#pyn's parables

[mlkydrms]

Grounded

🌙 Sorcerer!Taehyung & Paladin!Jimin 🌙 Chrysalis Moon (level 2), D&D AU (Homebrew Setting) 🌙 1900 words 🌙 Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, Fantasy, Action(?) 🌙 Warnings: Universe-typical Violence (Fantasy, D&D): Minor Character Death (characters are unnamed and are bandits), Some blood and injuries (as par for this course), Light description of wounds. Panic Attack. Insecurity. NO BETA, cause I'm a silly little lad. 🌙 Notes: terrible action writing...(idk why I try), Aasimar Paladin Jimin, Tiefling Sorcerer Taehyung, Pre-Chrysalis Moon 🌙 A/n: I love this universe but damn I hate that I make myself write some semblance of action. Hope you like it.

Summary:

Close shaves with death are ever so common in such a terrifying world filled with power. If one does not focus, how far can they ever get alone?

[ Past | Master | Future ]

[Read on AO3 instead?]

"You should focus, Taehyung. This isn't a hard spell to master. There is power in your words, remember?"

The crackling in his ears grows louder. The heat in his chest grows colder. There is haze all around him. He can make out a figure in the blur. The shape is familiar to him. The colours are easily recognisable. The voice fills him with a mix of emotions. 

"Listen, my child. The world out there is not as kind, not as gentle as it is here. Now, try this again. With me."

The world is not gentle. It is filled with so much. So many things to see, and do, and experience and none of them as gentle in nature to what he was used to. Taehyung is learning quite quickly that the temple was a safety he took for granted. 

"You must stay focused. You must listen. Don't let your gentleness be a weakness, my little glass chip."

The pet name echoes in the darkening haze around him. Slowly, ever so slowly, what imprints of memory he is recalling is fading away. It is becoming much colder.

"Tae, wake up."

Heat rushes through his body in a second. The searing of his soul fills his body with an electric tingle. His eyes shoot open as a cough rips through his throat. He turns, propping up his body with weak arms. His eyes come to focus. The floor is not the cold marble of his temple. His fingers curl instinctively and dying grass fills his fist.

The absence of weight on his shoulder buzzes the area. Jimin is pulling back their hand and their attention is turned away after making sure that Taehyung is awake. They are in the middle of a fight, in the middle of preserving their lives in the wilds. 

"Stay with me now, dragon. Keep low, keep safe. You'll be alright."

They shoot him a quick smile before stepping forward towards the fight. The soft glimmer of sparkling stars momentarily remains where Jimin was. The sound of metal rings in his ears. 

Taehyung lays back down facing the dark night sky. He rolls his head to look at the action. Everything is upside down. They look like bats fighting under a hay roof. Jimin is swinging their scythe against a claymore a bandit is wielding.

Fighting. There is so much fighting in the world. It is not safe just like his late mentor had told him. It is what they have been trying to help him with. Powers that are held within him are his and for his preservation but Taehyung does not like hurting others no matter how bad they seem. And the more he adventures, the more he thinks that their actions can simply be justified by the harshness of life.

He shakes his head. No he can't think that. Some actions cannot be justified by just that. He hears Jimin's grunt as another fighter slashes at them with a dagger. They're fighting on their own. There is one of two outcomes for this. Taehyung needs to swallow the fact and decide which of the two he makes true.

People die. A daily occurrence. Taehyung will have to take life, as horrifying as the thought is. He knows that his own will be taken if he does not do it. Jimin's would be taken if he remains as he is. It still makes him sick to think this is the only way he could get out of this.

He turns back onto his belly. He raises his hand out towards them. Dry heat rises around him as his mind thinks of the spell his mentor taught him a long while ago. Words, he knows the words. 

'If not for yourself, then for me. Please.'

Taehyung swallows. The words fall out of his mouth effortlessly. His non-stretched hand digs into the grass. His fingers shift the way he remembers his mentor teaching him. He feels the crackle of electricity in his blood pulse.

Jimin swings. Their blade meets flesh. A fighter falls. A different body stands behind them, ready to strike second.

And he focuses, as if hearing their voice again nagging at the back of his mind. He focuses as they have wanted him to time and time over. The prickle travels fast through his arm to his outstretched hand. His eyes lock onto the final bandit in range. He grits his teeth.

Flash and crackle. A sickly green and bronze bolt leaves his fingers. The charge shifts carelessly towards its target. It hits, with a sudden jolt to the bandit. Stray sparks fork out uncontrollably. In a lucky turn, Jimin is untouched by the unpredictable spray.

A shout is cut short from the stop of a heart. The last bandit falls into a heap as the last crackles of electricity turn into small fires in the dry grass. Jimin stands alone beside the tiny flickering flames. They turn their head towards Taehyung. Their glowing gold eyes shift in hue like fire. They step towards the weak sorcerer on the ground.

Taehyung feels a wash of fear and panic dump over him. He watches Jimin emptily. The haggard figure of his friend in the short distance away is trying to remain tall in their posture. Jimin is limping and bleeding and bruised. His friend, his first friend is in this state because of him.

The dark voice of his own worries begin to grow. He takes the blame and accepts it as his own despite not being told that was his fault. Someone close to him is hurt. He did nothing to prevent it. He feels the twist of his stomach that tries to make him vomit. Taehyung gags despite having nothing to throw up. He coughs terribly in the attempt. What remaining magic in his hand fizzles out in a snap.

Jimin lets go of their hold on their scythe. The soft glow pouring out of their eyes stops. Their steps move faster. They are more determined to get to their travel partner that is curling up into himself. They cannot have Taehyung go through this again alone.

"I'm sorry. I should have...should've... I'm sorry." 

He repeats it like a mantra, shaking in place as he sits up. His nails scratch against his arms. A brass scale gets caught against his nail. Taehyung picks at it. 

Jimin drops to their knees and pulls the Tiefling close. They hug him tight against their chest. Taehyung's jewelry is pressed against the stained leather armor. The stench of fresh blood does not bother them.

"Hey there, it's ok. It's alright. You're fine. You're here."

Taehyung tries to shake his head but the Aasimar holds him in place. They continue to whisper in a hushed voice. Taehyung can only listen. 

"You're alright Tae. Listen to my voice. It's alright. We're alright."

Jimin slowly loosens their hold. They shift from an embrace to facing Taehyung towards them. Their hand finds his and pulls it away from picking at his scales. The one that he was scratching at is already half-way through being peeled off his skin. Jimin gives Taehyung's hands a gentle squeeze. The warmth goes through him again. His scratching feels like it never happened.

Taehyung is still mumbling through his apologies. His eyes are still unfocused. Jimin tilts his head up to make eye contact. He is looking at them but tears start to form. 

"Taehyung. I'm here. I'm here, Tae. I'm perfectly fine. You have nothing to be sorry about."

"But I didn't do anything. I didn't help you. You got hurt. I... I just got in your way. I couldn't even try."

The disappointment feels like a crashing wave. The memory of his mentor's eyes, kind yet strict, is ever present in his mind. They tried so hard and yet, their efforts remained in vain. All they have taught is seemingly so useless in his hands. How long has it been since he had seen them? How long was it since their…

The others did not have their patience. Not with Taehyung at least. Never with him. He wonders how backwards it all was. A child like him, always getting into trouble for not meeting up to their prejudices. A young Tiefling too kind, too loving to hurt even a miniscule insect. For that, casted aside not as a devil too hard to control but a child too scared and soft for potential.

If he had continued all on his own, how fast would he have perished, he wonders. All too fast, surely...

"You're never in my way, Taehyung. I know how hard it can be for you in a fight. You're gentle, you're kind. That's ok. This is what I'm here for. I am a fighter. This is not your fault."

Jimin leans forward and bumps their forehead against his. The tip of their noses touch as Jimin closes their eyes. Their hands have left Taehyung's and shifted to hold and steady his head. Caring thumbs gently smooth over the area where Taehyung's horns meet his forehead. 

"You're not alone. You have me. You did great. We'll go through this together. You and me. Now breathe."

Taehyung's breath still stutters. Jimin guides him through taking a deep breath slowly. The seconds tick by as they stay there, not quite far from the road to Echoten. Taehyung comes back to the full reality of where he is. 

Taehyung focuses on Jimin. He reaches up and holds their biceps to further cement himself into reality. He is not alone. Jimin is next to him. An angel entrusted with strength and strength that they willingly give to him. There is no wrong in having fear. There is no wrong in being weak. All he needs to do is stay true to himself. He is not alone, for better and not all worse.

He takes in another deep breath to stabilise himself. Jimin twitches when Taehyung accidentally presses a finger into a wound. 

"Sorry," he whispers. 

"You've done worse,” they try to joke but immediately backtrack their tone. “I'll patch that in a moment. How about you? Breathe a little easier?"

Taehyung nods slowly. They pull away from each other but not too far. Jimin keeps their hands on Taehyung's arms.

The Tiefling pats down his clothes in search of his special trinket given by Master Indrahi. He feels the light bump of it in the pocket of his pants where he last left it. He pulls it out and sighs. A platinum coin with the insignia of his patron encased in glass and brass detailing is still intact. There is a crack in the front of the glass but it is still in one piece. He clutches it in hands.

For me.

Jimin closes their hand over his. They smile. 

For them.

"We're okay. You're here. With me. The gods watch over us. We are protected, by them, by each other. Someday it will not hurt so much to try."

For us.

Taehyung finally takes a proper slow breath in. He feels the warmth of his companion's hands. Jimin is there for him like his mentor was. There is so much Taehyung has to learn in the world. It will be slow for him to truly begin to fight but that is alright. Jimin is right there with him. They are right here to ground him.

[mlkydrms]

2nd January 2024 - New Year

🐾 Realm!Taehyung & Caretaker Pyn (oc)

🐾 Word count: 533

🐾 Notes: No warnings apply. Just a short fic about my two braincells talking to each other. Literally nothing of importance.

========================

The new year has passed as it always has, without much fuss and without much care. There isn't much different between the old year and new. No cause for celebrations. No occasion to mark the time.

It is quiet. It is always quiet in the mansion. Noise is hard to come by unless it comes in the form of bickering.

"Ah." A gentle sigh. "How much effort do you think this year will take?"

A single tail wags in the air lazily. The lead Caretaker has his cheek squished against the armrest of the sofa. His arms are tucked under him.

"As much as you'll give it. If you wish for us to prosper, then more effort will have to be taken from you." The raven-winged man replies.

"I hate it when you're right."

Pyn is sure that there is a smirk on the other person's face. He dares not look at him. His tail just drops as he grumbles.

"Is there anything that you want to do this year?"

"Sure there is."

He sits up with a pout. There are so many things that he would like to do. For things to come to fruition however takes so much time and too much effort. At least, more than he is willing to give or more than his mental capacity will allow.

"I wish for more people to visit."

"They'll need a reason to visit."

"The renovations take time. I take far too long. And even then..."

"No use thinking about the negatives."

"Absolutely rich coming from you." Pyn rolls his eyes.

Realm!Taehyung turns around to give him a look. The crafting hands pause. A wing twitches. There is a deep breath. 

"Look, it's the start of the year. It's better to be in higher spirits."

"Is it your new year's resolution to be more positive this year?"

"No, my beau has commented on how I talk with you. He is not exactly thrilled at the idea of how my interactions with you go most of the time. Not quite grasping that it is how I...care, if that is the word."

"Sure... I think I'll talk to him. We can still bicker. It's better if we bicker. I feel more sane if we bicker."

He nods, almost in relief. Realm!Taehyung returns to his project. "Either way, it's easier to take things step by step, or moment to moment. Doesn't have to be anything grand. We're never grand anyway."

"So, one renovation to another?"

"Then everything will follow after."

The Caretaker lays back down on the sofa. He curls up, thinking about their conversation. His eyes close. He thinks about what is to be done. Like every year before this one, there is only ever a simple list of things to do.

One thing after the other. Not as a measure of negatives. Simply just a list of tasks that will make them grow.

One task to another. A year after the other. It is always the same. Nothing has to change too fast. They will gradually reach their goal.

"Thanks, Angel."

"Of course. You need me. You're useless on your own, Fox."

"I give an inch, you take a mile. You stupid bird."

[mlkydrms]

Not As a Daughter of Hers

Dear Sun, o father of mine  You claim me as your son  and take me under your care  but why, o father  does the Moon still bless me? 

I am no longer her daughter  I still hear her call in the evening  I still hear her whispers in the dawn 

I am no longer a daughter of hers  why does she bless me so? 

 "Young child, my dear found son  She blesses you as you are still hers  to care for, to love, to protect  but not as a daughter of hers 

 "Dear child, my young growing man  She blesses you with strength  as a warrior, a fighter  but not as a daughter of hers 

 "The Moon loves you  and she blesses you so  hoping you still find comfort in her  but never as a daughter of hers 

 "She loves you,  as I do my dear son  As you are  As you change and grow 

 "She loves you,  never as a daughter of hers  She hopes to love you  as a son, returned but never abandoned 

 "Child, watch the skies  Dry your sweet tears  Our blessings do not waver 

 "We are your loving father and mother  and you are our devoted son."

[mlkydrms]

N-th September 2024

What Is The Fantasy In A Name?

⚜️ Caretaker Pyn & Gardener ******* ⚜️ 1434 words ⚜️ A/n: The Gardener uses he/it pronouns. It is used for ease of reading between characters. We stay silly with absolutely no beta reading.

There is barely a bird in the trees to the back of the mansion. An ouroboros is in the midst of its duties as a gardener. The water from the hose sprays far into the flowers. Under its breath, the snake hums as it works. Quiet steps come up behind it.

“Hello, little morsel.”

The caretaker only replies with a quiet hum. He squats down next to the snake. Pyn watches the small water droplets run off the bells of the foxgloves in front of him. There is a light dread that hangs in his heart.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Nothing wrong. I have something to say.”

“Yet, you only speak when prompted.”

“I’m just a little worried. Would you get angry at me?”

“Is this a concern or a request?”

Pyn’s nose scrunches. He turns to look at the snake. It is looking at him as if this was a normal question to ask.

“Why would I even request that?”

“How am I to know? There is a whimsy to some of your asks. Either way, I would likely prefer to not have anger towards you.”

Pyn lets out a huff.

The sound of spraying water slowly fades away. The tap is closed with the turn of its tail. It places the hose down on the ground as it lowers its body. If to picture, it looks like it would be sitting on its haunches if it were in its fully humanoid form. It places its hands on its lap.

“What is it that you would like to say, Nep? I promise that I will not get angry.”

Is it insulting or is it comforting that the creature next to him is treating him like a child? Pyn cannot seem to tell. It is a weird crossing of signals in his mind when he tries to think about it. There are much more pressing things right now than that weird feeling.

The caretaker considers the words. He thinks back to what the fallen angel had said. Is it enough to just be by his side? He is inadequate enough as a caretaker. Is it sufficient to be the creator and nothing else?

Quietly, almost under his breath, Pyn finally says, “I would like it if you were a true muse.”

“Fascinating.”

The weird turning feeling in his stomach churns at the one word. Was Malaikar wrong? The angel has rarely been wrong since his canon.

“That would be quite interesting. I believe I would like that actually.”

The brows furrow first and then begins the thinking. Pyn tilts his head. It is not a rejection. It is quite the opposite. It is the answer he is hoping for but his thoughts flip once again.

“Are you sure?”

“Why would I not be?”

“It means…Your story…”

“It would not be finished. Yes, I gathered as much considering how much of it there is in the first place.”

Pyn ignores the light jab. “You're not angry about that? I thought that you'd maybe… I thought you'd be a little angry about it never being completed.”

“Did you really want me to be?” A soft chuckle escapes its lips as the caretaker gives him a very quick shake of his head. “I do not care. I have never cared about your progress with regards to my WIP. I have nothing harboured towards it in the first place. You worry too much that I may turn like Feathers. I do not. I will not.”

“Why don't you?”

“You understand that he and I are very different, yes? Both of us might say the exact opposite of each other. We actually are, the more you think about it.”

“You're telling me I've been overthinking you getting angry at me.”

“When have you not, little morsel?”

Pyn scrunches his nose with a pout. Maybe Malaikar was right. Pyn does hate it when Malaikar is right. At least, the angel isn't here to gloat about it in a sense. A small shiver runs down his spine before he shakes the image out of his mind.

“Is there a name you’d like?”

It hums loudly. A finger pushes up against its jaw in a fake pondering pose. Pyn rolls his eyes at this.

After few seconds, it finally answers. “I am not sure. Do you want to choose one for me?”

“It’s your name though.”

“I know. I trust you. I am not really smart enough to think of a name.”

Pyn throws his arms up in disbelief. “Do I just create liars in this house? Sir, you created a fucking cult around you. A very, very devoted one at that. You want to have me believe that you’re not smart enough to think of a name for yourself?”

“Maybe I just prefer a name from you, Nep.”

A different kind of twist flips the fox's stomach. When and how did this creation become such an adoring character for him? It did not start out this way. Pyn tries to push the confusion out of his mind. Better not dwell on it too much, however...

“Maybe Laik is right. You need to stop doting on me in this way.”

“Do you hate it?”

“Possibly. I do think it’s a bit too much. No wait. It is too much.”

The snake chuckles. “I will reduce my affections then.”

“Affections my foot. It's an uncomfortable kind of worship.”

“Alright, alright. I get it. I will take you off the pedestal. However, I do prefer that my name be chosen by you. You gave me much already so please, if it happens to be the last thing that I may ask of you, choose one for me.”

“It's because I've made so much of you that I want you to be able to choose this for yourself.”

“And my choice is to be named by you.”

The caretaker stares at it with a squint. The gardener only stares back. The lightest of sighs leaves Pyn's lungs.

“You're not letting this go, are you?”

“Not at all.” It smiles, fangs peeking from its lips. “I am sure that Feathers chose a name for himself, did he not?”

“He did…”

“That is because he has a fantasy of himself that I do not. There is a self that he knows, beginning, middle and end, so a name may complete that fantasy of his. It makes him feel whole, maybe even real. I do not have such a desire for that kind of fantasy.”

“Then what do you desire?”

“You know what I am. I have hunger, not desire. Being here is already enough for me. I am watched. I am fed. My hunger never fades and yet, I am satisfied with the way it is.”

“But your story–”

“Does not have to exist for me to, does it?”

“Not particularly.”

“And that is alright with me. If there is a version of me that exists even without a name, that is alright with me. As long as I remain here in the clutter of your mind, I do not mind what or who I am. A name holds no fantasy to me. Nothing harboured, nothing lost. I only stand to gain from you.”

Pyn allows himself to lean back and fall onto the grass. His head meets thick muscle. Its snake body is at the perfect distance from him to serve as a pillow. It is a little funny that for a creature its length and size, whatever movement its lower body makes is silent against the grass. When did it begin curling around him anyway?

The caretaker watches the sky move above him. The snake remains seated beside him quietly.

His mind swirls with letters. Names are ridiculously easy for the caretaker. There are always a few hovering in his mind. One by one, they line up. Choosing one on his own always seemed to be much more annoying than letting the muse take most of the reigns. He grumbles a little.

“Fine, how about this? I just randomly say names that I have in mind and you stop me when you hear one that you think you'd like.”

“Would that not be me choosing a name for myself then.” A silly little smirk crawls onto its face.

“I'm trying here. I have a lot of names just hanging around. Picking one out of the lot of them is not really my forte. You people tend to be the first to voice and opinion.”

“Alright then. How about we narrow it down to a pool of five and then we choose one together?”

“Deal.”

[mlkydrms]

7th July 2024

Name To Hold True

🏘️ Caretaker Pyn & Butler Realm!Tae 🏘️ 1577 Words 🏘️ A/n: Pyn uses He/they pronouns. They is used in this fic for ease of reading between characters. Also, no beta cause I'm silly like that. One instance of vulgarity.

They are not sure how long it is since they propped themself up on the reception table. It could be five minutes, it could be an hour. It is not that they minded. The caretaker is only left to wait.

They could knock on the simple wooden door but they refrain from doing so. Instead they let their eyes wander the grain of the wood. Their eyes catch on the ornate carving on the top corner. It is barely noticeable from afar. An overly complex R is carved out of the material. They know what it stands for. A sting hits Their heart.

The door suddenly opens outward. A fallen angel steps through the weird shimmer of the entryway behind the door.

"Hey, uh...Angel."

The man closes the door gently. It is not a shock to the angel to see the caretaker waiting. It is, however, interesting to see the young fox with knees to their chest and tails swishing over the butler's desk. His eyes linger on Pyn before turning into a distrusting squint.

"Something's wrong."

"I wouldn't call it wrong. Just...something different. A change."

"What change? I don't know of any change." He raises a brow.

"It's more a personal thing than a full on mansion thing. What do you think of names?"

"A way to refer to people. Why? Are you thinking of changing names again? That doesn't usually deserve this kind of dramatics. It would be a simple thing. There's something else going on here."

"Astute. If you were given the chance, what would you pick for yourself?"

"Me? Oh there are thousands of names out there, little kit, but I do have some that I would lean towards."

Another distrusting squint returns. The angel's body shifts unconsciously in front of the door. He leans against the entryway. His arms fold. Pyn lets out the smallest huff of air out of their nose. They fight down the smile coming up to their lips. The angel is still ever protective of his origins.

"Are you wanting to rip my name away so that I disappear forever?"

"By the gods that would be great for real me's night terrors but no, I wouldn't do that. It's kind of the opposite. Would you like to be a true muse?"

The question hangs in the air for a few solid seconds. It shouldn't really take that long for the angel to process what he's said. The brows suddenly furrow on the angel's face and Pyn's heart rate rises.

"Alright, I'll fully bite. What brought this on?"

"I have been thinking."

"As if you ever stop."

"Shut up. As I was saying, I was thinking. It's been a few solid years now..."

"2016." The angel interrupts with a flat tone.

"Don't remind me. You've been a very consistent muse despite my attitude towards your WIP and you've very much come into your own, away from your original inspiration. It felt like, you'd be better off as..."

"An original character, or 'true muse' as you say."

The angel air quotes the term with the slightest disgust. He knows the term is just a way to differentiate between original characters and fan muses that stay in the mansion. The mansion just carries more fan muses than other such muses. Pyn only nods to confirm the sentence. 

"Doesn't sound too bad but I'm sure there's a catch."

"Just one. Your true origins are scrapped. It will never be placed out there. You can keep the face and all the other stuff. I just need to take the name and your old WIP away. I need to scrap the bits that are obviously, jarringly taken from the inspiration."

"That's fine by me. I've given up on that."

There is barely even a moment of hesitation as he says it. Pyn knows better though. The turn of the head, the rise of the shoulder.

"Liar."

"Of course I'm a liar. In all honesty, I still will want something of myself to be real, to be given to the world."

"Being here isn't enough for you."

"I did not say that. However, being an empty muse will not be enough. I just need something. Something not tied to the mansion directly. Something tied to me. Something that is me in the context of my world, my lore."

"I know. I want that too. And if you'd be willing in the future, I'd make something new for you."

"Is that a promise?"

"Not quite. I can't promise this. You know how I am but I am willing. I'm always willing, for a story."

He keeps his eye contact with the caretaker. "I'll take it."

"Great. I need you to pick yourself a name. I'll handle everything else for the change."

"Give me a short moment to think of a name. On the other hand, have you asked the snake about this?"

"No, not yet. I wanted to ask you first."

The feathers of the angel's wings seem to fluff up ever so slightly. The caretaker huffs with a roll of the eyes.

"Don't let it go to your head. You just happen to be the older one. I asked you first only due to courtesy."

His nose scrunches with a click of his tongue. "At least you respect your elders I guess... But there’s something more to it, isn't there? Are you worried that it might be too soon for it?"

"I'm scared." Pyn says it so quietly, under their breath.

The angel still manages to catch it. He comes closer towards Pyn. He keeps the gap between them. He tilts his head in question.

"I'm scared he'd get angry."

"You're scared that it'd get angry than me being angry?"

"I have more confidence that you'd get angry than I have the confidence that he'd get angry. I know I'd be able to handle you easier. It is very much a surprise to me how calm you are about it right now. I don't know what he would be like if he's angry with me. I don’t think he has been angry with me before. I haven't even thought about that before."

The angel scoffs a laugh at the thought. "As if that oaf can be angry with you. What would it even have to be angry about?"

"If he becomes a true muse, I can't turn that back. Which means, for me, I'd never complete his story. He always seems like he's nonchalant without reason. As if he has too much confidence in me that I could get it done one day and here I am saying, 'It's very likely no'."

It ticks the butler off seeing the way Pyn is getting teary eyed in frustration. He reminds himself he is in a different situation than the snake. The caretaker is much softer towards the gardener than him. His own fault, he admits. He shifts from the door towards the reception desk. He leans against it as he thinks about the soft hearted ouroboros of the gardens. In the weirdest ways, the snake is the opposite to him when it comes to their origins. 

"I do not believe that is what Scales thinks. I do not mean to say that it has given up. It just seems to...not care. It's better that you do talk to it. I cannot say for certain since we are not close but…Scales tends to be a very open book. The way I read it, Scales would be happy to just be by you. I really don't think it cares about its origins at all."

"Are you sure?"

"I know you're the one that created us but you need to stop looking at us like we'd be the first ones to kill you in a Purge situation."

"You would though."

"Yes, I would but not Scales. Trust me on that. Just talk to it."

"Ok... I will, in time."

Pyn removes their hold on Their legs. They let them hang over the edge of the table with a little swing. The angel relaxes as well. They remain quiet like that for an unknown amount of time to either of them.

"Have you thought of a name?" Pyn pipes up.

The angel is suddenly reminded. His mind wanders. There truly are thousands of names in the world. It is a hard decision to think of one that might suit him. How funny would it be to base his name on the word angel itself? Or even take the word for angel and twist just a single letter of it just for the “significance” factor to his lore? It would test the caretaker's patience just a tick. A familiar mischievous smile crawls onto his face.

"Hmmmm, how about Malaikar?"

"Did you just—I am not calling you that."

Pyn scrunches their nose. It only brings a light to the man's eyes.

"You barely call me by my name anyway. How about Laikar for short? Or Laik?"

"Of all the names you could choose..."

"You asked me. That's what I feel like and that's what I like. As if this isn't you choosing my name anyway."

"Don't get meta with me you fuck. Fine, Malaikar it is. When you have time, mind asking your beau to give a name as well? I'd like it if he's a true muse as well. For your happiness and my sanity."

A genuine smile fills Malaikar’s face at the mention of his beloved. "Definitely."

[mlkydrms]

My Warmth is You

⚜ Hoseok x Namjoon ⚜ Coloured Palms AU ⚜ 1057 Words ⚜ Genre: Fluff? ⚜ Prompt: Hoseok x Namjoon ⚜ Notes: Pining, Confessions, No warnings apply. ⚜ A/n: Written for the That Thing You Do bingo hosted by @bangtanwritingbingo​. Had this idea for 5 years but never had the proper plot/motivation to complete it. It still feels incomplete to me but maybe one day I'll figure it out. 

Summary: Hoseok would drown in the blue of Namjoon's palms. It never occurred to him that Namjoon feels the light coming from his white and yellow hands.

[Read on AO3 instead?] 

Hoseok always saw the world in its vibrancy. He sees the soft glow of colours on the palms of people's hands. Rainbows and non rainbows each time he saw them, and he knew he was the only one.

His own hands were a soft white and yellow mix, as if a glow of an angel's halo. He liked it. It made him feel good about himself. Such pretty, soft colours that said that it was him and just him. A quiet beacon for everyone else who needed comfort. A beacon no one could see but it can definitely be felt. 

He sees the colours on the hands of his friends. And he knows how the individual colours change depending on how they feel. He sees the reds, the purples, the shades of black, the shades of white, the browns, and he sees Namjoon. 

Namjoon is blue like the vast ocean. The glow a little ominous and sad. Hoseok would always touch, playing around with the lithe fingers and watch the dark navy shade turn brighter into a gentle turquoise blue. He feels proud that he is the only one that made the colours move. 

His hands were always warm. And Hoseok liked them. He held them anytime he could. They were warm and the heat filled into his own cold, yellow palm. And when their palms touch, it dapples like light on the surface of the sea. Namjoon would flush red if Hoseok drew attention to them holding hands. 

Hoseok knew the colours meant something about the person. He knows the blue of Namjoon is just the chaotic thoughts in the tall man's head that rush around, never stopping. The darker his palms, the more Namjoon was getting lost in himself. Hoseok always takes Namjoon out on a walk before the colour turns too much like black.

He wonders if that was the point of his gift. To help bring a little light to those colours that get too dark. To pull someone out of the abyss, even just a little bit, to live another day. To be a glowing light for someone. To be a lighthouse on Namjoon's rough oceans. Maybe that was why he was yellow. 

'What's the warmest colour you can think of?'

It is a question Seokjin randomly asks while they drink. It livens up the table, everyone listing colours; red, orange, yellow. Hoseok thinks carefully but his mind keeps reaching for a certain person. Namjoon is next to him smiling. He is drinking a beer. 

Hoseok smiles, too, and looks at Namjoon's hand. A pretty blue like the sky above greets his eyes. Namjoon is feeling very happy today.

'Blue. I think blue is very warm.'

He barely even notices the odd looks he gets from his other friends, caught up in the idea that Namjoon is bright today. The conversation picks up again. They are used to Hoseok. He has always been like that with colours. 

'There are things called warm and cool colours. It exists.' Namjoon laughs. 'But I guess everyone has their own opinions.'

Namjoon smiles so sweetly at him. Hoseok almost feels like his heart would burst. His focus turns away from the blue palmed man and onto his untouched drink that has been sitting there all the while. The conversation has turned with the mention of a holiday from Jimin. 

But Hoseok cannot let the question leave his mind. Blue is warm in his eyes but everyone sees something else. Yellow is warm to them. Like the sun, they would say. Hoseok cannot help but say that is true. He cannot help to think it is not, because if yellow was such a warm colour, why are his own hands always so, so cold?

'Hoseok?'

He lifts his head. An open blue palm is shown to him. A comforting ocean. He follows the hand up and sweet eyes stare down at him. Namjoon is there with his dimpled smile.

'Aren't you coming? The others are already leaving.'

Hoseok answers the best he can. His mind had wandered off too far. He grabs hold of the offered hand. Warmth. Glittering light on the water surface right there between their palms. 

Hoseok wonders, as the hand leaves his touch a second later, why Namjoon always stays around him. He questions the other man. 

'Why?' Namjoon repeats. Hoseok sees Namjoon's face flush again. He turns his eyes away, trying to find an answer. He is trying to piece it carefully.

'I, I didn't want to leave you behind. I want to be around you. I like you.'

He focuses on the last three words. 'You like me?'

'You're always so gentle. You're always around for me. I like to be around you. Lend a hand when you want it. I like you.'

Hoseok wants to ask when. All the time he's known Namjoon, nothing had looked different when they were together. Would Hoseok know what blue looked like if it was love? Does he even know what his own yellow actually looked like when all his attention is on his crush on Namjoon? The taller man seems to read his mind. 

'Since you started holding my hand, playing with my fingers. You were so soft, gentle. Since you started reaching out to me, asking me out on walks when you thought I needed it. You always knew when I needed a distraction. Bit by bit, I kept falling for you and your attentiveness. You've just always been on my mind. You're my comfort. I might even say I love you.'

And he sees it. A simple peek of blue when Namjoon rubs his neck in nervousness. The brightest blue Hoseok has seen on the man's palm. Sweet pastel blue that captures Hoseok's heart. He sees a funny red on Namjoon's cheeks. Hoseok has been so focused on the blue that Namjoon is, he had not realised that he could have seen the red in his face.

He looks down at his own hand, bright yellow with cloudy white swirling within it. It rivals the sun above them, covered with white clouds.

He curls his hand into a fist. It feels like he is holding a tiny star in his palm. Warm like the spark in his chest. He takes a deep breath through his smile. 

'I—I love you too.'

[mlkydrms]

Evening Books and Morning Cuddles

⚜ Hidari Shotarou x Philip ⚜ Fluff, It’s just fluff ⚜ 2363 words ⚜ Notes: Just soft boys being soft, cuddling, some flustered Shotarou and insistant Philip, can be read platonic or romantic. ⚜ Author’s Notes: hhhhhhhhello there... So... My first fic back and it’s a kamen rider fic + My first kamen rider fic and it's about these two dorks. Just a fair warning that the fic might be a little, how do you say, messy with regards to povs. I am still trying to get a handle of the characters properly. I hope to write more of them in the future when I get more soft ideas so please be gentle with me. Hope you enjoy it!

Summary:

Philip is a fast reader. Particularly with things he finds interest in. Anything else results in a chore. That does not mean he can't indulge in slowly going through noir style detective novels his partner loves so much with him. And everything that comes after is a bonus that he's calculated.

[Read on AO3 instead]

"Ah, seriously!"

Shotarou leans back into the chair harshly as he messes up the front of his hair. The chair turns slightly at the force.

"Is there anything else to do around here?"

Philip does not even flinch from his position at his usual desk. He is still fiddling with one of the Memory Gadgets that got caught in one of their fights. He uses a free hand to point at the standing table somewhere behind him. 

"There is still that one lost pet case Aki-chan took just this morning."

Shotarou groans. "I don't want to go on a pet hunt in the evening."

"You could go home."

"I'm not quite feeling that either."

Philip finishes up what he is doing and finally turns around. Whatever repairs needed are completed. Shotarou has his fedora placed over his eyes as he leans back. A slight curve rises in Philip's lip. 

He stands up and walks towards the detective. His eyes glance over to the nearby shelf. Nothing interesting there to distract. It is mostly old case files that have been closed for record keeping. 

He looks at the desk. Array of books line one corner of the furniture neatly. There are a few papers strewn on the table under Shotarou's favourite typewriter. It is a little messy to the eyes but as a whole it is organised, just like Shotarou. He spots a solo book placed on the side. The title is not particularly one Philip is familiar with. It is probably part of the new noir book haul the older man purchased a month ago. 

"Hmmm. What about this?"

He picks it up and sits at the cleared area of the desk. He examines the back of the book for a summary. There is nothing but one liner reviews. It gives him nothing. 

Shotarou shifts. The fedora tilts just enough for him to look at what Philip is doing.

"Ah! My book."

The older man scrambles to take the book out of Philip's hand. A quiet smile spreads across his face as he looks at the cover. Philip smiles too. He is glad that the older man has gained a distraction.

Shotarou jumps out of his seat in excitement. He places the book back on the desk and hangs his fedora on one of the small hooks on the loft behind him, ones his late boss used to use. He moves around with joy in his steps.

"I'm gonna read. And Akiko can't stop me cause she left to go home to Terui." He sings to himself. 

Philip walks off and lets Shotarou go through his little preparations. He enters his domain, the garage to look for his blank book. There are still remains of yesterday's look up written on the surface of the white boards. He ought to clean it up for his next stint but decides to do it tomorrow. There are other things that are in the forefront of his mind right now.

He finds the green covered book sitting neatly on his work counter. He grabs it and turns back. He makes sure that there is nothing else that he might be forgetting and leaves.

He finds Shotarou sitting in the bed with his legs straightened up. He had taken off his tie and his vest. They are neatly folded and placed on the coffee table. He looks completely comfortable. The novel is already opened up to a decent chunk for the few minutes he was alone.

The younger one walks up. "Move over. I am reading with you."

"Hah? What do you mean read with me?" Shotarou's face scrunches.

"Well, I have got nothing else to do so I am finding entertainment here."

"But we can't read together. You read too fast."

Philip raises the book in his left hand and knocks the hardcover of it. It should be enough of an insinuation for anyone to understand, and Shotarou does.

"Move over, Shotarou."

"No. Sit somewhere else. I'll let you sit in my chair."

"I do not want to. There is enough space here."

"I'm not moving." Shotarou folds his arms. 

Philip stands by the edge of the bed. He stares at Shotarou who is sitting still. He is not sitting on a chair. Not even Shotarou's chair. He is going to sit with Shotarou on the bed whether the man likes it or not.

"If you insist."

Philip unstraps his boots and takes them off. He gets into bed. The older man shuffles to sit straight against the headboard. 

He crawls between Shotarou's legs. He turns and lays against him. He acts as if it is the most natural thing in the world to do so and opens up his blank book.

"Phi—Philip?"

"You did not want to move so I improvised. This is fine, right?"

"I don't think—"

"You are pretty comfy as a pillow." He mentions off-handedly.

Heat rushes up Shotarou's face. It paints his cheeks a light pink. Philip just makes himself even more comfortable against him. 

"Fine." He relents in a whisper. 

He is not used to this. They are both not used to this. They do not do this often. They tend not to touch, not out of necessity at least. They are not the kind of people to show much physical affection to each other but...it feels nice. It feels especially nice for Shotarou that Philip is the one that initiated it.

It is awkward to read with one hand. Turning the page is a bit of a nuisance having to raise his arms up over Philip's head. Though, Shotarou makes no move to complain about it. 

As they continue their reads, they wordlessly shift along with each other. Their positions fill up the bottom half of the bed as they try to get more comfortable. Philip even turns around and lays on his stomach somewhere between chapters.

The evening turns to night before they realise it. Philip is trying his hardest to keep his pace reading the novel. It is not quite as interesting as most of his research but he trudges through it. The possibility of listening to Shotarou talk about it to him later is veritably a good goal.

There is a sudden shift to Philip's left. The sound of a book closing and hitting the bed is heard. He tilts his head up slowly. Shotarou's head is lolled to the side. His eyes are closed shut and his breathing is even. He had fallen asleep.

He turns his head. Unfortunately, the angle of where he is makes it impossible to read the clock hanging on the pillar. There is no light outside the windows. He is unsure what time it is.

Philips takes a few minutes to make sure that Shotarou is definitely passed out before moving. He gets up as slowly as possible. He does not want to accidentally wake him up. He is lucky that the detective tends to be a heavy sleeper.

He tries to gently shift Shotarou into a better position for his back and neck. He lays the man properly on the bed while manoeuvring himself on what space he can within the furniture. Philip drags the curtains to a close to make it darker for the sleeping man. He returns to his previous position, careful with laying himself atop Shotarou.

Philip changes the topic within his book within seconds. His eyes glide across the pages easier at the new stimulation. Since Shotarou is out like a light, there is no need for him to keep reading the novel till the end. At least not until Shotarou is reading it as well. He would prefer reading the end of such a book along with him.

The light of the morning filters through the windows of the agency. Though, there is not much difference in considering how the lights inside the office have been switched on all night. Neither of them had the time to switch them off.

There is a light scuffle outside in the hallway. Quick and rough steps make their way to the agency door. The entrance swings open. Akiko is on time for her duty as the proud chief of Narumi Detective Agency. 

"Good morning!" Her voice is cheery as always but there is no answer. 

She looks around the room but there is no one to be found. She tilts her head and calls out for the younger detective's name. There is still no response.

She enters the garage and it is just as empty as the office is. She turns back and walks further in. She places some bags of food on the standing table. 

"That's strange. Philip is usually here. Ah, maybe he's still sleeping."

Sure enough, the curtains by the guest bed are drawn close. Philip's brown boots are placed neatly by the area. She does not seem to notice the other pair of black shoes peeking out from under the curtains. She approaches quietly. She reaches out and pulls open one side of the curtains. 

A small gasp fills her lungs as she sees the scene in front of her. Philip is sleeping soundly with his blank book resting open in his right hand but that is not what is shocking. Philip is asleep on his stomach on top of Shotarou, cheek pressed against the half-boiled detective's chest. Shotarou is also asleep, relaxed as can be, with a hand resting gently on Philip's back. 

"Eh? I didn't hear anything about this!" The words fall out of the chief's mouth before she can even stop herself. 

A goofy little grin fills Akiko's face as an idea fills her head. She tries to find the little memory gadget to take some pictures of the occasion. In the ruckus, Shotarou starts to stir awake. He squints against the light. Akiko is going through Philip's desk haphazardly.

His brows furrow in annoyance of being woken up but Akiko being loud is a normal occurrence. He tilts his head down, noticing familiar red and green binder clips in dark black hair. It is Philip, and he is sleeping on top of him.

He hears the sounds of Bat Shot's snapping somewhere in his periphery as he remembers the last moments of the previous night. They were reading. Shotarou was reading but then the words started to blur and his eyelids got heavy. When was the point in the night where Shotarou fell asleep just like that with his partner in his arms?

"Oi, Akiko. Stop taking pictures. That's embarrassing."

Shotarou tries to shield his face from the camera and wave Akiko off with his one free arm that isn't pinned under Philip's. He tries to do it as gently as possible. He hopes the movement does not wake Philip up. 

Akiko does not let up. She keeps taking pictures in whatever angle she can find. 

"I've just never seen you both together like this. It's cute!"

"Akiko, stop it—"

Philip suddenly shifts. He presses his arm down on Shotarou's chest as he lifts up. An uncharacteristic scowl is on his face. Shotarou freezes with widened eyes. Akiko pauses. 

"Aki-chan. I am still very tired and would like to continue sleeping. We went to bed quite late last night so if you could please not disturb us for a few more hours, I would be grateful."

He closes his open book that is next to Shotarou's shoulder. He reaches out to the drawn open curtain. He is ready to shut out the world again.

"Huh? I think I should just get up if you want to sleep more Philip. I'm fine."

The brunet moves to escape from the bed but Philip does not agree. The younger presses more weight into his forearm. Shotarou is effectively pinned back down, shoulders to the mattress. He is at a disadvantage in this position. He does not think he can try again, not without throwing Philip off the bed as well. 

"No. Sit still. You need the sleep too. Now if you would excuse us, Aki-chan."

"No, of course. Sleep well." She smiles with a little wave of her hand. 

Philip pulls the curtains back to close them both in shadow once again. He can hear their boss giggle to herself as she walks away from the bed. There is quiet rustling of plastic behind the cloth wall. (At least as quiet as plastic can be.) 

He goes back to his previous position. He leans his head on Shotarou's chest and closes his eyes. He listens to the calculated breathing of his partner. Shotarou is being as stiff as he possibly can.

What does he do? He is not used to this kind of contact. Should he move? Can he move? Philip wants to sleep. He might get even more annoyed if he tries. Shotarou would be lying if he didn't want to snooze a little more. Is he allowed to? He is, isn't he? Akiko left them to take a nap without fuss. What time did they end up going to bed anyways? 

"Shut up and sleep, Shotarou." Philip says quietly. 

With his eyes closed, Philip moves his hand down Shotarou's arm. He reaches for the man's hand and intertwines their fingers. He squeezes gently.

"You are thinking too much. Just rest, and that is coming from me."

Shotarou slowly lets out the breath he had been holding. Philip is right. He should not think too much about it. There is nothing wrong with this.

He returns the squeeze and gently lays his free arm over Philip's back. He closes his eyes. Shotarou falls into the comfort of the moment. He goes back to sleep with soft warmth and a weighted blanket in the form of his partner.

They sleep, into the late morning, in each other's arms. Neither of them are quite sure if something like this would happen again in the future. Philip is not particularly physically affectionate but being as stubborn as he can be, there is no telling where they might end up next time he fixates on being close to Shotarou. And with a soft heart, Shotarou would only ever give in to something so inane.