pills. Based off of how Nam-gyu acted (because, yes, you could hear him scream and sing through the halls), you were able to figure out at what stage this addiction process was. Whatever those things held in them, they were really addicting, scarily even so. It's only been like four days and Nam-gyu's acting like that.. it's weird.

Granted, you didn't quite understand how addictions worked. Because his veins were blown out by all the stuff he used to shoot up his arm, you thought a little pill couldn't make you so erratic.

From your bed, you could see how Nam-gyu scrambled to the pink guards, first asking and then eventually yelling at them to let him back because he lost the goddamn necklace. You sighed while seeing and hearing it — Man, you felt bad for him. He didn't act like this the first day or the second day and you thought that he didn't deserve this, to go through withdrawal.

After he was threatened by one of the guards, Nam-gyu quickly shut his mouth and walked back over to you, looking at you like you were the light of his life. He sighed, slowly sitting down next to you on the bed. "They.. they won't let me in! Oh my god, I know I lost that fucking thing in there and they won't give it to me."

Nam-gyu whined next to you, actually sounding like he was in pain (or that he was, at least, very desperate). His blood-covered hands covered his face as he started to rub his eyes to come back to his senses. After a pause, you put your hand on his back, drawing slow and soothing circles, because what else were you supposed to do?

"I'm seriously dead without.. without—"

"It'll be okay."

"Ohhhh— No, you have no idea how bad this is!"

The man looked at you with blood shot eyes, that were probably just there because he couldn't sleep well when high. He was exhausted, too exhausted to even explain to you what was bothering him right now when you asked him. He knew he was worrying you, but it wasn't like he didn't try fixing it yet.

Your eyes scanned his face, trying to come up with a solution. There was nothing you could do to help, mainly because you don't know what withdrawals feel like.

Nam-gyu clawed on your shirt and basically threw himself onto you, breathing like he just ran a marathon. You cradled his face against your chest, taking a quick peek to see what was going on — Nam-gyu looked like he was about to cry from frustration, anger (at himself), because he was panicking.. his eyes told a whole story and it broke your heart.

You tipped your head back to lean it against the metal railing of the bed while your hand was lightly grazing his cheek. Eventually, Nam-gyu's breathing began to calm down and it seemed like he had finally fallen asleep completely, which he wasn't able to do the past couple of nights. Just yesterday he woke you up in the middle of the night to 'talk to you' because he couldn't sleep. He had been chronically awake the whole time, which really messed with his perception of things, at least that's what you thought.

Carefully, you pushed some of his hair out of his face, calming at how peaceful he looked. You heard faint whispers of the other players talking to each other, most of them just as worried as you. You were scared, of course you were. You were scared for your life, for Nam-gyu's life, because something told you that he couldn't and wouldn't make it any further in this condition.

You truly hoped you would, though, because at the end of the day, you did truly care about him.

[mikakuna]

babygirl jason anon here again!💖

I also completely agree that jason's type is older people. (Sladejay and Constantine x Jason are my fav ships, jason absolutely endears himself to older men who hate everyone else and treat him like a princess that could kill them, very fiona from shrek vibes if you catch me).

But ppl talk about jason looking like bruce alot, but i think one day he's staring at himself in the mirror and realizes its willis staring back at him, and that warms his heart so he grows his hair out, just to the base of his neck so he can embrace his curls. He gets piercings he always wanted, 2 in each lobe, an industrial maybe. And i think distancing himself from the bats a bit gives him back a healthy glow in his eyes, because he's not fighting to prove his worth to people who keep moving the goal post.

And maybe the bats see him again, with roy and kori at some big world ending fiasco, helmet off, laughing and smiling and looking happy and they realize that they have not seen him happy in a long time.

I'm obsessed with the idea of the JLA and another heroes meeting jason after having only heard news of his actions or the bats biased perception of things. but meeting jason completely changes things because he's magnetic, just so charming and intelligent and unfairly fucking gorgeous. Especially when they get him started on things he loves. Gotham, books, cooking, kids.

Roy has his hand around Jason's waist, looking at him fondly. Kori fondly runs a hand through his curls. Jason being loved and accepted for just being who he is without having to shape and distort himself of his morals.

I have many thoughts about jason and the wider hero community, of him finally pushing off the isolation that Batman forced on him both as Robin and now as Red Hood by controlling the narrative around him.

But when i get more babygirl jason thoughts i will send then your way!!

HIIIIIII i love you so much♥️ im sorry for getting to this late but i hope my reply, long reply, makes up for it!!

jason is SOOO fiona from shrek coded omg wait he deserves that kind of princess treatment. he's not afraid to be himself and if that means being flawed or being disapproved by society (other heroes + bats) then fuck it. he's still gonna be himself and not let other people, especially those who have let him down, change him. very fiona of him to get with people everyone else would disapprove of.

ofc i love sladejay but i've never actually read any constantine x jason content!! this is probably my first time hearing about it in a romantic context and not platonic. I WANNA HEAR MOREEE

yes yes yes to jason specifically going after older men. it's not even that he's doing it consciously. they just always happen to be older than him and they're usually the ones seeking him out. he has that mistreated puppy look that attracts older dudes and makes them wanna spoil him with love and that gruff affection. very healing for his daddy issues to be treated with unconditional love for once by an older man who could very well be his dad. it's a dangerous game to play considering his age and theirs but it always works out (to the absolute appall of bruce)

your description of his new, healthy look is everything. i also love the hc that he looks like willis since i don't really fw the one that he looks like bruce specifically. anyways he should look like his papa who thought of him as his prince of gotham :( jason with longer hair and piercings is so pretty he deserves it. if that red hood webcomic wasn't so ass i would've liked his character design

i too am a firm believer that jason becomes ten times more beautiful when he's happy and not constantly emotionally drained from his interactions with the bats who only ever expect the worst from him. the glow!!! the sound of his unrestrained laughter!!! the twinkle in his eyes!!!!!!! you truly never look better than when there isn't an ugly bitch constantly thinking the worst of you

OMG dude i was just thinking about that justice league hc <3 most heroes knew jason as robin and still fell for bruce/the bats' propaganda 🥀 but hey at least it makes for great content of them meeting red hood jason for the first time and becoming instantly enamoured. i need it shoved in every hero's face that jason is smart as hell and not the stone cold killer he's rumoured to be.

and yes you're so right about jason having been isolated. he deserves to break free from that isolation since it very clearly still exists in his red hood days.

can't lie because i enjoyed his teamup with kori and roy but i love art and biz sooo much more because they're just for jason rather than having been dick's people first. need the bats seeing how happy he is with other people </3

thank you for this anon i loved hearing your thoughts!! (sorry this got long) and YES PLEASEE i will always want to hear more baby girl jason thoughts ♥️

[icewindandboringhorror]

One of the interesting bits of trying to resume working on the game after so long is looking back at my ancient Draft Placeholder versions of an image from 4 yrs ago trying to remember what the hell I meant back then, to hopefully interpret it into some more final (ish..) form of the same thing .. making slow progress lol

[earthtooz]

: THE GRASS IS WARMER ON YOUR SIDE :*+ﾟ

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.

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. 

© EARTHTOOZ 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[a-soft-fluffy-girl]

TL;DR: Steam just made library sharing so much fucking easier and so much fucking better. Instead of login-trading, it's just a simple goddamn invite.

Read this. Really. It's a good read. Because it shows that, full-stop, Valve isn't just doubling down on their stance to make sure that people can and should be able to share their copies of digital goods as easily as they can physical ones, but they're making it better and easier than ever.

But you know how Steam allowed you to, with either friends or family, link accounts with another person to be able to establish an ability to share game libraries with one another? The general gist of Steam Family Sharing was that, with a limit of five people plus you (six in total) on a limit of ten computers total could share account access to willingly mix your libraries. You could play theirs. They could play yours.

This was a huge boon. It was meant to emulate sharing a physical copy of a game. A way to allow children to play games their parents or siblings had bought without having to fork over double the cash to buy it a second game. But it had some major limitations and drawbacks, and was archaic to use.

If a person did not share the same computer, you had to manually log into that computer to give it and the accounts on it access. This wouldn't be a problem if both accounts were used on the same computer, but many households (and astronomically more family and friend groups) had multiple computers, all used by different people.

If that computer, at any point, was hard reset to any point before the sharing occurred, you lost access. And had to do the whole process again. This was also an issue with computer transfers. The whole kit and kaboodle needed to be redone on upgrades. On top of that, the old computer is now just dead weight that you may not realize you have to manually revoke access to.

Putting your account information on another person's computer opens up security issues. They could, intentionally or accidentally, land themselves on your account if the login information was stored. Which could easily lead to purchases or bans you did not want to happen.

If anyone was, at any point, playing any game on their own library, you had no access to their games. Even if it was a totally different game, you had to wait your turn as if waiting for their computer to be freed up to sit at. (Admittedly this is kind of like the "mom said it's my turn on the xbox" meme, but hey, kinda archaic.)

You could not choose whose library you accessed a game from. Not at all. It always prioritized the first library it gained access from, DLC access and multiplayer be damned. If another friend you were accepting games from had more DLC? Too bad.

And yet here we are. Steam Families Beta fixes EVERYTHING about the above issues. By just going through Settings > Interface > client Beta Participation and clicking onto Steam Families Beta? You get:

No more login sharing. No more computer links. You can now choose which person's library you borrowed from. And you can play any other game from someone's library, even while they're in-game. It just needs to be a different game than what they're playing.

Pick five people. Invite them to your family. And now everyone has access to everyone's library. My goddamn library went from 150-ish to almost a goddamn thousand in ten minutes of setup.

Account sharing and password sharing are dirty words that "lose" billions of dollars. Netflix, Hulu, Amazon, Max. They aren't game storefronts, but they still allow you to access massive libraries and scream like you murdered their firstborns for daring to share your password with your mother after you moved out.

Microsoft tried pushing to demonize and undercut used games sales and borrowed copies of physical games. Remember the first attempt to reveal the Xbox One? People forget, but these vultures tried to make an always online console that checked to see if you were the account that owned the game, even if you had a physical disc, and prevent access to the disc's contents if you weren't the original downloader.

Valve walked the fuck up. Valve tapped the mic. And Valve dropped the fucking thing right onto the ground with one feature's revamp.

About the only issues I can see with this are twofold:

If someone sharing your library gets banned from a game's servers... so do you. No one else in the family does, but the both of you do. This is... rather unpleasant, because banhammers can be dropped quite frequently by mistake. I'd urge Valve to rethink this one, but I see the logic: don't cheat and effectively bite the hand feeding you. Still making me side-eye that, though.

If you leave a family you've joined? You have to wait a YEAR to join a new one. It's to prevent people form jumping ship to another group and screwing over who's in the former one in the process, but a YEAR? OUCH.

Problems aside, though... it's probably the biggest fucking power move I have ever seen a media distributor make in the current economic climate. It's the kind of thing that would let so many new games be available in a way that's easier than ever. Just a few clicks to send or accept an invite, and bam. Permanent access to dozens or even hundreds of new games with so much more freedom than earlier drafts of the system.

It's the kind of thing that slaps you in the face with positivity after so many Ls from the games and media industries. And I'm all the fuck for a W like this.

[miyaz6ki]

can i request sucking off modern streamer kinich while he’s live? ;3

──── ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა if it's not you !﹒⟢﹒

ᯓ★ ── . summ. when you both miss each other so much, you'll show that it's not mualani he's dating.

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹ pairings. kinich x gn!reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹ director's note. hello disciples (sharks), i'm today here vlog with everyone (will be writing a lot today n tomorrw i suppose)

ᯓ★ ── . warnings. nsfw, sucking kinich off, kind of subby!kinich, but he's more of a switch

part 2 here :)

kinich isn't necessarily lively on his streams, but he gets many swoon with his looks, blunt attitude, and sarcastic humor.

often collabing with another streamer; mualani. people often suspect he'd been dating her, their personalities definitely contrasted well.

but the issues only worsened when she came over to his place.

people in his chat always asked "who's the one sitting in the beanbag?!" "is it mualani?!" "oh my gosh he has a partner!!"

he always had ignored them, they didn't really need to know about you yet anyway.

but days pass, and the rumor continues to frequent his chat, especially today's. he couldn't ignore it this time.. the only messages he'd see were asking if him and mualani got together yet.

even the donations were non-stop with the questions. so he decided just to end stream early, the last of us could wait 'till tomorrow anyway.

when he hops into bed with you, he simply buried his head in your chest.

"something wrong, kin'?" you wrap your arms around his back, holding him closer into your warmth. "nothin'. let's sleep."

the next day felt extra lonely, your boyfriend had left for an event, visiting it with none other than mualani. hm.. you couldn't help but be a little jealous, but you did enjoy the silent life, even with your pretty boy being live all the time, you appreciated that he still kept you private, and away from attention.

but at the same time, you wished everyone knew it was you, not mualani. even mualani cheered for you guys! she always denied dating kinich in public eye, but kinich never gave an answer.

so the public took it two different ways; he isn't dating, and he's not confirming it but is dating mualani. they never thought there might be an option outside of it! how damn cruel!!

"so are you dating popular streamer, mualani?!" an interviewer almost shoves the mic up to his mouth. he simply looks around awkwardly, and leaves, he wants to get home as soon as possible. get some rest before the demon hours of streaming begin.

i guess all the missing went elsewhere, down onto his cock of course. it was almost time for him to stream, but he hasn't finished letting you cum for the sixth time yet! fuck..

you offer to suck him off from underneath, so what can he do? he's just a man! (he denied it at first, like a ton of times before reluctantly agreeing.)

he could feel the way your head bobbed down each time, taking his shaft into your throat so well, oh sshit don't gag on him like that, he might cum right in front of the viewers!!

"hnngh- pretty don't choke on it like that.. mmf-" he quickly mutes his mic to take a breather before going on with the next phase of the quest.

bucking his hips into your mouth, he could feel his orgasm build up like blocks. you could feel a grasp of your hair from behind, it was his hand, and he faced his camera away from view.

he bucks his own hips into your throat, oh fuck, don't tease his tip like that while you stroke his cock!! (he wants more)

the more you moaned- it sent vibrations down into the base of his cock, he groaned suddenly arching his back, a blissful hum comes from your mouth once more.

the lustful eye contact you gave him was his last straw, holding on to your other hand that held his he came into your mouth, loudly whining, you show your mouth off to him as you stand up from your original spot underneath the gaming setup; swallowing every last drop of his semen.

his lips eager to reach yours, he kisses you; tasting the saltiness mixed with the taste of your mouth, it was euphoria. everything he could ever ask for. he couldn't wait to show his viewers the ring on your finger after he'll propose tomorrow.

i'll write fluff part 2 of this soon :)

[ilium-ilia]

you're an angel // i'm a dog

kyle "gaz" garrick x fem!reader | omegaverse | alpha!gaz, omega!reader | masterlist

Chapter Three: dig

tw: medical talk

The nurse performing Kyle’s intake asks him when his last rut was—she presses her lips together at his answer. 

“Couple of years, at least.” 

Humming, she taps away on the bulky clinic laptop. The wide screen illuminates her face, and glints painfully off of the badge hanging on the left side of her chest. Her head continues to bob, and he begins to wonder if she has a motor whirring in there, perpetually trapping her in that motion. 

“About how many would you say?” she asks, eyes flickering over to him, fingers poised to write. 

Kyle thinks. It’s hazy there, inside of his mind. He scrolls through the reams of old footage that flickers in his memory. He supposes he would have a more solid date in mind had he ever gotten used to keeping track of the cycle of things. Really, his last rut is so far behind him he can scarcely remember what it feels like. That heat—those urges—are buried deep inside of him. Deeper than a grave. 

As deep as a secret. 

“More than five?” the nurse prompts after a few seconds. 

“Yeah, probably,” he nods. 

No. Much more than five. 

She takes his blood pressure after interrogating him about his medical history. It’s perfect. Or, at least he assumes it is. She rattles off two conflicting numbers—neither that he can register the meaning for—but her lips don’t purse as she records it in his file. 

When she leaves, she does so with the promise that the doctor will be with him in a few minutes. 

A few minutes turn into a couple minutes. Then fifteen. Then another. 

Kyle’s ready to stand up and leave the room, convinced he had been forgotten, just as the doctor opens the door with a smile. It’s the usual kind healthcare workers wear. Polite bedside manner bundled up in a tired body with an overworked brain. There’s polite chat as the doctor—a man in his late fifties with a scar on the back of his right hand—seats himself on the rolling stool that clinics always seem to have. 

He wastes no time in sharing his ailment. 

“I need a stronger dose of suppressants,” Kyle says, voice nearly sounding like a demand. No, it is a demand. He needs it. Has to have it for work. To live. 

“Okay,” the doctor says with an exaggerated nod. “So… we’re having issues then? Hormonal?” 

“Something, yeah. I don’t think they’re working as well as they used to,” Kyle admits. 

“Can you describe what’s going on?” he prompts. 

It’s a hard fought battle keeping his eyes from rolling, but Kyle is unable to refrain from huffing. This game of back and forth is his least favorite to play. Especially since it involves the uncomfortable truth of his nature—everyone’s bestial composition. 

Honestly, he hates this savage animal that attempts to stir and rage within him. That unrelenting heat that sharpens his tongue and muddles his thoughts. He intends to snuff it out before it eats him whole. 

Or eats someone else. 

“I have difficulty focusing sometimes. I’m noticing I’m starting to get affected by some omega’s scents. I haven’t felt this way since I started using the suppressants, and it’s affecting my performance at work,” Kyle explains, attempting to be as clinical as possible. 

As he rattles off his symptoms, the doctor notes them down in his computer, but stops about halfway to fold his hands in his lap. He looks at Kyle, eyeing his throat and the slight twitch of his fingers, and hums. 

“When was the last time you were off suppressants?” he questions. 

Kyle’s canines begin to pinch at the flesh in his mouth. “I haven’t been off them since I started them.” 

Once more, the doctor nods, and Kyle begins to question how well attached his head is to his neck. “It might be time that we have a cleansing period.” 

“A cleansing period?” Kyle repeats as if the thought is rotten on his tongue. 

“It’s not entirely healthy keeping someone on suppressants this long, alpha or omega. You can only outrun nature for so long. Your hormones will begin to override your suppressants, and your body will adapt to the change in order to instill equilibrium. You’re an alpha, Mr. Garrick. You might be inconvenienced, but your body is always going to yearn to do what nature demands.” 

With clenching fists and racing heart, Kyle feels a frustrated groan ripple along his chest. It hurts holding it back, but he refuses to allow his anger to get the best of him. 

“How long is this cleansing period then? A month?” he prompts. 

“At least six.” 

It’s impossible to snuff out his scoff at such an absurd answer. “I can’t do six months.” 

The doctor isn’t blind to Kyle’s internal rage. The rigidness of his fingers and shoulders, the flaring of his nostrils—all of these are telltale signs. Kyle can see the way he notes them in his mind like he’s some alpha ready to burst at the seams.

“You might not have a choice,” he reasons. 

“No,” Kyle says firmly. “I just need a higher dose. I can’t take that much time off work, or be unreliable. The new meds will be fine.” 

“But-” 

“Give me the higher dose.” 

There is a stillness that settles in the air, and for a moment, Kyle is worried that the doctor will deny him. He plays other options in his mind. He’ll find another doctor, if he needs to. Manipulate things until he gets what he wants—what he needs. What he needs is not a break—he doesn’t need to be cleansed—what he needs is to be reliable. 

To not be left behind. 

“Fine,” the doctor relents. Without bothering to spare another glance at Kyle, he types out the order to the pharmacy on his computer with a huff. “I can up your dose, but this is the highest I can safely give you. There is no step above this, Mr. Garrick.”

“That’ll be fine,” Kyle dismisses. 

“No, what I’m saying is, if this doesn’t work, you won’t have a choice,” the doctor corrects. “If this doesn’t work, if your nature continues to bleed through the wall of suppressants, you’ll be forced into a cleanse cycle. It’ll be like quitting them cold turkey, and with how long it’s been since you’ve been in rut… Well, it won’t be pretty.” 

While the doctor’s words are nothing more than a warning, Kyle can’t help but take it as a threat. He feels underestimated. Like he’s expected to crumble underneath the weight of some impending doom. 

“I’ll be fine,” Kyle assures. 

The doctor gives him a look—he doesn’t believe him. Still, he sends him off with a prescription for a higher dose, and that’s all Kyle cares about. 

As soon as the pharmacy informs Kyle his prescription is ready for pick up, he wastes no time in retrieving it. He nearly snatches the bag out of the technitian’s hand, almost tearing a nail off with it. He’s hardly out of the car park before he’s taking the first dose, and the difference is nearly instantaneous. That fog inside of his brain dispurses, and he no longer feels that uncanny tingle ripple through his limbs. 

It’s all numb. These thoughts, these feelings of anger, these urges—they vanish. He’s back to being the level headed sergeant he’s always been. 

Kyle Garrick. Nothing more than a beta. 

And so when he returns to work, and he catches you—the sweet pet—walking the halls next to some nameless co-worker, he doesn’t fret. The sway of your hips is no more intoxicating than it should be, and your laughter only vaguely sounds like a siren’s song. 

Caught up in your own conversation, you seem to take no notice of him as your paths intersect. Perpendicular. Crossing once and then never crossing again. An inconsequential meeting. 

When that uncomfortable tingling returns, and his nose flares at the vague sillage that follows behind you in your wake, Kyle tells himself it’s nothing. Just a simple flare in his emotions as his body welcomes the new suppressants. 

It’s nothing—only the settling of something insatiable that has yet to show its teeth.

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | early access to chapters here

[sukiyurii]

she wants me

(sevika x fem!reader, afab reader, she/her pronouns for reader, praise, fingering, cunnilingus, softdom!sevika, sub!reader, bottom!reader, exhibitionism? not beta/proof read!) men, minors dni

your painfully annoying ex-boyfriend shows up to cause problems. sevika shows him exactly what he lost.

Your ex was persistent. Like… persistent– to the point of it being utterly overbearing. Your shabby apartment was no longer a safe place to stay at, as he would randomly show up at any and all odd hours he could find. Thus, one of your closest friends, Sevika, has offered you temporary relief in her own home.

Your friendship began almost three years ago when you began serving at The Last Drop, her attention was immediately drawn to how disgustingly nice you were. While she brushed off your kind words and attempts at friendship initially, she grew fond of you over time.

Presently, It’s been almost two months since you and your ex-boyfriend broke up. The man was absolutely obsessed with you. He was a manipulative, ugly, greedy little sump-rat who refused to leave you alone. While Sevika had no issues with putting him into the ground for his constant awful behavior, you and your tender heart continued to tell her off. 

In an attempt to pull you out of your own festering anxieties, Sevika drags you out to The Last Drop, trying to brighten your mood from the traumatic relationship. 

Now, you’re sitting next to her as she deals out the stack of playing cards to the men at the circular table. You’re dressed in some torn tights, small shorts, a cropped vest with a tattered t-shirt beneath it, accompanied by chunky boots. One leg is crossed over the other as you silently nurse your drink, peeking over at Sevika’s cards. You had never been someone who enjoys cards much, and playing against Sevika would’ve been a losing game anyway. 

There are never really any good nights in Zaun, there’s always the underlying anxiety of ‘maybe today is the day we all get raided and killed.’ So, tonight is going just about as well as it could, realistically. Sevika is winning (as per usual) and you feel slightly at peace, grateful for the fact that she had drawn you out of your blanket-filled cocoon inside of her house. 

Another deck is shuffled out, more shots are thrown back, and you finally feel a little less tense. Not drunk– it was never something you particularly enjoyed, but it was enough for you to drop your shoulders from your ears and slump back against the booth. 

“My little good luck charm, hm?” She mumbles, smirking at you as she rifles through the coins that were begrudgingly slid over to her. You roll your eyes playfully in retaliation, smiling softly and finishing off the last little bit of your drink.

She leans down to press her full lips to your neck, grinning as you gasp. She keeps her strong arm around you as she places a few more chaste kisses, finalizing her ministrations with a sharp nip to the edge of your jaw. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she murmurs, pressing another kiss to the top of your head.

You move your eyes from her, to the table, and then to the crowd, absorbing the scene of Zaun’s nightlife growing. In the group of bodies dancing and bustling you spot the very last thing you wanted to see: Your ex-boyfriend. Staring directly at you. 

“Sev,” you gasp quietly, which immediately snatches her attention. She looks at you first, then follows your gaze over to the crowd– immediately landing on him. Her face twists into a deep snarl as she catches his gaze.

She slams her cards down and abruptly stands up, “Everyone, out!” she growls. In return, several patrons immediately scurry out, and the rest sit in fear. “I said go, now!” she adds, which eventually forces the rest of them out. 

Quick minutes pass by and you’re left stuck in the bar with Sevika and your ex. “Sevika, can we please just leave,” you huff out, standing up next to her. 

“Sit your ass back down,” she hisses, pushing your shoulder gently. Rather than arguing with her as you normally would, you concede this time. You huff out annoyedly before plopping back down, knocking your boot against the base of the table.

She steps over you, placing a large hand on the back of your head as she does so— a fleeting, comforting touch. “Sev, seriously,” you repeat irritably, reaching for the tail of her cloak. She swats your hand away before silently moving forward, slowly treading towards the man in the center of the room. 

“What do you want?” She snaps, crossing her arms over her chest as she stops in front of him. She stands over him, forcing him to crane his head up if he wants a half decent look at her.

Puffing his chest out, he responds with a short, “I just wanna talk to her,” and nods towards you. Irritation flares in your chest at his words and Sevika scoffs bitterly. “She doesn’t wanna talk. You dense?” she mocks back, sending you a brief glance.

“I think we should just go,” you say, attempting to dismiss the situation before it gets out of hand. She raises a hand at you, a silent gesture to stop talking before you make her mood even worse. 

You quickly snap your jaw shut, huffing in defeat as she reverts her attention back to the fuming man less than fifteen from you. The very same man who nearly ruined your life for two, excruciatingly long years. You clench your jaw and train your gaze on the seemingly very interesting scotch glass in front of you.

You drum your nails against the table anxiously, overhearing a “fuck you, she’s a stupid sleazy whore anyway,” from the skrunkly-faced man. This causes her to seethe, and you barely register the movement before her metal claws are wrapped tightly around his throat.

“She’s a what?” She questions nastily, pulling him in. “She’s nothing but a piece of ass,” he tacks on, attempting to keep up the tough bravado he is rapidly losing. As her grip tightens, he attempts to stammer out an apology but all she does is shake her head and pout mockingly at him.

The words settle harshly in your chest, causing you to shift in the booth uncomfortably. 

She flings his body to the ground, stepping on his back to keep his body pressed into hard flooring. She crouches down unevenly and leans in next to his ear, “you’re better off keeping your mouth shut for the rest of the night.” She hisses, lifting her foot off of him.

And the poor, unbelievably stupid man opens his mouth again. “I’m surprised you still keep her around. She’s grown boring— dry.” He spits out venomously.

You snap your head over towards them, feeling the shame morph into a different form of anger. You watch Sevika narrow her eyes at him before she scoffs bitterly and raises her foot up again. This time, her foot meets his jaw, and you hear a crack, and the yelp he lets out.

She straightens herself back up and rolls out her neck and shoulders, smirking down at his tattered form. She turns back towards your startled and half-ass trembling form, and her face softens into something more tender. 

The man attempts to push himself back up, but she quickly turns around and swipes his hands from beneath him, causing him to crash back into the ground.

“Stay the fuck down.” She says, punctuating her sentence with another jab to his ribs. He shakes beneath her cruel eyes, giving her a sheepish nod.

You really shouldn’t feel the familiar heat pool between your legs while you watch her, but it’s so hard when she just looks so fucking good. All big muscles, broad shoulders, scarred and tanned skin. She’s like a walking goddess— one you would dutifully worship if given the chance to.

She walks back towards you and reaches over to grab the still half-full glass of hers on the table. She knocks it back quickly and clears her throat after, finally looking back down at you.

“You okay, baby?” She inquires sweetly, tilting your chin up with the side of her index finger. 

You nod in response, still shocked into silence as you watched the scene unfold.

“You don’t believe him, do you?” She asks you, stroking her thumb over the bridge of your nose, and then over your cheekbone. You look away shamefully, knowing that you shouldn’t, but you can’t help the guilty pit that forms in your stomach.

“Oh, pretty girl— you truly don’t see how wrong he is?” She asks, giving you a sympathetic look.

“No, I— it’s not that,” you attempt to stammer out, but it’s hard when she’s looking down at you, almost predatorily. 

She picks up on your growing arousal— the flushed skin and barely dampened hairline. “Would you stand up for me, sweet thing?” She requests, tugging on the collar of your shirt gently. 

You nod immediately and stand up at her request, wrapping your fingers around her fleshed forearm. She guides you out of the seat of the booth and stops you in front of her.

You can see him writhing in pain, occasionally groaning, but he is far too scared to attempt to actually get up. 

“You know, I do remember the little imbecile calling you boring and dry. But something is telling me that his claim is very wrong.” She states, dragging her thumb over your bottom lip as she licks over her own.

“I think that the sump-rat just doesn’t know how to take care of a girl properly,” she says, staring him down as she slides her fleshy hand from your jaw, down to the collar of your shirt again.

“It's such a shame too, y’know? He had such a beautiful little thing to cherish, touch… all of it. Couldn’t even manage to do that, huh?” She coos, trailing her metal claws up the back of your thigh, feeling it snag against your tights. 

You gasp as she purposefully drags her hand up, effectively tearing them. “Sevika—” you stutter, but you’re quickly cut off as her thick lips press against yours. 

“Mmpf—” you moan, eyes widening in shock. Once you adjust to the feeling, you close your eyes and  grip onto her biceps firmly, rolling your hips into hers.

She nips roughly at your bottom lip, skating her hand up to grab a handful of your ass as she walks the both of you backwards. You make a confused noise but follow her regardless, making sweet little noises against her hot mouth. 

You whimper as she turns you over and presses your chest onto the hardwood table, giving him a perfect view of both of you.

“What—” you make a confused sound, but the question is answered when her hands begin to work on the buckle of your studded belt. She leans forward and you feel as her breasts press into your back, “This okay?” She asks, stilling her hands on your hips as she waits for a response.

You nod eagerly, bracing yourself up on your forearms. “Yeah, I’m good,” you reply, taking a second to catch your breath. 

“Yeah, you feelin’ good?” she teases, pressing her lips to your neck roughly. She suckles harshly on your skin before nipping at it, sliding one of her hands beneath the waistband of your shorts. 

She teases her fingers over your clit teasingly, rubbing circles over the bundle of nerves. Your mouth drops open as you moan, grateful as you’re finally able to get some relief.

“Yeah, that’s it. Make those pretty little sounds for me,” she demands from over your shoulder, sinking her teeth into the side of your neck. The action forces you to cry out and grind yourself against her hand. 

Your attention is caught by your ex-boyfriend, still battered and bruised on the ground. He growls and spits out a protest as he watches the debauchery play out.

“Did he ever make you feel like this?” She asks, pulling her hand away from your clit so that she can shove your shorts down to your mid-thigh. 

“Answer me, baby,” she says lowly, giving you a light spank to your ass. “No, no, he didn’t,” you stammer out, gasping as you feel her metal claws dig into the meat of your ass.

“That’s right, isn’t it? But here you are, all soaked through your tights and panties.” She murmurs, moving both hands to the center of the sheen fabric. 

“I really hope you don’t like these,” she comments. And before you can protest— she tears the fabric apart, causing you to gasp and shiver simultaneously. 

Her fingers hook into the side of your panties as she yanks those down as well, rolling all of the fabric to your thighs. “Well aren’t you pretty,” she says, sliding her fingers through your folds again. You flush in embarrassment as she practically devours you with her eyes. 

“Oh, fuck— Sevika,” you whimper, clawing at the edge of the table. “This all for me?” She asks smugly, rubbing her fingers against your sensitive bud again. 

“Mhm– ahh,” you moan loudly, trying to gain more friction against her hand.

She slides a thick finger into you, grinning wolfishly as you release a wanton whine. She curls her fingers, slowly pushing them in and out of you. Her fingertips brush against the overly-sensitive and gummy walls inside of you. You nearly choke on your own voice as it feels like a live-wire is shooting through you.

“You had all of this ass and a sweet pussy to play with. But you wanted to act like a selfish, bigoted little rat and lose it all, didn’t you?” She mocks him, narrowing her eyes at him as her fingers work inside of you. 

It’s painful for him, honestly. To watch one of the most beautiful women to ever grace Zaun’s presence get laid out by her best friend over a table. It’s humiliating for him, but exhilarating for the both of you.

"Isn't she pretty?" She asks, gently raking her claws through your hair.

"Tell her she's pretty." She commands, sneering at him as he stutters.

"Yes, she's— she's pretty," he stutters, averting his gaze back to the floor.

You finally get your revenge, and she finally gets to do the things she has spent the past few years dreaming about. 

“Yeah, fuck yourself on my fingers, c’mon, doll," she mumbles, sliding a second finger into you. Her mechanical hand presses into your lower back as she presses her fingers into you faster– harder. 

You moan and writhe against the table, doing exactly as she says. The wet sounds coming from between your soft thighs are unfamiliar, something you have so rarely experienced. (Much less from anyone else.)

“F-Fuck, fuck, Sevika,” you cry out, throwing your ass back against her large hand. She licks over her bottom lip as she watches you hungrily. She kicks your legs apart, pushing her fingers further inside of you. 

“She ever sound like this for you?” She sneers at him, chuckling darkly at the scowl that etches onto his face.

She pulls her fingers out of you and murmurs soft apologies at your incessant whining. “One second, sweet girl,” she says, slowly lowering herself onto her knees. 

She kisses along your ass cheeks and the backs of your thighs on her way down, wrapping her hands around the fronts of your thighs. She pulls you back onto her warm, eager mouth and moans once she gets her tongue on you. 

She laps at you feverishly, digging her nails into your thighs as she holds you against her firmly. With your back arched and cheeked smushed against the table, you become the spitting image of arousal and lust.

She wraps her thick lips around your clit and sucks harshly, determined to bring you over the edge with her mouth. 

Her moans vibrate against you and heighten the already intense pleasure. “Mmf— I’m gonna, ha,” you gasp. You feel her nod against you, a silent encouragement. 

You nearly scream out in pleasure as your vision blanks out and a white heat surges from between your legs, and up your body. Quiet sobs wrack through you as the orgasm washes over you, wave after wave, and your thighs begin to tremble. 

You reach back with a weak hand to push her away from you, continuing to suck in shaky breaths.

“‘Vika, please,” you beg, and she finally lets up. She presses a final sloppy kiss to your pussy and then back up your thighs.

She wraps an arm around your front and hauls you back, holding you against her. With you almost all the way up, she tilts your head towards her with her tanned hand and presses a wet kiss to your mouth. 

Her metal arm holds you up as she gently pries your mouth open with her tongue, shoving your slick into your mouth. You moan at the taste and the feeling, reaching back to tangle your fingers through her hair. 

She pulls away and looks back at him, “I hope you learned something from this. Now get the fuck out,” she snaps meanly, keeping your face in place. 

The trembling man scrambles up and ushers out of the bar, leaving the two of you in a long-awaited peace.

“You feeling alright?” she asks, gently thumbing over one of your nipples. You nod tiredly, “yeah, ‘m okay,” you mumble, biting your bottom lip softly. 

“Good, because you’re not sleeping tonight,” she replies, pressing another firm kiss to your lips.

tag list: @gracie-gloom @aurora-basin @abby-anderson-wifey @arcanestanmelvika @demonslayerfansstuff @mingitheii @helaenabugmom @wh1msyk1tten @happysmappy @lavender248 @clownesquekitten @iwillpokeyouwithmyknife @sevikas-whore @sevikasrightboob @therapyneeds @angelcorner @ghutzz4gutz @theflyingforklift @megamultifandomtrashposts @willow-nox @ugly-melon @goblin-creatcher @sevikas-baby @littlerebels @athena-winters13 @danityrell @heavenlyraindrops @eclipcee8 @depressedqueersocialists @thehotsweetie @trainboom @sapphicslearninglair @femininefables @sophhic

[weirdheadcanons]

The thing is…the whole Bruce cutting Jason's throat thing?

In canon Under the Red Hood, the infamous Jason Bruce confrontation happens right after Bludhaven gets nuked.

And Dick has rushed off to Bludhaven, and is practically killing himself via exposure to radiation - he is trying to rescue people, or so he says, but it's obvious no one is left to rescue and Dick is either straight up delusional or literally trying to kill himself.

After dealing with Jason and the Joker Bruce rushes off to Bludhaven to find Dick - at that point Dick is almost dead from exhaustion, injuries and radiation exposure.

While Jason and Bruce are confronting each other, at that point they just know Bludhaven has been nuked - they don't know what happened to Dick.

They do know, if he was there during the explosion, he is dead.

And Red Hood Jason straight up mocks Bruce about losing another son and continues on with his mind game with the Joker.

The thing is… if this happens in an AU (the kind of AUs I really want to substitute for canon) where Jason is at least half way decent and cares at least a bit about his brother…

I'm imagining Red Hood and Batman having geared up for the fight… Then, just as they are about to begin in earnest, they hear about Bludhaven.

Jason: Um. G..Goldie wasn't there, right?

Bruce:… I don't know.

Jason: What the hell you mean you don't know?!?

Bruce: (about to have another breakdown) Oh God, a nuke, if he… I..

Jason (having forgotten in his panic that he's gotten Joker tied up): What you waiting for, let's go!

Both leap into the Batmobile and drive away, leaving Joker still tied up.

Cue hurt/comfort scene at Bludhaven, Dick convinced Jason is a hallucination… Everyone ending up in the Batcave. Everyone kinda forgetting about Joker in the panic.

Later someone - probably Tim - remembers the Joker, and they go to check on him. Jason and Bruce still arguing, but not quite at fighting level.

And find some of the folk in Crime Alley, finding the bastard who has made their lives hell in one way or other tied up and helpless, have decided to enact some justice of their own.

Joker, when they catch up, is very very dead.

Bruce and Jason looking at each other. Tim rolling his eyes in the background.

Jason:… that's one way of settling that issue.

Bruce: You did agree most of the Rogues - except Joker - may be redeemable…

Tim: Great, now can we all go home? I want a rematch.

[n30n-l1ghts]

Tokyo revengers basic NSFW headcannons pt. 1

characters- Mikey, Draken, Mitsuya, Baji, Kazutora, Chifuyu, Hakkai, Nahoya, Souya, Hanma, Kisaki

Read the second part here

Proofread by my lovely partner @nxll-n4m3

Mikey-

Packing a respectable 5.8 inches, with a light pink tip and a couple of small bluish purple vains that aren't really noticeable unless he's painfully hard, he doesn't really curve to one side or the other, but he has a subtle upward curve. He doesn't strike me as the type who tries too hard with grooming, but he at least tries every now and again. But the hairs down there are the same pretty strawberry blonde as his hair, pretty thin and a little wispy with a slight curl towards the end.

Draken-

PUH-LEASE. This boy is fucking HUNG and he knows how to use it too. Curves hard left as well. He doesn't have the most experience as I can't imagine him sleeping around much, but he's heard the girls at the brothel complain enough that he generally knows what to do and what not to do. 7.9 inches holy GAWD. I think he stays pretty on top of grooming, manscapes at least once every other week. Also blonde, but I think he's got more curls than Mikey. Definitely a lot thicker. Also, completely random, but I feel like he'd totally fuck with coconut body wash and shampoo.

Mitsuya-

Another man who's got a rather mid-sized length, I'd say probably like 5.4. The prettiest pinkish lavender tip, and oh my god I mean it when I say this man's cock is beautiful. It deserves to be worshipped. Not all that big, BUT he makes up for it by knowing all the sweet spots. Not to mention he's the KING of foreplay and aftercare. He for sure stays on top of his grooming game, he can't stand feeling like he looks sloppy. He's got a pretty tuft of curly white hair right at the base of his dick, very well maintained and usually actually smells pretty good. Again, this man is on top of his hiegene and he wants all of him to smell good and look good at all times. (Not that he could ever look bad)

Baji-

I'd guess about 6.3 in size for him, and his tip is red and angry like his face (I'm joking. Mostly, but he does get painfully hard very quickly) there's a thick ass pinkish vein that runs from base to tip, and he will full body shiver if you lick the whole thing. I'm sorry, but I cannot for the life of me imagine that this man gives a singular fuck about grooming down under. He might trim a little or shave on occasion, but that's only if it gets annoying. However, his hair is effortlessly shiny and beautiful no matter where it is on his body. I have no idea how he does it. But, if it bugs you, he would (begrudgingly) start manscaping more often.

Kazutora-

LITTLE DICK SUPREMACY

Okay- little known fact, but I kind of have a thing for subby guys with little dicks, that and I want to give some variety so I'm not making them all unrealistically huge. So I'm gonna say this man sits at about 4.2. Not rediculously small, but definitely not big either. But it's okay, because he'd much rather be under you anyways. Slightly unrelated but this boy has trust issues so please be kind to him, hold his hand and tell him how good he's being, he will absolutely start crying. Never really even thought about his hair down there, never paid any mind to it, and probably wouldn't unless you brought it up. But I see him being super understanding and chill with it if you want him to groom more often.

Chifuyu-

Another one on the slightly smaller side, probably only around 4.5 to 4.6 with a sort of muted pink tip. He's actually kind of self conscious about it, so he's a bit sensitive if you make fun of him for it, but he'll fold instantly if you praise him in any way, shape, or form. I feel like he's the type to get all embarrassed and blushy super easily despite trying to play it cool. Would not admit he's a bottom out loud but everyone can pretty much tell anyways. Honestly pretty clean, I feel like pubes might bug him. He might try to keep a small tuft down there just because he feels it's more masculine, but I'd reckon he'd prefer it clean shaven. Less of a hassle and it doesn't get on his nerves that way.

Hakkai-

Oh, this poor sweet boy. So much dick that he has no idea how to use 🥺 I can't imagine him topping for the life of me, so it's almost adorable how his monstrous 8.3 inches just hangs there uselessly hanging as he gets pounded into his next life, squealing like a little bitch, whimpering and whining and pleading and- *AHEM* anyways. I imagine he's pretty alright with grooming, mostly because he super looks up to Mitsuya, who had told him at some point or another that it was important to look clean everywhere. But I don't think he's quite that good at manscaping though to his credit, he does at least try. He's got a decent sized tuft of thick, curly black hair that he trims maybe once a month or so when he remembers. But he'd get better about it in a heartbeat if you asked him to and gave him some basic block of instruction. Smells like vanilla though, so there's that.

Nahoya-

Nahoya's got a relatively solid 6.2, with a slight curve to the left and a pale tip. I feel like he'd probably be more experienced with it than his brother, even though his twin is a little bigger. He just strikes me as much more of the playboy type. (Probably gets hard after a good fight, I don't make the rules) super duper curly hair down there, ginger just like the hair on his head. Probably keeps it moderately well groomed. Enough to be presentable for the ladies (and the lads-)

Souya-

Similar to his brother (no shit they're identical twins) but with slight differences. For starters, he's ever so slightly bigger, measuring up to about 6.6, and he curves pretty hard right instead of slight left. He's not too experienced, but he strikes me as a rather quick learner. He doesn't normally care to groom all that much, but after getting into a relationship, especially if you guys are sexually active, he will actually start to manscape on occasion. Also super duper curly hair, but it's light blue instead of ginger, again matching his hair.

Hanma-

(Definitely gets INSTANTLY rock hard after a good fight, I don't make the rules) 7.9, same as Draken, difference is that Hanma has less girth. A tall, skinny dick for a tall, skinny boy. But he knows how to break you and he will go hard when he's domming. Or alternatively, when he's in the mood to sub, he gets a little bratty (just give his cock a rough squeeze and he'll shut right up) dark brown almost black hair, thick and curly. Contrary to popular belief I feel like he would put at least some effort into grooming, though he does forget sometimes.

Kisaki-

Oh, this boy. Solid middle of the road (just like his height- jk this boy short asf) but I think he'd have maybe around a 5.3 or 5.4 length wise. Pretty average around too, not particularly skinny but not particularly girthy either. Would absolutely fight you for dominance every time, and lose every time. This boy would rather die than ever admit he's a bottom, and he's 100% a brat until you edge him to the point he's sobbing. DEFINITELY clean. Well kept, grooms just about every day to every other day, and I feel like there's a fifty fifty chance he also dyes his pubes blonde. I can see him doing that. But this man hates being dirty at all. And tell me why I feel like his hipster ass smells like pumpkin spice all year round? All in all, a well kept, bratty little bitch.

[krakenandsnackin]

Meet the Team: PWHL Seattle Mini-Primer

Hello! I am mostly a lurker and reblogger here but I am a Kraken fan and a newly minted PWHL Seattle fan. I have been paying peripheral attention to the PWHL (takeover tour game was LIT), but now that we are getting our own team I wanted to start digging my teeth in. Posting here to help build the community, but I am brand new to this so please let me know what I missed so I can refine the mini-primer as we go!

The vibes I am getting of this team so far…

Stacked as hell

Everyone watches women's sports

We love lesbians

Thanks especially to krackencord friends for the help getting started!!

Meet the first five...

Hilary Knight #21 aka Knighter

One of the best hockey players of all time 🐐 and Captain America 🇺🇸.

She was captain of the Boston Fleet.

“Signing Hilary Knight was an absolute no-brainer - she’s the heartbeat of any team she joins" Said PWHL Seattle General Manager Megan Turner.

She is a self proclaimed Kraken enjoyer and loves the city of Seattle, joined Alison Lukan & Linda Cohn during a Kraken broadcast this season.

She kinda grew up/has family in Sun Valley Idaho so about as local as you can get for this area of the US.

True champion of women’s hockey. Has been on the frontlines for years causing trouble and forcing the issue of adequate facilities, travel, staff and pay. Uses her superstar status to make change, has been a part of the players union leadership since day one.

Dating another Olympian - US Speedskater Brittany Bowe (can you say power couple?)

She's 35 but not slowing down yet! Tied for PWHL points leader last season and second in goals. I cant list all her other accomplishments and awards because it would take forever.

Forward, from Palo Alto, California (Also grew up in Illinois and New Hampshire) signed to a 1 year deal.

Danielle Serdachny #92 aka Dax

Second overall pick in the draft last year but played bottom minutes last season (Seattle hockey loves a fresh start).

Seattle GM Megan Turner said: "She’s strong, plays through contact, and she’s only beginning to tap into her full potential"

Regarding her first season in the PWHL: "I didn't have as much of an impact as I hoped I would in my rookie year but I think this fresh start will be really good for me, the opportunity to play." under a new staff and new teammates... I hope I can turn some heads this year." (can't escape the narrative)

Scored the OT game winner to secure Team Canada the gold at women's worlds last year.

All time leading scorer at Colgate University.

Came from the Walter Cup runners up - the Ottawa Charge.

Forward from Edmonton, Alberta signed to a 2 year deal.

UPDATE: Seattle Kraken Assistant Coach/Icon Jess Campbell coached Serdachny in 2018/19 to a championship in the CSSHL (high school hockey?) and is excited to see her come to Seattle!!!

Cayla Barnes #3

LITERALLY ONE APPLE TALL (5'2")

Also coming off her rookie season, was drafted 5th overall by Montreal.

Cali gal who got her start playing roller hockey.

Has a chocolate lab named Hulk.

Another noted queer and dating a goalie!

She led the Victoire in time on ice last season.

Already a two time Olympic Medalist at 26.

Longer term deal, she's gonna be part of the core of the team.

GM Megan Turner "Even as a rookie last season, she played with the poise and presence of a veteran, and we see her playing a key role on our blue line."

Dynamic puck mover.

Defender from Eastvale (Corona), California signed to a 3 year deal.

Alex Carpenter #25 aka Carpy

The PWHL's all-time third leading scorer.

Her being left unprotected by NY was likely the biggest surprise of the protection lists, she also wore an A for them.

GMMT (is this anything?) says: “She’s an elite two-way player who has proven to be one of the best in the world for years, and she has the ability to take over a game at both ends of the ice. She’s hungry to win and brings the kind of drive that sets the tone for a team."

Patty Kazmaier Award Winner

Was on the US national team as a 19 year old for the 2014 Olympics, inexplicably got cut in 2018, then won her spot back in 2022.

Is also queer! Wife is an assistant equipment manager for the Toronto Marlies.

Plays Mario Kart as Mario…?

Eldest daughter!!!! to Bobby Carpenter who played in the NHL for 18 seasons and won 1 Stanley Cup as a player and 2 as a coach with the Devils.

She participated in the 2023 NHL All-Star skills competition.

Forward from North Reading, Massachusetts signed to a 1 year contract.

Corinne Schroeder #30 aka Schroeds

Shutout QUEEN! Recorded the first-ever shutout in the first-ever PWHL game and led the league with 4 shutouts with NY last season. The league record is 5 which she also holds…

Fan made sign and goalie chant enjoyer.

Grew up on an egg farm and has a cute Manitoba? accent

Sickest pads in the PWHL.

 GMMT says “She brings poise, confidence, and the kind of elite goaltending every team needs to win, and we can’t wait to see her between the pipes for us.”

Goalie from Elm Creek, Manitoba signed to a 2 year contract.

Sidenote about her hometown…Population of 339. Claim to fame? Home to the second largest fire hydrant in Canada, and Corinne Schroeder. No literally she is the ONLY NOTABLE PERSON ON THEIR WIKIPEDIA PAGE!

Additional sidenote, comment section consensus among NY Sirens fans is that we got their two best players ( sorry u guys okay over there?)

Media to endear you

This Comment ⬆️ ⬆️ ⬆️

Goodbye videos for Knight, Schroeder, Barnes (second slide), Serdachny and Carpenter. These let us get to know them a little better and some sick highlights.

The past and future GOATS of Seattle women's sports (with special guests retired from the Storm and Reign 👀👀)

First ever jersey video (with Knight and Serdachny!)

Hilary Knight interview on an old Sound of Hockey interview ep. 71 where she talks about her connection to the PNW. (I CANNOT FIND THIS ANYWHERE PLEASE HELP)

Bonus big n' lil

Already obsessed with the narratives. See y'all after the expansion draft on Monday!!

[rivereverie]

Astarion and Vanity

Spoilers for all of Astarion’s story through all acts of BG3. As always, this is just my interpretation and thoughts on the character from what I know, so feel free to disagree.

I feel that Astarion’s expression of vanity is a part of him that gets misread a lot. It’s something that is pointed to as one of his negative traits as though this vanity of his is sincere. Personally, I think his outward obsession with his own looks and charm is anything but shallow, and is yet another example of how his life experience and trauma has shaped him. 

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder (ha), and for the sake of this mild analysis, I’m going to be defining beauty as conventional physical attractiveness. The main point is that Astarion in-game is treated as being very attractive, so that’s how I will treat him in this conversation. Beauty can be a form of power; one Astarion was very clearly blessed with. While all the main companions in the game are designed to be rather attractive, for Astarion, this goes beyond simply wanting to appeal to the player and is not incidental. In my opinion, Astarion’s looks are crucial to his character. 

To briefly summarize what we all know about Astarion, he was thoroughly and systematically stripped of his autonomy and identity by Cazador. He was forced to adopt an incredibly narrow worldview of essentially: power = freedom = safety (simplified, of course). Throughout the game, he makes choices that slowly shape and are shaped by the man he’s becoming. By the end of the spawn route, he’s still only just beginning to really discover himself. This all is crucial to the heart of his character and influences all his actions. 

Given his hollow sense of identity, Astarion clings to certain traits which he parades around, making sure everyone knows these things about him. The most prominent of those traits being hedonism, sadism, selfishness, and vanity. In this post, I’m going to be focusing on the last item, though I do have a post on learned cruelty that delves into the trait of sadism in the context of his identity. The pattern here is that these traits are masks that serve to make him feel in-control of both himself and those around him. 

While Astarion may seem terribly vain, his appearance to others is actually a very deep-seated, sensitive issue that genuinely affects him. The infamous mirror scene may come across to some as him being shallow, at first, but really he’s right in what he said; his reflection is just one more thing that was taken from him, and it’s completely fair that he is angry and grieves. But this is also significant to him beyond the fact of its injustice, or the symbolism of reflection as identity. Let’s dive a little into his psyche, and guess at how he sees himself and the world: He’s spent the past 200 years being valued exclusively for his ability to bring back prey for Cazador and perform sexually. This equates to his charm and his body. After two centuries of being degraded and stripped of everything, and only ever getting any kind of positive reinforcement, praise, or acknowledgement for your looks and seductiveness, of course he’d begin unconsciously tying his sense of self-worth to his appearance. By Cazador, he was turned into a tool and a toy. By his targets, he was objectified. Dehumanized from both sides in different ways, and again, only valued for his body and whatever sweet words he could spin. This leaves him with his self-worth very profoundly tied to his appearance to others, as I said.

I imagine he had two main types of targets when under Cazador’s thrall: starry-eyed, naive folks who were swept off their feet, and more predatory characters who took advantage of an easy offer. The former were probably the only source of genuine positive attention he ever got for those 200 years, even if it was shallow. Since he cannot find self-affirmation by looking into a mirror, he finds new mirrors in the eyes of those who look upon him. His beauty is reflected in their hunger, their lust, their admiration, their bashfulness, their envy. Is it any wonder that now he flaunts himself, always making comments about how good he looks? If he doesn’t get an affirmative response, then at least it's his way of reassuring himself. Telling himself that he’s still valuable in the only way he knows how to assess his value. “I don’t need a reflection to know this looks fabulous”, he tells himself. This is why he makes so many seemingly vain comments. Why he’s so concerned with being done-up and looking good. Why he has spent so much time mending his clothes so he looks every bit the part of the dashing elven rogue. 

Speaking of his clothes, this is another way he’s clinging to his autonomy and identity even through all his years of torment. His clothes were probably one of the only things he was ever allowed to have. When you have so little, of course you’ll care for it, hence why the flavor text  for both his shirt and armor mention how his clothes are worn, but have been repaired many times by a careful hand. During those years under Cazador, it probably brought him a small sense of control to be able to mend and embroider his own clothes; the only things which he felt belonged to him, more so than his own body. Something familiar that gave him a sense of security and self. (This is why I adore the idea of him becoming a tailor after the story, because it's giving him a healthy outlet of personal expression and creating something that's entirely his own. Hobbies can be crucial to cultivating one's identity and self-esteem, and we all want that for him). Not to mention that Cazador probably would not have taken kindly to his spawn not looking their best, and that's probably a "rule" Astarion carried with him even into freedom.

I think the mirror scene is a lot more than him just seeking validation and showing us a glimpse into this part of his mind, though. It’s also about him genuinely trying to evaluate how the player character sees him, and shows how he’s trying to figure out his new identity in freedom, but that’s its own discussion for another time. I just think that it’s unfair for people to call him vain or shallow for caring about his reflection and appearance so much, when that’s all he was ever taught to value in himself.

 The only other significant way we see Astarion valuing himself is through his skills as a rogue, with his constant cocky comments about how easy it is for him. While this too is a form of external validation born of valuing himself for what he can do rather than what he is, it’s still a positive thing for him. The game doesn’t really address all this, but in my mind, him getting to make use of his skills and be valued as a part of a group that needs him is probably really good for his self-esteem at this point in his life. 

All of this to say, I don’t think it’s fair to cast judgement on him for being “vain”, given everything we know about him. There is a big difference between him and someone who genuinely sees the world through a shallow and judgmental lens. For him, his mask of vanity is a symptom of his pain and twisted worldview rather than something rotten born of privilege and a superiority complex. His self-aggrandizement is a necessary part of the narrative he’s building for himself: the vampire spawn who would ascend. Again, desperate to convince himself and those around him that he both wants and deserves this, even as his crooked worldview is being chipped away by genuine kindness and connection. This understanding of his mind shows why it’s so important to him that we see and love him for who he actually is, not just his charm and beauty. His heart is beautiful in an entirely different way that outshines his physical features, even if he himself doesn't see it. The hope is that, with his friends and perhaps partner at his side, he’ll learn to value himself for his own heart and soul; for the person he’s becoming as he gathers up the pieces of his identity. To see the light he holds within him that endured those centuries of darkness. Until the mirrors stop mattering.

[open-sketchbook]

i'm super high so forgive the rambling but

as somebody who grew up catholic and read the bible a bunch because it was words in a book and that's what i did in school, a thing thats fucking insane about christianity is how, like, the foundational text of christianity and christanity-the-institution are basically completely the opposite of one another

original observation i know but this isn't me like, doing a new thing, its reeling over an old well-worn thing because its just so insane

like fundamentally the pitch of christianity, as presented in stories about jesus, is "god made himself into a guy, but not just a guy, a poor working man in roman-occupied judea. this guy went around telling everyone how god is on the side of the poor, the oppressed, and the downtrodden, and against the rich, the occupier, and the authority. to be kind to each other, help each other, even the ones you're supposed to hate, and take solace in the face the day is coming when those in power get what's coming to them."

but then the romans decided christianity was theirs now, and i dont think we like... understand how fucking weird that is. its like if the president of the united states one day got up and declared that actually, its Soviet America now. nothing is changing materially, capital still rules america, but the flags are all red and there's hammers and sickles on everything and people call each other comrade

because that's exactly what it is, right? none of the stuff in the jesus parts of the bible are really, like, conducive to the state religion of a giant conquering slave empire, especially not the part where the romans killed the dude. so like, basically every single thing about christainity is this bizarre smoke and mirrors game with theological wordplay to get around that. the institutions of the church exist to undermine the core stuff that's written in their foundational document through a game of theological telephone.

and again like, i keep coming back to the soviet america example idea thing. because that's exactly what it is, right? imagine its like, a thousand years from now, and in some liberal government culturally descendent from the united states you got an election and the two candidates get up and cite the parts of Capital where Karl Marx is like "alright i'll hand it to the capitalists they sure built a lot of machine tools" to show their devotion to communism, which of course teaches that capitalists should own the means of production

its exactly that! they literally took a religion built around a dude who really fucking hated the roman occupation and talked endlessly about giving to others and sharing with others and helping those unlike yourself and made it into the religion of rome, of taking and keeping and hurting those unlike yourself.

its so fucking wild man (again; i am so goddamn high. to be clear, this isn't a defense of christianity or of issues with jesus as portrayed, like im not saying that actually we should be Original Jesusers, i fully agree that christanity has antisemetism at its core, its more just musing on how wild it is this happened)

[nemisuki]

𐔌 ✧.* ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ || When stumbling across his crying classmate during field day, he knows how to cheer her up!

᧔o᧓ || izuku midoriya x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, minor angst, preschool au, kid izuku and reader, inko mentioned, green flag midoriya family, wholesome oneshot, read to cure ur depressive family issues, 757 word count

"Y/N? Why are you crying?!"

The green haired toddler anxiously looks at his classmate with concern – his gaze zeroing in on the stray tears dripping down her cheeks – as she continues to cry nonstop.

When she doesn't respond, Izuku's mind scrambles to find a way to calm y/n down.

That's when an idea popped into his head.

His small hand gently pats her head, combing her locks of hair in hopes to soothe her heightened emotions – which seems to work as her hiccups lessened – her teary gaze meeting his, puffy eyes and all.

"W-what are... you doing 'zuku?"

The boy shyly smiles, continuing to calm her nerves.

"My mommy does this when I'm sad and it works! so maybe i can help you too."

She reluctantly leans into his touch, seeking much needed comfort as he starts humming a soft lullaby – a song his mother often sang to him whenever he was upset – making y/n's sniffles fade out until there were no tears left.

The sound of cheering parents and kids surround the duo as they sit on the plush grass of the rented out park. All their other classmates roam around to indulge in the festivities surrounding field day.

An event held once a year for the students to have fun – such as relay races, funny competitions and earning class prizes – majority of the children, accompanied by parents to let loose.

But some kids just aren't so lucky.

"my mommy and daddy didn't come..."

Izuku's eyes widened at her words, it's obvious now why she was sitting on the sidelines instead of participating – the look of longing in her eyes as she stared at the other families – everyone else having fun instead of her.

She didn't have anyone to play with.

A look of determination suddenly moved him to take her hand – much to her surprise – helping her up and leading them both towards someone who could help.

"Izu where are we going?!"

Y/N could only follow reluctantly as they approached a woman, the little girl's pupils dilating as she saw the striking resemblance – emerald green hair and eyes – a kind expression on her face.

The boy gently lets go of y/n – with a flushed face as he realizes how bold he just was – giving the girl a small panicked apology, before tapping his moms leg.

She turns and looks down – her face softening immediately at izuku – before curiously meeting y/n's gaze.

Unsure of how to act, the girl shyly hides behind the boy, poking her head out to give the woman a small bow.

The sight has Inko absolutely star struck.

"I-Izuku?! Who is this?! Don't tell me she's your g-g-girlfriend?!"

Seeing his mom nearly foam at the mouth from her insane assumptions made Izuku blush bright red, dismissively waving his hands around as they both panicked for different reasons.

Oh that's his mom alright.

"Ah my baby is growing up so fast!"

"Mom?! y/n isn't my g-girlfriend!"

Inko looks back and forth between the little duo before her gaze falls onto y/n's puffy eyes, immediately forgetting everything else and instinctively going into momma bear mode.

"Oh- what happened honey?!"

Seeing y/n hesitant to talk, he speaks on her behalf with a hopeful expression.

"y/n's parents couldn't make it so... can she play with us? please mom?"

The woman's eyes widened, looking at the timid girl with sympathy and understanding, a gentle smile on her face.

One that has y/n looking in awe.

"Why of course she can! Now which game would you like to play, hm?"

Inko crouches down in front of them – the welcoming look in her eyes making the girl less tense – though she still looks at izuku for reassurance.

"Is it... really okay Izu?"

He smiles brightly, nodding and giving her another head pat – while his mom secretly squeals at the cuteness overload – replying enthusiastically.

"Mhm! We can share my mommy!"

And for the first time today, y/n practically beams with joy – already going back to her usual self – as the trio walks around, winning toys left and right.

The shine in her eyes returned because of one boy's act of kindness.

Although, little y/n was oblivious to the heart attack she nearly caused him – a very midoriya family reaction – when she gave him a tight hug after he won her a teddy bear.

His mom giggled to herself as she snapped a picture.

A photograph that will remain on his bedside table for many years to come.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

ᴀ/ɴ ||| very simple deku fic but i wrote this bc i love inko so much, one of the best anime moms in general! wished we got more scenes of those two, bby deku has my heart *sobs* ɴᴇxᴛ ꜰɪᴄ ||| knight bakugo x princess f!reader (fluff) ᴛᴀɢꜱ ||| @leleyro

[simtleman]

BARBARA O'BABS hair salon & laundromat (Download Tray Files & CC)

Hello friends, long time no see! I'm about to move to Ireland within three weeks and to say I've been busy would be quite an understatement. However, I can always find myself some time to play The Sims 4 (especially when a new EP comes out) and I just HAD to try this new Businesses & Hobbies one, how are you guys enjoying it so far?

I created this beautiful mess of a woman named Barbara Salomon who smokes like a chimney and I'm absolutely OBSESSED with how stunning she looks:

Anyway, I decided she was gonna be a hairdresser and created a 1950s inspired hair salon & laundromant (because hey, why shouldn't those two mingle? lol) for her to thrive as a businesswoman. And so today, I bring you this charming little lot I've spent way too much time on for you to enjoy as well! Here are some screenshots:

Front:

Back:

Hair salon:

Laundromat:

Upstairs apartment:

Before you go ahead and download it into your game, a few IMPORTANT disclaimers:

The lot is a 20x15. I built it on the Old Torget House lot from the new world of Nordhaven.

I used items from several expansions and packs (sorry I couldn't list them below, I played offline while building it and taking the screenshots), so if you don't own them those items might be replaced with others.

This lot is set as Residential.

Like all my builds, this is a heavily CC based lot. If you don't have a powerful PC, it might get laggy while trying to play with it.

Regarding the CC, I do not own nor take credit from any item included within this lot. All credit goes to their amazing creators.

The .ZIP file (2.21 GB) includes two folders: one for the Tray Files and another one with all the CC. I'm 100% sure all the CC I used is already public for everyone; if it's not, it's been definitely longer than three weeks since it has all been in my game and you (the CC creator) shouldn't be putting content behind permanent paywalls to begin with ;)

I did use bb.moveobjects on while building and have playtested it, so it should be fully functional. Let me know if otherwise.

That's all for me! This is only the third piece of content I share for others to download, so if you run into any kind of issues do not hesitate to let me know and I'll try to help best I can :)

If you do like it, please make sure to like this post (heck, maybe even comment on it if you feel like it!) and please, please, PLEASE do tag me on your screenshots if you share them here on Tumblr. I'd love to see what you guys make with it!

Download: Mega

Enjoy ♡

[nocturnebite]

Clickbait [+..••]

(is this real) - gamer! Ni-ki x fem! reader

synopsis: He wasn’t supposed to swipe back. But now you’re trading late-night calls with a too-perfect gamer, and it feels real—until his past comes crashing in. Was he genuine… or just another kind of clickbait? fic notes: dating apps... ew || banter || mild trust issues || fluff :3 wc: 4.87k

ash's notes: this idea has been in my head for so long and i really wanted to write it and now i'm finally done! i've got so many drafts i need to post it's unreal. but i hope you enjoy this little story :3 !!

“Okay, spill. How was it?”

You blink at your friend, the flickering glow of the café’s fairy lights reflecting in her eyes as she leans forward, resting her chin on her palm like she’s about to hear the juiciest gossip of the year. The table between you smells of burnt caramel and overpriced matcha, and you’ve barely touched your drink. You draw a slow breath, the kind that tastes like disappointment, and offer a flat smile.

“Just more clickbait,” you say.

Your friend groans like it physically hurts her. “No way.”

You nod, slouching in your chair as if gravity itself has finally gotten too heavy to resist. “He said he was six feet. He was five-seven, max. His pictures were from, like, 2018. And he talked about crypto for an hour straight. I didn’t even know people still did that.”

She winces. “Oof.”

You sigh again, softer this time, letting the frustration settle in your chest. “I’m so tired of people pretending to be someone they’re not. I get it—it’s a dating app. Everyone's performing. But why does it feel like I’m the only one actually showing up as me?”

Your friend plays with her straw, thoughtful. “So... you’re giving up?”

You shrug. “I think I’ve officially retired. I’ll knit. Adopt a cat. Maybe start writing angry Yelp reviews.”

“Oh, come on.” She bumps your arm. “You can’t just quit. I had a good date last week, remember? It’s not all trash.”

“Yeah, and I’m thrilled for you,” you say honestly. “But you’re, like, the one-in-a-million success story they use in the ads. I’m the cautionary tale.”

“Stop it,” she says, dragging out the last word like a scolding mom. “You’re gorgeous, funny, smart. You deserve something good.”

You smile, a bit tired around the edges, and tilt your head. “Tell that to the last guy who said ‘no thoughts, just vibes’ on his profile.”

She groans and grabs your phone from the table. “Let’s just look, okay? You don’t have to marry anyone tonight.”

You eye her skeptically. “You’re relentless.”

“And you’re tragic. Come on.”

You sigh but relent, taking the phone back. The app lights up like a slot machine as you open it. Familiar profiles slide past your thumb: shirtless mirror selfies, vague bios with gym stats, a suspicious number of “entrepreneurs.”

Some match with you. You don’t swipe back. Some are clearly bots, or worse—people who look like they borrowed someone else’s face.

And then you see him.

Your thumb freezes.

Tall. Jet-black hair, slightly tousled like he just got up from a gaming chair but still looks model-ready. Hooded eyes. Full lips. That smirk—cocky, unreadable, like he knows something you don’t.

“Holy—” your friend leans over the screen. “Swipe. Now.”

“No,” you say immediately, locking the phone like it just burned you. “Absolutely not. He’s definitely fake.”

“Are you kidding me? That man looks like a Greek god and you’re not even curious?”

“He looks like trouble,” you mutter. “He’s hot. He knows it. Probably a Twitch streamer with a Discord full of girls who call him ‘daddy.’ I’m not signing up for that.”

Your friend laughs so hard she nearly spills her drink. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you insist, though your heart is pounding for reasons you can’t explain. “It’s written all over his face.”

“But what if it’s not? What if—plot twist—he’s the one that breaks the pattern?”

You hesitate.

“Just swipe,” she pleads. “Worst case, you don’t match and never see him again. Best case…”

You shake your head, but you can already feel yourself giving in. Still, before you can decide, your friend snatches the phone and swipes right with a dramatic flourish.

You gape at her. “Did you just—?!”

“No match,” she says, showing you the screen. “Happy?”

You exhale, weirdly deflated. “Honestly? Yeah. I mean, he’s probably got a million people trying to match with him.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it just wasn’t your moment.”

You nod, lips pressed together as you slide your phone into your bag. “Well, I’m done for the night. I’m going home, washing my face, and watching something stupid.”

She stands with you, grinning. “Good. You deserve to turn your brain off. But hey…” she pauses, her smile softening. “Don’t give up completely, okay? I’ve got a good feeling.”

You roll your eyes but give her a hug goodbye.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

That night, you toss your keys onto your desk, the screen of your phone lighting up just as you’re about to plug it in.

1 New Message - [Tinder]

You frown, opening it automatically, expecting another “hey cutie” from someone who can’t spell your name right.

But the screen shows something else entirely.

You matched with Riki.

Your heart stops.

Your hands go cold.

You blink at the message, then again—just to make sure your eyes aren’t playing tricks.

The same face. The same smirk. The guy who was too good to be true…

Matched with you.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

You don’t open the message right away.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re busy—brushing your teeth, feeding the dog, picking at dinner you don’t even taste—but deep down, you know it’s because you’re scared.

You already decided not to get your hopes up again. You’ve already been down this road before—the one where a hot guy matches, flirts, builds you up like you’re the only girl on earth, only to ghost you the second things feel real.

Still.

You tap the app. His message is waiting.

Riki: Thought I was imagining things for a sec. Didn’t expect the girl with the death-glare profile pic to swipe back 😅

Your nose scrunches. Death glare?

You flip to your own profile, stare at the photo your friend picked—half-smiling, eyes a little dead inside.

Okay, fair.

You: Yeah well. Didn’t expect the cocky gamer guy to swipe either. So I guess we’re both glitching tonight. Riki: I’m not cocky. I’m just... factually confident. And good with my thumbs.

You roll your eyes and try not to smile. You fail.

You: That’s exactly something a cocky guy would say. Riki: Damn. She’s clever too. I’m in trouble.

You don’t respond right away. Not because you don’t want to—but because something in your chest tightens at how easy it is. The flow. The banter. Like slipping into an old sweater you forgot still fit.

And somehow, it stays like that.

No “wyd” texts. No pressure. Just long, meandering conversations that start late and end later. You find out he streams sometimes, but only for fun. He has a little sister he’s protective over. He learned to cook because his mom works nights. His favorite genre is horror, but he’s a total baby when it comes to jump scares.

He doesn’t ask for selfies. Doesn’t hint at anything sketchy. In fact, half the time it feels like he genuinely just wants someone to talk to.

Which is kind of nice.

It turns into a rhythm: He messages. You reply. You laugh. You tease. You talk until your phone is warm in your hand and your eyes sting from lack of sleep.

Riki: You’re fun. You: You’re not what I expected. Riki: That’s either the best compliment or a red flag in disguise. You: I’ll let you know which later.

It’s two weeks in when he says it.

You’re half-asleep, curled in bed, squinting at his message through one heavy eyelid.

Riki: Random idea You should come visit sometime

You blink. Sit up a little.

You: …what? Riki: Like, no pressure. Just throwing it out there. I’ll even pay for the flight if it makes it easier.

You stare at your screen like it just called you by your middle name.

You: Uhh. Red flag alert. Guy offering to pay for your flight? That’s how true crime documentaries start. Riki: Rude. I don’t even own duct tape. You: That’s exactly what someone with duct tape would say. Riki: Touché.

You toss your phone onto the bed, pull the blanket over your face, and scream into it.

Then obviously you FaceTime your best friend.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

“You’re being dramatic,” she says, chewing a mouthful of chips. “You two have been talking nonstop for, what, three weeks?”

“Two and a half.”

“Exactly. That’s like, seven months in internet time. Honestly, if you were dating IRL, people would be asking when the wedding is.”

You throw your head back with a groan. “It’s not like that. We’re just… friends. Kind of. With... light sarcasm and subtle tension.”

“So... dating.”

“NO!”

She levels you with a look. “You like him.”

“I like the version of him that lives in my phone. That doesn’t mean he’s real.”

“Then FaceTime him.”

You blink. “What?”

“If you’re nervous he’s not who he says he is, video chat. If he’s a catfish, boom—case closed. If he’s real... then you’ll know.”

You sit with that for a second.

Then you do it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

The first FaceTime is awkward in a cute way. He’s lounging in a hoodie with messy hair and a controller in his lap. You’re in your worst pajama shirt, already regretting not putting on concealer.

But he smiles when he sees you—no hesitation, no filters, no pause.

“Yo,” he says like it’s no big deal.

“You’re real,” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

He laughs. “That’s what I was gonna say.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

One call turns into two.

Two turns into three.

Three turns into four—until it’s a quiet comfort, this unspoken ritual of being online together, even when you’re not talking.

You study. He games. Sometimes he curses under his breath. Sometimes you hum without realizing it. Neither of you hangs up first.

The screen just stays on.

And somewhere between late-night calls and sleepy “goodnights,” it stops feeling like a maybe.

It starts to feel like something real.

One night, while adjusting his mic and opening some game you don’t recognize, he says it again:

“You should come visit.”

This time, it sounds less like a joke.

And more like a hope.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

“You should come visit.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it. 

But this time… it’s different.

His voice is soft through your laptop speaker, his hoodie bunched up around his elbows as he clicks through some loading screen. You’re lying sideways on your bed, textbooks open, highlighter uncapped, but your focus vanished the second he said those four words.

You don’t answer right away. Just chew your lip and stare at the screen where he’s pretending not to look at you.

“That’s like the fifth time you’ve asked”

“I’m serious,” he says after a beat. “I mean… if you want to.”

There’s that voice again. Casual, light, no pressure. Like he’s talking about ordering takeout, not asking you to fly across the country and see if he’s actually the person you’ve been falling asleep on FaceTime with every night.

You close your textbook.

“Riki.”

He glances over. The game’s paused now. You can see the flicker of the screenlight reflected in his cheekbones. He looks tired. Warm. Real.

“Yeah?”

“You’re not like… secretly plotting to harvest my organs, right?”

He snorts. “I literally stream Minecraft, not organ trafficking.”

“Not a convincing alibi.”

He grins, then sobers. “I get it. It’s a big ask. But I meant it when I said I’d help. I’d book the flight. You’d stay at a hotel if you want, no pressure. I wouldn’t be weird.”

“That’s what all the weird ones say.”

“Okay,” he says, deadpan. “I’d be only a little weird. Like, manageable-weird. Charming-weird.”

You laugh, and that’s the problem.

Because you like him. More than you meant to.

You liked the idea of him at first. A distraction. A match your friend forced. But now… it’s not just the banter or the voice you’ve memorized or the ridiculous way he says “dude” when he’s excited.

It’s how he makes you feel like the only person in the room—even through a screen.

And that? That’s dangerous.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

The next day, you bring it up to your best friend over lunch.

Her response is immediate: “You have to go.”

You blink. “Okay, but what if he’s not—”

“You FaceTime him literally every night.”

“What if he’s different in person?”

“He watches K-dramas and talks to your dog through the phone. You already know him better than half the guys you’ve actually dated.”

You stare at your untouched sandwich.

“I just…” You swallow. “What if I go and it ruins it?”

She’s quiet for once.

Then: “What if you don’t… and it ruins you?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

That night, you don’t say yes.

You say, “I’m thinking about it.”

You say, “It’s a maybe.”

And he doesn’t push.

Instead, he smiles at you—gentle and slow, like he knows you’re a scared thing on the edge of something, and he’s not going to rush you off it.

“I can wait,” he says simply.

You believe him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

The next week, something shifts.

Not in a dramatic way—no confessions, no intense moment of clarity—but in all the quiet ways that matter more.

You fall asleep on call, and he whispers, “Goodnight,” like a secret. You wake up to a message from him with a screenshot of a dumb meme he swears “just felt like you.” He starts calling you by your name more, not just your username.

One night, in the middle of a game, he glances at his screen and says, out of nowhere: “Do you always look at me like that?”

You blink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying not to.”

You don’t have an answer.

So you call again. And again.

By the time it’s the sixth night in a row, you’re not even nervous anymore. You’re just… used to it. Comfortable. You study, he plays. You breathe. He listens.

Sometimes you don’t talk for twenty minutes.

And it feels like home.

That night, he says it again—quieter this time.

“You should come visit.”

And this time… You don’t say no.

You just look at him—pixelated and beautiful—and whisper, “Maybe.”

And he smiles like maybe is everything.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

It starts with a ticket in your inbox.

No subject line. No message. Just an email that reads:

“Your flight to Seoul has been confirmed.”

You blink.

Then your phone buzzes.

Riki: Don’t panic. You can still say no. I’ll cancel it in a second if you’re uncomfortable. Just… wanted to make it real. In case you say yes.

Your heart is doing weird things.

You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the keyboard, your thoughts a loud chorus of what ifs and you’re crazy and this boy could be everything or nothing or both.

You: Give me three days. If I don’t back out by then… I’ll go.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

You don’t back out.

Your friend screams when you tell her. She helps you pack—overpacks, really—like you’re heading into battle instead of a long weekend. She even shoves a tiny pink can of pepper spray in your purse “just in case he’s secretly a weirdo.”

(You both know he’s not. But still. Pepper spray is ✨ aesthetic ✨.)

The night before the flight, you barely sleep. You FaceTime Riki and end up playing “21 questions” until 2am, your voices slow and sleepy.

“What if it’s weird?” you ask.

“What if it’s not?” he replies.

You hate that that makes you smile.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

At the airport, your nerves riot inside you. The terminal smells like pretzels and nerves and new beginnings.

By the time the plane lands, your hands are cold and your thoughts are loud.

You look around baggage claim, eyes darting.

Then—you see him.

He’s leaning against a pillar, hoodie half-zipped, hair tucked under a black cap. There’s a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He’s scrolling his phone, one hand in his pocket.

He doesn’t see you yet.

And in that second, you think—he looks like trouble. But the good kind.

Then he looks up.

And smiles.

Not the polite kind. Not the awkward oh-hi-nice-to-meet-you kind.

The I know you already kind.

And just like that— You’re not nervous anymore.

The first five minutes are weird.

Of course they are.

You both talk too fast. Or not at all. He goes in for a hug, and you kind of flinch, so he backs off and jokes, “Guess I deserved that.” And you say, “No, I’m just—processing,” and then neither of you talk for five minutes straight in the car.

But then he says, “You hungry?” And you say, “Always.”

And suddenly… you’re fine again.

The first night is a blur of fast food eaten in his car, music playing low, and a midnight walk through a neighborhood you don’t know but don’t mind getting lost in.

At one point, he bumps his shoulder into yours and says, “You’re taller than I expected.”

You deadpan, “You’re not.”

He laughs so hard he nearly drops his drink.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The next day, you hang out at his place.

He’s more nervous than you’ve ever seen him—rambling about his cable setup, offering snacks every five seconds, adjusting his monitor like he’s auditioning for HGTV.

But you sit on his bed, cross-legged, and just watch.

And after a while, he calms down.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he mumbles.

You shrug. “You’re real.”

He gives you a look. “Still convinced I was a catfish?”

“No,” you say. “But this part still doesn’t feel real.”

He sits beside you. Not touching. Just close.

“Same.”

- - - - - - - - - - - -

At night, you fall asleep on his couch watching him game—your legs draped over his lap, your heart refusing to chill out. You pretend to be tired just to stay where you are.

He doesn’t move.

Just shifts the blanket higher over your knees, one hand resting lightly on your shin. You catch him glance at you once. Twice.

But he never says what you both know.

Not yet.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

And then—on the last night—you’re both lying side by side, watching some movie neither of you are really paying attention to. His fingers are brushing against yours on the bedspread. Barely. But enough.

He turns his head. “Hey.”

You look at him.

He looks nervous.

“Do you ever think… if we’d met in person first, it wouldn’t have worked?”

You blink. “Why?”

“I think I needed to know you before I liked you. Like, for real. The real you.”

You smile. “I was a mess when we met.”

He laughs. “You still are.”

You kick his leg. “Hey.”

He looks at you then—really looks.

“Still the best kind of mess I’ve ever met.”

Your breath catches.

But before either of you can say anything else—your phone buzzes. Loud. Jarring.

You frown and reach for it, expecting your friend checking in.

It’s not.

It’s a direct message request.

From someone you don’t recognize.

And it says:

“You think you’re the only one he’s talking to?”

Your blood goes cold.

You look up.

And Riki—still smiling, still relaxed—doesn’t notice the shift in your face.

Yet.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

You read the message again.

“You think you’re the only one he’s talking to?”

The screen blurs. Your chest tightens. The room—warm and dim and full of the scent of Riki’s hoodie you’ve been curled in—suddenly feels foreign. Hollow.

Riki says something beside you. A dumb joke. You don’t hear it.

“Hey.” His voice cuts through. “You okay?”

You lock your phone and force a smile. “Yeah. Just my friend checking in.”

A lie.

You’ve never lied to him before.

It feels worse than the message.

You try to ignore it. Brush it off. A troll. A bot. A jealous girl with no life. Whatever.

But the message festers.

The next day, you wake up to another.

“I hope he told you about me. Or about our FaceTimes.”

You don’t reply. You can’t.

You don’t know what to believe.

So instead, you test him.

“Hey,” you say casually, the next time you’re lying on the couch with him.

“Hmm?” he says, eyes on his screen.

“You ever… talk to other girls on here? Like, before me?”

He pauses. Glances at you. “You mean on Tinder?”

You shrug. “Or in general.”

He leans back. “I mean, yeah. Before you. But nothing like this. Nothing real.”

You nod. Try to smile. But the words loop in your head.

Before you. Before you. Before you.

But what if before never ended?

- - - - - - - - - - - -

By the third message, it’s not subtle anymore.

“He sent me the same flight email. I still have it.” [Attached: a screenshot]

Same subject line. Same dates. Different name.

You feel sick.

You don’t want to accuse him. You don’t want to need to.

So you ask.

“Riki… have you ever done this before?”

He blinks. “Done what?”

“This. Flying someone out. Meeting people from the app.”

There’s a beat.

Then: “Why are you asking?”

He doesn’t deny it.

And that hurts more than any answer.

You go silent.

The car ride back to the hotel is heavy.

He notices. Of course he does.

“Okay,” he says, pulling into the parking lot. “What’s going on?”

You don’t look at him. “Just tired.”

“You’re lying.”

You snap. “So are you.”

He goes quiet.

The kind of quiet that confirms everything.

You swallow. “Someone messaged me. Said you were FaceTiming them. Said you flew them out. Same message. Same dates.”

His jaw tightens. “It’s not what you think.”

You laugh, sharp. “That’s funny, because it looks exactly like what I think.”

Then—softer: “I didn’t expect this to be perfect, Riki. I just didn’t want to be stupid for trusting you.”

He doesn’t say anything.

And that silence? It feels like betrayal.

You go inside the hotel alone.

The second the door closes behind you, you slide to the floor.

You don’t cry. Not yet. You’re not sure you’re allowed to. Not for someone who was never yours.

But your phone buzzes again.

Riki: I didn’t lie. Not about you. Can we talk?

And you don’t know if you’re ready.

But your heart?

It already misses him.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

You don’t answer his messages.

Not at first.

Not because you want to punish him—but because you’re scared that if you open the door, you’ll let him talk you back into something that maybe wasn’t even real.

You need space. He gives it to you. For about twelve hours.

Then your phone rings.

It’s your friend.

“You need to check Twitter,” she says.

Your stomach drops. “What?”

“Just… look.”

- - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s a clip.

From one of Riki’s streams.

He’s laughing in it, leaned back in his chair, wearing a hoodie you recognize because you wore it two nights ago.

One of his friends says something off-screen:

“So you’re just gonna disappear for four days and not explain why?”

Riki shrugs. “I’m flying someone out.”

“A girl?”

He grins. “The girl.”

The chat explodes. Emojis. Screaming.

His friend hoots. “You’re in love.”

Riki doesn’t deny it.

Just goes quiet for a second. Then says, low and sure,

“She’s different. You’ll see.”

You stare at the screen.

Your breath stutters.

You scroll down. The comments are a storm. Most of them are pure chaos and ship names and thirsty fans screaming “SOFT LAUNCH???”

But some…

Some are ugly.

And one account keeps showing up.

One you recognize from the message requests.

@ KikiLuvsRiki: don’t fall for his act. i used to be “different” too. he just wants content. @ KikiLuvsRiki: bet he sent her the same flight confirmation template he used last year LMFAO.

Your hands shake.

Then a post from her, timestamped four hours ago:

“Imagine thinking you’re special to someone who rehearsed the same lines with me. He just swapped the name.”

There’s a screenshot attached.

Of a flight confirmation email.

But it’s dated last year.

Same airline. Different destination. Different name.

But the same tone.

You click the profile.

Scroll.

And what you find?

It’s not a random hater.

It’s his ex.

That night, your phone rings again.

Riki.

You don’t want to answer.

You do anyway.

“I should’ve told you,” he says, voice low, rough. “I just didn’t think she’d find out. I didn’t think it would matter.”

You sit on the edge of the hotel bed, silent.

“I mentioned you on stream. I never do that. You know I don’t. And I didn’t even say your name—I was just… talking. I couldn’t help it. I was excited. I’m always careful, but this time I wasn’t.”

“Because of me?”

“Yeah,” he says, barely a whisper. “Because of you.”

Your heart twists.

“She saw the stream,” he adds. “And I guess she still had old screenshots or whatever. She’s not wrong—I flew her out once. A long time ago. We weren’t even a thing for more than a couple weeks, but she stuck around online. And when I stopped responding, she got weird.”

You exhale. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I was scared you’d think I was doing the same thing again. That I was collecting girls off the internet and making them fall for me or something.”

“And aren’t you?” you ask, voice quiet.

Silence.

Then:

“No.” “I wasn’t trying with anyone else.” “I didn’t even plan to swipe on your profile. I saw you, and it just—hit me. Harder than I expected. You weren’t just pretty. You looked real. Like someone I could ruin myself for if I wasn’t careful.”

You bite your lip.

He continues. “I didn’t swipe right first. But when we matched… I knew. I’ve never been like this with anyone else. Not even her.”

Your chest aches.

“But I should’ve told you,” he says. “That’s on me. I’ll make it up to you. Or I won’t. If this ruins it, I’ll live with that. But you deserved the truth.”

You let the silence sit.

It’s not that you don’t believe him.

It’s that you want to.

And maybe that scares you most of all.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The airport feels colder than it should.

Maybe it’s the early flight. Maybe it’s the sleep you didn’t get. Maybe it’s because you thought he’d fight harder.

You roll your suitcase forward.

Every step feels heavier than it should. Like maybe your heart stayed back at the hotel. Or in that voicemail you haven’t listened to yet.

“I get it if you’re done. But I’m not.” “Not with you.”

You clench your jaw. Shake your head. Keep walking.

You did what you were supposed to.

You gave him a chance to explain. You didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Didn’t make a scene when your feelings got kicked around like some bonus level prize in his online world.

You let him talk.

You just didn’t stay.

Not this time.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Your gate is five minutes away.

You wrap your arms around yourself and try not to think.

The check-in lady takes your ID.

“Round trip?” she asks, typing.

You hesitate. Then shake your head.

“Just one way.”

She nods, unfazed. Prints your ticket.

You turn around—

And nearly crash into him.

Riki. Standing there. Breathless. Hoodie crooked. Hair messy. Like he ran.

And didn’t stop.

You freeze. “What—how did you—?”

“I tracked your flight.” His voice is hoarse. “Don’t be mad.”

You blink. “Are you serious right now?”

He swallows hard. “I wasn’t gonna let you leave thinking I didn’t mean it. That you were just some... random screen name.”

“Riki—”

“No,” he says, stepping closer. “Let me talk. Please.”

Your heart races. Your throat tightens.

He exhales. “I don’t care who’s watching. I don’t care if this is pathetic. I’ve never wanted something like this before. Not like this. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You don’t say anything.

He runs a hand through his hair.

“I messed up,” he says. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve known she'd try something the second I opened up. That’s on me. But don’t let her be the reason we don’t happen.”

You feel the tears sting before they fall.

He sees it.

Softens.

Steps forward like he’s trying not to scare you off.

“I’ve never had what we have,” he whispers. “The FaceTimes. The quiet. The way I don’t need to perform when I’m with you. You didn’t fall for the persona. You fell for me. And I—I need you to know I fell right back.”

You sniff. Wipe your eyes.

“And if that means I have to fly to every city you run to just to say it again, I will.”

You meet his eyes.

“I wanted to believe you,” you say. “I still do.”

“Then do,” he whispers. “Let me prove it.”

You pause.

Search his face.

And for the first time in days, the panic starts to melt. The ache eases.

Not completely. But enough.

You step closer.

And his shoulders drop—like he was holding his breath for too long.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

He smiles.

“No you don’t.”

You shake your head. “I don’t.”

Then, softer: “You’re lucky I like dramatic airport gestures.”

And when you wrap your arms around him, burying your face into the hoodie you never gave back—he just holds you.

Not like he won.

Like he’s grateful you stayed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

BONUS :)

Later, after the flight you didn’t take…

You’re on his stream.

Just your voice.

He reads a question from chat:

“Are you guys together now?”

He looks at you off-camera.

Smiles.

Then to the chat: “She’s sitting right here, isn’t she?”

You groan. “You’re so annoying.”

He grins wider. “But you like me.”

And you don’t deny it.

Not this time.

tl: (read rules before asking to be added to any list ᥫ᭡. )