#peace od mind

[in-madhouses]

harry styles to lads lads lads: best form of revenge no qs asked now go

niall horan: telling them your girlfriend has better hair than them

niall horan: yes offense

harry styles: if youre just gonna lie why bother

louis tomlinson: find the one thing they intrinsically link to their self esteem to n build ur life around systematically destroying it

liam payne: giv em detergent and tell thrm is coke

louis tomlinson: wait y u askin here zee would probably have some gr8 ones

niall horan: yeah i know for a fact that she moves my bookmarks when she’s upset with me so she’d be great for this

harry styles: im never prepared for her answers tbh

.

.

The band au that no one asked for comprised entirely out of text messages and too many Hozier references … now has a follow up. A text fic about starving artists no longer starving, caricature characters and too many 3am messages. Might actually go ahead and make this a trilogy and then stop writing text fics forever so take a gander maybe.

i’d wanna be felled by you (held by you)

ain’t it like thunder under earth (the way it sounds)

[fulloflambing]

࣪ . ִֶָ๋ KINICH: ❝ HEAVEN CAN WAIT. ❞

pairing: kinich x afab!reader (uses she/her) synopsis: during the invasion of the abyss, the bond between you and kinich is put to the test when you're both lost in the chaos searching for eachother, as he fulfills his sacred duty as one of the heroes of Natlan. warnings: spoilers of the 5.1 archon quests! lots of bodily injury + descriptions of gore, the war ingame is described in a darker way here, cursing, many mentions of death. wordcount: 5.4k cho’s notes: PLS SRSLY LISTEN TO THE INJURY WARNING!! i might be a little dramatic but theres an injury here that made me geek when i was writing it idk. this is basically 5.4k words of me pretending to understand the mechanics of the ode of resurrection 😭 i was inspired to write this after playing the 5.1 aq! hope u guys enjoy this, happy reads <3

taglist: @sillywinnertidalwave

Today marked the exact moment the people of Natlan realized that the abyss weren’t just these noisy hilichurls you see camping in the meadows or the occasional mages you’d encounter in the caves; The Abyss was a ruthless cult of monsters with their uniform goal of bringing humanity to its demise.

‘It was never supposed to get this bad.’ was the only thought racing through Kinich's mind as he swung from cliffs to trees as fast as he could, the muscles in his arms feeling like they could rip apart if he swung one more time, his head slightly burning with exhaustion and heart racing with overwhelming pressure.

People were getting massacred on the ground underneath him, as numerous warriors and guards pushed themselves beyond their limit to fend off the neverending wave of rifthounds and hilichurls coming from the illuminating pylons—and he couldn’t do anything about it. Not when everyone and everything needed his aid, all at once.

But Kinich had someone to come home to, and it was you.

The last moment of peace the both of you had together was just earlier today; Sipping coffee and eating fruit together, discussing light subjects to try and distract each other from the rising attacks of the abyss, totally oblivious to the fact that Natlan would be dragged into war by them hours later. 

He felt like it was just a minute ago when you sat in front of him, and glowed under the sunlight, slicing apples intricately as your lips spilled words. ‘How could this happen?’ he thought.

The image of you smiling, your face full of faith pulsed in his mind, making his stomach twist when his eyes landed on the village of the Scions of the Canopy; it was on the brink of ruin.

Caravans and carts were being ripped open with the goods spilling onto the ground only to be squashed, children getting dragged by desperate parents, greedy businessmen clawing at their money hoping it would save them, and the scattered limp bodies of innocent natlanese. The sky loomed over everyone’s heads in an eerie color, only amplifying the hopelessness he rarely felt in his chest. The scent of blood and burning ash filled his nostrils the second he violently landed onto the oversized canopy, mildly hurting his ankles in the process.

“Y/n? Y/n!” He called out among the frenzy, his eyes darting to every face he could spot. He got on his heel and started running— desperate that you wouldn’t appear as one of the bodies that were left to rot on the ground. 

He raced to your house, and tried to push the door open with no luck. He had no time to care for it, and just slashed through it with his bulky claymore and bursted into the room, his eyebrows knitted together, pupils dilated, cold sweat on his nape. His eyes don’t spot you in your usual leisure spot of your common room, making his heart drop. He checked all other rooms, and finally opened your bedroom:

You weren’t there.

You weren’t anywhere.

His heart hurt with every beat, and he desperately clawed at his chest trying to get back his calm composure he was always known for. But what for?

“Just give it up, that peasant probably turned into abyss food long before you even got here. Stop wasting your time, my time!” Ajaw suddenly hissed out, his words filling kinich’s mind with poison.

Imaginations of your body growing limp and cold, face turning blue, and blood oozing out from some part of your body as rifthounds dug through your flesh flashed through his head. And he tried to stop it. But with the spinning of his head and the lifelessness of your house that was once so full with your laughter, it just kept getting worse.

He stood with a lowered head, his hand gripping his claymore so tight his knuckles turned white. He fought back tears as his mind danced like a kaleidoscope. To him, there would be no use in saving Natlan, if you weren’t in the picture.

He was supposed to not let his will in defeating the abyss sway at all, you wouldn’t want that. No one would want that. He doesn’t either. But now faced with the odds that you might not be able to experience a Natlan that is finally free from centuries of prejudice, after you’ve been by his side telling him to have faith that the day will come, and the dreams you want to accomplish when everything is finally okay— It seemed unfair. SO unfair.

He whispers to himself, or rather to anything who was willing to listen, with a shaky voice: “If only one wish of mine can be granted for my whole lifetime, please.. Keep her safe. That’s all I ask.”

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The clashing of weapons against the shelled skin of the abyss monsters zipped through the air, as you swiftly dodged the claws of a relentless rifthound; you’ve been doing this for hours now.

You were helping your tribe, the Scions of the Canopy, strengthen its defenses before the outbreak until you were called by a messenger to help strengthen defenses of an adventurer’s base southeast of the village as it was being easily overwhelmed by the enemies. As the head of preparing defenses from the village, you happily obliged.

But now you were almost hours into battle, with your body aching in all different spots, as you tried your best to continue evading the insistent attacks of numerous monsters. You couldn’t find the energy to swing your sword with maximum strength anymore, so all you could muster up was to dodge them.

“Fuck! Will you ever quit!?” you yell, before pushing yourself beyond your limits again, attacking with frustration. You slashed through the tough skin of the rifthound with your dendro-infused blade, making it dissipate into purple smoke with a screeching growl before fading into the air.

You had a second for a breather and  took a deep breath, which you regretted immediately. “ugh!” you cried, falling to your knees, grabbing your side. You recall the moment you heard something snap when a hilichurl swung its wooden baton at your side when you were busy confronting a different monster. You broke your rib, and it was now piercing your lung.

You stared into the dirt, forehead collecting sweat. You took your hand off of your side, seeing blood paint your palm a deep scarlet. You touched your forehead, and brought your hand back to your eyes— You were bleeding. everywhere.

Your eyes sting with tears, the reality of the situation slowly setting into your head— The chances of you leaving this battlefield alive was slim. Your teeth press against your bottom lip tightly, the pain being incomparable to the injuries you’ve sustained. 

‘I’m sorry kinich.’ echoed in your mind. Kinich had been training you recently, for you to be ready in case of an invasion and he wasn’t there to protect you. But here you are, head-first onto the ground, realizing you’ll probably die in the next few minutes.

‘I’m sorry kinich.. I’m not built for this.’ you whimpered, tears slowly trickling down your face. You felt so heavy with hopelessness, you felt like you could start sinking into the solid dirt beneath your body.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. You were only supposed to continue helping people fend off the abyss for a few more days, until the Pyro Archon solved the crisis. And after she did, you would’ve explored places outside of Natlan with Kinich. Sumeru was the first region you both agreed to visit; It was always a dream that you shared together to travel all of Teyvat one day. Hell, you even had a hunch he’d propose to you somewhere down the line of your voyage. 

So why are you kneeling on the floor, bleeding from every possible corner of your body, accepting your demise as your comrades slowly thin in number?

‘How long do I have to keep this up? I feel like if I swing my sword one more time, my arms will come flying off. I can’t do it anymore. This is something only strong people can do. Strong people like kinich. I can’t. I just can’t. I ca-’

Woosh!, Your ears picked up the sound and you jumped to your feet, barely escaping the blade of an enormous mitachurl that almost claimed your head. 

You tumbled lightly onto the ground, before you hold your sword up again with both your hands, your limbs trembling hopelessly in the gaze of the towering monster over you with demonic horns. You almost drop your blade and just let it kill you right then and there. 

But kinich appeared in your thoughts.

The mitachurl was standing the way the dummy kinich built for you was. Kinich’s voice instructing you rippled in your thoughts: “swing your sword down to the left, diagonal to the body. Then, slice up to the right, also diagonally. For the final blow, strike straight down the crown of its head, taking force from your shoulders. ”

You listen to kinich on repeat a few times, drawing imaginary lines on the body of the scowling mitachurl that stomped closer to you. You gulped the lump in your throat, before you did exactly what kinich taught you.

You twist your body with your edge in the air, taking a (painful) deep breath before swinging your blade to the left in a declining path. The mitachurl stumbles back at your sudden strike making an mmgh! sound, breaking down some of its armor. You quickly slice back up in the opposite direction before it could react any further. Your shoulder burned with every twist, but you had to keep going.

As it stumbled one more time, You bring your weapon above your head, and ignite it with dendro, causing a deep green aura to emit from your person. You meet eyes with the monster; It looked horrified. You stood there ready to take its life, appearing like a monster yourself with the blood that dripped down your head, your eyes seething with revenge.

You spare no more time before completely slicing straight down its head with maximum precision. A loud growl slowly faded with the noise, just as its body did, turning into a dark smoke. 

“If my life is going to end with this battle, then please grant my final wish—” You whispered, looking at your blood-stained hands, hoping the heavenly principles could hear your wish among the deafening sound of war:

“—Please.. Keep kinich safe for me.”

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The people seeking refuge in a temporary hideout turn their heads at the noise of their beloved heroes walking into the space. ‘Baraka’ Xilonen, ‘Umoja’ Mualani, ‘Uwezo’ Iansan, ‘Bidii’ Ororon, and ‘Vuka’ Chasca. There was only one more hero missing.. ‘Malipo’ Kinich.

Kinich had just rounded up civilians he saved from the village, and brought them there for safety. His gaze met with his friends, before he carefully placed a baby he was protecting into the arms of its mother— The baby had your eyes, which gravitated him into holding it just a little longer. He walked over to them with heavy steps, still trying to keep his composure despite the pain weaving his insides; just like them. 

“It’s the final phase of mavuika’s plan. We have to get back to the stadium, and help her with the Ode of Resurrection.” Xilonen says. “Can you do it?” 

It’s not like he had any other choice so he just nodded, not being able to muster up the strength to talk.

“Kinich.. Did something happen?” Mualani asked, taking notice of his silence as she placed her hand on his shoulder in support. It was clear she was just as broken down as he was, covered in bruises and scratches. But she continued to stay strong and pulled an empathetic look for him, trying to get his lowered eyes to meet hers.

“I.. couldn’t find y/n.” Kinich barely mumbled, the dread he felt earlier coming back to him, feeling like it only got worse verbalizing it. His eyes stuck to the ground, refusing to peel away.

The five heroes suddenly feel the air grow thick, a gasp leaving Iansan and Mualani's lips. This reaction only made the feeling worse, his fingertips digging into his palm. ‘Why does it have to turn out like this? I don’t fucking get it. It’s unfair. Not fair. Not fair to me, to her.’

The five struggled to find words to say, but ajaw quickly filled the space, spitting out: “Fear not lowly humans! For when Kinich finally slips in this final fight and accidentally ends up kicking the bucket, I, the almighty dragonlord, k’uhul ajaw! Will reign over this world once more! And the abyss will no longer be the biggest threat Natlan has faced!” The 8-bit monster laughed proudly with its jagged voice.

Kinich suddenly snapped at the puny dragon: “Zip it ajaw. Let’s go.” before stepping out of the hideout. The heroes gave each other glances, before silently following after him. They weren’t scared of kinich releasing ajaw, they knew kinich would never do that to them. But it was him they were worried about.

Kinich never handled loss well. It often resulted in.. Accidents. Towards himself.

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You continued to fight your way to survival, the dendro vision hanging by your hip flashing every few seconds. You shifted your focus to destroy nearby pylons. Your hands had bruised, and slowly became callused and firm. The amount of blood loss you’ve endured has slowly started affecting you too, as your actions started getting sloppier, following your sight getting hazy from time to time.

‘Ching!’ You sliced through the last mitachurl around— atleast, last one before another one spawns—and fell to your battered knees. You sat there, gasping, your body begging for air. 

“Y/n!” a fellow comrade called out, rushing to your side. You can hear him mumbling something to you, but it’s incoherent. You looked at your dirty, bloodied hands, ‘what an ugly sight.’  

“Just.. keep pushing on y/n.” his words sound muffled to you and almost accompanied with sand; he’s losing hope too. 

Without warning, a bright beam of light suddenly shot up into the air, emerging from somewhere in the distance.

‘Huh?’ You look up.

The ray of light exploded into a star, making you wince at the glare. The explosion was so grand, you felt the earth tremble all around you, and even felt a slight radiance of heat reach your skin, even when it was suspended so close to the stars.

The warriors and monsters’ brawl comes to a pause, all beings turning their heads to the magic unfolding above their heads.

You look back up once more. It’s the Pyro Archon.

“In the name of the Pyro Archon, Haborym,” the transcendent voice sends chills down your spine.

“I declare the Night Warden Wars underway—”

“—The Ode of Resurrection will guard all life, until the war is over!”

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Kinich might’ve lost his mind.

With the Ode of Resurrection, there was nothing in his way to contain the blood rushing through his veins anymore, the flame pumping his drive. There was no limit to the blood he could pour, no limit to the bones he could snap, no limit to the wounds he could take; There was no more life that kept him from death, and no death to threaten him to life. 

He shot himself through the trees and cliffs and plunged into the ground, slashing right into an abyssal pylon, immediately shattering it into pieces. The abyss that caught sight of his unhinged eyes,  became the last thing they saw. He swung his blade relentlessly, calculated with maximum precision embedded into every strike. Every blow he landed would end a life point-blank, not wasting a single movement. No monster could keep up with the speed of his assault, their death delivered to them in a blur.

A hilichurl had taken an open opportunity to stab him right through the heart from behind. He felt the flame inside him flicker for a second.

‘Again.’

He ripped the double sided polearm right out of his chest, before skewering the same hilichurl right through its chest with the same weapon. A cryo mage quickly sent icicles to penetrate through his limbs and vital organs. He felt the coldness pierce into his insides, feeling the flame inside him flicker for a second time.

‘Again.’

He swiftly turned around, and spun his claymore right into the mage, beheading it in the process. The mage had evaporated to its death, as his claymore spun right back into his palm, snug as a glove. A hilichurl decided to charge into his tall figure and stab him with a dagger, puncturing his abdomen. His flame flickered for the third time.

‘Again.’

He sliced down on the hilichurl, making it dissipate into the air with a groan. He pulled out the dagger from his body and carelessly threw it onto the ground. Noticing the area was clear, he flung himself back into the air, swinging himself through the thick trees and long branches. They would momentarily graze his skin, cutting and wounding him but it was nothing to him, not anymore.

His void eyes scanned through the rocky terrain underneath his feet, searching for your figure. ‘You have to be here. Somewhere. Anywhere.’ His thoughts of you distracted him from an incoming tree, before flying straight into its tree branch, his body getting skewered in the process. He let out a loud cry of agony— “aaghh!”—, hearing static ringing in his ears. His bewildered eyes landed at exactly where he got impaled before feeling his head go fuzzy, his eyes slowly losing light, and his body going limp. He feels his flame flickering once more.

‘Again.’

Life is shot right back into him as he braced himself again, taking a deep breath, and pulling himself off of the tree branch. His injury immediately punished him, making him wince. He took one last look at the tree branch covered in his gore before swinging himself again. He looked at the gaping hole in his abdominal cavity slowly patch and fill itself again, and for a moment he’s completely mesmerized by the power of the ode of resurrection. 

In his mind, he punished himself for not being by your side, for not protecting you. And his mode of punishment would be feeling your misery over and over again. The sensation of burning pain ending up to his death just to wake up again completely alive again all in a split second was intoxicating. He was preserving life, as he toyed with his own. 

In his mind, he would rather die a million deaths than find out he’d be alive without you around.

“Listen to me bastard! I’m starting to appreciate this new thing you got going on, you know, like actually following your master, me, Almighty dragonlord, K’uhul Ajaw! and using your vision for something exhilarating like ending lives. But I HATE! how i’m getting excited to take your body everytime you go floppy, but you just wake back up! It’s so ANNOYING!! So just keep it up until the fire-head woman turns the ode of what-ever-you-call-it off, and you stay dead. Alright!?”

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Mavuika looked longingly onto her people fighting for their nation underneath her feet, as she levitated in the dark sky. It was a surreal simulation to her; It was her that was the catalyst for their dreams and hopes. It left a deep impression of justice, duty and pressure on her. 

Mavuika took a deep breath, before feeling a surging power slither all throughout her body.

‘This has to end, now.’

She collected all the dreams her people have relayed to her, the hopes for a future guided with justice and equality, their ancestors and their prayers for Natlan, the lives of her beloved followers who had been sacrificed and martyred, into her fist and made it into her strength. 

Her hair ignited into its flamed form, as she shot out all the might and glory of Natlan into a beam of radiance, targeting the abyssal body that was the sole cause of terror over her nation. 

The Celestial body forms a temporary glowing shield to stand its ground, until it doesn’t.

It slowly starts shattering like thin glass, making her attack on it only more powerful. Her thrash breaks through until it exploded into a dark fume, her light piercing right through it and into the distant sky. The sky carries the sound of the thundering explosion, shaking nature all around.

The black cloud slowly starts fading, revealing the eradication of the Abyss.

The black sky lifts off of Natlan, revealing the blue once more. You choked out the blood that’s been pouring in your mouth for the longest time as you finally finish off the last creature in sight. The Abyss had been eliminated by the Pyro Archon, and no more would spawn. Dulled and scratched swords, torn bows, and unfortunate martyrs polluted the grassy field around. The noise of battle could still be heard somewhere distant but not around you anymore. 

You spat and coughed out blood onto your palm, your other hand clawing and digging into your chest trying to calm your rampaging heartbeat. You heard your remaining comrades cry and yell out of grief and solace. The words they yelled were incoherent, only being able to hear ringing. 

But you could almost make out what they're saying, somewhere along the lines of: ‘It’s over.’

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Kinich’s eyelids slowly peel open, feeling the heat of the sun greet his eyes immediately making him wince. He sits up and tries to gain back his senses, letting out a sore groan.

Ajaw perches up at the sound, and starts roaring in his ear: “You were supposed to be dead! I was so thrilled to finally take over your cold body, finally thinking of the horrors I'd run to this land, just to find our contract not working! Just bite the dust already you useless asparagus! Curse the archons!”

“Wh-what happened?” Kinich croaked, his throat stinging him in the process. Completely ignoring ajaw’s tantrum, he looks at the nature around him; There were dismantled weapons, a few dead bodies scattered meters apart, and an awful lot of silence. 

“The fire-head woman destroyed the abyss in the sky, and the magical thing happening to your body that stopped you from dying stopped, and you just crashed into the mountain side and passed out onto the ground. Your head should’ve caved in! Fucking imbecile!” 

Kinich stares at the state of his body; It was a disaster. His jacket was torn with all sorts of holes, his arms full of scars and dried blood and smeared dirt, his gloved hands having numerous rips and tears. All of his digits were present, but a huge scar trailed over the joints of his thumb. ‘So I lost a finger huh?’ he guessed to himself. He looks at his headband dangling around his neck, and feels his face with his hand. He felt a few scars and winces at a cut he had, realizing he had a gaping wound that was actively bleeding out.

Body intact, clothes and weapon secured, with his heart beating in his chest cavity.

But something was still missing. Something was out of place.

He feels his heart drop to the ground, mumbling: “Y/n.”

He hurriedly turns around and tries to run on his feet, a sharp pain kicking into his legs making him fall back onto the soil. He curls into a ball, suddenly feeling all his muscles tormenting his body at once. He groans in pain, feeling parts of his body ache and burn under his skin.

“Yes! Perish!” Ajaw shrieks, making kinich swat at him. He takes a cramped breath— almost like the capacity of his lungs had shrunk— before digging his hands into the sharp blades of grass, dragging his body through the earth.

Each pull of his body made him wish he wasn’t human, pain electrocuting each living cell in his body. Grunts slipped through his teeth, as he tried not to notice the torture he had been enduring for what has felt like forever. He despised the pain he could feel as he crawled not because it hurt him, but because it was proof he was alive and could use his senses. That would remind him that you might not be, only making the weight of his chest heavier.

Red from his wound dripped down his head and slipped onto his lip, making him spit it out bitterly. 

The silvery of blood was inferior to the bitterness in his mouth if he felt your body without its heart beating against his own. Ajaw slowly follows him in the air a meter away, and is almost horrified. Ajaw that day, saw humanity in its most desperate state.

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

“Let me go!” You yelled, trying to break free from the arms of the other scions of the canopy. They had tried convincing you to go to the village and get your injuries treated, but they mentioned kinich was missing. You heard glass shattering in your ears, almost reality to your eyes breaking just the same. You escaped their captive and tried to find kinich, but they had caught up to you easily.

“You don’t understand! You might die out of blood loss before you even find him!” Said one of the nurses, gripping your wrist tightly. “I have to try!” You snapped, shoving and kicking at the men trying to get a holding of your legs.

“And what if kinich is dead y/n!?” A man retorted, making you freeze in your spot. Words got stuck in your throat, as your eyes blurred for a second. “Kinich would never.. be..” you feel your tongue stiffen, your knees slowly sinking back onto the grass. The men among the helpers quietly argue behind you, scolding each other with ‘don’t say that!’ as your thoughts slowly dim your spirit.

‘Kinich? Dead?’ the thought of kinich dying seemed so far and impossible to you. It was always kinich who seemed to prevent harm from going your way, and knew how to deal with injuries or how to get out of risky situations. But not even the strongest warriors of Natan's ancient tales survived against the toughest attacks of the abyss. You feel like vomiting, the imagination of kinich mangled body suddenly tormenting your thoughts. ‘I still have to try’, you interrupted yourself, reminiscing the oath you took between the both of you to never abandon his side, dead or alive.

You quickly try to pounce off of them, but they're quicker into getting ahold of you again. You try your hardest to tear through their grasp, feeling your skin ache as they tighten their hand around you.

“Please! Just let me try!” you cry out, almost freeing yourself. They object in volumes, a series of ‘No!’s and ‘You need to rest!’ leaving their mouths. You almost feel helpless, but the group of five freeze all together, out of nowhere.

Their eyes are wide, dilated. Their mouths agape, skin draining of color.

You turn your eyes the same direction as theirs, and a sudden chill waves all throughout your body.

It’s kinich.

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Kinich locks eyes with you, his breath hitching. Almost terrified you’ll disappear in front of his eyes, he doesn’t waste another second and sprints towards you on his feet, ignoring the sharp pain afflicted to his ligaments. The tribespeople quickly free you from their clutches, stepping back as your aching bodies collided into an embrace.

Everyone else disappears from his world as he takes you into his dirtied arms. His body melt into yours, leaving no space for the opportunity of separation between both of you ever again. He feels you trembling underneath his touch making him hold you tighter. “I’m home.” He whispers into your ear, feeling a weight lift off of his shoulders, like bulky armor sliding off of his battered frame— He had died a hundred times to tell you those words.

He can hear you; you're crying into his shoulder, salty tears reviving the scent of the dried blood on his clothes. All he can do is hold you, and take refuge back into your arms after leaving them for what seemed like an eternity. His heart is communicating with yours, beating back and forth at each other. “I was looking for you.” You mumbled against his skin, lips quivering. Your voice is hesitant, as you pull away and look into his tired dark-golden eyes.

“You never lost me in the first place.” He whispers, planting a delicate kiss to your cheek, placing your nimble hand on the left side of his chest to feel evidence of his return. His arms felt lighter, his bones seemed to unbreak, and his wounds were no longer burning. His eyes slowly stickled with tears, burying his face into your hair to let out his shy tears before you had the chance to notice.

His body grew vulnerable under your touch as your tears slowly undid the knot of grief residing in his chest. He almost feels himself shrink back to when he was a lonely child as your mere presence invited the fragile parts of him to be loved again.

His soul yearns for moment like this, where your love is presented raw; It was never about just the beauty. He thawed under your touch even when his clothes and body was drab and scarred. It was never about just the mora, his wallet was no longer weighing in his pocket and he knew that he didn't have to worry about it. It was never about just the distance, it didn't matter if he had to crawl from mondstadt, he still would've tried to come home even if he knew he would die along the way. and it was never about the festivity. he didn't need a festival to celebrate in a way of holding you like he is now. It was always about the bond between both of you and how much joy his heart is beating out just because he can count the beats of yours.

To him, his soul is bound with yours. No matter how far his heroship takes him, he’ll always return to you. For him, that was enough of a reason to come crawling home. 

Kinich escaped heaven a hundred times to come home to you. For you, he would’ve gladly left a hundred times more.

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You relish his embrace with tears sticking your lashes together when your mind slowly floats you away to a distant memory, one you feel like you should have forgotten by now.

It was so long ago.. 7 years ago or so?

It happened somewhere.. Here?

With someone.. Kinich.

You were younger teenagers with kinich that time. You had tripped down a short rocky fall while traversing grassy terrain with kinich. A wince squeaks through your gritted teeth, as he poured water onto the gash you scored on your stumbling. “I’ve always told you to stay sharp when we go out on a walk, but you never listen.” He grumbles, wiping off the dirt that trailed down your calf. “..And everytime you trip, it’s always me who has to clean you up, bandage you, and carry you home.”  He treated your wound as you sat on a rock, awkwardly playing with your fingertips.

You can tell he was just worried about you, you always managed to injure yourself when he took his eyes off of you. He was already pressured on finding a way home, but you just had to go get your knee busted. “Sorry.” you mumble, heat rising to your skin out of embarrassment. “If you really were sorry, you would actually look before you land your feet.” he said bitterly, undoing his bandana, and wrapping it around your knee tightly. As he tightened the knot, he said: “You know I won't always be around to protect you right?” 

“Yeah..” you shuffle your feet around. “But I-i swear I looked before I stepped okay! But the dip was.. was hiding under all the grass.” You attempt to defend yourself, looking at him with guilt written all over your face.

“Can you just promise me you’ll make heaven wait when I'm not around?” He sighs, before helping you get back on your feet, his arm snaking around your waist, as he scooped your shoulder over his shoulder. “Only if you promise too!” you scoff. He rolls his eyes, “As if I'll ever die before you. Seriously, one day I might just be running a commission and bump into you just bleeding to death from your knee.” you grimace under the thought. “Don’t say such horrible things!”

“Then promise me.” “..I promise.”

[erwinsvow]

LOST BOY

the water rushes over your feet, waves picking up a little.

you feel a splash on your ankle but don't move—the silence and moonlight on the dock is much preferable to the party on the boat occurring about fifty feet away.

you had to get out before you lost the last of your sanity, finding it slowly slipping away as your friends got drunker and the friends-of-friends got more unbearable. so, your solution was a few minutes of peace on the dock.

you look up and around at the other empty boats filling the marina. some are recognizable—like the lavish yachts of filthy rich parents. others, not so much, like the one docked right next to you.

you take it in, a fancy boat by anyone's standards, white surface almost glowing in the moonlight. it looked empty, and you're glad for it, because you're too comfortable to move and your feet are wet.

you keep staring, craning your neck and tilting your head to see if there's any name, or any indication of who it belongs to, when you see it. in pretty dark script, so faint you have to squint to make it out.

lost boy

"oh," you say, with the word coming out before you can think about it. "how sad."

and it is sad—makes you sad just to think about it, though you're not too sure why. all the other boats have silly names, names in ode to their owners or the weather or inside jokes no one else will ever understand.

this feels different, you think, staring at the boat you don't recognize and the name that's eliciting a reaction from you. your mind wanders, like always—who is the boy and why is he lost—when a sound from behind you snaps you out of it.

"you say somethin'?" rafe asks, and the voice sounds so close that you whip your head around to stare behind you, a little alarmed.

"oh, i-no. no, sorry. is this your boat? i'll move-"

"s'okay, kid."

you calm down a little realizing it's just rafe—sarah's older brother. though you don't talk to her anymore and haven't seen him in a while, you recognize him, shoulders sinking with a little relief that it's not some drunk idiot's boat you're next to. it must be rafe's.

he walks up to the stern but doesn't get on, rather looking down at you. you're sure you look dumb—party dress a little disheveled, your heels resting next to you while you're still ankle-deep in the water. you're not drunk but you're not sober either, and it's good that you're not, because you have the ability to look back up at rafe.

the eye contact goes on for a bit. caving, you look away back out at water and then the party boat across the dock.

"are you coming from the party too?" you don't think he is, you're sure you would have seen him. at the minimum, would have heard about it with the way the other girls chase after him. you say it just because you want to say something, keep the conversation going.

"nah, no. just came to get something." you're looking at your feet, but he's looking at you. "what was that you said? earlier?"

"nothing," you say, after a brief pause. you don't want to tell him you think his boat has a sad name—the last thing you want is to make him feel bad or try to explain your thinking process, both of which might haunt you.

before you can keep thinking about it, rafe comes and takes a seat next to you on the pier. you laugh, watching him take off his shoes so his feet can join yours in the water. the confidence—or at least, some courage disguised under the alcohol, rushes back.

"i said it was sad." you turn to look at rafe, a little surprised when he's already looking your way. "your-your boat's name. it made me sad."

"yeah?" you nod, trying your hardest to keep the eye contact. "and why's that, kid?"

"i don't know. just did. it sounds lonely, doesn't it?"

"yeah. maybe." you finally tear your eyes away, staring up at the moon. it feels odd to be sitting here having this conversation with someone you hardly know. stupidly, you think it feels intimate.

"are you lonely, rafe?" you ask it to the sky, wondering if you're prepared for the answer. he's silent for a while, and you wonder if you should have just stayed quiet.

"i don't know. guess so."

"fitting name then." you pause, looking at him again. your breath catches for a moment—he looks different suddenly, even more handsome than a few minutes ago, you think stupidly.

"what about you, kid? you lonely?" you nod at him again, smiling softly.

"but i still think you should change the name. there's no use in being lonely," you say, not sure where exactly you're getting the words from. "it's the one thing you can change."

"yeah, i think you're right."

you stay like that for a few moments, until someone at the end of the dock gets your attention, yelling your name. your friends call you back, and you realize you've been here for a while, trying to shake the water from your feet before bringing them back to the dock.

you don't say anything, but then you don't have to, with rafe talking the moment you try to get up. he stands, offering you a hand to get up and then picking up your heels, handing them to your by the straps. you accept them with another smile.

"well, i'll see you around."

"yeah." i hope so. "bye, rafe." you take a few steps away, hesitating again before you're too far. turning back, you see he's still looking at you walk away. "let me know. we could be lonely together."

you hear him laugh, scattering back to your friends. that night you go home thinking about rafe and the sad name and how you felt better in thirty minutes with him than two hours in party with all your friends.

a couple days later you end up back at the marina, walking around in the morning light trying to find where you had been sitting with rafe. you look around again, trying to find the lost boy but not succeeding, until you finally recognize the boat, though it has a different name painted on now, in pretty loopy letters replacing the name you had thought was so sad.

your name.

[lovelyhan]

— ode to you ⟢

if there's one thing you've learned from all the lives you've spent together, it's that jeonghan isn't always someone you'll end up wanting. he can be crass. he can be secretive. he can be nothing short of vexing. but in the end, he's everything you need him to be.

or: 25 lives in which you find and don't find jeonghan.

★ FEATURING; jeonghan x gn!reader

★ WORD COUNT; 6.9k words

★ TAGS; reincarnation, multiple lives, pining, angst, suggestive scenes but no smut, sooo many tropes

★ WARNINGS; mentions of blackmail, implied murder, implied depression, mentions of puking/vomiting, mentions of car accidents major character death

★ NOTES; i was supposed to work on my collab fics but i feel like i've gotten a little rusty w my prose so i wrote this as a little writing exercise of sorts :D i've written for other fandoms in this format before and i thought it was high time i did the same for seventeen with my ult of all ults <3 i hope you enjoy!

this is inspired by tongari's 25 lives

★ PERMANENT TAGLIST; @cheolhub - @pretty-trustme - @just-here-to-read-01 - @Idkmelkro - @dejavernon - @venusrae - @jyiiscool - @jiniesclub - @junhui-recs - @bldelaine - @featmia - @fruitzcup - @hoeforhao - @candidupped - @billboard-singer - @caratochan - @novalpha - @dahliatopia - @0717luv - @shiveringgaze - @toruro - @mixling-blog - @minnie-mouser22 - @homerunhansol - @mirtaspace - @ti–red - @zzucculent - @woozarts - @rubyreduji - @mozellerra - @lllucere - @cheolzip - @jjjzzzz - @lissiesykes - @jeonride - @meowmeowminnie - @colored-confetti - @partiallyinfluencial - @speaknowlwt - @flwrshwa - @lilylikesthat - @aurorahongg - @whippedforjihoon

★ JEONGHAN TAGLIST; @yoonzinoooo - @scandal-in-bohemia - @bias-recs - @lunaryoongie

01. the very first time i remember you, you are blonde and you don’t love me back.

One strict rule that you make sure to uphold with all of your clients is that business comes first before all else.

You're a well-known freelancer that lands gigs left and right from high-end fashion brands and magazines alike. The only way your career managed to survive in such a cut-throat industry is because of the strict professionalism you never failed to maintain.

That's until you meet Jeonghan for the first time.

Fluffy blonde hair framing his face, curling just along the edges. Slanted eyes that crinkle just a bit whenever he smiles. And a lazy grin that betrays just how nonchalant he is about the entire thing. Like he knows he's gorgeous he is and how everyone else in the vicinity is aware of the fact, too.

You've worked with a handful of people with breathtaking features in in the past, but there doesn't seem to be any word in any language that could encapsulate just how mesmerizing Jeonghan is.

For the first time in your career, you find yourself wanting to reach for the subject being captured by the lens of your camera. Just to make sure he was an actual person and not some doll crafted from fine silk and porcelain. The fact that he's modeling with a bouquet of lush flowers does little to your peace of mind.

But your innate professionalism overrules whatever nonsensical desires your sleep-deprived brain could conjure in that moment.

Once you're satisfied with the material you've come up with, you're quick to dismiss Jeonghan and the rest of the team, and call it a day. You have another shoot to oversee in less than two hours and you'd like to avoid the rush hour traffic if you can.

Yet, despite your urgency, you stop halfway to the door to the studio—casting a sidelong glance at the person who's supposed to be one of your temporary colleagues and none else.

"Jeonghan," you call out, his name tasting bittersweet on your tongue. "It was nice working with you today."

He barely glances up at you from the soft glow of his phone screen, not even a smile spared your way.

"Yeah, sure."

02. the next time, you are brunette, and you do.

Yoon Jeonghan is the biggest menace you've met in your life.

Not only does he keep stealing your parking space in the office basement and plucks off the last brownie in the pantry during break time, but he's after the promotion you've been vying after for months, too.

Needless to say, he's public enemy number one in your eyes, and all your colleagues are well aware of the scorching rivalry you two constantly waged in the workspace.

But on the night before you're set to present the proposal that you swear up and down would make your superiors choose you over that sniveling prick, the Devil himself swoops into your cubicle with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Do you really not see it?"

You frown at him as you shove your laptop into your bag with an air of irritation. "See what? That they're going to select you for the promotion? I don't, actually. That's why I'm—"

The words promptly melt on your tongue when Jeonghan forces a hand on divider separating your space with the others—trapping you with a sleazy look on his face. His dark brown tresses fall across his piercing eyes but you force yourself to hold your ground.

In the midst of it all, a moment's worth of familiarity crosses your mind.

Blonde hair styled to perfection. A bouquet of flowers just as beautiful as the man that models for them.

How long has it been since then?

"Can't you see that I'm only doing all this to get your attention?" he chuckles. "I've always known you're a bit slow on the uptake, but you might need an extra push in the right direction."

You gulp nervously. "W-What's that supposed to mean?"

Jeonghan shakes his head, amusement dancing across his features in a way that makes you want to smack him, if not for the laws imposed on the land.

"Have dinner with me tonight and I'll withdraw from the competition" he propositions. "How's that sound?"

...Isn't this blackmail? It definitely sounds like blackmail.

But despite knowing that you should just bring your knee up to smash into his family jewels, your face heats up with the implications of his offer instead.

An offer that you begrudgingly accept.

03. after a while i give up trying to guess if the color of your hair means anything.

"Really?"

Jeonghan grins when he steps into your apartment sporting his newest dye job. You're perfectly aware that idols these days get the most outrageous hair colors, but you didn't think his stylist would be daring enough to pull off long purple hair for Jeonghan just a few months after his group's debut.

Over the years, Jeonghan cycles through a lot more colors than you'd ever thought he'd be willing to try. Blonde, pink, red, brown, silver—all of them, he pulls off with grace.

Even when his idol days are over, he still gets bouts of wanting to march into the nearest salon for another makeover, and you rectify this by just buying the cheapest bleaching kits online despite his whines in protest.

"Our stylist noonas would've been alright with a house call." He pouts just a little as you force him to sit still. "It might come out all patchy."

"Do you have so little faith in your partner's bleaching skills?" you huff, dipping the brush you have in one hand into the bowl of sharp-smelling bleaching mix in the other. "Your stylists noonas charge a fortune, too. We're better off doing it ourselves."

Jeonghan laughs. "You act like we can't afford it."

Turns out, you fucked up the portions of your little bleach concoction and your harmless session resulted into googling first aid for bleaching burns and soaking Jeonghan's scalp with coconut oil for the rest of the day.

"Sorry," you mumble as you help rinse out the oil the next morning. "Do you want to contact your stylist or head to a salon instead?"

Despite your wary disposition, Jeonghan merely breathes out a chuckle, taking your hand in his as he meets your eyes in the bathroom mirror.

There, two rings glimmer in the morning light—the one he shares with his twelve brothers and the one you slid onto his index on the day of your wedding.

"I've been through worse, love. This is nothing," he insists before pressing a soft kiss across your knuckles. "Let's just let my scalp rest for a few days before we dye it, okay?"

You shake your head with a laugh. Really, what are you supposed to do with this man?

"If you insist."

04. because even when you don’t exist, i'm still in love with you.

"You got my name wrong again."

In the middle of packing a takeout bag for the food delivery guy waiting in the corner of the café, you look up to some familiar college kid standing in front of the counter with a furrow on his brow. A regular, maybe.

"Sorry?" you ask, brain a little too frazzled to make sense of what he was trying to say.

Said college kid shows you the underside of his cup—the name Jeonghan scribbled hastily onto the material.

"My name's Jeongin," he sighs. "I've been coming here everyday and I swear, you always get it wrong."

"Well, I'm so sorry, Jeongin, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again," you manage to wrench out before calling out to the delivery guy, saying the order was ready for pick-up.

Funnily enough, you end up living together with Jeongin by some twist of fate. Your shoes are lined up with his outside the apartment, toothbrushes lying in the same cup in the bathroom, and you even steal his hoodies every now and again.

But what you don't tell your boyfriend of five years is how you still dream of the man whose name brought you together in the first place.

A man who you don't get the pleasure to meet in this life, much like a dozen others that came before.

05. i remember most fondly those lifetimes where we get to grow up together

In the past (though its definition is a little...unique in your case), you were convinced that just because Jeonghan is the sole singularity to which your existence is anchored to, that doesn't necessarily mean you'll get to have him and him alone in each life.

Yet in this one, you're fully convinced that he's the only person who'll ever have your heart.

It's on a cold, winter afternoon when you realize that you're in love with the boy that showed you how to cross the monkey bars in elementary school. The boy who gives you his packed lunch whenever you forget yours at home. The boy who taught you how to pick locks so you could sneak into his father's liquor shop and get drunk behind the counter.

Jeonghan has always been a fascinating person in whatever life you meet him. But now that you've got a taste of what it feels to grow up alongside him—witnessing him transition from a snotty kid to a troublesome adult—you can't picture yourself wanting anyone else.

He's rightfully startled when you confess your feelings merely minutes after having realized them. You've lived through this endless cycle of meeting and parting ways enough times to know that there's no room for uncertainty.

And each time he accepts you with open arms, the relief that washes over you feels like the first time all over again.

06. when i share my secrets and sorrows and hiding places with you.

There are times when you're the one who doesn't remember the lives you've lived in the seemingly endless cycle.

When you meet Jeonghan in this life, it's with shoulders carrying the weight of emotional baggage and dreams that have been crushed right before your eyes. It's an understatement to say that you're inexplicably drawn to him as if he's a beacon in the dark. But even if you're yet to remember, Jeonghan has always been easy to trust. Easy to fall into.

One night is particularly heavier than the rest. Your meds aren't kicking in the way they're supposed to and it's raining much too harshly to pay your comfort person a late night visit.

Yet when you call your boyfriend as you choke on your own tears, he's at your door in half an hour—paper bags full of all your favorite snacks in hand with a smile that feels like a ray of sunlight amidst a raging storm.

But he's quick to drop all of it and pull you into a hug when he sees the mess you are in the living room.

"I'm a bad person," you sob into his chest, clinging to the fabric of his jacket as he placates you in his tender embrace. "I'm s-selfish and always just think about myself. I've done so many terrible things, Hannie... How could you even love someone like me?"

Jeonghan doesn't answer right away. He calms you down for the better part of an hour before rising to get you a glass of water in the kitchen. Your boyfriend watches with quiet attentiveness until the look on your face tells him that you're ready to talk again.

"So what if you're a bad person, love?" he murmurs before planting a kiss on your forehead. "Tell me every terrible thing you did and let me love you anyway."

Despite yourself, you let out a soft laugh. "Which cheesy pocketbook did you pull that one out of?"

"Hey, I drove for thirty minutes in the rain and this is how you thank me?" He huffs before reaching for a bag of chips he haphazardly strewn across the coffee table, tearing it open and offering you a piece. "I read that on Pinterest, by the way."

07. i love how you play along with my bad ideas

In many, many lives, Jeonghan is not yours to love.

And that's okay. There isn't a fine print stating that because you're blessed (cursed?) to meet him in each lifetime, you're meant to be together against all odds.

Fate is fickle like that—so unpredictable that you never really know how to act whenever you do cross paths with Jeonghan eventually.

Still, even if you're not destined to be lovers, you can still love him in other ways.

Like helping him sneak out of his third period lecture so he can come watch local street performers hold a fundraising show in some underground bar. You do all this because he once told you that he wanted to support them in any way he could.

If only Jeonghan could see the grin on his face that gets wider with each dancer that takes the stage, he wouldn't have a hard time wondering why it was so easy to fall in love with him.

"So when's the next time you'll help me sneak out of a lecture?" Jeonghan asks as the two of you head back to campus at a mellow pace even if Jeonghan's next classes starts in ten minutes.

You hum as if genuinely contemplating. "Maybe after you do me a huge favor in return for this one."

Your shoulders bump together as he lets out an easygoing laugh. As the late afternoon sunlight filters through a canopy of trees and onto your best friend's face, you feel a tug at your heartstrings that urges you to pull him in for a kiss.

But you don't.

08. before you grow up and realize that they’re bad ideas.

"Are you sure this is safe?"

Jeonghan's voice sounds considerably spooked when the amusement park staff locks in the over-the-shoulder restraints. The buzz of excitement from other visitors rings in your ears and he seems to be the only person that isn't looking forward to being on a rollercoaster.

"You act like this is the first time you've been on one." You roll your eyes. "Just relax and feel the wind on your face, yeah? If it gets too much just hold my hand or whatever."

You should not have offered in the first place because by the time the you've made two trips around the wildly looped tracks, you're convinced Jeonghan has already cut any and all circulation to your fingers with how tightly he's gripping your hand.

But still...you can't deny that it feels a little nice to be needed by him.

09. (and in our lives together i have many, many bad ideas.)

“Do I know you?” 

Jeonghan makes the mistake of blurting out those very strange words when he catches you sitting right next to him at the bar. You startle when he breaks the ice, fully convinced you're the one who had to initiate when you deliberately slid into the stool to his right.

Amused, you study him without much of a real expression before the tension in your posture melts into gentle laughter.

“No,” you say with a tone that suggests you're making fun of him. “But we could get out of here so we can get to know each other better. What’s your name?”

A dozen expressions flit across Jeonghan's face in mere seconds and you would've laughed again if you didn't know the reason behind the perplexity of his reactions.

“It’s Jeonghan. But you can call me…”

Before he can get the rest of the pick-up line out, he promptly throws up all over your outfit.

10. when we meet as adults, you're always much more discerning. I don't blame you.

"Again."

Your sweat beads across your forehead and drips onto the floor as you catch your breath. Palms braced across your knees, you look up to your mentor with a resentful glare.

In this life, Jeonghan—who was considered part of the 'anemic line' in his group eternities ago—is now one of the most well-known choreographers in the industry and would probably put Soonyoung to shame with how much of a perfectionist he is when it comes to your routines.

"Can't I get a five-minute water break?" you plead.

"You can get one when you think you deserve it," he says flatly before crossing his legs. "Do you?"

Much to your chagrin, you're just as much of a perfectionist as he is in this life. You shake your head with a guttural sigh, forcing yourself back into position despite your muscles aching for a break.

You don't miss the way Jeonghan smiles at your display of determination, but you don't let yourself think much of it either.

11. yet, always, you forgive me.

Jeonghan is upset with you.

He has all the right to be, really. You promised that you'll leave enough candy bars from your Trick or Treat haul to last both of you for a week, but you ended up overeating while binging your afternoon cartoons and now there's only one stick of chocolate left in the hollow, pumpkin-shaped bucket.

"I'm sorry," you murmur. "Do you want to go to the candy store to buy some more? I can break my piggy bank if—"

"No, you're saving up for that new game on your Nintendo DS, right?"

The fact that he actually remembers that makes you gape at him. "Um, yeah, but it's no big deal. A candy bar is only worth a few—"

Not giving you any leeway to speak any further, Jeonghan grabs the last candy bar inside the bucket—tearing the packaging open with his teeth before breaking the chocolate in half in the middle. Despite his annoyance, he hands you the other half with a small pout.

"Then just keep saving up so we can play it together," he grumbles and even when he's barely eight years old, it comes so natural for him to show you how much he cares about you.

12. as if you understand what’s going on

"Do you go here often?"

You flash the stranger who's speaking to you a befuddled look—not expecting to hear a line typically used on you in bars at your father's yacht club, of all places. He's wearing tattered jeans and an atrocious pink flannel over an equally tattered shirt. You wonder if he's just going for an odd aesthetic or if he's in dire need of a closet makeover.

"No. I'm just waiting for my father," you tell the man honestly before glancing at the boats docked by the pier. "He bought another yacht that I'm sure he won't even think of after bragging about it to his friends."

The stranger laughs. "I know how you feel. My old man's just as materialistic as yours sounds."

Oh. Maybe he is just going for an odd aesthetic with his fit after all.

"Wouldn't have thought you were a nepo baby, too," you snort before kicking a lone pebble into the water—watching it sink into the depths until it's out of sight. "I thought you were one of the boys that maintain these things while their owners completely forget about them."

"Hmm, I can be anything you want me to be," he chuckles and even if you've only met this guy five minutes ago, something about his laughter sounds so oddly familiar.

"The name's Jeonghan, by the way." The not-so stranger smiles and the feeling that you know him from somewhere intensifies tenfold.

"What's yours?"

13. and you're making up for all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn't exist

You like to think of yourself as an independent person.

You've crossed literal lifetimes in the strangest rendition of immortality that you've never once read in all the books you've deigned to pick up in this never-ending eternity. It's only natural for you to be self-sufficient.

But when it comes to Jeonghan, you always get to refamiliarize yourself with what it feels like to be lonely.

There are things about him that you consider irreplaceable: the curve of his easygoing smile, the warmth of his slender fingers, and the touch you yearn for constantly.

You're perfectly aware that you don't need Jeonghan for all these lives to gain some semblance of meaning. In fact, it's in the lives where you don't meet him that you get to learn a thing or two about yourself.

But when he is there, when he's the reason you get out of bed everyday, you simply think that a second of being with Jeonghan in the flesh is worth more than a lifetime in his absence.

14. and the ones where we just, barely, never meet.

Your phone is pressed into your ear in the middle of the grocery store because your good friend Joshua thought it was the perfect time to rant about his insufferable boss.

Being the lovely person that you are, you let him talk your ear off as you parse through the cabbages on display—wondering which one you should bring home for salad night.

"He's such a fucking prick, you know?" Joshua groans out the same sentence for the third time since you picked up his call. "No wonder his wife is having an affair behind his back. That's karmic retribution if I've seen it.''

"Shua, have you ever considered just resigning instead of making me your therapist?"

"I have, it's just that finding a new job is way more of a hassle than dealing with my asshole boss everyday," he grumbles. "But about the therapist thing—thanks for always listening to me. I know I can be annoying at times but you always put up with it any..."

Joshua's voice fades into the backdrop of your mind when you spot a flash of pink in the corner of your eyes. You instinctively turn your head in the direction of a stranger running towards the exit of the supermarket—wearing an atrocious pink flannel that you would recognize anywhere in any lifetime.

You briefly apologize to Joshua before ending the call, shoving your phone into the pocket of your jeans before leaving your push cart to chase after the figure receding from your line of sight.

You just barely catch him hopping onto a bus when your instincts lead you to further outside. You would have sprinted for a ride, had it not been for the children that obstruct your path with a little game of tag.

By the time you finally shake them off, the bus has already driven past the intersection—snuffing out the candle, leaving you in the dark.

15. i hate those. i prefer the ones in which you kill me.

You've watched a dozen serial killer documentaries in your lifetime—well, lifetimes. They always start the same way: a psychopath with a way with words charming his next unsuspecting victim into their utter demise.

While you absolutely did not know that this life's Jeonghan will turn out to be a crazed lunatic that gets off on seeing another human being's blood on his hands, it doesn't really change the fact that your heart is still tethered to him despite.

He still smiles as sweetly as you can remember as the tip of his knife glides along the column of your throat. His voice is just as comforting in those lives where he'd never forget to kiss you good night right before going to sleep.

"You're such a pretty little thing, aren't you?" Jeonghan murmurs. "But you'd be so much prettier if you just lay still."

The last thing you remember seeing is the angelic look on his face as if he's the one who'll personally escort you to the next life.

You don't particularly mind.

16. but when all's said and done, i'd rather surrender to you in other ways.

It's only amidst the post-orgasmic clarity that you realize how much of a fool you are.

These quick trysts you share with Jeonghan are brief. He invites you over under the guise of something that isn't sex for the sake of propriety, only to pull you into his apartment and kiss you until stars danced behind your eyelids.

He's flicks the cigarette he's having on the ashtray as he complains about a coworker he's been trying to get with for the past month. She likes playing hard-to-get, but I like her so much that I don't really mind? Is that weird? Oh, do you want a smoke, too? Sure, let me light you a quick one in a sec—

You're a fool because you've spent dozens, if not hundreds of lives chasing after him—whether you yourself are aware of it or not.

To Jeonghan, this is a life he probably won't remember in the next. To you, it's another inescapable death sentence.

"Maybe you should drop the nice guy act," you suggest before taking a drag of your own—not caring how the ashes stain Jeonghan's crisp white sheets despite his protests. "Showing your true colors is what got you to land me, you know."

"And we all know how much of a catch you are." He winks before killing his cigarette on the ashtray.

You're about to respond with an eyeroll until he plucks the cancer stick off your hands as well, disposing of it the same way he did with his own. When Jeonghan maneuvers himself on top of you again, you let out a withering sigh.

"Maybe I should just date you instead," he giggles before leaning down to nip at your ear, slender arms coiling around your waist. "What do you think?"

"You already told me before that I wasn't your ideal partner, asshole," you remind him with a huff.

Jeonghan hums, a noncommittal sound that seems like there's something else layered underneath. "But what if I told you that already changed?"

It's enticing—the possibility of getting to have him again when you couldn't really call him yours right now. But you know better than to take things that aren't meant for you.

At least, not in this life.

"Stop saying silly things and just fuck me already," you grumble, already tugging off his boxers. "Then you'll delete my number right after so you can finally get with the woman of your dreams. Got that?"

17. even though each time, i know i'll see you again, i always wonder

You've always looked forward to summer.

No more grueling classes. No more deadlines to catch up on. Summer means you get to go back to your hometown for a few weeks, unwinding in ways that your usual schedules don't quite permit you to.

Summer also means you'll get to visit Jeonghan again.

Your mother already has food and flowers prepared in advance—saying Mrs. Yoon kicked up a huge fuss when she found out you were going back home this weekend. You receive the news with fond laughter, noting how the flowers Jeonghan's mother picked out are reminiscent of the ones he held in the very first life you met him.

"I'm graduating next year," is the first thing you tell Jeonghan when you arrive, popping open two ice cold sodas before settling yourself on the grass in front of him. "Can you believe it? Four years of college, just gone in a flash. If you actually went through with your performing arts scholarship, you'd know how I feel."

"I'm thinking of getting a job here instead of the city. You know, so you won't feel too lonely without me," you chuckle, the moisture of your drink beading across your fingers. "Although, your sister keeps insisting that they give you plenty of company already and that I should chase after my own dreams first. She's starting to sound a lot like you, you know that?"

Jeonghan doesn't respond. Of course he doesn't. But you can almost hear his stilted laughter in the warm breeze anyway.

You place the flowers and the cola in front of his gravestone with a bittersweet pang in your chest. But before the tears can get the chance to escape, you turn on your heel and leave the cemetery altogether.

You didn't always look forward to summer after the accident that took the love of your life away. But knowing that your best friend—your soulmate—would simply be waiting for you in the next life, things became much, much easier.

18. is this the last time?

"Don't go..."

Jeonghan murmurs the words between drunken hiccups as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. You chuckle, smoothing your hand across his sweater-clad back as he clings to you like a koala.

"Hannie, what do you mean?" you whisper as you glance at the mess of empty bottles you'll have to clean up from the coffee table once you put your boyfriend to bed. "I'm not going anywhere."

He pulls away from you briefly, puffy eyes glistening with tears as he lets out a shuddering sigh.

"I had a dream that you left me for some guy named...Jeongin, or whatever," he mumbles. "I promise I'll treat you better than anyone else. Just don't...leave me."

In some way, he remembers. Not everything because even you don't completely recall all the lives you've lived. There's too many of them now, most of which are too painful to think about all over again.

But this is the first actual instance where Jeonghan unknowingly hints that his past lives stay with him even beyond death, and it makes you wonder if he'll start to remember the others in time as well.

"I won't, Hannie," you whisper, weaving the words into a promise that you'll be sure to keep in the next life, and the hundreds of lives that will inevitably follow.

"I won't."

19. is that really you? 

There are lifetimes where you try, but it just doesn't work out.

Sometimes, fate carves both you and Jeonghan into mismatched pieces of two different puzzles, and he doesn't even try to convince you to stay as you quietly pack away your belongings in dull brown boxes. The tension in your movements tells him that you knows he's watching.

"I'm not getting back together with you, if that's what you're wondering," you rasp. "If you love your job more than me, then I'll be the one to see myself out." 

Jeonghan manages a sad smile that you completely miss—having been so caught up with your frustration with him to look. You thought that in each life he ends up becoming a world-famous idol, it meant that he'd also live all of his days with you by his side.

But things aren't always that simple, and Jeonghan merely stands in resignation as you shut the door to both his house and your heart. 

20. and what if you're already perfectly happy without me?

When you took up a job as an events coordinator, never in your wildest dreams did you expect to be planning Jeonghan's wedding, of all things.

He doesn't seem to remember you and you don't really fault him for not recognizing someone he's met literal lifetimes ago. Not when he's obviously so enamored with his current fiancé.

"We were interested in the deluxe package on your website," Seungcheol, his intended, breaks the ice after the formal introductions, showing you a screenshot on his phone. "Is this inclusive of a lights and sound system or will we have to outsource those somewhere else?"

You nearly miss what Seungcheol was asking you—too caught up in how beautiful Jeonghan looks today. He's grown out his hair longer than he usually does and it's half pinned behind his head.

When it takes you a while to respond, both his and Seungcheol's gazes flicker with confusion before your heart sinks with how in tune they are with each other.

"Y-Yes, lights and sounds are already included in the package." You compose yourself with a warm smile. "But you might be interested in the royalty package. This would give you access to..."

21. ah, but i don’t blame you.

"Baby, I'm sorry."

Jeonghan looks like a kicked puppy sitting at the side of the hospital bed with how apologetic he is. You want to tell him that it really is no big deal but with the lower half of your body temporarily paralyzed, you can't really say that's the case.

"I shouldn't have insisted that you come to the music show when it was raining," he groans. "It's a miracle you managed to swerve out of the truck's way."

You wonder if he remembers the life where you lost him to an accident not so different from the one you narrowly escaped last night. The absolute fear in his eyes the moment he saw you covered in casts and bandages is reminiscent of the time you received the phone call informing you of your boyfriend's passing.

But you don't make it a habit to ponder too long about lives that have long come to an end. What's important is now, where you're still living and breathing and able to remain by his side.

"It's not your fault, Hannie," you murmur as you reach out to pet his head with some difficulty. "I shouldn't have gone past the speed limit in the first place."

"Well, you wouldn't have to do that if I wasn't being so pushy about you showing up," he sighs in defeat. "Tell you what, I'll pull out of all our comeback schedules until you can walk by yourself again."

You frown at him. "What? No! Your managers are going to kill you."

"They will, but knowing you'll be all alone while you recover will kill me inside too."

Jeonghan isn't usually this cheeky with you, so you keep this memory tucked away in your consciousness for as long as you can. Knowing there's no talking him out of it once he's got his mind set, you shake your head with a defeated sigh.

"You better take care of me like they do in those five star nursing homes then."

22. i’ll never burn as brilliantly as you. 

Your favorite lives, you think, are the ones where he lights up the stage and the entire world as an idol.

He's happiest in these kinds of lives. The bond he shares with the rest of his bandmates transcends even the love you've harbored for him through lifetimes, and if there are people you'll gladly surrender Jeonghan to, it's those twelve boys that will always be his brothers no matter what.

"How was that?"

You're in the middle of giving out stage directions for the next round of performers when Jeonghan walks up to you with his signature, lazy smile. He's sweat-stricken with a stutter to each breath he takes, but he makes himself appear just as composed as he wants you to think.

"Breathtaking as always, Jeonghan," you decide to humor him—knowing that the sooner you give him a compliment, the sooner he'll leave you alone. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to—"

"Will you be busy after the show? I wanted to cook dinner for us at home."

A panicked look seizes your face when you gesture for him to keep it down. Your eyes dart around the vicinity—idols and their stylists running around backstage in preparation for the next segment of the show. None of them seemed to have picked up on Jeonghan's little slip of the tongue.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" you whisper sharply over the sound of another fellow stage director paging you in the south entrance. "Anyways, I have to go, Hannie. And please don't go blabbing about our relationship where you shouldn't."

When that idiotically handsome smile doesn't fade from his lips, you know things won't exactly go your way as usual.

23. it's only fair that i should be the one

At some point, you stop counting altogether.

The lives you live with and without Jeonghan blend seamlessly into each other the longer the cycle repeats itself. It doesn't hurt as much when you don't find him, but your heart still gushes with relief when you do.

And yet there are instances where you try to spit in the face of fate itself. Instances where you decide that you don't want to be chained to Jeonghan anymore. That the lives you live belong to you and that you won't let some otherworldly force dictate the course of it any longer.

One day in the summer, in some petty attempt to cheat your way out of fate, you decide to date your next door neighbor.

Sujin has the same eyes as Jeonghan—it’s something you can’t really look past. Maybe that’s what makes it so easy for her to wear down your defenses without breaking a sweat.

But the moment the thought crosses your mind, you wipe out every similarity until you can’t see them anymore. They almost look the same apart from gender, but Sujin is so different from Jeonghan, that for a while, you forget about the burden you've been carrying all this time.

One day in the fall, Sujin talks about meeting her brother for dinner, and you don't really ponder about it—agreeing without a hitch.

But that’s only the first of your many mistakes because the man who walks into the restaurant is Jeonghan. Sujin’s brother, the person who’s kissing your girlfriend on the cheek, is Jeonghan. 

“Did you know that Sujin never shut up about you when you brought her the housewarming gift?” Jeonghan snorts before ordering a glass of wine. “Hmm, you look kind of familiar, though… Have we met before?”

“No,” you respond almost instantly.

It doesn’t work. Your master plan of waging war with destiny is rendered utterly useless when Jeonghan bruises his way back into your life. Where Sujin managed to ease herself past the walls you've put up after a few weeks, Jeonghan tears them down in half the time his sister took to pick you apart. 

One day in the winter, Sujin breaks up with you, and in spite of the coil of emotions twisting in your chest, you watch her pack her things and move back into the apartment across the hall. 

One day in the spring, there’s a knock on your front door that you're in no hurry to answer. You stare at Jeonghan with equal parts irritation and relief when you see him there. His grin reminds you of flowers unfurling as he stares back with a challenge in his eyes.

A challenge you loathe, but one you can never refuse.

24. to chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimes

“Don’t you ever get tired?”

Your head is resting on Jeonghan's lap when he poses the question, and you think the fact that your eyes are closed is already an answer on its own.

You used to think you were cursed. Maybe you've incurred enough bad karma in your very first life to provide you with a steady stream of misfortune in the next few million lives you're destined to live.

That could be the reason why you have to live all these lives, meet all these people—rinse and repeat. Is this how the gods are punishing you? Is there anyway to atone for sins you can't even remember committing anymore?

Though…when you open your eyes and see Jeonghan staring out into the distance, you have a hard time thinking of him as a punishment. 

You sit upright and stretch out your limbs. There’s a kink in the back of your neck that might be resolved by a good night’s sleep, but you offer Jeonghan a hand before you can think about it any more.

“No,” you answer as you twines your fingers together, pulling him back to his feet as he spares you a loving smile.

“Not really.”

25. until i find the one where you'll return to me.

"That bouquet's really pretty."

Jeonghan glances behind him with a confused look—frustration clear on his face from trying to get the new stove he had installed in your kitchen last week to start. When his eyes land on the beautiful spill of flowers bundled up in a vase on the dining table, his features soften with fondness.

"Those are the flowers I had when you met me the first time, right?" he chuckles before taking a seat next to you. "The one where I was a 'prick of a model who wouldn't even bat you an eyelash'?"

Your chest bubbles with laughter at his description. You've grown more and more comfortable with telling Jeonghan about the lives you've shared in eternities that have long unspooled, and just when you feared he'd treat you like someone who escaped an asylum, he instead took all your words to heart.

He doesn't quite remember them all on his own, but when you bring up little pieces from old memories you do manage to dredge up, he's able to complete the pieces of the story to form a coherent picture.

Maybe that's what Jeonghan is to you—someone that isn't exactly necessary to have in your life, but someone who makes it infinitesimally better.

If there's one thing you've learned from all the lives you've spent together, it's that Jeonghan isn't always someone you'll end up wanting. He can be crass. He can be secretive. He can be nothing short of vexing.

But he can also be kind, considerate, and present in times when you need him the most.

In the end, he's everything you need him to be.

And you couldn't ask for anything more.

⟢ end notes: me: this is a writing exercise, the word count: pushing 7k :') ok so this wasn't proofread even in the slightest so if you spot any mistakes and errors, no you didn't <3 thank you for joining me in this very self indulgent train of delusion!

[chilling-seavey]

Nothing Looks the Same in the Light (ln4 op81)

↳ A/N I use my Wham! obsession every chance I can get. This song was playing as I was cleaning my apartment and this idea played in my mind like a movie.

↳ Inspired By 'Nothing Looks the Same in the Light' by Wham!

↳ Summary: "I watch you breathe, I cannot sleep. I touch your hair, I kiss your skin, and hope the morning sun won’t wake you too soon [...] Nothing looks the same in the light. Only a fool like me would take to heart the things you said you meant last night."

↳ Pairings: Lando Norris x Oscar Piastri

↳ Word Count: 1364

↳ Warnings: Might tug at your heartstrings. Contains an open ending...and I know how you all hate those whoops

The sunrise cascaded ribbons of golden light across the crisp white sheets of the king size bed, weaving and dancing over the two forms that lay motionless in the sea of linen. It was a calm and quiet morning, the four wallpapered walls of the five-star hotel protecting its timid guests as they slept soundly. The sunkissed bedclothes embraced the two young men, shielding their bare skin from the chill of the air conditioner and the shame that might have arisen with the dawn of a new day. 

Last night was a whirlwind. A race, a podium, a drunken confession. The memories were hazy and choppy, unclear, mortifying. 

Lando was wide awake. 

He couldn’t remember when exactly he had woken up - he knew that he had slept at least somewhat - but he seemed to have watched the sun creep up the wall as it rose for the last however long. He had laid there, unmoving, unblinking, for at least an hour, not wanting to risk rousing the person who took up the other half of the bed alongside him. He didn’t want to have to face the reality of his situation right away. 

Oscar was too sweet to kick him out, he knew that much at least. 

Selfishly, Lando wanted to bask in this moment just a little longer. Just long enough to appreciate the purgatory that lingered between a clueless slumber and the awkward conversation that would certainly arise once Oscar woke up. Hopefully the orange sun streaming in through the sheer curtains wouldn’t wake him too soon. 

Besides, Oscar looked so angelic as he slept. 

Faint, peaceful breaths fanned across the pillow from the slumbering younger of the two, the only sound in the silent room. Lando was captivated by the gentle motion of Oscar’s body as he breathed; the way his chest rose and fell slowly but surely under his cautious arm that had wrapped around his middle sometime in the middle of the night. Oscar was always the calmer of the two, always the observer. Now, in the morning light, Lando gladly took that label for his own. 

Sleep deprived green eyes stared at the freckles that dotted the warm skin of the young man beside him in picture perfect constellations. Moving cautiously, Lando set the pad of his index finger against one of them at the base of his neck and then traced the invisible path to another across his shoulder. Goosebumps rose in his wake across the pale skin and Lando’s lip perked up faintly at the corner. He leaned in the few centimetres between them to softly press his lips to one of the freckles in a timid kiss. 

Oscar smelt like champagne and sunshine, an ode of citrus in his hair from the hotel shampoo, hints of alcohol from the night before that now tingled on Lando’s lips, and he took an opportunity to just breathe him in. Fresh and sweet. They were pressed so close together that Lando’s nose was almost touching the nape of his neck and his selfish fingers ghosted up the top of Oscar’s spine, over each vertebrae, to finally caress through the roots of his messy brown hair.

Lando had never done this before; shared a bed with a man. Certainly not one who was his teammate if nothing else. There were boundaries in this career that one dare not cross. In such a public position, Lando didn’t have the space to risk the opportunity for rumours, so he kept everyone at an arm's length away.

But it always felt so right with Oscar. From the moment they met Lando knew he was royally fucked. 

Lando had always been the more experienced of the two in all aspects of racing, of Formula 1, of the whirlwind world in which they were a part of. Here, now, Lando felt entirely clueless. He was a slave to the passing of time and the inevitable approaching moment of which he would have to look Oscar in the eyes and hear that this was a mistake. 

Curse the celebratory champagne for coaxing a drunken confession out of him. Maybe he should have listened to George and stayed away from alcohol on race weekends. 

Blinking slowly, trying to piece together the night before, Lando could see visions of Oscar in the darkness of his eyelids. His stupid little pout, his bashful eye roll, his whispered voice slurring his accent with the consequence of too many drinks. 

“Take your time...”

The tentative touch of his hands on his skin, their limbs entangled, plush lips pressed together in between tiny whimpers of desire gone unsaid. 

The memory made him shiver, his heart squeezing in his chest. This was why he never let himself get close to anyone. This was why he prioritized racing over anything else. Stupid, stupid feelings. 

Lando was startled by a faint car horn blaring from somewhere outside the hotel, startling him from the peace. The sharp sound had Oscar shifting in his sleep with a sigh through his nose, hands folding under his cheek against the pillow. Lando’s arm snaked back around Oscar’s waist, tucked safely over the duvet, and he tightened his grip just enough to pull him closer until their bodies were moulded together in parallel shapes. All he could do was wait and see what would become of this. Soon Oscar would be waking up and what would that bring? 

Lando felt like a fool.

He felt like a fool for ever thinking that Oscar would want him back, for thinking that Oscar would wake up and not have regrets about everything that happened the night before, and, especially, for throwing caution into the wind and confessing his feelings to his teammate like some meek love-sick puppy. How pathetic. Lando wanted the sunrise to swallow him up and incinerate him into a dimwitted pile of ash.

With his arm absolutely motionless around Oscar’s waist, Lando’s palm was pressed gently to his stomach, feeling the warmth of his skin under the duvet and the firm muscle of his lean body. Oscar’s abdomen rose and fell with every breath, moving Lando’s gentle hand along with it. In, and out. In, and out. It was almost lulling Lando back to sleep, letting his mind focus on that serene moment where it was easy to pretend that everything was perfect and right there in that hotel room bed was where he was always meant to be. 

The sudden change in Oscar’s steady breathing had Lando stiffening in cold anxiety, keeping himself frozen still as Oscar inhaled deeply and let it out with a soft heavenly sigh as he awoke. The rustle of the sheets as he stirred and stretched was the only sound in the room and it was almost deafening. Lando watched the muscles of Oscar’s back flex and move as he turned over to face the ceiling, hands raising to rub his red-rimmed brown eyes, still exhausted and, now too, hungover. 

Lando dared not breathe, as if it wasn’t glaringly obvious that he was clearly present in the bed beside him. 

Finally, Oscar rested his hands gently over the blankets around his chest and he lolled his head to the side to look at Lando under slightly furrowed brows. The faintest hint of a pout on his face had Lando almost shying away under the covers, his heart racing with adoration and his stomach twisting with anxiety. Even still, Lando couldn’t get himself to look away from his eyes, his arm still around his middle and their legs crudely tangled under the wrinkled sheets. 

It was as if it took a few seconds for Oscar to process who he was looking at but, even as he did, his expression stayed stagnant, rich brown eyes squinting in the morning light that poured in through the windows. Lando swore he had never seen brown eyes sparkle the way Oscar’s did in that moment. Neither of them moved. 

Oscar cleared his throat slightly before trying to speak, breaking the silent uncertainty that lingered between them in that moment, his voice deep and raspy and his accent thick, “Hey.”

Somewhere, in the distance, a bird sang.

“Hey.”

My Very Extensive Tag List™: @wetforwolff

None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

[apollon-quotes]

"It is Apollo who dispenses remedies to men and women for grievous diseases, and who bestowed on us the cithara, and gives the Muses' inspiration to whomever he will, bringing peaceful concord into the mind, and who possesses the oracular shrine."

- Pindar, Pythian Ode 5

[honeyedmiller]

Joel Miller Masterlist

* indicates smut. 18+, minors do not interact.

one shots:

Tailgate*

-> your best friend drags you to a tailgate party, and you end up being introduced to one very attractive miller brother.

A Forever Thing

-> you and joel have been trying for a baby since the night you two married, but haven’t had any luck—until you do.

Help Me Forget*

-> joel and tommy stumble upon an unexpected body in the snow on their patrol, and they bring the person back to jackson with them.

Pout*

-> joel’s noticed you’ve been working a little too hard, and he misses you. he decides to use his all-consuming charm to coax you to relax… in more ways than one.

Forbidden Fruit*

-> you return back home from college after graduating with your master’s degree, and joel miller is surprised to see how much you’ve really grown up.

Shotgun*

-> you and joel smoke together for the first time.

Ride, Cowgirl*

-> you tell joel one of your fantasies that’d been on the back burner, but he encourages you to bring it to life.

Love Me Tender

-> after a terrible mental week, joel checks in on you and makes sure you’re taken care of.

Something in the Orange

-> you and joel enjoy a peaceful autumn morning together.

Ring*

-> tommy teases joel about you and him having marriage problems when he notices you aren’t wearing your wedding ring.

Mask*

-> joel throws his annual halloween party, and you’re both determined to settle your aching need for each other.

Mystery

-> tommy drags joel to a club which he detests to, until he sets his sights on you.

Checkmate – blurb*

-> screwing your dad’s best friend shouldn’t feel this good.

Checkmate – one shot*

-> you and your dad’s best friend play a dangerous game, and one of you ends up losing faster than you both anticipated.

Nobody Does It Like You Do*

-> good girls always get rewarded.

Birthday Girl*

-> joel gives you a sweet surprise on your birthday.

Traditions*

-> you and joel make holiday traditions in your new home.

Sweet Thing*

-> the most unlikely pair in jackson just can’t get enough of each other.

A Merry Little Christmas

-> christmas morning at the miller household is always chaotic in the sweetest way possible.

Dawn’s First Light*

-> joel tells you he loves you for the first time.

Hiraeth*

-> the most invigorating and intoxicating drug you’ve had in your life is completely forbidden—and then there’s weed.

Real Love, Baby

-> joel has a bad day at work, but seeing you dancing in the kitchen makes it all better.

An Ode to Forever*

-> after an arduous day, joel draws a bath to help you both relax.

or

an ode to how much you love joel miller, and he, you.

The Hills*

-> drugs. sex. fame. joel miller. something about hollywood or other. it all seems to become a blurred line when you get invited to an oscars after party at a house in the hills.

Sweet*

-> it’s a lazy sunday, and joel prefers to have his coffee in bed with a side of you.

Clouded*

-> saturdays are meant for errands and chores. joel convinces you otherwise just for once.

Pretty Little Thing*

-> it’s summertime and you’re working at a retro diner on the outskirts of austin. you’ve seen many faces and heard many voices all in a passing blur; ones you’ve never really payed any mind to—until one handsome southern gentleman in particular catches your special attention, and he’s got a voice you’d recognize anywhere—one that’s gotten you off more times than you’d like to admit.

Mr. Bakery Man

-> it’s not every day you get to move from nyc to austin for your job and relish in a pleasant change of pace. it’s also not every day that you discover a cute family owned bakery in the heart of austin—and it’s definitely not every day that you meet the owner and fall head over heels for him.

drabbles:

Angel*

Sir*

[untitled]*

series:

Fate, After All*

-> your mom thinks it’s a bright idea to keep setting you up on blind date after blind date. none of them work in your favor—until one unintentionally does.

Law of Attraction*

-> you and your criminal law professor have an undeniable attraction toward each other. it’s only natural that you both explore that attraction—but navigating a dynamic like that is never as simple as it seems.

A Burning Desire (ongoing)*

-> you were fine with being single, basking in the freedom and independence of it all—until a handsome firefighter walks into your life and completely flips your world around.

Yours, Always (on hold)*

-> in which you find an old mixtape made by the one that got away.

[drunkonh20]

Is There Someone Else?

I had a vision okay, but y'all do not judge me I didn't write a single piece of fiction in a WHILE (more like years but nvm) mkay. I Will get better I PROMISE ;_;

It has been a quiet night on the streets of Zaun, if you can call it that. You found yourself in The Last Drop drinking your heavy heart out. Tho it wasn't like you, no. You were, as people called you "sunshine" of this city. The way your eyes would light up or the way your laugh brings joy into a room, some would say that it makes people forget about the horrible things in this world. What could have happen to make you feel so alone and empty tonight that you could only drown your sorrows in a bottle of strong liquor.

Her.

"Ah... You really are an idiot Y/N." You whispered as you poured the last drop into your throath. It nade you think of the times you spent together, it made you realise that maybe some things are nit meant to be.

'No, no we can work iz through, it surely is not like that...' You think to yourself looking up to ask for another bottle of that bitter sweet brown liquor.

Meanwhile she was looking everywhere for you, the rain did not stop her. She started from the begining of the Undercity and will look behing every single corner of this city until she finds her peace. Until she finds you. Sevika knows every single inch of this place, yet she still can not put her finger on it, where are you, her light in this world, right now when she needs you the most?

'She is alright, she has to be!' Sevika thought to herself. If someone gives you a dirty look or even touches you in the wrong way, she will, gladly get her hands dirty just to protect what is hers. People need to understand that you are hers. And there is no other way around it. She passes by the beloved bar in the city and stops in her track. Could you really be there and if you were what on earth would be doing there when she told you a million times not to go without her. The thought of that you are alone there with god knows how many nasty and lust hungry men made her blood boil. As she slams the door open, there you are. Your head in the palm od your hand as your elbow is on the bar while some bold thinking man is pulling you closer to him. Boy did he now know what is he up for now.

"Y/N!" You slowly turn your head at the main door of the bar. Your vision is fog like but that voice. You know that voice from the bottom od your heart. Hearing the heavy foot steps a face bright as day gets inches away from you. "You better stay away from my girl or else I will tear you into pieces." She says to the man realizing the mistake he made. Yes, it really is her. She takes you into her arms and takes you out of the place far away so you two can sort things out.

"I have my own two feet thank you." you say as she takes you down. "Jet clearly they are out of function my dear." She says, her eyes not leaving you. She takes a deep breath, strong smell od liquor hit her. "Have you been drinking? I told you now to drink while you are alone, do you know what could have happen with all those assholes next to you?" She snapped at you, you finally lost it.

"Oh, you are the one to talk? What about you going to the brothel behind my back and being there god knows for how long? Did you not think one second of me, do you even fucking care about me and my feelings? I have been nothing but good and patient with you and I find out by someone else that you are fucking someone else behind my back??"

It was like the sky broke its heart for you, how much thunder and rain it poured after you started crying. Sevika was shocked. Who filled your mind with such dark spots. It was true that she went to the brothel, but not for pleasure, no never for pleasure after being with you. She was looking for someone, work related. She kneeled infront of you wanting to take you into her big, strong arms but you got away. She looks at your angelic face, oh that sweet face that she wakes up every morning to. She could not forgive herself for not telling you about the situation. Sevika doesn't want to worry you with her dirty work that she does for Silco. She wanted to keep you out of it as much as possible.

"Tell me Sevika, is there someone else or not?" You ask never letting your eyes leaving her. She takes your beautiful face into her hands and kisses with all of the love on the world. The moment that could last for a life time. When you fist saw Sevika, she seemd rough and intimidating, someone would say she is just scary looking with her bionic arm that was always covered by red cloack. "Why on earth would I have anyone else when I got all I need infront of me my love?" She askes you while gently caressing your cheekbone. "I was going to the brothel, yes, but for work my love. I was looking for someone Silco wants me to find. I heard that person was a regular there and I had to look. I'm sorry my beloved for not telling you about it." She kneels infront of your standing body, placing her head on your stomach.

You stoke her brown hair, feeling your heart lighten up. She looks up at you and smiles. Oh how you love to see her smile, it feels you with so much joy. She stands up pulling you to her, kissing you again, her bionic hand pulling you even closer to her. It was a moment that you two never really had and somehow you enjoy it. There was no excuse for why you were mad at her and she understood, although she would never in a million years hurt the love od her life. She would never hurt you. The kiss got more intense as a slight moan escapes your lips. You could feel her smirk in the moment as she enjoy hearing your little whimpers and moans.

"C'mon beautiful, let's go home." She says as she carries you bride style, her cloack covering you so you won't get cold, knowing damn well you need to get your strenght up for whats waiting for you when you both get home. ;)

[accio-lo-ki]

friends? best friends.

Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief, Rick Riordan / The Louvre, Lorde / Jennifer's Body (2009), dir. Karyn Kusama / An Ode To A Conversation Stuck in Your Throat, Del Water Gap / Anyone Else But You, The Moldy Peaches / Change My Mind, One Direction / I'm Drunk, I Love You (2017), dir. JP Habac / It's Nice To Have A Friend, Taylor Swift / Love, Rosie (2014), dir. Christian Ditter / You Are In Love, Taylor Swift / Dress, Taylor Swift / Beautiful World, Where Are You, Sally Rooney / X-Men: First Class (2011), dir. Matthew Vaughn / Peace, Taylor Swift / Little Women (2019), dir. Greta Gerwig / 13 Going On 30 (2004), dir. Gary Winick / Lucky, Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat / One Day (2024), Netflix / Funny Story, Emily Henry / Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014), screenplay by Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely / Only Friend, Wallows / X-Men: Apocalypse (2016), screenplay by Simon Kinberg / Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014), dir. Joe and Anthony Russo / The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller

[chaotickryptonitetree]

ode to the maybes that make up the good stuff (us) | trent frederic

hes so underrated and I needed a reader who wasn't a genius (because I cant relate to smart people and why is the reader always smart??).

You were running late. 

And it–sort of–wasn’t your fault? 

Okay, it was your fault for oversleeping. But then your exam ran over the allotted time (they hadn’t even been passed out when you stumbled into the lecture hall, panting from sprinting from your parking spot, still blinking sleep from your eyes). And then your row was the last row to be dismissed. And yeah, it wasn’t really your fault. 

Speed-walking back to your car, you weighed your options. Your meeting would take you 20 minutes to get to with the mid-day traffic. And it was the kind of event where it was no use showing up late–might be better to just not show up at all. 

And then you passed your favorite coffee shop, and the wheel practically turned into the parking lot itself. Your boss would understand about the final and you could get notes from someone else later. Finishing that class called for a break–and as you turned off the ignition, you allowed yourself your first deep breath all morning. 

The perfect cure to a hectic morning was a fresh start and an almond-milk latte. 

The bell jangled as you opened the door–hit with the familiar smell of roasting beans and gingerbread muffins in the oven. Your exhale was cathartic. 

“Hey, welcome in!” The barista greeted you as you stood in the doorway, walking to join the line. For a random weekday, it was quite busy. You gave your order to the barista politely and walked to the only empty table left. 

You criss-crossed your legs in the booth, pulling out a book from your bag. Time–only interrupted by a swift hand placing a drink on your table and walking back to the counter–warped as your turned pages, eager to escape the craziness of the morning and happy to have a medium in which to do so. 

Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating small flecks of dust in the air. Condensation dripped down the side of your glass, collecting in a ring on the wooden table. The only noise to fill your space was the crisp turning of pages and background chatter filling in the blanks. 

Until it wasn’t.

“Excuse me,” said so quietly you thought you had misheard, you didn’t look up until someone cleared their throat. “Hey.” 

You looked up, squinting slightly from the sun. There was, in fact, the shadow of a very tall person standing near the edge of your table. Trying not to let your disappointment show, you dog-eared the page and closed the book gently. The background chatter roared on as you set your head on your hand, looking up at the voice from before. His face was still skewed by the harshness of the sunlight through the windows. 

“Sorry–didn’t hear ya…can I help you?” you spoke slowly, evenly to the faceless man. He coughed again, pausing too long to be normal given the circumstances. 

“Um, yeah…no, that’s alright!” He answered awkwardly. He then seemed to realize that he hadn’t truly answered the question and sighed. “Was wondering if I could share this table with you?” He seemed to be nervous about your response so he quickly spoke again. “You’re the only one with a spare seat.” 

Luckily, you were in a good mood and didn’t have any emotional attachment to the other side of the booth. “Go for it,” you said with the wave of a hand. “I don’t mind at all.” 

You could feel his smile in his exhale. “Really?” His voice was light and relieved, even as he sat down and moved his bag inside the booth before he slid in. You hummed in response, turning back to your book, head in hand. He respected your quiet, and the sound of him pulling notebooks and pens from his bag faded to background noise as you fell back into your chapter. 

And yet again, a drink being set down disturbed the peace. Your head flitted up, clocking the barista setting down a cold brew in front of the boy across from you. 

And then you got a good look at the boy across from you. 

He was big. Like big enough where you could see every muscle indented in his long sleeve shirt (not that you were staring or anything). A pretty blush painted his cheeks daintily, full mouth quirked to the side as he fiddled with the straw wrapper. Big, brown eyes met yours and widened when he realized you were already looking at him. 

“What?” he asked softly, plunging the straw into the drink and swirling slowly–ice clinking against the glass. 

“Nothing,” you closed your book again, shrugging slightly. “I just didn’t realize that you were handsome.” His blush deepened, creeping up his neck and to the tops of his ears. 

“Oh,” he fidgeted with his hands–which were easily the size of his face–”I wasn’t expecting you to say that.” 

You leaned into your hands more, endeared by his sudden shyness. “Well, it’s true.” You smiled as he tried to keep eye contact. “What’s your name, handsome?” 

He bit his lip, cracking his knuckles nervously. “Don’t wanna tell ya.” 

“And why is that?” You cocked an eyebrow. 

He smiled–a little less shy, eyes like amber in the sunlight. “So then you’ll have to keep calling me handsome.” 

You laughed into your palm. “I’ll call you pretty regardless, promise,” you held your pinkie out as a mocking gesture, “just tell me.” 

“Trent,” he wiped his hands on his sweatshirt and wrapped his pinkie around yours, “that’s me, I mean–yeah, my name.” He didn’t let go before you did, introducing yourself softly with a smirk. He felt like had a certain warmth–a comfort–wrapped around him like the blanket on your childhood bed. He felt kind.

The best beginnings always begin with that–a kindness. 

…

The next time you saw him, you were embarrassed. Your advisor had suggested that you enroll in a supplemental class during the night after a particularly hard semester academically–and as much as it hurt your ego, not going would hurt it more. 

So, you went to the class, despite feeling stupid. Eager to make yourself small, you chose a seat in the back corner, hood up as you got out your supplies. Maybe no one would recognize you, maybe you’d just be able to take the class and then slip out the door when it was over. No harm, no foul. 

But of course you could never be so lucky. Your eyes darted to the door just as he walked in–as sturdy and solid as ever. His backpack straps fought to keep the muscles of his shoulders and neck contained. The indentations of his triceps made his long sleeve flutter around him. 

And you were definitely staring–for much too long, you guessed–because your gaze drew his attention to your corner. His eyes smiled before his mouth as he made his way over to you. He looked–relieved?

“Thank god,” he sighed as he slid into the chair next to yours. “You’re here.” You searched his face for any sign that he was teasing, making fun of you in any way. At all. 

But you couldn’t find it. Still, you were tentative. “Yeah.” Really awesome conversation starter. He didn’t seem to mind. 

“I was scared that I wouldn’t see you again,” he pulled out his glasses and opened up his laptop–the light reflecting off of the lens artificially, “lucky me.” 

You opened your mouth to say something but were interrupted by the professor introducing themselves and projecting the syllabus. You turned toward the front and tried to tune in. 

But it was hard. Not because the class itself was going to be a challenge–it was only supplemental after all–because he was distracting. 

Distracting you with how cute his rosy cheeks looked under his glasses. How he mouthed words after the professor said them before writing them in his notes. How he nodded his head and actually paid attention the entire time. He was just trying hard. 

And it was alarming how endearing you found that. So, yeah, you half listened for the lecture–but it was intro stuff anyways. As you packed up your back, he let out an exhale and let you out to the door first, holding it open with his wide palm. 

“So, what do you think?” He asked, matching your pace as you walked to the parking lot. It was dark–and far colder than when you had entered the building a few hours earlier. 

“Hmm?” You hadn’t quite heard him–too busy watching him push his glasses up into his hair, making it stick up arbitrarily all around his head. He smiled a sideways little smile. 

“What do you think of the class?” 

“Oh,” and you were embarrassed again, “it’ll be fine. I could use a GPA boost,” you admitted. He nodded, even though you could guess he couldn’t relate. 

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” he said, even though he didn’t know you, “you’re smart.” 

You pinched your face together. “You don’t know that.” 

He smiled, shoving his shoulder into yours good-naturedly. “Yeah I do,” he was closer in your space now, “can tell by the way you talk.” 

You looked up at him–not convinced–but he was already looking ahead. “Which car is yours?” 

Nodding toward your car, parked away from all the others, he cracked his knuckles. “Cool, I’ll walk you there.” 

“Oh please,” you scoffed, “I’ll give you a ride, but only because you’re being so cute tonight” He smiled–like he knew you’d ask. 

“I bet you say that to all the boys.” He waited for you to unlock the car. 

His face was blushy from compliments and the cold. “Only the cute ones,” you said as you stepped into the car. He shook his head. 

…

Laundry day in a college dorm just might be the 5th circle of hell. Every machine is taken, none of them work right, and there’s always someone who dumps clothes on the ground–essentially making the room itself a battlefield. 

But at 2am on a Tuesday night–it was peaceful. Sure, there were still the clothes littering the ground like an overgrown garden, but the scent of fabric softener seemed to soften the air around you; low tumble of the machines a gentle lullaby as the campus stilled around you. 

Sitting atop the washing machine you were using, you waited for the cycle to be done. Stars interfered with the inky-black sky as it shone through the windows. And you watched. At this hour, there were no expectations, nothing to do, no one to impress. Just the silence around you. 

And then the door opened. And of course it was him. 

Hidden behind a large basket of clothes, looking adorably soft and sleepy in pajama pants, was Trent (again!). He didn’t seem to notice you as he sorted his clothes–large hands deft and meticulously parting darks and lights. You just watched. 

“Hey handsome.” You said softly as he stood to his full height, slightly startled. But once he realized it was you, he let out a relieved sigh and walked to stand across from you, leaning back on to the row of dryers. 

“Late night?” He spoke lowly, even if there was no need to whisper. As if he was cautious about disturbing the peace. 

You shrugged, pulling your legs into your chest atop the machine and wrapping your arms around them. “I like it,” you said honestly, “it’s the only time I get all to myself.” 

He nodded in a way that made you think he understood. “What did you do today?” You asked, eager to keep him there. 

He thought for a moment, looking slightly upward. Then told you all about his classes (they are interesting, but demanding), practice (just a light skate, they have a game tomorrow), and homework (he has a quiz in a few days). And you nodded, interested in anything he had to say. 

You switched over your laundry as you listened to him, adding in dryer sheets and humming accordingly. It struck you that each time you spoke to him, it felt easy. You picked up right where you left off, like you were old friends. It made you smile to yourself. 

“Whatcha thinkin about?” He interrupted your train of thought. Your eyes flitted up to his, sideways smirk gracing your lips. 

“You,” you answered honestly, knowing that it would make him blush more. He rubbed his eye and tried to hide his delight. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes playfully. But when you just kept looking at him, greedily, just because you knew he’d let you, he paused–a spark of hope lighting up his face. “Really?” His voice came out small. 

You tilted your head, nodding slowly. “Yeah.” He smiled like he knew something you didn’t. He probably did. “Will you tell me a secret?” You asked as he folded his clothes carefully. 

He thought for a moment, as if any sudden words would break the bubble around you both. “I did laundry yesterday,” he admitted, making you smile a wide, genuine grin, “just saw you in here and wanted an excuse to come in.” His blush was a splotchy watercolor painting his tired face. “Now you tell me one.” 

You pretended to think hard, emboldened by his admission. “I love it when you blush,” you said, “but I don’t think I’m doing a good job of keeping that a secret.” He shook his head, folding his last sweatshirt into his basket. 

“You can’t just say things like that,” he laughed lightly, eyes bright. 

“And why not?” You smiled as he stepped closer, close enough for you to see the freckles on his nose. Right in front of the dryer which you sat on. “It’s true.” 

Everything about him was soft. He smelled like he had just showered, and up close you could notice how his hair was still damp at the root. “Because,” he took a gentle thumb to your cheek, showing you the eyelash he had picked up. “It’ll ruin my tough guy reputation,” he flicked it off to the ground. You shivered at the loss of contact–however fleeting it was. “The guys are already giving me shit for how much I talk about the cute girl from the coffee shop.” 

You smiled. “You talk about me to your friends?” Was he getting even closer? 

He couldn’t break eye contact with you if he tried, nodding. “Can I tell you another secret?” You asked gently. He nodded again. “I have a crush on this really cute guy.” He laughed, shutting his eyes and letting his forehead rest on your shoulder. He practically radiated heat. 

“Oh great,” he smiled into the crook of your neck, “and I’m just supposed to go on with my night after this? Like a normal person?” 

You laughed with him and brought a hand to the nape of his neck, running your fingers through his half-damp hair. “How will you manage?” You joked, voice careful. 

He didn’t answer. And there you sat–atop a still warm dryer like the queen of the night, running your fingers through his hair until his arms wrapped around your back in perhaps the gentlest hug you could manage. You let your breathing slow to match his. You forgot what time it was, about your clothes. 

And when he held you like something soft and good, it didn’t really matter–did it? 

…

The stress of night class quickly melted into an excuse to see him two times a week (at least). You’d always get there first–and maybe you’d have an extra energy drink, just because–and then he’d stumble in a few minutes later, making a beeline for your designated corner (wearing his glasses if you were lucky). 

You set down his energy drink in front of him as he unpacked his bag. His eyes darted up to clock the motion before he smiled a sideways smile. “Sweet of you,” he said softly, still bent over his bag. “Thank you,” he added, settling in his seat. 

Nodding, you turned to the front–ready to dial in to the lecture. And you did! For a few minutes, before a notification popped up in the corner of your computer–an email in your school inbox. Switching tabs, you opened the email from an unknown sender. 

Really cute girl next to me. Pretty nervous. Should I make a move?? -T

Smiling to yourself, you immediately typed out a response. 

not sure…heard she usually goes for defensemen. 

A response came a moment later, his shoulder shaking slightly with a laugh. 

If i can beat one in a fight does that count? 

Electing to close out of your email, you settled for moving your chair a little closer to him, rubbing his shoulder soothingly over his sweatshirt. 

“I think you should make a move,” you whispered in his ear, reaching to take a sip of his drink. He leaned back into your touch, tilting his head down to respond. 

“Do ya?” His voice was low, eyes flickering down to your lips for just a second. You nodded, removing your hand from his shoulder. 

“Yeah pretty,” his eyes didn’t leave your mouth, “I really do.” 

But you could wait. And so you did. 

…

When he came back from away games, he was usually tired. And it was late anyways–maybe 11:30? But you were up writing an essay that was due in a few days. Your phone buzzed on the pillow near you. 

Any chance you’re still awake? 

You smiled to yourself, leaning back on the headboard and putting your laptop to the side. 

of course, you answered, paper due soon.

And then a moment later–but could be convinced to take a break??

Three gray dots appeared and then disappeared before his response. 

Was hoping you’d say that. 

And then–Be there soon. 

You smiled, continuing with your paper until a soft knock rapped on the door. 

“Come in!” Your voice was still hushed due to the late hour. He opened and closed the door softly, placing his backpack against the wall and slipping off his shoes. Wasting no time, he slid next to where you sat at the head of the bed, knee knocking against yours. You leaned into his side slightly, loving how warm he was. 

“How’s the paper?” He put his head on top on yours, looking at your computer above you. You didn’t answer, instead typing “eh,,,how was game?” into your document. He laughed, lips brushing against your hair. “Good. Got into a little fight.” He flexed his hand in front of you, knuckles raised and red. You ran a finger over the little cuts (he didn’t flinch) and wrapped both hands around one of his, rubbing your thumb over the veins on the back of his hand. 

He sighed, making you smile. “You should see the other guy?” You questioned, hoping he won whatever scrum he had likely started. 

He nodded slowly against your head, watching your hands work around his. “You should see the other guy,” he confirmed. And there you sat, comfortable and sleepy with a human furnace beside you. He smelled like green apples and a fireplace that had just burned through the kindling. He was cozy–everything about him. You turned just slightly, nose brushing the column of his throat. He shivered. 

“I love spending time with you,” he admitted, embarrassed and not making eye contact with you–as if meeting your eyes would cause the tips of his ears to catch fire. You hummed against his neck, slightly damp from his shower. “You make me laugh and you’re really pretty and it makes me happy when you make time for me,” he rambled on, stuttering slightly. 

“Yeah?” Your lips brushed his throat, prompting an embarrassing, whiny whimper from him. He looked up, giving you more space (even if he didn’t mean to). 

“Yeah,” his voice was small. 

You smiled into his neck, kissing the hollow of his throat, lips feather-light. “Well I like how smart you are,” you moved up, kissing just below his ear. “How kind you are to me,” his jawline, “how you blush when you’re embarrassed,” as if on cue, his ears lit up further. “Yup,” you kissed his ear, “just like that.” 

You felt his breathing labor next to you–chest rising and falling quicker than before. Fixated on your mouth, he started to reply. 

“Well I like–” and that’s as far as he made it before leaning in and gripping the back of your neck, pulling your lips to his in a kiss that burned. 

His lips were slightly chapped, and your teeth knocked into his, but the grip his massive hands had on your face made you lean closer to him–too enamored to care. Smiling against his mouth, you swallowed the groan leaving him eagerly. His hand slid to your jawline keeping you close to him. 

As if you’d ever leave. You placed another light kiss to the corner of his mouth as he caught his breath. 

“About time, eh?” He smiled down at you, eyes dark and bright. You brought his knuckle to your mouth–as if your lips would make the bruises disappear. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment. 

“We got there,” you laughed lightly. “Worth the wait, right, handsome?” He ran a thumb over your cheekbone–always so gentle. 

He just snuggled up next to you and let his body get heavy next to yours. You felt him smile next to you. Some questions didn’t need answers. His slowed breathing as he fell asleep next to you was answer enough.

...

love you!

[lunarmoonanons]

The Singing Dragon: Saera's Nightmare

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Masterlist

Saera glided along the path of the gardens. She paid no mind to the flowers that seemed to blur about her. Her hands seemed to reach out in front of her, everything felt like a dream. She did not know how she ended up in such a secluded part of the garden, her and her love’s favorite part of the garden. Saera indulged men and pretty girls in kisses on their necks and cheeks, but her lips were reserved for her dearest love and only true soulmate: YN. Her little sister by two years, the only one of her family not to look down on her for her antics and openness to pleasure. 

Saera could only ever truly love YN. Her sister who did not care for sex and pleasure. Her sister who sang poems and wrote odes to her. She saw the light of the day create a halo around her YN. An image of serenity and peace. Saera sighed in content and reached her hand toward the back of her sister. 

“What are you doing here, Saera?” YN demanded, her tone catching Saera off guard. Saera paused and retracted her hand quickly. 

“I came to see you my darling. I missed you.” 

“You think I am stupid?” YN asked, her voice hard and her back still turned to Saera. 

“What? YN… Please let us spend the day together and-”

YN cut her off harshly and turned her head to glare at Saera. Her violet eyes held fury. “And why would I want to be near you?”

Saera felt her mouth go dry and hands began to shake. YN never spoke to her like this. She held such contempt in her eyes and disgust in her voice as she spoke to Saera. Saera never felt so small, but in this moment she felt as tiny as a mouse. Saera swallowed her worry and tried to laugh off YN’s unusual reaction. 

“My dearest, what has become of you? Did you find your pillow lumpy last night? Please let us forget all contempt and hold each other.” Saera tried to charm her. Reaching her hand out once again. But this time YN suddenly turned her body swiftly and slapped her hand away. 

“Don’t you ever try to touch me! Your hands are filthy and I would not have you defile me by your touch!” YN spit at her. 

“YN…” Saera whispered.

“You are a whore.” YN spat out. Saera felt her heart hit her stomach. “Father was right about you.”

“YN please no… Don’t say this.”

“Father is going to send you away and I’ll be glad to be rid of you.” Saera felt this clouds cover the sun and YN appeared dark and hateful. “You killed Daella, and now you are trying to ruin me as well.”

“YN I love you.” Saera tried to appease. 

“You don’t know what love is. You are incapable of being loved. Who would ever love you?” 

With that Saera started to cry as YN sneered and laughed at her misery. Saera tried to beg but her words fell silent on the harsh wind that grew. Saera couldn’t recognise her love who appeared to be entirely different . 

~~~

Saera shot up from her feather bed. Looking around her dark room. The only light from the dimming fireplace. She looked to her side and there was YN sleeping peacefully. The two would often share a bed and sleep near each other. Saera touched her cheek, finding it wet from her tears. Out of frustrations and hurt from her dream Saera balled her fist and struck her sister in the arm. Waking the girl from her slumber. 

“What? What’s wrong?” YN asked hurriedly and rubbed her arm sleepily. 

“You called me a whore!” Saera accused and glared at the tired girl. 

“No I didn’t! When did I call you a whore?!” YN demanded and sat up to look at her. 

“In my dream you did!” Saera pouted and crossed her arms, looking away from her. 

“Your dream?... Saera that was a dream! I’d never call you that! You know that!” YN tried to defend. When Saera still turned her head away and refused to look at YN, the younger girl sighed and reached her hand to her sister’s face. Wiping her tears as she smiled sadly at Saera.

“My beloved. I do suffer love, for I love you against my will. I couldn’t help but fall in love with you and suffer love for you daily. You are my stars and sky. The scattering of light in my darkness.” YN hummed and rested her chin against Saera’s shoulder. 

Saera uncrossed her arms and reached her hand back to hold YN’s. Her sister spoke love like poetry. Saera finally turned to YN and wiped her cheeks one last time. Smiling sadly at her beloved. 

“In my darkest fears, you turn away from me.” Saera said, looking into YN’s eyes. 

“They are just dreams. The important things in life are when we are awake. For that’s when we make things happen.” YN smiled. 

Saera smiled back and kissed her sweetly. Her lips and kisses were reserved only for YN. Even after a nightmare, Saera could find comfort in YN’s arms. For they were just dreams. And dreams couldn’t harm her.

[iriswestallenn]

This season was a mess

Season 1: My brother took his life and has left me his restaurant. Do I deserve this? Do I take this on? How do I navigate this grief?

Season 2: We found a shit ton of money plus uncle Jimmy is lending us more. We decide to tear down the beef and build The Bear. There is a deadline, we need to get it together, and we need to make this deadline.

Season 3: ...???? The restaurant is up and running. They are digging a bigger hole for themselves. Jimmy is broke now? Carmy is hung up on Claire. Everyone keeps bringing up Claire. Carmy and Syd have zero communication. They barely speak. Not even as friends- keep that. AS BUSINESS PARTNERS. Not once does Carmy ask why Syd hasn't signed the fucking contract that HE brought up to her. This season started off strong but wow wtf happened.

I wanna focus on two examples that I think illustrate how off this season was: I loved the standalone episodes. I cried during the Nat and Donna one. They were wonderful episodes that did not tie back into the plot because there was none. Season 2 we have a Marcus standalone right? Why did that one work whereas I feel these two didn't? (Again, I really enjoyed these episodes. This is about nothing flowing well) Because Marcus was sent to Copenhagen to become a better pastry chef. He was a cook in a sandwich place who did desserts on the side! He traveled to learn from Luca so The Bear could have a pastry chef. Woo! It all ties in.

Next, a flashback in S2 that worked. The Christmas episode. We meet their mom, Carmy brings up the restaurant idea to Mikey. We see Mikey's state of mind, we get background on Sugar's nickname/how she got it. We see how the family treats Carmy. We get a bunch of them asking Carmy if he's gonna ask Claire out. We get Richie and Tiff still together in contrast to present day Richie dealing with his ex getting a fiancé. Almost every single thing we got in this flashback related back to present day concerns. We touched so many corners. Mikey, Donna, Richie, Sugar. In ONE flashback.

Whereas, Tina's (bless her she's a doll) did nothing for the present day story. We see Tina struggle, we never get to hear the exact reason why. Does she hate this new environment? Does she wish she was just making sandwiches with Ebra? Is Carmy getting on her nerves? Sure, that could be a given but they never let her say it. We get her flashback that focuses on finding a new job, and the convo she has with Mikey. The convo is mostly about dreams, wants. I saw someone say that Tina's episode was an ode to everyone just trying to try. Not looking for a title, not competing, just trying. I agree and I love that. Why did it not relate to whatever she's going through in present day?

The rebuttal for my critiques could be, not everything has to tie in. Some things can be standalone. That's true but in my opinion... it shouldn't be done for a 40 min 10 episode show. Esp not one that tied in the flashbacks and standalone episodes in previous seasons. Why did we suddenly stop doing that this season?

This season felt aimless. Let's talk about Claire lmao when Tiff brought up Claire on that bench with Richie, I went huh??? TIFF is bringing up Claire now? WHY! I had to remind myself that she is literally a family friend they've all known for yeaaars. But me? We, the audience? We don't fucking know Claire! "She's his peace." His WHAT? When??? Stop trying to convince me of this and show me in season 1 and 2 that this woman is his peace.

If you decide to drag this Claire shit out for the entire season, oh bby, you're gonna need the audience to feel the same anguish Carmy is feeling. We should be thinking, fuck, Fak is right she is his peace because remember when she pulled him out of x y z? But at the same time they're not good for each other right now because of x y z. We have so little to go off of with these two and they made Carmy hung up on her the whole season lmaoo please.

I'll end with that, actually. You mean to tell me that the entire restaurant let Carmy act like that for months and NO ONE- not even broke ass Jimmy, told him, you need to stop. It took "Computer" coming in to get them just a little bit together? And even then? Still switching the menu, still not listening to Syd, still butting heads with Richie? You shitting me? And does Carmy know he's a fucking uncle now? DOES HE CARE? Oh fuck me this season was ass.

[to-fly-with-clipped-wings]

A Sea of Sorrows -> Act 1, Part 1

Act 1: the Fall of the Gods

Dear Percy. This was the year the Gods fell from Olympus, and I fell from you. I miss the us from that year. I wonder, did either of us know what was in store?

Series Summary: A chronicle of the moments you fell in love with your enemy, Percy Jackson. An epilogue to your fate and an epitaph to your grave.

AKA in a universe where you are a traitor to Camp Half-Blood. This is an ode to the boy that led to your downfall: Percy Jackson.

Series Masterlist

Percy Jackson Masterlist

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

i. “OH, OH, tell us again how the legend goes?”

Your eight-year old self bounced on the heels of your feet. The little blue birthday hat atop your head started to slip, the elastic string too long to fit snugly around your head, but you hardly bat an eye. You clap your hands together, giggling, staring in awe as yet another star sparks in the sky and, it too begins its spiralling descent from its heavenly abode and to the feet of your earth-dwelling mortals. 

The star’s trail of divine dust, marking its venture across your frail vision, was reflected in your eyes. You raised an arm, as though trying to pluck the celestial from the sky.

Silena Beauregard giggled as she reached over to fix your askew birthday hat. 

You didn’t know if it was the mind of your eight-year-old self manipulating a shroud mist around the girl or if she genuinely held the most ethereal, luminous pieces of the sky within her dark blue eyes. You didn’t know, or perhaps, didn’t want to remember, if her midnight silk hair, glossed and draped over her shoulders as the night enveloped the horizon, had been anything but that. The bracelets around her wrist tinkled as she went about drawing your astray strands of hair back. You could smell her perfume as well, but its scent was so fleeting that you could never seem to recall it once she left.

You smiled at her, like if you had even the slightest chance, you wouldn’t have hesitated to delve into the velvety curtain of the night to retrieve only the finest of stars for her eyes to hold. 

She smiled at you, as though — impossible as it may have sounded — as though, in that moment, she loved you.

“Well,” she started, leaning over to place both you and Annabeth on her lap.

Clarisse La Rue took that chance to rip off her birthday hat (red, she had insisted) and replace it with her usual bandanna. The Stoll brothers, apparently, took great offence to that gesture, as they too whipped off their own hats to brandish like daggers at the Ares girl. Clarisse snarled at them, before taking her own, very real, spear and threatening to shove it down their throats or in some other choice places.

Beckdorf smirked, crossing his arms as he turned his head to appraise the face-off between the brothers and Clarisse, but he didn’t make any move to discourage the oncoming fight. And then, as was usual, Luke — the golden boy, the older brother to all campers (no matter if you were younger or older than him) — sighed, as though he’d just lost fifteen years of his life from their spat, and then plucked Clarisse’s spear out of her hands and lightly pushed his half-brothers into each other, sprawling onto the ground like dominoes.

“Can’t you guys ever settle down?” he asked, rolling his eyes. But then he smiled, so all of you knew that he didn’t really mean it. “I mean, it’s little Major’s birthday today and all we want is to enjoy the meteor shower in peace.” “Little Major is contradictory,” frowned Annabeth. An onlooker might’ve thought that Luke had just wished a deadly curse upon her entire bloodline, from the way her grey gaze furrowed. “How can she be little and major at the same time? It doesn’t make any sense!”

Before Luke could make a teasing remark (you could tell from the way the outer corner of his lip, the one without the dimple, twitched upwards), you cut in. “Please, Selly, pretty please! Tell me about the shooting star?”

“It’s a tale of wonder,” Silena finally began, her pearly white teeth shining through her picture-perfect smile. Her tone was hushed, like she was whispering a super-secret secret to the girls, “forged by immortals under a sky, much like this one.”

“In the days of old,” continued Beckondorf, his contribution to the conversation surprising you. The muscular boy was of few words, but you supposed that Silena’s presence had drawn him out from his carefully crafted shell. You and Annabeth shared amused looks, far more knowing beyond your years. 

“The Greeks looked up to the heavens and saw the gods in every corner of the night. They believed that the sky was a grand canvas, a blank machine of sorts, where the gods etched their stories in constellations and galaxies.”

“Now, the gods, they weren’t distant watchers,” said Silena, glancing at Beckendorf as she spoke. She looked at him as though she wasn’t reciting the tale to you, but to him, the only other person in the world. “They were keepers of hopes, weavers of destinies. And sometimes, just sometimes, they would lean so close to Earth that a star would slip through their fingers and streak across the sky. That’s what we call a shooting star.

“The legend goes that in those fleeting moments, the veil between us and the divine thins. It’s when the gods are listening, truly listening, to the heartbeat of the world. And if a mortal, pure of heart and full of hope, makes a wish upon such a star, the gods take notice.”

“They say that Aphrodite smiles upon lovers,” spoke Luke softly. He gazed up at the sky, and then toward the pine-tree in the far distance. “Athena guides the seekers of wisdom, Ares leads man into war, and that, if you were truly of a golden heart, Zeus himself might offer his insight.” 

His voice dwindled off, and if, at the time, perhaps you hadn’t been so caught up in your childish, insolent elation, you might’ve picked up on his bitter tone.

Annabeth turned to you. “So, on your special night, let’s wish on all the shooting stars. Together.”

Silena nodded, resting her head on Beckendorf’s shoulder. “Close your eyes, you wish on that star. You wish and you dream wish with all that is there in your heart, and just, believe. Believe, as the gods are kind, and they cherish the dreams of their children.”

“But you remember, Major,” Luke turned his saddened gaze back to you. “That old star can only take you part of the way. You have to help it along with some hard work of your own, and then, yeah. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

“Just promise us one thing,” murmured Silena. “That you'll never, ever lose sight of what's really important.”

“I don’t know what to do,” You stared up at her anxiously, fiddling with the string of your birthday hat. “Could you show me how to wish?”

She smiled once more, and it felt like the balance of the stars and sky had been reborn to take the form of Silena Beauregard. “Oh, I’m sure you already know how to do that.”

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

ii. Against all odds, you would say that you were looking forward to the Yancy school trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Yeah, you didn’t really care about art or architecture or the weird little naked statues of the gods (you definitely didn’t appreciate that), but you were looking forward to your first extraction mission as a demigod — even if this little outing of yours couldn’t be considered a quest, and even if it was long overdue.

Being undetermined was a disease in the world of Greek mythology, and it was a disease that followed you like the plague. it was a curse when your Godly parent refused to claim you, refused to acknowledge you. You were cursed from the start, cursed to run around, seeking kleos, and for what?

For absolutely nothing.

That was something no one let you forget. From your spot on the floor in Cabin Eleven, to the brown mass of curls on Grover’s head that frantically kept glancing back at you to make sure that no monster had snuck up on you during the last thirty seconds he hadn’t been looking at you. It even took Chiron about three years worth of convincing to let you go out, as he used the same reason (excuse) over and over again: you aren’t claimed. You don’t know how to defend yourself. It is too dangerous.

That’s what it always boiled down to. 

You weren’t claimed, fine. You didn’t need to be claimed to be able to fight. 

It was always the same broken record that played whenever someone opened their mouth, but instead of sweet melodies or even sweeter, praise, it was the string of never-ending, ‘you aren’t strong enough. You aren’t brave enough. You aren’t good enough.

You aren’t claimed.’

A voice in the back of your mind churned traitorously. Although, you supposed that you shouldn’t be the one to talk about betrayal. 

The speculations held merit, it had whispered.

Once a demigod was claimed, it was said that their powers grew exponentially. A claiming was essentially a blessing from your divine parent’s hand, a way of saying ‘I, as your parent, grant you your birthright as my child.’ You became blessed by Olympus to become faster, better, and stronger, a means to defend yourself from the monsters that lurked in the outside world.

But the thing was, once a godly parent claimed their kid, their godly side also began to radiate monster-attraction scent that enhanced their presence to monsters in a nearby radius. One would argue then, that meant unclaimed half-bloods would be better suited to high-risk jobs since they were at a lower risk of monster attacks than claimed ones. 

“But,” Clarisse La Rue had argued, “that also means that you have less experience fighting monsters, so what happens if you encounter a beast like the minotaur on the field? Less experience, plus no divine blessing is a stirring pot for demigod death.”

“So,” Chiron blinked at you, not unkindly. “You need to understand, we simply cannot be sending you out of camp, Major. Your mother is not in  a state where she is able to ward off monsters, and you…”

You…

You are not strong enough, you finish in your head bitterly. You were not strong like the others, not because you weren’t good with a sword or spear, but because you were not good enough to register as a child to your divine parent.

It was always Major, the side-kick. The pathetic little Robin to Luke’s Batman, or the golden rope to Annabeth’s Wonder Woman. Always the damsel in distress, never the prince. Always the one in the shadows, never the hero. Always the angel, never the god.

Since your mother’s passing four years ago, you had become a year round camper so you had more training under your belt than, say, ninety percent of the Apollo cabin. Yet, even they were allowed to leave camp and get up to all sorts of nonsense. 

Were you not enough for your godly parent to look up from whatever divine duties they needed to do? Were you not good enough for your godly father to come down to save your mother when she was on her deathbed? You weren’t even sure if your father knew your name. 

You sent Grover a small smile when he glanced back at you again. 

Next to you, Percy Jackson, pulled a face. 

Percy was a thirteen year old boy. With staggering sea-green eyes, black hair and tan skin, he was the half-blood Grover had called Chiron out for. For a year, it had been you, him and Grover fighting your way through the hell-hole that was Yancy Academy. Between failing classes, cheating off each other during tests (and failing those anyways because apparently both of you sucked at academics equally) and throwing dirt into Nancy Bobofit’s eyes, whenever she threw her weird bits of peanut-butter-and-ketchup sandwich on Grover, you would say that you and Percy were probably each other’s closest friends. Throughout the year, you and Percy had become each other’s anchor. You shared the burden of academic challenges, often finding peace in the fact that if you were going to fail, at least you’d do it together. 

There was a certain comfort in Percy’s company, a sense of acceptance that was rare and maybe even precious. He never looked at you with eyes of thinly veiled judgement that others often did, nor did he offer unwanted pity, that felt more like a burden than a comfort. It was probably because he had no idea of his demigod heritage, but with Percy, you were just you. 

Unclaimed, maybe, but never unseen. 

You liked Percy’s company, and you were impatiently waiting for the day Chiron gave you the all clear to return to Camp Half-Blood. There you and Percy could spend your days picking strawberries, sparring, whatever it was you two wanted to do. And hopefully, Percy would end up being unclaimed, or maybe even the son of a minor god, so you could ride out your days in the Hermes Cabin forever. Maybe one day, you would even be promoted to having a bunk. That would be especially great. 

“Excited for the trip, Major?” Percy grinned at you. 

You sighed, tilting your head on your seat so you could glance at him through the corner of your eyes. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Ahead of you, Grover squawked when Nancy Bobofit threw another bit of her sandwich at him. 

“I’m going to kill her,” muttered Percy, his eyes darkening at the red-headed girl. 

You patted Percy’s knee, trying to stop him from leaping toward Nancy. She sucked, but it wasn’t worth Percy getting expelled from Yancy just yet.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

i. “It’s easy,” said Luke, clapping your little, eight-year-old self on the back. “Wait and watch.”

And that you did. With bated breath and rapidly trembling fists, you waited and waited until the stars started to pour once again from the sky. They streaked down the horizon, the eyes of the sky shedding them like divine tear drops or that raindrops that slid down a window — the sort you would bet on with Annabeth about which would reach the sill first.

Beckendorf pointed at the brightest one he could find. He cleared his throat before saying his wish under his breath.

You tilted your head in confusion. “I didn’t hear the wish,” you frowned.

Luke smiled gently, his facade of happiness not quite reaching his eyes. “That’s the catch. You can’t let anyone find out about your wish, otherwise it won’t come true. It’s just between you, and the gods.”

He turned to the sky once more, and uttered his own wish. This time, you tried extra hard to pick up what he was saying, but you couldn’t hear much. You did catch a few words, something about history? It didn’t make too much sense to you though.

It was Silena’s go next. Her cheeks were pink as she made her wish, and she looked at the ground instead of the stars. Her wish was so quiet that even though she had placed you and Annabeth on top of her, you couldn’t hear a thing. 

Annabeth Chase, Clarisse La Rue, Travis and Connor Stoll, Harmony Crosscov and Critos Lyalin all prayed for their wishes as well. It wasn’t hard for you to predict what theirs might've been about. Annabeth’s probably had to do with architecture, Clarisse’s with her spear (possibly making it more deadly, even though you didn’t know why exactly a ten year old needed a super deadly spear in her collection). Travis and Connor probably asked to get a key for the camp’s gift shop so they could raid it even when it was locked. 

Harmony, a daughter of Apollo, had picked up the lyre she was strumming and held it to the sky as she wished, so you suspected hers had to do with maybe creating the most beautiful melody mankind had ever heard with it (although she already did that, so you didn’t know why she needed to use her wish on that). Critos was a son of Demeter, and he was the only one who weren’t entirely confident about, but you thought maybe it had to do with one of his plants — like the petunias that kept wilting? He had always complained about those.

Now, everyone had made their wish. Everyone but you. Your birthday posse turned to face you, the birthday girl, as you prepared to make what was going to be the most important wish of the night.

You were beside yourself in excitement. Today was your eighth birthday! The gods had to grant your wish, that was the intrinsic birthday rule, wasn’t it? The gods had to be looking, heck, maybe even your godly parent was looking. Maybe, just maybe, today would be the day you would get claimed.

You thought about using that as your wish. ‘I wish to be claimed.’ But you decided against it. You had only been at camp for about two months, that wasn’t that long compared to the other camper’s claiming stories. You had plenty of time ahead of you to get claimed, so you didn’t need to rush and waste your wish on something that was inevitable anyways.

Maybe you should wish to win the next capture the flag game? Gods know that the Hermes cabin would be ecstatic if you did. What about acing the Ancient Greek vocab test you had the next day? No, you shook your head. You were going to fail that anyways, wishing on a star wouldn’t save your pitiful grades. You would just have to hope Annabeth would be in a ‘helping-Major-cheat’ mood tomorrow.

Maybe you should wish for something to do with your mother? You frowned. 

The thought of her laughter, her warmth, her guidance - all the things you missed the most - flooded your mind. ‘If she could come back, would she be the same?’ you pondered, the uncertainty a heavy stone in your stomach. ‘And what would she think?’ The frown deepened as you considered. It wasn't just about what you wanted; it was about the balance of things, the natural order. But… she’s gone now. Was she? Could this wish bring her back?

You opened your mouth, but before you said anything, another thought struck you. And with that thought, a sense of peace began to settle over you, as if your mother's wisdom had reached out from beyond, guiding you once more.

That was it! 

The most perfect wish. The gods had to grant it, there was no way they could refuse. It would be the best blessing, the most perfect divine grant that couldn’t possibly be refuted.

In your excitement, however, you forgot about the wishes-were-supposed-to-be-super-top-secret-so-you-must-whisper-them rule, and ended up just blurting it out of your mouth, words churring out faster than you could comprehend.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

ii. Chiron — sorry, Mr. Brunner, led the museum tour.

It wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before. Ancient Greek armour (that you knew weren’t that ancient), pots with little dancing figures painted on them, steles with, to no one’s surprise, weird naked statues of gods running across them. It was really nothing special, just the usual artsy stuff mortals were crazy for, but you did get a kick out of Percy snapping at Nancy when Chiron was rumbling about something to do with Greek depression or something.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Percy gave her his nastiest stink-eye.

Everyone laughed. You nudged Percy’s shoulder, and he turned his gaze to you, kicking your shoe in retaliation, before remembering that Chiron and Mrs. Dodds were still there, and they didn’t look happy at all with Percy’s interruption.

Mrs. Dodds was an interesting character. She despised Percy with all of her being (not heart, you weren’t sure if she had a heart), but you would say she had a soft-spot for you. Like whenever she gave Percy after-school detention for blowing up a bin or something, you would turn, smile at you and hand you this weird melted candy bar that tasted oddly like hot fudge and sea salt?

While the chocolate was a much appreciated gesture, you didn’t enjoy the way she snapped at Percy, and you agreed that there was something off about her. Like in the way she wasn’t exactly… normal? But you doubted anyone would listen to you anyways, and if Chiron hadn’t picked up on it, then it probably wasn’t important.

“Mr. Jackson,” began the centaur in disguise. “Did you have a comment?”

“No, sir,” said Percy, his cheeks burning red.

Mr. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. “Perhaps you’ll tell us what this picture represents?”

Percy looked to where he was pointing. He nodded slightly, that he knew the answer to that question (if he didn’t that was fine anyways, you would’ve just whispered it to him). “That’s Kronos eating his kids, right?”

“Yes,” Mr. Brunner said, raising an eyebrow. “And he did this because…”

“Well… Kronos was the king god, and —”

“God?” Mr. Brunner asked. 

You flinched slightly when Percy said it; you didn’t think the gods would be willing to hold back if they caught him making that little comment. The gods had incredibly short fuses, and it was often their temper that caused the most destruction — like when Ares shot that one archduke back in 1914 and started World War 1.

“Titan,” Percy fixed. “And…he didn’t trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters—”

“Eeew!” squealed a girl from behind you. 

“—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans,” Percy powered through, “and the gods won.”

Nancy Bobofit mumbled, “like we’re going to use this in real life. Like it’s going to say on our job applications, ‘Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.’”

You didn’t like Nancy much, but there was probably some merit to her question. The gods cared so much about themselves, that one day they probably would manage to hijack mortal job interviews into a pop quiz of ‘what is Aphrodite’s favourite brand of perfume’ or ‘write a one thousand word essay on why Zeus is most supreme god, explaining clearly why his brothers Poseidon and Hades suck ass.’

You rolled your eyes.

“And why, Mr. Jackson,” Brunner said, “to paraphrase Miss Bobofit’s excellent question, does this matter in real life?”

“Busted,” Grover muttered. 

“Shut up,” hissed Nancy, her face even brighter red than her hair. 

Percy looked pensive for a moment, the most pensive you’d ever seen him apart from when he needed to decide between blue cookies or blue jelly beans. “I don’t know, sir.”

“I see.” Chiron sighed. “Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan’s stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld.”

Kronos. The name sent chills up your spine. The Titan lord who had once ruled before the gods, now a whisper from the past, yet his legacy lingered like a shadow. As Chiron recounted the tale, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of foreboding, a sense that the history of the gods and Titans was not as distant as it seemed.

Your gaze shifted downwards to your trembling hands. You clasp them together to try and steady them. The tales of gods and Titans, of heroes and monsters, they all seemed like distant echoes of a world you were forced into but never truly belonged. You felt the weight of your unclaimed status, a constant reminder of your place, or lack thereof, in this mythological nightmare.

You watched Percy. His fate was yet to unfold, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. He had a path, albeit unknown to him, but you… you were adrift in a sea of uncertainty, a ship without a sail.

The gods, those mighty beings who played with the lives of mortals and demigods alike, they were the root of your turmoil. How easy it must’ve been for them, to watch from their celestial thrones, to judge and to ignore the pleas of their children.��

In the days to come, I would stand by you as you discovered the truth. But, when the weight of your destiny became too much to bear alone, my greatest regret was that I could not stand beside you. Your bond was a testament to the strength that friendship and loyalty could bring. Mine was a testament to the darkness and hatred of our world.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

iii. The battlefield was before you, a canvas of chaos painted with the scars of war. The earth itself seemed to mourn, its once green flesh torn and charred. The battlefield stretched out, a vast, open wound upon the ground. The grass was soaked with the blood of fallen warriors, and squelched underfoot as you walked among the remnants of what had once been a fierce and vibrant camp. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of burning flesh, a sensory assault that would haunt you for all your days.

The earth, which had once cradled life, now cradled the fallen, its bosom scarred by the violence it had witnessed. The camp, once a beacon of hope and strength for demigods, lay in ruins, its vibrant pulse silenced, save for the mournful wind that whispered through the shattered remains.

Luke Castellan had returned, but not as the triumphant hero he had set out to be. His quest to retrieve the golden apples had failed miserably. The cost of his ambition was written in the blood and lives of his quest mates, who had perished along the way. The monsters he had inadvertently brought to the camp's boundary were now a symbol of his failure, their snarls and roars a chorus of impending doom.

Amidst the cacophony of clashing steel and the cries of the wounded, a shadow loomed large. The dracanae, a beast of nightmares, slithered through the chaos, its presence a dark omen. Its scales, as dark as the void, absorbed the light around it. They were fighting not just for their lives, but for the very soul of the camp, against forces that sought to extinguish their light forever.

Monsters had breached the camp's defences, and panic had taken hold.

Luke stumbled across the boundary line of the camp, his face marred in blood, blood, blood. Luke's arrival had been a tragic procession, a lone figure staggering under the weight of failure and loss. His face, a mask of agony, was a stark reminder of the cost of their endeavours. The blood that stained him was not just his own but that of his questmates, their lives extinguished.

One of his eyes was doused in the red, liquid, acid, and you could make out a gruesome scar that trailed from above his eyebrow right down to his jaw. You sucked in a breath.

You had watched, your heart shattering, as Luke's knees buckled, his strength waning. The monsters he had unwittingly led to the camp's boundary now surged forward, eager to feast on the grief and fear that hung heavy in the air.

His face was as though it had been split open. You dropped your sword, and immediately rushed toward your old friend. Luke cried out in pain as he brought a hand up to his wound in an attempt to hold his face together.

“Luke! Luke!” you shrieked, almost tripping over the armour that was too big for your ten-year-old body. “Luke!”

You ran toward them, engulfing him with your arms. You had run, small legs carrying you faster than they ever had, toward the brother who had taught you to be brave, to fight, to hope.

The battle raged on beside you, but you could hardly care, for your oldest brother was in your arms with his heart and soul bore open and torn to shreds. 

As you had reached him, the world seemed to slow, the sounds of war fading into a hushed lull. You had wrapped your arms around him, a futile shield against the tide of darkness that threatened to engulf you both. Luke's eyes, once bright with mischief and courage, now mirrored the devastation that was before you.

The battle had raged on, indifferent to the small, poignant scene at its fringes. But for you, in that moment, there had been nothing else—only the piercing grief of a child holding onto the last remnants of a family that was swiftly being torn away.

“Archers!” Lee Fletcher called out to his fellow half-siblings. “On my mark!”

The sky above was a tumultuous canvas, where the wrathful gods seemed to paint with clouds the colour of bruises and ash. Their indifference hung heavy, a suffocating blanket over the carnage below. 

You had once prayed to them, believed in their wisdom and justice, but now their names left a bitter taste on your tongue.

“Now!”

A volley of arrows spiralled through, each one hitting its mark. One, two, three arrows in rapid-fire succession knocked off the beasts that stumbled into camp boundaries. A cyclops that had been standing over a bloodied mass of a young girl, hollered in pain as an arrow pierced its singular eye. A draco aionius roared out a blast of fire, but your eyes were so wrung out with tears and blood that you couldn’t see who it had shot down before it had been killed. The dracanae lashed out one final time before exploding into a heap of golden dust.

The cries of the wounded rose around you, a haunting chorus that melded with the wails of those mourning their kin. You saw families torn apart, sisters cradling lifeless sisters, brothers with eyes hollowed by a brother’s loss. Each face was a mirror of your own despair, reflecting a shared agony that would bind you to them in grief.

You stumbled upon the body of the young son of Demeter, his chestnut hair matted with blood, his eyes forever staring at a sky that offered no solace. 

Critos, you sobbed. Critos…

A mistake that no amount of tears could wash away. A young camper, a son of Demeter known for his gentle spirit and his ability to make the flowers dance, lay still on the ground.

With a heart heavy as lead, you made your way to the infirmary, the air thick with the scent of herbs and the low hum of healing chants. There, among the rows of cots, you saw her—a daughter of Apollo. Harmony. 

The sight of her, your friend who had once filled the air with melodies so sweet they could make the sky weep, struck a new chord of pain within you. Her hands, those delicate instruments of beauty, were now disfigured by the violence in the name of the gods. She had dreamt of music that would touch the divine, but now her dreams lay as shattered as her bones. Now, those hands were stilled, and the music was no more. 

Her hands, once so deft at the lyre, now lay motionless by her side. 

Her eyes met yours, and in them, you found not blame, but a silent understanding. It was the cruelty of fate, not the will of gods, that had brought this upon her. 

She looked up at you, her eyes not accusing but filled with a sorrow that echoed your own. In that gaze, you saw the reflection of every broken promise, every shattered hope. She had been there to celebrate your life, and now here she lay, a casualty of a battle she had no part in starting.

Anger surged through you, a fiery torrent that threatened to consume everything in its path. The gods, those distant arbiters of fate, had watched impassively as your world crumbled. They had remained silent, their celestial indifference a stark contrast to the cacophony of grief that filled the camp.

Your mother, a casualty of their indifference. Critos, your dear friend, your found brother. Harmony, who would never play her instruments again. Her god-given gifts, the blessings bestowed upon her by her father had been ripped away from her. You knew it — injuries, bone fractures, that were severe beyond repair. No one apart from the gods could save her, but you knew that no matter how much you wished on the stars, they would never answer.

You wept for Thalia, who you had never known but who had died for you and your family. You wept for Annabeth, her face wrapped in a cast of bandages, and was laid on the cot next to Harmony. You wept for Luke, who was only a few steps away from the white bags that enshrouded that bodies of—... of the fallen.

They were all lives that could have been saved. 

Silena cried in Beckdorf’s arms. Their shared silence was louder than any words could ever be, a mutual understanding of the depth of their sorrow.

In this moment of profound loss, the realisation hit you like a wave crashing against the shore: wishes were but fleeting thoughts, powerless against the tides of fate. The gods, distant and enigmatic, offered no solace to the grieving hearts of mortals. It was a harsh lesson, one that stripped away the veneer of mythical heroism to reveal a truth as old as time itself.

Was this what they had meant about not relying on some magical stars to make a wish?

The gods, those distant beings, had taken from you the family you had found in this band of warriors. They had watched from their lofty thrones as you had fought, bled, and wept, mere pawns in their celestial games. And in that moment, as the weight of loss bore down upon you, you felt the seeds of hatred take root. Hatred for the gods who had forsaken you, hatred for the fate that had been thrust upon you, and hatred for a world that could be so cruel.

In the end, you could only truly rely on yourself to make wishes come true.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

iv. Strapping your head-piece securely on, blue plumes spilling from the top. Your armour was strapped on and you were decked out in metal from head to toe. You double-checked that your sword was tucked into your sheath before joining the Athena alliance in their march for the Capture the Flag match.

You quite liked Capture the Flag. It was one of those games where you had to do something and everyone got to run around and play — albeit, Camp Half-Blood kids did run around like headless chickens most of the time.

Percy scrambled to catch up with, tripping over his shin-guard that was a few sizes too big for him. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you grinned at him.

“So what’s the plan?” He asked. “Got any magic items you can loan me?”

You shook your head. “Nah. Sorry. Magical items are things you get from your godly parent when they feel like it. I haven’t got anything.” you waved at your basic sword for effect. “That’s why I usually go with one of the spare swords from the training shed.”

You pointed at his pocket. “You’ve got Riptide, though, haven’t you? That’s more than enough.”

Percy shrugged. “I don’t have it anymore, it vanished. I’m stuck with a regular, boring sword like you.”

You frowned at this. Didn’t Chiron give it to him? He should still have it, shouldn’t he? “That’s strange. Just make sure Clarisse’s spear doesn’t touch you, it's electric and stings like hell. Annabeth will handle getting the banner from Ares.”

He gave you a lopsided smile. “Okay, Major.” He said ‘Major’ with the same tone you would call someone ‘Bossy’.

You laughed before catching him by the strap of his armour when he tripped over again. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Border patrol, whatever that means.”

“Ah,” you nodded. “That’s easy. Stand by the creek, keep the reds away.”

“What’re you doing?”

You rubbed your chin thoughtfully. “I think I’m supposed to be a decoy for Luke when he runs for the flag.”

Percy looked at you appraisingly. “I guess you do look like him. I see how that would work.”

He swerved to avoid getting a faceful of the dirt you’d kicked up at him with your shoes. 

Percy then started chasing you down to the creek where the Athena alliance were planting their flag, similar to how the satyrs would chase the dryads near the strawberry patch albeit a lot slower because of his armour that was triple his body weight.

You stopped when you reached the silver flag, causing Percy to topple into you and send the both of you flying into the ground. You laughed, tugging the boy up with your hands and punching him in the shoulder. He huffed before waving at you and walking down to the creek to assume his duty of border patrol. 

You went to stand by Luke.

Overall, you would say Capture the Flag was a success. 

The Athena win streak was not lost this match, and you got to beat down one of the Hephaestus kids with your sword, which was always a pretty good bonus. The blue team cheered loudly, carrying Luke on their shoulders as he waved the Ares flag about in the air. You were going to join them when you saw Percy, drenched in water, arguing with the air.

“I told you. Athena always, always has a plan,” said the air before shimmering and revealing Annabeth with her invisible yankee cap.

“A plan to get me pulverised,” snapped Percy. His arms were crossed as he stared down the daughter of Athena.

“I came as fast as I could. I was about to jump in, but…” She shrugged. 

“You didn’t need help?” you suggested, popping up between them.

Percy’s glare dropped as he saw you. “Sup, Major. I’m guessing decoying for Luke went well?”

“The best,” you agreed before noticing the wound on his arm. “How did you do that?”

“Sword cut,” He said, rolling his eyes. “Stupid Clarisse and her pig-headed minions.”

“No,” Annabeth interjected sharply. “It was a sword cut. Look at it.”

You watched, incredulous, as the blood disappeared. Where a gaping wound had been, only a faint line lingered, and even that was fading fast. In moments, it dwindled to a mere scratch, then vanished as if it had never been.

The smile slipped from your face.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

iii. Being a demigod was a curse. 

It was a relentless burden, especially when you had been confined within the walls of Camp Half-Blood for four years, and still, your divine parent remained a shadow, unclaiming and aloof. 

You lifted your face to the heavens, rain simmering on your face like little angels doting you with frigid kisses, each drop mingling with the silent tears that trembled down your cheeks. It was almost as though you were praying, but you knew better than that.

Prayer had once been a solace, a hope, but now it felt like a bitter reminder of divine neglect.

The pyres stood ready, a grim assembly for the ritual of farewell. The rain fell in a relentless drizzle, each drop a cold, indifferent tear from the heavens. You stood before them, the shrouds of your fallen family draped over the lifeless forms that had once been vibrant souls among you.

Being a demigod had always been a double-edged sword, but never had the blade cut so deep. The walls of Camp Half-Blood, which had once offered sanctuary, now felt like a prison, holding you captive with your grief and rage.

You raised your face to the sky, the rain washing over you, a cruel mimicry of the comforting touch you so desperately needed. It was as if the gods themselves were mocking your pain, offering water when it was solace you sought.

Your heart was a cauldron of fury, simmering with a silent rage that threatened to boil over. The gods, those distant observers of mortal toil, had turned their gaze away, leaving you to fend for yourself in a world that seemed to crumble at your feet. 

As you stood there, the injustice of it all seared your soul, igniting a fire within that no amount of rain could douse. Betrayal was a bitter pill to swallow, and it lodged itself firmly in your throat, a constant reminder of the gods' neglect.

Your hands, though trembling, were resolute. The delicate tremor was not a sign of weakness, but a testament to the strength that surged through your veins—a strength born of anger, of loss, of an unwavering commitment to those you called family.

With a heavy heart and a spirit ablaze with determination, you stepped forward to light the pyres. The flames caught quickly, their hungry tongues licking at the shrouds, consuming the last physical remnants of those you loved. The smoke rose to the heavens, a silent scream of defiance against the gods who had forsaken you.

In that moment, as the fire crackled and the rain wept, you made a silent vow. You would do anything for your family, for those who had stood by you when the gods had not. You would be their protector, their avenger, their unwavering support. And though the gods may have turned their backs on you, you would never turn your back on those you loved.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

iv. “I—I don’t get it,” he said.

Annabeth was deep in thought, face wrinkled in concentration, and you could only imagine the intense mental gymnastics happening behind her gaze. “Step out of the water, Percy.”

“What—”

“Just do it.”

Percy emerged from the creek, hair plastered to his face and body bone-tired, but strangely enough, completely dry. He swayed on his feet, and you reached out to steady him, your touch firm. 

“Oh, Styx,” Annabeth cursed. “This is not good. I didn’t want…I assumed it would be Zeus.…”

You could only meet Percy’s gaze in a muted horror. 

Of course you’d picked up on Annabeth’s train of thought. But the revelation left you reeling. You couldn’t believe it. You thought… of course they wouldn’t stick to the oath. This — the one thing! How could they? What? 

Your jaw clenched, and your grip on Percy tightened subconsciously.

Percy opened his mouth but before he could say anything, a canine howl reverberated throughout the forest.

Everyone tensed and Chiron barked out “Stand ready! My bow!”

Above you, a monstrous creature crouched on the craggy ledge, its silhouette massive against the sky. Its eyes burned like coals from the depths of a forge, and its massive jaws bristled with teeth, each one as lethal as a freshly honed blade. It stared down at you with an intensity that pierced through your body.

A hellhound. Your eyes widened, gripping the handle of your sword.

Nobody moved except you, who yelled, “Percy, run!”

You tried to step in front of the boy, your sword clutched in between your fingers. The hellhound barked, and although you expected it to forget Percy and redirect its course to you, it dove past you (ignoring you completely) and ripped into Percy’s armour.

You didn’t look back as Chiron and the Apollo cabin took care of the hellhound, focusing on Percy whose chest was blooming with deep, red bloodstains.

“Percy!” You cried out, dropping to your knees beside him. Your fingers fumbled with his chestplate, trying to ignore the slick, warm blood that coated your hands.

“Di immortales!” Annabeth exclaimed. “That’s a hellhound from the Fields of Punishment. They don’t…they’re not supposed to…”

“Someone summoned it,” Chiron announced, trotting over. “Someone inside the camp.”

The dead body of the hellhound melted into the shadows, presumably returning back to the Underworld, only, you didn’t care. What you cared about right now was Percy Jackson who was drenched in blood with a horrific gash torn into his body.

“You’re wounded,” Annabeth told Percy as if no one knew that. “Quick, Percy, get in the water.”

You draped Percy’s arm around your shoulder, helping him step into the creek with little protest.

“Chiron, watch this,” Annabeth said.

As Percy staggered into the creek, the water seemed to greet him like an old friend. The blood that had painted his clothes a grim crimson began to dissolve, carried away by the gentle current. You watched as the gruesome wound in his chest closed before your very eyes. The torn flesh knit together, leaving not even a scar behind. It was as if time had reversed, as if the claws of the hellhound had never touched him.

But that wasn’t the part that stunned you the most.

“Look, I—I don’t know why,” Percy tried to apologise. “I’m sorry.…”

“Percy,” Annabeth said, pointing. “Um…”

There was a sign above Percy’s head, an unmistakable one that no one did not know. A hologram of green light, spinning and gleaming. A three-tipped spear: a trident.

“Your father,” Annabeth whispered. “This is really not good.”

“It is determined,” Chiron stated solemnly.

Campers knelt around you, even those from Ares’ cabin, though they did so grudgingly.

“My father?” Percy was bewildered.

“Poseidon,” said Chiron. “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God.”

A shadow was drawn upon your face, eyes fixated on the trident above Percy’s head. The throb in your head returned and all you felt was a torrent of fervent, quivering, absolute rage that coursed through you.

I know that it wasn’t your fault, Percy, but at that moment, I couldn’t think of anything else.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

iv. The shroud burning had already taken place, the flames extinguishing along with the last rays of twilight. The camp was shrouded in darkness, a reflection of the sorrow that enveloped your heart. You stood alone, the grief a tangible presence that seemed to suffocate you with its intensity.

The gods had remained silent, their absence in your hour of need a betrayal that stung sharper than any blade. The ritual had been meant to offer closure, but it had left you feeling hollow, the embers of the pyres like the dying light of your hope.

That night, as the world around you faded into the quiet hush of slumber, a curious sensation took hold—a dream, or so it seemed, yet not quite. Dreams were fleeting. They often slip through the fingers of your mind, vanishing from your memory once you woke up. But for some strange reason, you felt the trickling trail of deja vu climbing up your spine. 

You thought that you’d had this dream before. Probably.

A shiver of recognition danced up your spine, a whisper of memory that felt like an old friend—or perhaps a ghost from the past. It was a dream that had etched itself into the grooves of your mind, returning with the silent stealth of a cat prowling in the night.

You strained to recall the last time this dream had visited you. It could’ve been a year ago, a month ago — even last night. But you did know that you’d had it. This dream had treaded the halls of your sleep before.

In the realm of dreams, you found yourself wandering through an ancient forest, the moonlight casting ethereal shadows upon the ground. The air was thick with the scent of pine and the whisper of leaves. The moon, a sliver in the sky, provided scant illumination, casting long, haunting shadows that danced between the ancient trees. Your footsteps were muffled on the forest floor, as though the earth itself conspired to keep your passage secret.

With a heavy heart, you spoke into the storm, “You could have saved her, but you didn’t.” 

The words hung in the air. “My mother. She was one of your most faithful, but, when she needed you most, you turned away. Why? Was her devotion not enough? What about Critos, who died alone, without his family, on the battlefield? What about Silena, who lost her sister? What about Harmony, who will never be able to use her hands again, never able to exercise the blessing that you gave her. What about all the countless other demigods, older and younger than me, who died for a cause — your cause — whose names you will never bother to remember.”

The silence that followed was your answer. 

Your voice broke as you continued, “What about me? For years, you ignored me — you still ignore me. For years, you left me to fight for myself in a world that you created. I don’t understand. We’re your children, aren’t we? Aren’t we supposed to matter to you? We deserved better.”

“You’re supposed to be our parents. We deserve someone who would fight for us, who would value our lives. But what do we get instead? Fucking selfish deities, with all the power in the entire goddamn world who leave us to suffer and die in some sick game you orchestrate just because you can!”

“You don’t understand! I’ve waited my whole life for just a sign from you. Our whole lives revolve around you! What more could you want from us?” The tears of the sky dripped onto your shaking form. 

“You take life after life! You take, take, take when we’ve already given you everything you could have ever wanted!”

The thunder seemed to mock your pain, and you trembled with a mixture of cold and fury. “You say these stupid things, give us stupid, stupid, naive hope — wish upon the stars, wish upon you and all will come true? We looked up to you! We wished, and wished and wished, but instead, you killed my family, tortured us beyond cruelty. What do you want from me?!”

You were screaming at the sky now, your mind pulsing with nothing but red-hot rage. “I’m done waiting! You’ve shown me exactly what we mean to you — nothing!”

Something clasped your shoulder. 

Turning around, your heart caught in your throat. Your eyes trembled, pupils dilated at the sudden contact. As you turned away, a presence enveloped you, not the warm embrace of a father, but the cold touch of something ancient and powerful.

A dark mist surrounded you. The air crackled with static, a lingering feeling of something you couldn’t quite name. 

And then, without warning, the forest fell away, and you found yourself standing at the edge of a clearing. The mist swirled here, gathering strength. From the heart of the mist, a figure materialised. It was tall and imperious, its form shifting and wavering as if woven from the fog itself. Its eyes, when they met yours, were bottomless pits of darkness, and you felt yourself falling into them.

“Child,” it spoke, and the words seemed to resonate with the very fibres of your being. “I have watched you, and I know the suffering you’ve been dealt by the gods.”

“They have wronged you, as they have wronged me,” the figure continued, the mist swirling with every gesture. “They sit in their celestial palace, blind to the struggles of those below. But I see your potential, your desire for justice. Together, we can make them regret.”

In the quiet of your dream, your heart stirred. You did not know who this figure was or what he wanted from you, but his words reached you. The gods, those distant watchers, had become but silhouettes against your tribulations, their figures blurred by the tears of your unanswered calls. Beings who had turned their back on you, refused to acknowledge when it mattered. Left you unclaimed, left your mother to die, left your brothers and sisters to die, and since the beginning of time, left humanity to suffer in a cyclic torture. 

And, so close, was the embrace of the mist — echoing your fury, validating your resentment. 

“Why should I join you?” you asked, though part of you already yearned for the vengeance he promised.

“Because your rage is a weapon that can reshape the world,” the mist replied, its form growing more defined, more commanding. “The gods fear what they cannot control, and they cannot control the fury of the heart. I will help you shield the loved ones you have left. If you join me, I promise they will be safe in the end. We will turn your fury into a force that will shake even the heavens. And you, my dearest, Major, will see to it that your family is treated better than the gods would ever care to allow.”

The mist’s words were a poison, sweet and lethal, the dream reached its peak, as you teetered on the cross-roads of a decision that could alter the course of history.

You stood still, the realisation dawning on you like a cold sunrise. This was Kronos, the Titan King, the very essence of time and treachery. The air around you grew colder, the mist swirling with a newfound intensity.

The mist around you thickened, and Kronos’s voice became more insistent. “I can help you,” he whispered again, the words slithering through the air like a serpent.

You felt the anger and sorrow within you stir, manipulated by his words. It was a dangerous game he played, but in your heart, the seeds of rebellion had been sown. 

“Join me,” whispered Kronos.

“Yes,” you found yourself saying, the word escaping your lips before doubt could take hold. “Yes, I will join you.”

With a resolve born of grief and betrayal, I turned my back on the sky and walked away. That was the moment, when I was only ten years old, that I swore my life to Kronos. It was the moment, I think, that sealed our fate. 

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

i. “I wish that we would all stay together.” you said.

“That’s my wish. I wish that, no matter what, no matter what place or lifetime we’re in, we will always, always, be family.”

“Promise me, ‘kay?” you continued, not fully sure if you were still talking to the gods or the people around you. “That in this life and the next and the one after, we will always find each other. Because we’re family.”

You turned to the demigods around you, who have all taken on some form of shock. The younger ones look appalled that you spoke your wish out loud (“how will it come true now?” protested Annabeth, though her face was tinged with a pink blush), while the older ones wore expressions you couldn’t quite discern.

“Major…” Silena breathed, her eyes, for some reason, glossy. Was she upset that you had said your wish too loud? 

“I mean it!” you looked to the heavens earnestly. “We’re family now, we have to stick together. Forever and ever and ever.”

Another star crossed the twinkling night tapestry. It was a dark, terribly dark, night, but unless someone else had been sharing this story, to you, the moment would remain of the most bright, luminous scenery you’d ever had the honour of bathing in. 

The gentle hand of the gods met their mortals upon the ground through the sky’s scattered stars, and they coated you and your family in their mystical star dust. 

Luke blinked himself out of his stupor. He offered you his hand to shake. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Major. Gods or not, we promise. Family.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, a gesture as warm as the sun's embrace, which seemed to spark a chain reaction. Annabeth, with a smile that could light up the darkest of nights, followed suit, her arms joining his. One by one, the rest of your family, a patchwork quilt of half-bloods, each with their own stories they bore in their hearts, came together in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

Under the star-swept sky, a canvas dotted with celestial wonders, the group hug grew, a living, breathing entity of connection and joy. You shrieked with laughter, the sound mingling with the chorus of chuckles and snorts around you. It was a symphony of happiness, a melody that resonated with the very core of your being.

You tried to pull your head out of the mass of limbs you’d become entangled within, seeking a breath of air, only to be lovingly dragged back into the fray. Someone’s hair tickled your nose, another’s elbow nudged your side, but it was all part of the beautiful chaos that was your home.

The hug was more than just a physical act; it was a promise, a silent vow of unity and support that needed no words. It was the understanding that no matter where life's journey took you, these bonds would remain unbroken. And as you stood there, enveloped by the people who had become your world, you knew that this moment would be etched into the stars above, a memory as eternal as the night sky itself.

“This is— the— best birthday— ever!”

And thought you meant that. You really, really did.

I wish I could’ve said sorry to you, Percy, back then.

Maybe then we could’ve stood a chance. * . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

Random fun fact: Major is anti-government and hates taxes 🥶😊, she also likes liquorice

taglist!!! (comment if you want to be added): @itzmeme

[hwaightme]

Essence

(masterlist) (perma-taglist)

🍃 pairing: bf!seonghwa x gn!reader 🍃 genre: heart-melting fluff, slight crack, established long-term relationship 🍃 summary: "i love the way that you're designed, love the way we intertwine, still don't need a reason why, you're beautiful and now you're mine" - you're beautiful by the rose 🍃 wordcount: 2.3k 🍃 taglist: at the end 🍃 warnings/tags: half edited half on the wings of hope, hugs kisses and cuddling, heart might hurt because of the love levels, quiet early mornings, rain, tickling, slightly suggestive, corny jokes and slang, dorky and sleepy couple with stars in their eyes, ode to hwa (simping) 🍃 a/n: i hope this provides some comfort <3 you're beautiful, adored, and shine brighter than the stars. notes, reblogs, comments always appreciated. much love!

Clouds of cotton and linen, a feathery warmth under the faint light of the early morning. If there was one word that you could choose to describe the light grey haze that pleasantly suppressed the vibrant colours of the world around you, waiting until you were to blink away the last inklings of sleep, it would be ‘fragile’. Somewhere between dream and reality was this translucent paradise, so easily missed, and yet, if you were to find yourself in it by a stroke of good fortune, you would want it to last forever. A moment suspended on a single shared breath, under a blanket of a lazy dawn. For the first time in a while, time was on your side.

No rush, no catastrophic cycle hurrying to sweep you up into its monstrous arms, carrying you away from your humble comfort. Both by fate and by extensive planning, you had a long weekend to look forward to, and could spend it exactly how you personally wished - the rain assured you of it. The soft pitter patter against the windows, the rooftop, the brick walls that protected you was music to your ears. Thanks to the awning that covered the windows to the left of the bed - on your side of choice, one of them could be left open a sliver, letting the enticing, lulling aroma of petrichor twirl through the air and caress you. A rustling of the leaves - an unforgettable performance by the huddle of trees, the crowns of which were just outside of your apartment. And you had all the time in this fast-moving world to pace yourself and listen, enjoy the sweetest music.

Your body was still drowsy, enjoying the cosiness of the bedsheets - not that you would even dare attempt to move, considering the gentle, loving arm that had crept onto and over you at some point during the night, and the head of its owner resting on your chest, dark tresses occupying your vision as soon as you looked down. Carefully, you moved a strand away from your boyfriend’s face, biting back a foolish grin when his onyx lashes fluttered at the sensation. His hair was getting longer, the observation passed through your mind as you continued to gingerly brush it with your fingers. In silence, you were able to regard change for what it was, and thanked the sun, moon, stars for letting you stay with the same person through them all.

As the raindrops continued falling, so did your absent-minded touches, in part, because you felt your partner hug you even closer, giving you an adorable grunt of approval even in the midst of sleep, but also, because you wanted to make sure that all of this was real. Grounding yourself in the tender embrace, you found peace and clarity. How did your life lead you to this heaven? So many memories intertwined to build to this moment, how many droplets of rain could that equate to? Would it be a lake? A sea? An ocean? Perhaps you would never find an answer, nor did you want to, because this was a trickling timescale you prayed would never halt. You did not notice that your hand had frozen in the air while you were caught up in your thoughts until a deep voice, laden with a befitting somnolent raspiness, led you back.

“Why’d you stop?”

You looked down again to see a mischievous side eye from none other than your boyfriend who, judging by the question, had been awake for some time.

“Good morning, Hwa. Since when is sleeping beauty not sleeping?” you quipped with a smirk, amused by the scrunching of his nose and a shy smile while he shuffled upwards, until his head was level with yours. 

“I’d think you would know when you woke up,” he countered, leaning onto one arm to use his other hand to cup your chin, guiding you closer to him and stopping a mere couple of centimetres away. You inhaled sharply, pretending to be exasperated. 

“No fair, I rizzed you first!”

“And I’m just making observations,” before you could answer, you felt his plush lips capture yours, his victorious smile consuming the whine that left you, “good morning, angel.”

“‘Morning, lovely,” you whispered, gaze taking in his eyes, his nose, his lips, cheeks, eyebrows - every detail that made Seonghwa who he was was priceless to you.

 His bare face, so stunning that no artist could ever fully depict it, but instead they would be contained in an eternal state of inspiration, having found their muse - selfless, starry-eyed, adoring. A universe contained in every expression, the light coating of blush on his cheeks, be it from the intensity of your observation or due to the mere minutes that passed since he had woken up, a perfect shade of love. Seonghwa; to become a star, indeed; he always shined the brightest. In his eyes was a purity unlike any other, both a reflection of his soul and how he perceived the rollercoaster life around him, even the simplest things turning into miracles. Heart to heart, it was easy for you to feel that in every beat was something greater, a blooming wonder. You fell quiet, instead choosing to stretch your arms wide and invite him impossibly close to you, a gesture that earned pure glee from him.

You felt a hand snake under your body, stopping at your side, meeting his other hand that returned to its position on top of you, and pushing you towards him. Breath running over your neck and collarbone, Seonghwa sighed at the warmth and nuzzled closer, peppering a couple of stray kisses over any skin he could reach. Your arm, which ended up serving as a support and rest for your boyfriend, wrapped around him, and you traced abstract shapes on his shoulder, exposed because of the black sleeveless tee he had chosen to wear, foregoing his usual glossy chrome silver attire. It was so natural, how you tilted your head to rest on top of his. How your left hand and his right intertwined, but not before hovering in midair, palm to palm, fingers flush against each other, reminding you of a day some time ago, back when you were not even officially dating but Seonghwa, overtaken by a sudden boldness, though of the endearing and boyish kind, had expressed a pressing curiosity of how the size of your hand compared to his. Now, you were pretty sure the only answer was: just right to be held by him since from that day on, Seonghwa had never really let go. Be it in a stray touch of the elbow, or a brush of the pinkies, or his leg moving to be right against yours, he was always making sure that you would not forget that he was there. Not that you particularly needed the reminders since Seonghwa would either way be at the forefront of your mind, but the closeness was an unimaginable, instant comfort. 

"It's raining," he mumbled, half to himself, tiredly regarding the vista.

"Mhm," you hummed back in agreement, not resisting the temptation to kiss the top of his forehead, making him look up at you, perfect dark orbs that reminded you of a certain brown sugar treat melting away even the smallest hint at a desire to get up.

"...wonder if worms go on dates," he pondered out loud, training his attention back to the maple and beech. You suppressed a snort, never failing to be amused by your boyfriend's unfiltered streams of consciousness, instead squeezing out a response between low chuckles:

"Are you about to ask me if I would still love you if you were a worm?"

"I know you would. You'd be the best worm wife," he shot back, sporting a cheeky grin as he squeezed you tighter. Ignoring how your heart accelerated at his choice of words, planting a seed of curiosity in your mind, you lightly slapped his shoulder.

"Yah, who says?"

"I'd annoy you until you do,"

"Hm… fair, fair," you pretended to consider, "but I won't be able to hug you like this," to prove a point, you curled into him.

“True, and I…” Still keeping a mischievous, enigmatic grin, Seonghwa wriggled out of his position, leaning towards you until you could feel his mouth right by your ear. Involuntarily, a shiver ran over you, making your boyfriend exhale sharply, satisfied. "I doubt I would be able to do this…" he planted a kiss right below your earlobe, and another, trailing downwards. Your flittering on his shoulder turned into a grasp for stability against his unwarranted, albeit alluring forwardness. “Or this,” he continued, using your temporary pliability to twist and tug you towards him until your back hit his broad chest and he could lock his arms around you, “Or-”

“Park Seonghwa, if you dare tickle me right now, I am not to be held resp-”

“Too slow-”

You yelped as you felt your boyfriend’s fingers attack your sides, making you break into a fit of giggles and swat at him, careful to avoid his face. He did not continue for long however, pausing as soon as a yawn disrupted him and instead choosing to embrace you once more and plant one noisy kiss on your cheek, their flushed state igniting an even stronger adoration. He rested his head on his hand with the elbow finding purchase on a white pillow, choosing to allow himself some space for simply acknowledging you.

He always had loving words to say about you - as time went by, he swore that this ability was innate, and that was the only way he could respond to you or describe you, but sometimes, even they fell short of encapsulating the emotional landscape shared, and just how you made him feel. From an ecstatic rush to a divine tranquillity, Seonghwa had found everything with you, and with you, even the biggest challenges turned into tiny setbacks. You balanced each other out. One could offer logic in a sensitive time for another, or provide a space in which to experience the lowest lows with no judgement, only unprecedented empathy. In the same way, both of you were each other's unwavering supporters, always there, always the loudest, always proud. Ready to celebrate success and small joys, be it a major event or an exciting moment in a video game, you simply fit together.

Seonghwa loved the way that you were designed, and the way that you two intertwined. Every day was an opportunity to be better, and he was glad that he could do it with you. In loving you, he found that he started to love himself more too, and it was thanks to this safety of the soul that had been discovered in your unity that he could play games, crack jokes, fully be himself. He noticed that you blossomed too - a freer, happier angel of light to grace this little blue planet, one who, with initial reassurance, had now taken flight and was now living the life that manifested hopes and wishes into a beautiful every day. Both as individuals, and as a couple, you grew to new heights, and that made minutes, hours like this even sweeter.

Now, it was your turn to roll back to spot an enamoured stare. Bashful, despite it having been  quite a number of years since you had felt his gaze like this for the first time, you rolled forwards, trying to hide your face, to which you heard a click of the tongue in response, and a firm hold of your wrist. Seonghwa kept your arm in place, resting his own over your waist, and once certain that you would not block him, tangled his fingers between your own.

Dawn.

Rain.

Time.

Seonghwa’s chest right against your back, his inhale, exhale lulling you back into a daze while the sky’s silver tears continued to transform your neighbourhood into a glimmering paradise. You wanted to be like this forever, snuggled close while in the middle of the storm that marked a transition from a fatigued summer to a chilly autumn. But even then, you knew you would be with your own sunshine.

“Already napping?” he teased, noticing how you had closed your eyes, and were progressively sinking further into your pillow. Not that he was doing something different, having collapsed behind you, disregarding the greenery outside, preferring to inhale the scent of your shampoo and forget the hours that the colour of the sky outside would hint at soon enough.

“Mm…” you were not bothered to give a proper response, nor were you particularly worried about your boyfriend not understanding you. He always did. Just like you understood him when he poked at the leg you were lying on to let him hook onto you - something of a habit, turned tradition, turned necessity. 

Hearts beating in time, connected in mind, body and soul. Like rain, you had fallen for one another, and soon enough, one droplet turned into two, into one thousand, into an ocean that spanned all of your favourite places. Neither of you were afraid of the occasional gloomy day, because as soon as you were to glance at one another, you would see a brightness previously deemed either inaccessible, or downright nonexistent. You relaxed fully into the feeling of Seonghwa’s arms around you. Safe, devoted, just so Seonghwa. He was a name, a noun, a verb, an adjective. Syllables, characters, letters that morphed into the synonym for love, and with every fibre of your being, you hoped would also mean ‘forever’. 

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[pineapplehazard]

8x04 spoilers!!

Aaaaah i loved it, the whole thing!! I missed the silly interventions!!!!

- Henren : I'm so glad that Mara can finally go home to her moms and her brother!!!! (yes I saw the promo for ep5, but I'm gonna live in denial until next week (: ). Though I gotta say, why did they go outside with Madney and Mara that was such a stupid move 😐 (sorry).

- Gerrard: i do not consider this a redemption arc but shit, without him we wouldn't be where we are. I'm mad that he got an ending that is also satisfying for him, he SO doesn't deserves it!!!eurgh. The real reason everyone (mostly) is back where they belong is thanks to Bobby manipulating him but still, Gerrard shouldn't have a ending that he is pleased with eurgh.

Also how could Bobby do that to Brad? 😔💔 *sad british noises in the background*

- Buck : you perfect, intelligent man that you are giving Bobby a scare with the 'Little buddy' part of your bobby-therapy-session.....

- Chimney : looked so great, is so great, I love chimney, and it shouldn't but him with the gun did it for me!!

- Bobby and Athena : love that they're gonna rebuild, they could have had this idea around three months before though cause now they're gonna stay in that apartment for a little while longer... Also, I love Bobby being in love with Athena (and Athena with Bobby), they're adorable I love them

- Edmundo Diaz : first, I will never agree with Bobby on that mustache, I really really really appreciate it,, SO MUCH

Second, the angst is coming can you all feel it? I mean it's here already but a mountain of angst is building. Everyone's problems got resolved this episode, except for Eddie's one (and they couldn't resolve it so soon so that's normal but) meaning that at the end of the day, while The Wilsons and Hans were celebrating, and Athena and Bobby finally solved their house problem, (and Buck was... Idk ? Free of Gerrard? Can't really think of something here), and Wes and his father reunited.... Eddie went home and it was still just an empty house, because Chris is still in Texas and barely talking to him

So what if my heart broke when Wes called him Dad? Cause that's maybe the first time he's heard someone calling him that in a while...

On another note, I was worried he would go full Maddie-stalking-style with Wes' dad at first, maybe that's just because my brain loves finding parallels between Eddie and Maddie... Anyway, the whole talk with the dad about absent fathers, stupid masculinity stuff, and all. That was great.

'Masks' PROMO SPOILERS (i'm gonna try to stay evasive)

CAN'T WE LET THEM HAVE PEACE FOR AT LEAST ONE EPISODE??? ONE?? THAT'S SO F UP!!

Also I know it makes sense for ep4 to be 'No Place Like Home' but when next episode you have characters dressed like the Wizard of Oz's characters... Idk it feels like a miss, it doesn't sit well in my mind🤷‍♀️

If a 'friend od Dorothy' reference is made somehow throughout the episode I might combust

Also it feels weird that we got the synopsis so long before the airing and the synopsis focused a lot on Buck, when clearly the promo shows where focus might actually be... Bc when we have storyline like the one shown in the promo, usually you don't have to much time to put another character's storyline in focus in it. So Buck was probably to throw us, and he's just gonna be like believing there's ghosts or something like that...

Can't wait to know more about ep6 too!! The release date, stuff like that, I'm hyped!!

[arch3ontumbl]

World Bearer Part 2

"He's here Shoko, I did it" I repeated in the seemingly deaf Shoko, the backround noise of the phone echoes the business calls for the injured sorcerers. For a second Shoko were about to speak, she hears your child cry as it woke up from it's first slumber.

"Shoko what is it? How's Gojo, please tell me he is fine now.. he broke free from the seal right.. he promised" I paused for a second

"Oh my world" I whisper to my sons ear as I brushed his hair back off to sleep. The phone remained silent after a thud on the other end of the line "Shoko?!" I kept repeating my worry growing

"y/n I'm so sorry" Shoko's words shot like a bullet straight to the head as if I knew what she was about to reveal even before she have said

"Gojo.. Gojo is—" I hear Shoko for the first time finally bursting out of her emotion bubble as mine broke, a wash of sudden realization that I am alone now with our son

How am I supposed to handle this

How am I supposed to live like this

How can I protect our son

How could you leave me like this, LEAVE US LIKE THIS

My mind running deeper and deeper as I haven't noticed my eyes crying out for a little mercy of the world to just spare my husband, spare Gojo, let us live in peace. How many times we argued, how many times I were to tell him to lay down the weight of the world off his shoulders. How many times, If only have tried harder to convince him to leave and just runaway with me and his son. How many times he said he bears responsibility that he was born with enormous power to be held guilt tripped from, he could have turned his back and walked away, ran away with me, but instead took what he could when he was the only one to protect the world against such evil.

For all od humanity, for the innocent, the greater good, the future.

But what about us

"c/n Satoru shall be your name" I wiped my tears yet it still spilled down to my cheeks, my child cry once again as I sat in pain from fresh labour and pure stress, big doubts and confusion. Anger, sadness, and grief. I doubt Shoko for the first time she delivers the news, the rest of Gojo's death explained on the phone had caused me to go deaf, I refuse to believe such news after his promise, he promised.

My ears ringing as I could hear the faint voice of Shoko through the phone calling my name again and again

I stood up as the pain between my legs hindered my walk, carrying my child with a bit of blood pooling the floor. I look outside as the night were so cold and lonely to protect a new little one. I wrapped him around a thicker cloth Gojo has bought in advance before, now to think back to it he bought houses, left money, children things and over filling our bank with his money and assets entitled to me. We chose everything together, thinking back now how dumb of me that everytime he thought of when anytime he could leave or this situation happens atleast he gave everything we would need for the least when he knew he was the one we need for the most.

I wept as the window were closed leaving me on a rocking chair in a warm fireplace, my child on my chest, my eyes wandering of the toys he bought in advance, the clothes he thought that would good look on his wife and his son, pairing family outfits.

My eyes puff, my heart aches, I try to be as silent as my son sleeping

I will protect you

I will give you the life without burden even with the power to lift so

I bear the world, I bear you my son

And I will not allow you to bear the world just because you were able to be born to shoulder so.

63 missed calls from Shoko.

Part 3?