#Here's your “sword”. But not just any sword... ^_^

[sleepyontii]

Yandere! Phainon x Reader || You Would be So Nice to Come Home To

Knight!Phainon x Princess!Reader || 2.5k words || Part 1

Warnings! Non-graphic violence, don't worry about it :] Phainon feels a bit ooc for now but be not afraid, that's for plot reasons

⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔

Phainon is 10 years old when he watches his home of Aedes Elysiae burn before him. He does the logical thing and blames the government, or in this case, the monarchy for it.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, he falls in love with the face of the system- you, the kingdom's beloved princess.

Love scorches his skin like it's the Sun and the knight cannot decide if his fire is meant to save or destroy.

⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔

It started off with a petty chance.

There wasn’t any prince or princess, no wizards, dragons, or magical swords– but there was a sickle. It was a small one, the kind only used for children seeking to help their parents, but it was Khaslana’s.

That was enough.

The sword was his best friend– not in the way that Cyrene was. Of course, Cyrene was a good friend of his, but the sickle was just different. The sickle was the kind of friend that you would close your eyes with and be transported into a mystical land, far from the wheat fields of Aedes Elysiae.

In this land, his sickle would be a sword resting by his waist. He would be on the road, stopping to smell the grass in the air before running into a group of bandits. They would ask for his money, he would refuse, they would say they had knives, and Khaslana would pull out a bigger one. Then he’d beat up all the bad guys, not enough to kill them but enough to have them scurrying home. He would have saved 3 months or maybe even an eternity worth of travelers that day.

He would be a hero.

And heroes don’t tend to leave their swords behind, especially not by accident.

But Khaslana did.

Maybe it was the buzzing in his ear, maybe his mother’s voice was a little too loud, maybe he was just hungrier that night– whatever the case, he ran home, leaving his sickle in the dust.

He didn’t mean to, of course, he never meant to, and so he concluded he had to fix it. With more courage than his hands could muster, he snuck out of his home through a window after dinner. He felt the breeze tickle his skin, and the youth contemplated falling back into the comfort of his blanket. He could just come back tomorrow, and it would still be there.

The soles of his feet touched the ground.

He could not, no, heroes never back down, and Khaslana would be a hero. He’d just walk a little bit, find the sickle, and return back home. A small, unassuming journey, but it was a journey regardless. Lightning hit his legs, and he ran, dirt kicking off behind him.

Everyone starts small, he reminds himself, everyone does.

It’s hard to see in the dark, nearly impossible, and Khaslana thinks he would die if he had not been here a thousand times before. He knows this place like the back of his hand, for that hand had felt every thistle, every current, every pebble and grain in Aedes Elysiae.

His foot hits something and he winces, but does not scream. Instinctively, he bends down and feels the shape of the object. He feels the curve, the handle, but he doesn’t go to feel the tip because he already knows. Ah, there it is, his best friend.

Khaslana smiles proudly at the stars above him and waits for their praise. The stars only twinkle at him; they flicker a little too brightly, yet he doesn’t mind. It was a familiar sight to him, and it looked like home.

He wonders if the gods are looking at him right now.

Khaslana smells the smoke first.

Fire. Burning red and orange and getting brighter with every life it took. Windows broken, crying, screaming as blood spills over the path he had walked home to earlier. Swords, real swords, run through fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, and all who try to escape. Their hopes are shattered under the tip of the blade.

The world burns before him.

The boy watches, the boy runs into the chaos with nothing but a sickle, the boy fails to do anything. Fails to save anyone.

The boy is no hero.

That night, Khaslana cries his throat raw for a savior.

The stars do not respond.

He’s taken into a temple.

Khaslana doesn’t remember what happened or how he got here, just remembers the earth on his feet as he walked aimlessly into the horizon. The sickle on his waist weighs him down, and he contemplates falling to the ground with it.

Khaslana would not allow it.

Not until he stares up into the statue of Kephale at the god’s temple. The air smells of dawn as the boy, aged 10, looks at the Sunbearer.

He curses at him.

“They deserved to be saved too!” Khaslana screams with whatever strength he has left, only to realize there is none. In its place is hate, a burning hate that sears through his skin and burns his eyes. The kind that was brought to Aedes Elysiae that night.

“My father, my mother, Cyrene–”

The kind that Khaslana inherited from the flames that burnt his world to ashes. It aches throughout his entire body, too strong for him to handle. He drops to his knees.

“If you are so great, then why didn’t you save them!?”

The sky is silent, bothered, unfazed.

The priests find the youth there later, collapsed at the steps, still spewing malice from his lips.

It’s a sanctuary of sorts, Khaslana learns. Secluded from the world and covered in the hope of the trees, it’s a place of quiet worship and rest for devotees and wandering souls.

Dressed in clothes too clean to wear and shoes too new to walk in, Khaslana leaves his sickle in a chest. The chest is in a small room that lies in the west wing of the temple.

It’s there where an older priest meets him, wrinkles soak his skin, and they spell out false pity.

“The neighboring nation,” He speaks slowly, not in a careful sense but rather because he knows that he can take his time.

“Their armies have been pardoned by the royal family; they do not want to risk war.”

“My family.” It leaves his mouth like a dying prayer. All his unsaid words hang thick in the air.

“They are gone, child.” The priest says, eyes cold and looking past him. “But the people will live. You will, too.”

“From this day forth, as a devotee to Kephale, you will live a new life. You shall be named Phainon.”

His protests die as the door shuts, closed.

That night, there is a celebration, a bonfire where priests and nearby townsfolk sing praises for the newfound peace that has settled over the land. Amongst their cheers, not a single one mourns for his hometown– only cheering for the survival of theirs.

Khaslana– now Phainon refuses to look up at the stars. He tucks himself under the warmth of his blanket and shuts his eyes close, pillow over his head. The hate festering in his body will flow out if he doesn’t.

The people of Aedes Elysiae died a meaningless death.

Curse you, Kephale.

They will not be avenged or remembered.

Curse you, those who sit on the throne.

Is your seat so high that you fail to see the blood pooling down below?

And he will live the rest of his life being unable to let it go. How could he when the smell of smoke lingers beneath his nose in wait?

Cinders cover the night air, and he suffocates quietly.

Phainon spends the next years stewing in that hate. No one turns their heads, no one says a thing.

It never went away, no. He just got better at hiding it.

It still seeped out quietly when he breathed a bit too loudly during prayers or when that subtle hesitation strangled his throat as he sang praises.

Sometimes, he feels the need to throw up. He doesn’t; he learned how to stop doing it after the first 4 months, but the bile always reaches the same place– to where his remaining cries lie untouched.

He wonders if they’ll ever get out.

Embers rest at the bottom of his stomach. The hymns to the gods sink down into his gut; they do not soothe the flames. The fire continues to burn.

The royal family is coming to the temple; it was for a pilgrimage of sorts.

Loud whispers flood the forum; Phainon does not react to the announcement. Instead, he smiles along with the crowd before they disperse and go back to whatever they’re doing. Phainon, luckily, doesn’t need to do much.

He’s still a child– they had reasoned, he should have some time to himself. There wasn’t much he could do, though, not when he was the only kid there.

So Phainon heads back to his room and lifts open the chest’s lid. The sickle lies there, untouched.

His fingers twitch; they ask to deliver justice. The voice that tells him so sounds so much like his mother, but he can’t tell anymore. He’s forgotten what home sounded like. He can only recall the cackle of the embers and nothing else.

Phainon is 13 when he sees her for the first time. He had stood by a pillar, sickle in hand, watching the coming and going of travelers on the road.

The king strides forward, paying respect to the statue of Kephale at the temple’s entrance. His wife, the queen, follows behind him with grace. The woman signals to someone still inside their carriage, covered in gold and carvings. It’s much grander than the several ones that follow behind them.

From there, a girl– his age or at least a year younger, gets out, clumsily slipping a step on the way. She lets out a little squeak before grabbing onto the railing, pulling herself back up to stare timidly at Kephale, clearly hesitant to step forward. Regardless of her feelings, her mother ushers her on, and she bows alongside her parents.

It’s the princess.

You.

Your name is [Name], the only one that he knows from the three, albeit not voluntarily. The high priest just mentioned it once or twice in passing, but that shouldn’t matter.

The rulers get down on their knees in joined, whispered prayers, and the grip on his sickle tightens when he remembers what he’s here for.

But then you smile.

The princess, you, smile at him, having spotted him from your place on the ground. It’s a clumsy smile, the kind you’d give when you were caught doing something you shouldn’t. You wave your hand.

Phainon doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he starts waving back.

The queen, swiftly taking notice, slaps your hand away and chastises you, and you go back to praying.

The sickle clatters on the floor.

His fingers tremble. They don’t call for blood this time, they don’t call out for anything in fact.

They are just afraid.

If he killed your parents, as much as he hated them, then he would be no better than the ones who had killed his own, for you were a child like him too.

No child deserves to live through flame.

But he did.

You will not.

Phainon resorts to spending the rest of the day at the edge of the springs that surround the main path. The king, he notes, must only be spending a few hours here at most before moving on if he seeks to visit all the temples across the land so the boy will just wait for him to pass.

Unfortunately, Kephale is not kind.

You, out of all people, are treading the path near the water. You stare at the environment with starry-eyed wonder before bending down to pick up a flower.

He watches you from afar, cursing you in his mind. If it weren’t for you, then he would have no problem running his blade through the king’s neck.

If it weren’t for you, then he wouldn’t be here anymore.

He swallows a sigh and leans against the marble steps. He supposes there is no point in complaining anymore. He should let you be if he is wise.

He does not.

He hears a large splash, and Phainon snaps out of his thoughts to see you flailing in the water.

Quickly, he scans the surroundings for help, but the both of you are completely alone. All the priests must have gone to the main chamber with the king.

If he left you here, then you would die.

If he left you here, then it would look like an accident.

If he left you here, then–

Phainon doesn’t finish that thought. Instead, he dives straight into the water. He’s fast, the way his father taught him to be. He doesn’t know why he’s going after you, he just feels as if he should.

He reaches out for your hand. The kind one that waved at him earlier that morning.

Your pained eyes look up at him with hope.

In the midst of the freezing water, he feels your warmth.

His grip on you tightens, and he pulls the both of you to the surface of the water. Your bare hands touch the ground, coughing desperately as Phainon pants beside you, adrenaline still running in his veins.

“Your highness,” Phainon asks, surprised by his own words. “Are you alright?”

“I am. Thank you,” You breathe out. “Thank you–”

“Phainon.” He says. “Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”

“Aedes Elysiae,” You test the name on your tongue, speaking of it as if it’s the first time. A twinge of regret creeps up the back of his spine, and Phainon cringes, ready to back away.

“That’s the village out on the north frontier, no?” You speak up, a sense of terror spreading through your face. “The one that was burnt down by–”

“Yes.” The boy swallows heavily; something is stirring in his chest. His thumping heart beats in his ear in anticipation. Aedes Elysiae was a small, obscure place in the farthest parts of the kingdom. No one had mentioned its name in years.

No one but Phainon, for he had never forgotten.

And it seems that you haven’t as well.

“I’m sorry,” Your eyes lower in shame, and you bow your head. His eyes widen– it’s lower than the one you had given the statue of Kephale.

“I’m sorry we didn’t do more for you when we should have,” You apologize, your voice so mournful and genuine that it hurts him too. “We should have rebuilt the land, we should have saved whatever we could.”

“We did not, and on behalf of my– no, of all the royal family,” You tremble before him like you’re an unsightly sinner before a god.

“I’m sorry.”

Phainon watches you wordlessly as you cry for him when he lacks the strength to move. The warmth that you had given him, he realizes, is not of fire or of hate like his– not even of indifference like the gods above.

It’s of love.

Love so raw and human.

The air clears up, it’s never felt this clear in ages, and he can only stare.

Then he cries.

“Thank you, princess,” He chokes up, heart beating into his throat. “Thank you.”

Phainon, for the first time in 3 years, falls in love again. There wasn’t any grand confession, there wasn’t a rosy first encounter, there weren't any gentle touches– but there was warmth in your fingers and it birthed out love that looked like home. The kind that was clumsy, unsteady, and uncertain, but it was Phainon’s.

That was enough.

⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔

I wrote this on impulse and I'm running on 2 hours of sleep and nothing else. Forgive me, Phainon nation.

Anyways, thanks to thusspokeshan on ao3 for their knight!Phainon fic- "Meant to be Yours" because I caught the Phainon brainrot virus and now I have to explain to my mom why I have him all over my Pinterest.

This was a guilty indulgence and unfortunately, it may have been worth it.

This is also uploaded on ao3 :>

[mingiatz]

Y/N is a shy transfer student navigating her first year at a university in Seoul, where everything feels too loud, too fast, and too unfamiliar. Assigned to tutor the campus heartthrob — Mingi, a wildly popular frat boy with a reputation as reckless as his laugh — she expects a headache, not heart flutters. But between chaotic study sessions, frat parties, anime confessions, and quiet snowstorms, something starts to shift. He’s more than just the loud guy in black. And she might be more than just his tutor.

Pairing: Song Mingi (ATEEZ) × Female Reader (Y/N)

Trope(s): College AU, Tutor x Student, Friends-to-Lovers, Opposites Attract, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, First Love Energy™, Plus-Size!Reader, Soft!Fratboy!Mingi supremacy

Genre: Romantic Comedy | Coming-of-Age | Slow Burn with Payoff | Soft Angst with a Happy Ending

Featuring: All ATEEZ members as part of Mingi’s chaotic frat house, Tender male friendships, Low-key commentary on body image, culture shock, and finding belonging

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

The first thing Y/N learns about Seoul is that nobody stops for lost people.

It’s her second day at university and she’s already late, her tote bag bouncing against her hip as she jogs across campus in a soft panic. The map app on her phone reroutes for the third time and she curses under her breath, praying to any higher power that Statistics 201 is somewhere—anywhere—near the giant red sculpture she’s now passed twice.

Back home, she was the one who always arrived early. But here, in a new country, a new school, surrounded by new everything, she feels like a puzzle piece from the wrong box.

When she finally reaches the classroom, it’s already half full. She slips into a seat in the back and tries not to make eye contact with anyone.

Not that it matters. No one’s looking. They’re all hunched over laptops or whispering in casual Korean she still can’t keep up with when spoken fast. She exhales slowly. Survive. That’s the only goal this semester.

Midway through the lecture, her professor pauses and adjusts his glasses. “Before we wrap up today, I have your tutoring pair assignments.”

Oh right. Peer tutoring. Required for those with high entrance scores to help students struggling with prerequisites. She vaguely remembers checking the box during orientation, thinking it would be simple.

She expected to help some quiet kid who just didn’t get formulas. Someone like her. What she got instead was:

“Y/N, you’ll be assigned to Song Mingi. He’s—ah—around somewhere.”

A few students in the front snort. One of them whispers, “Good luck.”

Another says, “Olympus will eat her alive.”

Y/N blinks. Olympus?

She finds out what they meant an hour later.

After receiving a message from someone named “🕺MINGZZZ” with nothing but an address and a „come hungry 😋“, Y/N stands outside an ivy-covered house near campus. Music thumps from inside, and a volleyball sails over the roof and onto the lawn where two shirtless guys are sword-fighting with foam pool noodles.

She hesitates.

Maybe she should turn around and say she got the wrong place. Maybe this is—

“Y/N?”

A tall guy with neon-orange hair bursts through the door and jogs toward her, waving both arms like an excited golden retriever. “You’re real!” he beams. “I thought the prof made you up to scare me into studying!”

Y/N opens her mouth. Closes it. “Are… you Mingi?”

“That’s me!” He leans in, looking at her like she’s a rare Pokémon. “Whoa. You’re not from here, right?”

She stiffens. “No. I’m—”

“Cool!” he says before she can finish. “Come inside! We’ve got food. Kinda. San’s cooking, so no promises.”

She’s dragged in before she can protest.

Inside the house is chaotic brilliance.

Shoes litter the entryway. There’s a guitar on the couch. A blender is running with no one watching it. On the wall is a large hand-painted mural of a Greek temple, and under it: „ΩLƱMPƱS – Since 2020“.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

Mingi grins like a tour guide. “Welcome to Olympus, baby. The most elite frat on campus.”

“You painted this?” she asks.

“Hongjoong did. He was possessed by the spirit of Dionysus or something.”

Just then, a guy walks past with a paintbrush stuck behind his ear and no shirt on. “You’re late, Mingi. Stats Girl—hi, I’m Hongjoong—is not here to babysit you.”

Mingi rolls his eyes and gestures to the other guys walking in and out of the living room.

“That’s Seonghwa, our house mom. Yunho’s the tall one setting up Mario Kart. Jongho’s in the kitchen glaring at a protein shake. San’s setting something on fire. And that’s Yeosang. He’s probably judging your soul right now.”

Yeosang, sitting silently with a Rubik’s Cube and airpods in, offers a subtle wave.

Y/N swallows.

Mingi flops onto a bean bag and gestures at the floor beside him. “Let’s math.”

“You don’t even have your notebook,” she says, still standing awkwardly.

He shrugs. “It’s in my soul.”

The first session is a disaster.

Mingi interrupts every equation with questions like “Who invented square roots?” and “Why is P the symbol for probability when S makes more sense?” At one point he throws a chip in the air and misses catching it in his mouth. It hits her arm.

Y/N wants to scream.

But then… he surprises her.

When she re-explains how to identify distributions using sample size, he actually listens. His jokes stop. His eyebrows furrow. He writes something down. The moment is fleeting, but it happens.

He’s not dumb. He just has the attention span of a gnat.

And… he’s kind of weirdly charming.

Later, as she gathers her things, Mingi stands and walks her to the door.

“You’re not quitting, right?” he says. His voice is quieter now. More serious.

She pauses. “No. I said I’d help you.”

He nods, rocking on his heels. “Cool. Next week, same chaos?”

She hesitates. Then: “…Bring a notebook.”

He grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

As she steps out onto the sidewalk, the door closes behind her with a thud, and for the first time since moving to Seoul, Y/N feels something unfamiliar curling in her chest.

A tug.

And it’s pointing back toward that noisy, messy house filled with ramen, boys who shout too loud, and a boy who might just be smarter than he thinks.

Y/N stared at her reflection in the campus bathroom mirror, tugging at the hem of her oversized hoodie. She knew she shouldn’t care.

It was just a comment. One offhand sentence. Nothing dramatic. Nothing cruel.

“You have such a pretty face,” the girl in her intro Korean class had said as they packed up their books. “You’d be seriously stunning if you dropped a little weight.”

She’d smiled—tight-lipped, polite. Laughed even. The way you’re taught to when you don’t want to make a scene.

Now, two hours later, her skin still prickled with shame.

She wasn’t even surprised. Not really. Moving to Seoul meant adapting—fast—to a new language, new social norms, new fashion. And in a place where being “thin” was more than an expectation—it was practically law—it didn’t take long to notice where you fell short.

She just hadn’t expected the reminder to sting this much.

By the time she arrives at Olympus again, it’s already dark out. She told Mingi she’d come by after class since his schedule was a mess this week. The house is quieter tonight. No music blasting. Just the sound of someone yelling about a broken rice cooker from the kitchen.

When Mingi answers the door, he’s wearing plaid pajama pants, a shirt with a badly drawn shark on it, and a look of mock betrayal.

“You’re late,” he says, stepping aside to let her in. “I almost died of anticipation.”

“Tragic,” she mutters, kicking off her sneakers. “Guess you’ll have to suffer.”

He blinks at her. “Whoa. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

It comes out too fast. Too practiced.

Mingi doesn’t push. Not yet.

Instead, he offers her a bag of banana milk, already poked open with a straw. “For the tutor. Payment in calcium.”

She almost cracks a smile. Almost.

They settle on the living room floor with their textbooks. Yunho walks by holding a stack of plates and nods at her like she’s a regular now. Jongho follows, looking like he just came from the gym and mumbling something about protein and macros. San waves a spatula at her before heading toward the kitchen yelling, “If the smoke alarm goes off, it’s not my fault this time!”

Y/N doesn’t respond. Her brain’s too noisy.

Mingi, of course, notices.

He’s doodling a graph in the corner of his notes, tongue sticking out in concentration, when he glances up.

“You’re quiet,” he says casually.

“I usually am.”

“Not like this.” He eyes her more closely. “You’re… sad quiet.”

She sighs, rubs at her eyes. “It’s been a long day.”

“Tell me?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not real,” he replies, voice gentler than usual.

She hesitates. Then: “It’s hard sometimes. Being here. Everything feels… a little off. Like I’m always just a second too late to get the joke.”

Mingi’s expression softens.

“And then,” she continues, pushing her sleeves over her hands, “there’s the way people look at me. Like I missed a memo on what I’m supposed to look like.”

He doesn’t interrupt.

“Someone told me today I’d be prettier if I lost weight.” Her voice cracks a little. “And they said it like they were doing me a favor.”

Mingi exhales through his nose. “Do I know them?”

She blinks at him. “What?”

“Whoever said that. Do I know them? Because I’ve got a Nerf gun and zero self-control.”

That earns a weak laugh from her. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leans in slightly, his tone suddenly serious. “Okay, but real talk? You’re already pretty. No ‘if,’ no ‘but.’ Just… fact.”

Y/N freezes.

Mingi doesn’t say it like he’s teasing. He says it like he means it. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I know I mess around a lot,” he continues, fiddling with the cap of his highlighter, “but I see stuff. You’ve got this… spark. You walk in and it’s like the air changes. You don’t see it yet, but it’s there.”

Her cheeks flush. “Now I know you’re lying.”

“I don’t lie. I exaggerate, embellish, and occasionally perform dramatic reenactments—but I don’t lie.”

She chuckles, looking down at her notes. “Thanks.”

He nudges her shoulder. “Anytime.”

They get through maybe half a chapter before Mingi’s attention span short-circuits.

“Okay,” he groans, flopping backward onto the carpet. “My brain is full. It’s leaking out of my ears.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “We’ve been at this for thirty minutes.”

“Which is thirty more than usual!” he protests. “I need brain fuel. Ramen?”

She blinks. “Now?”

“It’s midnight. Prime noodle time.”

Before she can stop him, he’s already yelling into the hallway. “SEONGHWA-HYUNG, CAN WE USE THE STOVE OR DID SAN BREAK IT AGAIN?”

Seonghwa appears in the doorway, arms crossed. “You’re lucky I love you. Wipe the counters after.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Mingi turns to Y/N with a grin. “C’mon. Cooking lesson. I’ll even let you stir.”

In the kitchen, he makes a mess of everything—spills seasoning, burns his hand on the pot, accidentally uses sparkling water instead of regular for the broth. Y/N laughs for the first time all day.

He’s ridiculous. And chaotic. But… it’s a welcome kind of chaos.

Something she didn’t know she needed.

Later, they eat in the kitchen while the rest of the house sleeps. It’s quiet, soft in a way that feels sacred. Mingi’s leg keeps brushing hers under the table, but he doesn’t move away. Neither does she.

She looks at him and wonders how someone like him—so big, so loud, so free—could ever understand what it feels like to shrink yourself for safety.

And yet, tonight, he’s given her space to be seen. Not as a project. Not as a problem.

Just… as a person.

When she leaves, he walks her to the gate again, hands in his hoodie pockets.

“Hey,” he says, just before she steps onto the sidewalk. “Next time, you should come early. Like, before tutoring. Just hang out.”

Y/N tilts her head. “Why?”

“Because,” he says with a shrug, “I like having you around.”

She doesn’t respond right away. But her smile, small and slow and real, is answer enough.

Mingi was not known for his academic prowess.

He was known for throwing a good party, ordering extra fries without asking, and knowing the lyrics to every K-pop girl group single from 2010 onward.

What he wasn’t known for was sitting still for more than ten minutes.

Yet here he was—on the living room floor with a stats textbook in his lap—voluntarily trying to understand binomial distributions.

Because Y/N was here.

She sat cross-legged across from him, her notes already color-coded and crisp, like she’d planned this session three days in advance. Probably had. She was that kind of person.

Meanwhile, Mingi had just found his notebook under the couch cushion five minutes ago.

He leaned back on his palms, watching her read something aloud. His eyes were meant to be on the formulas, but they drifted—first to her face, then lower.

God, she was hot.

Not in the usual flashy way girls tried to look at frat parties, all glitter and heels. Y/N was quiet heat. Soft, thick thighs in leggings. A hoodie that clung around her chest every time she reached forward. Curves that didn’t seem like she knew were a big deal—but they were.

At least to him.

But it wasn’t just that.

She was… different. Guarded. Not in a stuck-up way—just like someone who had to build her own space before letting anyone in. That made him curious. And the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to know her.

Not just what grade she got on last week’s quiz.

But like—what made her laugh? What did she miss from back home? What was her favorite snack at 3 a.m.?

“Hey,” he said suddenly, cutting into her sentence. “Can I ask you something?”

She blinked up at him. “Sure?”

“Where are you from? Like—before Seoul.”

She smiled a little, setting her pen down. “Germany. I grew up near Stuttgart.”

“Whoa. That’s cool.” Mingi nodded. “Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “The food, mostly. And my family.”

He tilted his head. “So you came here alone?”

“Yeah. I got accepted into the international program, and I’d always wanted to study abroad.”

“Damn,” he said. “That’s brave.”

She chuckled under her breath. “It doesn’t feel brave most days. Just overwhelming.”

That pulled him up short.

She said it so casually, like it was just a fact—like being overwhelmed and completely on your own in a foreign country wasn’t a huge deal.

He frowned. “Do you at least have a good group of people around you? Like, friends?”

Y/N went quiet for a second. “Not really.”

“What?” He sat up straighter. “You haven’t made any friends yet?”

She shrugged, not looking at him. “It’s hard. Most people already have their groups. And I don’t exactly fit in.”

Mingi stared at her.

That quiet pit in his stomach? Yeah. That was guilt.

Because he hadn’t even thought about that. He saw her as his tutor, the one who corrected his math and lowkey roasted him when he forgot what a histogram was.

But now, hearing her say she didn’t have anyone? That hit different.

“Wait—” he said quickly. “We’re friends.”

She looked up, startled. “What?”

“We are,” he repeated, voice a little firmer now. “You come here. We study. We eat ramen. You roast me when I mess up decimals. That’s friendship.”

She stared at him, unreadable.

Then: “You don’t have to say that just because you feel bad for me.”

“I don’t feel bad,” he said, shaking his head. “I just didn’t realize… you felt like that.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Well. Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds. The kind of silence that wasn’t awkward—just full.

Mingi cleared his throat. “Hey, uh—speaking of friendship…”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What?”

“We’re having a party this weekend.”

She sighed.

“Wait! Before you say no,” he said, raising both hands. “You don’t have to dress up. Or dance. Or talk to strangers. Just… come hang out. We’ll keep it chill. You can even sit in the kitchen and judge everyone. I’ll bring you banana milk.”

That made her laugh—really laugh—and Mingi felt weirdly proud.

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

He grinned. “That’s not a no.”

“No,” she said, “but it’s not a yes either.”

He leaned back again, satisfied.

That was good enough for now.

Later, after she left, Mingi sat in the quiet living room, flipping through his notes.

They still didn’t make much sense.

But something else did.

Y/N wasn’t just someone interesting anymore.

She was someone worth paying attention to.

Later that evening, Mingi found himself still on the living room floor. The textbook was open on his lap, but he hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes.

The house was quieter now, the party plans on pause until the weekend, the usual energy diffused into pockets of laughter echoing from the upstairs hallway.

He should’ve been scrolling on his phone. Or snacking. Or yelling at San for using his favorite hoodie as a towel again.

Instead, he was… still.

Which was rare.

“Yo,” Yunho’s voice came from behind the couch. “You okay? You haven’t moved in, like, forever.”

Mingi blinked and looked up. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

That earned him a suspicious stare. Seonghwa appeared next, towel slung over his shoulder, a bowl of apple slices in one hand.

“Oh no,” he said dramatically. “He’s thinking?”

“That’s dangerous,” Wooyoung added, flopping down beside him. “Who broke you? Wait—was it the tutor?”

“Y/N?” San grinned from the kitchen doorway. “Mingi only gets quiet like this when a girl messes with his brain.”

“Or when he’s trying to impress someone he wants to take to bed,” Yeosang chimed in without looking up from his game.

“I don’t want to sleep with her,” Mingi muttered reflexively—then paused. “I mean—not like that. I mean—not just that—”

The guys burst into laughter.

“He’s malfunctioning,” Wooyoung gasped. “Reset him!”

“I think he’s in the interest-but-doesn’t-know-how-to-label-it phase,” Seonghwa said wisely, offering him an apple slice like it was therapy.

Mingi rolled his eyes and took it anyway. “She’s just cool, okay? And smart. And kind of funny, but in that deadpan, I-might-murder-you way. Also…”

His voice trailed off.

“Also?” San prompted.

Mingi sighed. “She’s hot. Like, actually hot. I don’t know why she doesn’t see it.”

The others went quiet for half a beat. Not in judgment—just in the way frat brothers got quiet when something real slipped into the room.

“Well,” Hongjoong said finally, coming downstairs with a sketchpad, “maybe it’s your turn to help her see it.”

Mingi didn’t answer.

But he smiled.

Mingi had never cared this much about the front door.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, drink in hand, eyes flicking toward the entrance every few seconds. Not that he was waiting—okay, maybe he was—but only a little.

The party was already in full swing. The house was packed, the lights were low, and Yunho had somehow convinced the DJ to play trot music for twenty straight minutes.

But even surrounded by friends and familiar chaos, Mingi kept glancing at the door.

Waiting.

Wondering.

Y/N had said she might come.

Not yes. Not no. Just “I’ll think about it.”

That was three days ago. And now every second she didn’t walk through the door felt like another tiny letdown he didn’t want to admit he felt.

He wasn’t even sure why he cared this much.

She wasn’t his girlfriend. She was barely even a friend until a few tutoring sessions ago. But there was something about her. The way she’d admitted she didn’t have many people here. The way she looked when she laughed. The way she never seemed to notice how pretty she was, or how those leggings hugged her hips in ways that drove him insane if he thought about it too long.

Not that he was thinking about it.

Much.

“Mingi.”

He blinked. A girl was standing in front of him, glossy lips curved into a practiced smile.

“I’ve been calling your name for, like, a minute.”

“Sorry,” he said, flashing an apologetic grin. “Zoned out.”

She stepped closer. He didn’t recognize her—tall, tight dress, heels way too sharp for their linoleum floor. Probably a guest of a guest. She tilted her head, looking him over.

“Didn’t expect to see you looking so serious at your own party. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said automatically.

“Looking for someone?” she asked, playful.

“No,” he lied.

She laughed and placed a hand on his arm. “Well, whoever she is, she’s missing out. You’re way more fun than you look right now.”

Mingi gave a tight smile.

He wasn’t in the mood. She was pretty, sure, and clearly trying—but she wasn’t what he wanted tonight.

And she definitely wasn’t Y/N.

“You’re the one with the foreign tutor, right?” the girl asked suddenly, tilting her head like she just remembered something juicy.

Mingi straightened slightly. “Yeah. Why?”

“I saw her last time,” she said with a casual shrug. “She looked a little… out of place. Like she didn’t really belong here.”

Mingi’s grip tightened around his cup.

The girl didn’t notice. She was too busy sipping her drink.

“I mean, she’s cute in a, like, different way. Curvy girls can totally be cute if they dress right, you know?”

The air in Mingi’s lungs turned cold.

Yeosang was the first to appear at his side, silent and sharp-eyed. “What did you just say?”

The girl blinked, caught off guard. “What? I didn’t mean it in a mean way—”

“You did,” Seonghwa said, suddenly there, arms crossed, voice calm and deadly. “You just thought no one would call you on it.”

Mingi stared at the girl, jaw tight. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

The girl backed up half a step. “Jeez, it was just an observation.”

Wooyoung’s laughter cut through the tension, sharp and sarcastic. “Yeah? Well, observe your way out, then.”

The girl flushed, muttered something under her breath, and walked off.

The moment she was gone, the guys turned to Mingi.

“You good?” Yunho asked.

Mingi nodded slowly. “I didn’t like how she said that.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” Yeosang muttered.

“She doesn’t know anything about Y/N,” Seonghwa added. “But you do.”

Mingi didn’t say anything. He just looked at the front door again.

She didn’t show.

At least not that night.

But for the first time, he realized something important.

He didn’t just like having Y/N around because she was different.

He liked her because he liked her.

And maybe that was scarier than any midterm could ever be.

Y/N didn’t go to the party.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Mingi—she did, probably more than she was willing to admit—but the thought of stepping into that house full of effortlessly cool people, loud music, and stares she couldn’t quite decode was too much.

She wasn’t scared.

She just didn’t want to feel like an intruder again.

So instead, she stayed in. Finished two chapters of her reading. Cleaned her apartment. Watched half of a show she couldn’t follow because her mind kept drifting back to what the night could’ve been like.

And then she told herself to stop being stupid.

Three days later, she was at the campus library, trying to force herself through a dense stats review sheet when she felt someone walk up behind her.

“Hey.”

She glanced up and nearly dropped her pencil.

Seonghwa.

Tall, striking, annoyingly perfect Seonghwa—Mingi’s friend, the one who had an aura like he stepped out of a luxury brand ad and smelled like wisdom and lavender—stood next to her table holding a coffee cup and looking entirely too ethereal for a weekday.

“I thought that was you,” he said, smiling. “Can I sit?”

Y/N blinked. “Uh… sure.”

He slid into the chair across from her and set his cup down. For a moment, it was just… quiet.

She tried to keep her eyes on her paper, but it was hard when she could feel the shift in the air.

Because people were looking.

Not at her, at first—but at Seonghwa. Girls at the nearby table were whispering. One guy actually tripped on a backpack because he was too busy sneaking a glance. And then the stares drifted to her.

Her stomach twisted.

This always happened when she was around guys like Mingi—or now, Seonghwa. People looked at her like they were trying to figure out why she was there. Like she was some puzzle piece jammed into the wrong box.

She shifted in her seat.

Seonghwa noticed.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

Y/N hesitated. Then, before she could convince herself not to, she said it.

“I don’t like how people stare when I’m around you guys.”

Seonghwa blinked. “You mean… right now?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was quiet, but steady. “I get it. You’re all… attractive. Popular. Loud. You fit. And I don’t. I stand out.”

He didn’t answer right away. She expected a brush-off or an awkward laugh. But instead, he nodded slowly.

“You’re not wrong,” he said. “You do stand out.”

Her heart sank a little.

“But not for the reasons you think.”

That made her look up.

“This country,” he continued, voice soft but serious, “has a habit of staring at people who don’t look like everyone else. Foreigners especially. Sometimes it’s curiosity. Sometimes it’s judgment. It sucks either way.”

She blinked, caught off guard by his honesty.

“I’ve seen it before,” he said. “At cafes. On the subway. Even in class. You didn’t ask for the attention, but it finds you anyway.”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Seonghwa leaned back slightly in his chair. “And for what it’s worth… you handle it with a lot more grace than most people I know.”

Her throat tightened a little.

“And if you ever need someone on your side,” he added, “I want to be that. Your friend, I mean.”

She stared at him.

“You want to be my friend?”

“Of course,” he said, like it was obvious.

Y/N didn’t know what to say.

She hadn’t expected that—not from someone like him, who had every reason to float through life surrounded by people who looked like magazine spreads.

“Why?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Seonghwa smiled. “Because I think you’re worth knowing of course,” he said, like it was the easiest decision in the world.

And it kind of was.

She was quiet, but not cold. Thoughtful. Sharp in ways most people didn’t notice unless they listened carefully. And despite the way she shrank in crowds or flinched at attention, she had this steady presence that grounded you just by being near. She was confident in her own way.

He could see why Mingi was drawn to her.

And maybe—just maybe—Seonghwa was beginning to understand that pull himself.

He’d never touch it, of course. Not with Mingi circling this slowly unraveling crush like a moth to flame.

But he was curious now. Watching.

Because the girl who sat quietly across from him, chewing her pen and pretending not to notice the weight of the world, wasn’t just “the tutor.”

She was someone.

And he wanted to see what happened next with Mingi and her.

By now, Y/N had learned exactly how many steps it took to walk from her dorm to the Olympus frat house: 3,124.

Not that she counted.

(Okay, maybe once. She was bored. And slightly anxious.)

But today, her footsteps felt heavier than usual.

Not because she didn’t want to be there—oddly, she did—but because something about skipping that party last week was still gnawing at her.

She hadn’t heard from Mingi since then. Not a meme. Not a “stats sucks, save me.” Not even a banana milk sticker.

It shouldn’t have bothered her. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He wasn’t even her real friend, not in the deep, lifelong kind of way. But still… something in her chest twisted with uncertainty.

What if he was mad?

Or worse—what if he stopped caring?

She knocked lightly on the door and let herself in. By now, the house didn’t feel quite as overwhelming. Still chaotic, still full of strange furniture and stranger smells, but… familiar. Almost warm.

Y/N peeked into the living room—and froze.

Mingi was sitting on the couch, arms folded, legs spread wide, hoodie up over his head. He looked like a sulking teenager trying to disappear into the cushions.

Except… he was six feet tall with broad shoulders and a sharp jawline that didn’t exactly scream “adorable.”

But somehow, he was.

When he looked up and saw her, he didn’t grin like usual. Didn’t say something dumb or loud or mildly inappropriate.

He just pouted.

“You didn’t come,” he mumbled.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“To the party.” He sat up straighter, arms still crossed. “You said you’d think about it. I thought that meant yes.”

“I—” she started, startled. “I didn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

She stepped further inside, letting the door click shut behind her. “You were busy. I didn’t think you’d even notice.”

Mingi scoffed. “Of course I noticed. I looked at the door every five minutes like an idiot.”

That made her pause.

He was serious. Genuinely… disappointed?

Before she could say anything, he added, “And then I find out Seonghwa saw you. In the library. Sitting together. Laughing.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. “Were you spying on me?”

“No,” he said quickly. “He told me. I mean—he mentioned it. In passing.”

She couldn’t help it—her lips twitched. “Are you jealous?”

“What? No!” Mingi’s voice jumped half an octave. “I just… you hang out with him. But not me. Outside tutoring, I mean.”

His arms dropped, and suddenly he looked less like a frat boy and more like a deflated balloon.

“You never just… stay. Or come by for fun. I don’t get it.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned.

Because for all his size, all his swagger and volume, he sounded like a kid who’d just been told he couldn’t sit with his favorite person at lunch.

She burst out laughing.

Loudly. Without meaning to.

It echoed off the walls and into the kitchen, probably making San drop whatever weapon he was wielding today.

Mingi blinked at her, wide-eyed. “Did you just laugh at me?”

She nodded, covering her mouth. “You sounded so offended. Like a sulking puppy.”

“I do not sound like a puppy.”

“You kind of do.”

He scowled. “I have a deep, intimidating voice, thank you.”

“Exactly,” she said, still chuckling. “Which makes it even funnier.”

Mingi stared at her for a second. Then: “You’re mean.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

They stared at each other, the air thick with challenge and something else. Something that made her heart beat just a little too fast.

“I didn’t come,” she said quietly, “because I didn’t think I’d fit in.”

Mingi’s brows furrowed. “You do.”

“No, I don’t. Everyone there is cool and confident and knows exactly how to exist here. I’m still figuring out how to order at cafés without messing up.”

“So?” he asked. “You think I knew what I was doing when I got here? I failed my first semester of calculus and thought ‘debit’ and ‘credit’ were types of kimchi. And I am Korean.”

Y/N blinked.

“Seriously,” he said. “You belong more than most people I know.”

Her chest tightened.

And before either of them could say anything else, Seonghwa walked in carrying a tub of laundry.

He paused when he saw them—Mingi with his hoodie halfway off and Y/N standing there red-faced.

“Oh,” he said. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Yes,” Mingi grumbled at the same time Y/N blurted, “No!”

Seonghwa smirked but kept walking.

Y/N looked back at Mingi and sighed. “Fine. I’ll stay after tutoring today.”

“Just because I sulked?”

“Because you asked.”

His face lit up.

And just like that, the knot in her chest started to loosen.

“Wait—wait, don’t tell me,” Mingi said, staring so hard at the worksheet she was half convinced he was trying to melt it with his eyes.

Y/N watched him chew the cap of his pen, mumble something under his breath, and scribble down a number. Then he paused.

“Okay. I’m either a genius,” he said, tapping his paper twice, “or I just calculated the surface area of my own shame.”

She leaned over to check. Her eyebrows lifted.

“That’s… actually correct.”

Mingi blinked. “It is?”

“Yeah.”

He let out a triumphant yell and threw his arms up like he’d just won the lottery. “Let’s goooo!”

Y/N laughed as he jumped off the couch and did a little spin that ended in a celebratory dab, because of course he still did that in 2025.

“Do I get a prize?” he asked, dramatically flopping back beside her. “For my brain excellence?”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I’ll let you choose.”

His grin widened. “Okay. I choose… for you to hang out with me. Right now. For real. No tutoring.”

Y/N hesitated. Then slowly set her pencil down. “Okay.”

Mingi blinked at her. “Wait. Really?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

He looked at her like she’d just offered him free concert tickets and a hug from his childhood hero.

“…Cool. Cool cool cool.” He nodded rapidly. “I mean. Yeah. I just didn’t think you actually would.”

“Well,” she said, curling her legs up onto the couch, “you earned it. So. What do you want to do?”

Mingi looked at her for a moment, then tilted his head. “Can I ask you random questions?”

Y/N raised a brow. “What kind of questions?”

“Like… favorite movie. First concert. Weirdest fear. Stuff like that.”

She considered it. “Sure.”

He beamed. “Okay. What do you like doing in your free time?”

That one caught her slightly off guard.

“Uh… watching anime. Reading manga.”

Mingi’s entire face lit up.

“No way,” he said, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

She nodded, suddenly shy. “Yeah. I started in high school and never stopped.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” he said, beaming. “Wait—what’s your favorite series?”

She named a few titles. With each one, Mingi looked more and more impressed. They slipped into a comfortable rhythm, tossing opinions back and forth, laughing over shared favorites and debating character arcs like they’d done this a dozen times before.

Mingi couldn’t stop staring at her.

He tried not to be weird about it—he really did—but something about the way she talked when she forgot to be self-conscious was magnetic. Her eyes lit up. Her hands moved when she got excited. And that laugh?

That laugh was still stuck in his head like a song hook.

It had caught him off guard earlier—loud and sudden and totally unfiltered. Most people didn’t laugh like that around him. They laughed at him, maybe. Or laughed because they wanted something.

Y/N laughed because she wanted to.

He watched her tuck her hair behind her ear, fingers brushing soft strands he’d started noticing more often. Her hair looked like it would feel like clouds—fluffy and light. And her cheeks flushed when she talked too fast, which was also something he kept noticing.

Damn it.

He was noticing everything.

He wasn’t supposed to. She was his tutor. His friend, at best. But the more time he spent with her, the more curious he became—and not just in a “what’s her favorite anime” kind of way.

He wanted to know what made her tick. What made her nervous. What would happen if she let him stay close long enough to matter.

And that thought?

That scared him a little.

But for now, he just leaned back and listened to her talk about a manga he hadn’t read yet—and smiled like an idiot the whole time.

Y/N was already regretting not checking the weather when she left the dorm that morning.

By the time their tutoring session wrapped up, fat snowflakes had turned into a full-blown snowstorm, swirling in chaotic sheets outside the frat house windows. She stood by the door, coat in hand, staring out at the whiteout with quiet dread.

“Nope,” Mingi said from behind her, tone final. “You’re not going out in that.”

“I can walk,” she argued, eyeing the slushy sidewalk. “It’s not that bad.”

“Y/N,” he said, stepping next to her. “You’re going to get yeeted by the wind and die in front of the convenience store. I’m not letting that happen.”

She blinked at him. “Yeeted?”

“It’s a serious meteorological term.”

“I’ll be fine—”

“You’re staying.”

She turned to argue again, but the look on his face—arms crossed, jaw set, eyes wide in that please-don’t-fight-me way—made her pause.

“Just until the storm passes,” he added. “Seonghwa’s already prepping the couch. You can steal San’s hoodie pile for a blanket.”

San, passing by with a bowl of cereal at 6 p.m., called out, “They’re freshly laundered!”

Y/N sighed. “Fine.”

Mingi beamed like he’d just convinced her to adopt a puppy.

A half hour later, she found herself in the kitchen with a bag of flour, a carton of eggs, and a group of curious boys staring at her like she’d announced she was building a rocket.

“You can cook?” Jongho asked, skeptical but impressed.

Y/N laughed. “Kind of. I mean, as long as you have the basics, I can make something.”

“What kind of something?” Yunho asked.

“Well… not Korean. Hope that’s okay.”

Wooyoung made a dramatic gasp. “We’re being culturally nourished?! I’m in.”

She opened the fridge, eyeing the available ingredients. Butter. Cheese. Eggs. Onions. Flour.

Not much.

But maybe… enough.

“I can make Käsespätzle,” she said slowly. “It’s kind of like German mac and cheese. With handmade pasta.”

Mingi leaned against the counter. “Did you just say handmade pasta?”

“I mean… it’s just flour and eggs. But yeah.”

Seonghwa looked intrigued. “We’ll help.”

“You’ll supervise,” she corrected. “I don’t trust any of you with raw dough.”

They gathered around as she mixed the dough, explained what she was doing, and then pressed the sticky batter through a makeshift grater into boiling water. She sautéed onions in butter until they were golden, then layered everything with cheese.

The kitchen filled with a smell none of them could quite name but immediately loved.

“Holy crap,” San said, sniffing dramatically. “Why does it smell like comfort and childhood even though I’ve never had this in my life?”

Y/N laughed.

And for the first time, it felt… easy.

Not performative. Not like she was trying to fit in.

Just real.

They ate around the low living room table, knees tucked together, paper plates balanced on laps, steam rising into the cozy chaos of laughter and second servings.

“This is insane,” Yeosang said between bites. “How is this better than anything we’ve made all semester?”

“Because none of us can cook,” Jongho pointed out. “We live off air fryers and frozen dumplings.”

“And hope,” San added.

Y/N chuckled as she took another bite of the cheesy pasta, warmth blooming in her chest. Not just from the food—but from the way they were talking around her, with her, like she belonged there. Like she’d always been sitting on this floor with them.

It was strange how comforting it felt.

Mingi nudged her shoulder lightly. “You okay?”

She glanced up and smiled. “Yeah. This is just… nice.”

“‘Nice’ is the highest possible compliment from Y/N,” Wooyoung said sagely.

Yunho raised his cup. “To Y/N. For feeding us. And not poisoning us, which, honestly, we deserved.”

She laughed and shook her head as the others chimed in with playful toasts.

Then Seonghwa, quieter, offered, “It must be weird, though. Being so far from home.”

The room dipped into a softer stillness. Not awkward—just curious.

Y/N hesitated, swirling a fork through her noodles. “Yeah. It is.”

“What’s the weirdest part?” Hongjoong asked, not pushing, just gently prompting.

She thought about it, then said, “It’s not one big thing. It’s a lot of small things. The way people look at you on the street. The awkward pauses when you say something slightly off in Korean. Sometimes it’s just… hard to tell if you’re doing anything right.”

No one interrupted.

“And even when you do everything right,” she continued, “you still feel like you’re… separate. Watching everything happen instead of being part of it.”

There was a pause.

Then Yunho said, “That sounds exhausting.”

She smiled a little. “It can be.”

“Do you ever feel like leaving?” Seonghwa asked quietly.

Y/N looked down at her plate.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But then moments like this happen. And I remember why I came.”

She looked up—and Mingi was watching her, something unreadable in his eyes.

“You’re part of this,” he said firmly. “Like, actually part of it.”

She blinked. “What?”

“This house. This group. You’re not separate anymore.”

Y/N felt something tug behind her ribs.

“I mean,” Wooyoung added, “if you’re cooking for us, that’s basically a blood pact.”

“You’re stuck with us,” San said, nudging her leg with his foot.

Y/N laughed—and this time, it didn’t feel like she was on the outside looking in.

It felt like she was home.

The snow hadn’t let up.

If anything, it had doubled in intensity since the sun went down. Mingi stood by the front window with a steaming mug of instant cocoa, watching the wind whirl fat flakes in every direction. San had opened the door ten minutes ago, stuck his arm out, and promptly announced, “Yep. Death by frostbite it is.”

Which meant Y/N was officially stuck here for the night.

And Mingi had absolutely no idea what to do with himself.

Not because she was here—okay, yes, because she was here—but also because he was suddenly very aware that she would need pajamas.

Sleepover logistics had never felt this emotionally loaded.

“You’re sure I’m not imposing?” Y/N asked for the third time as she followed him toward the hallway.

“You cooked for us,” Mingi said over his shoulder. “You’re officially family. We’re probably gonna frame your spätzle recipe.”

She laughed softly. “Still. I wasn’t planning to sleep here.”

“Well, it’s either the couch or becoming a snow zombie. Your choice.”

She wrinkled her nose, clearly not thrilled about either.

“I’ll grab you something to wear,” he offered.

That made her stop. “Clothes? From you?”

Mingi blinked. “Yeah? I mean, I’ve got like twelve hoodies. Most of them clean.”

She hesitated. “They probably won’t fit.”

He turned around fully, raising an eyebrow. “You’re joking, right?”

She shrugged, suddenly sheepish. “You’re tall. I’m… not. But I’m not exactly tiny either.”

Mingi blinked again. Then frowned.

“Okay, first of all,” he said, stepping a little closer, “that’s bull.”

Y/N blinked up at him.

“You are tiny,” he said firmly. “You just don’t see it. And I’m huge. My shirts are basically tents. You’ll be fine.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again, and looked somewhere over his shoulder.

“Okay,” she mumbled. “But if I get stuck in your joggers, you’re cutting me out.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

Ten minutes later, he was back in the living room, blanket over his lap, trying to focus on his phone while pointedly not thinking about the fact that Y/N was in the bathroom changing into his clothes.

He failed.

Miserably.

Because the image of her in his hoodie was way too vivid in his head. Not even in a gross way—just in a “what the hell is happening to me” kind of way.

He liked her. He knew that now.

But he was also starting to notice her in a way that was making it hard to pretend this was just tutoring.

Soft lips. Warm eyes. Curvy in a way that made his brain short-circuit whenever she turned around.

Like that time she reached for a book and his entire thought process just… stopped.

Okay,” her voice called from down the hallway. “You were right.”

Mingi looked up—casual, totally normal, not freaking out—until she stepped into the living room.

And his brain short-circuited.

She was wearing his hoodie and joggers. The hoodie hung off her shoulders like a blanket, sleeves bunched around her hands. The sweatpants… well, those weren’t quite as oversized. The waistband was rolled twice and they were just a little snug in places they definitely didn’t hug on him.

Mingi looked away so fast his neck popped.

“See?” she said, plopping down on the far end of the couch. “Told you your pants would judge my thighs.”

He forced a laugh, eyes fixed on the TV—which wasn’t even on.

“You look fine,” he said, voice a little too high.

She raised a brow. “That convincing tone really sold it.”

“I mean—no! You look good. Not like—just—comfortable. Like… good-comfortable. Not that I was looking. I wasn’t.”

There was a pause.

“You’re panicking,” she said gently.

“I am absolutely not—okay maybe a little.”

She giggled, which only made it worse somehow. Worse and… weirdly better.

Because it was her.

And she looked so at home in his clothes that he suddenly couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like if she stayed like that more often.

He shook the thought out of his head.

“You want a blanket?” he asked quickly, standing and almost tripping over his own feet.

She blinked. “Sure?”

He tossed one at her and sat back down, a safe two cushions away.

Cool. Casual. Totally not sweating over a girl in sweatpants.

Except he was.

“You can take my bed.”

Y/N blinked at him from across the living room. “What?”

Mingi scratched the back of his neck, suddenly more aware than ever of the blanket he was holding and the way his heart was racing for no good reason.

“Well, I mean. You’re stuck here. The couch sucks. And I—I’m fine sleeping out here.”

“You sure?” she asked, voice gentle. “I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I’ve passed out on the floor of this living room more times than I can count. This is luxury compared to that.”

She hesitated, watching him for a beat longer than he expected. Then she nodded.

“Okay. But only if you’re really fine with it.”

“Totally.”

She stood and gathered the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Thanks, Mingi.”

He smiled. “Sleep well.”

“Night.”

When she disappeared down the hall, the sound of the bedroom door clicking shut behind her felt strangely loud in the quiet.

Mingi exhaled and flopped backward onto the couch, hands covering his face.

That should’ve been it. Lights out, brain off.

Instead, he lay there staring at the ceiling like it owed him answers.

Because everything about tonight felt… different.

It wasn’t the storm. It wasn’t the fact that she was literally in his bed wearing his clothes.

It was the way she laughed when she let her guard down.

The way she looked at him like he wasn’t just another loud idiot at a frat house.

The way he kept catching himself wondering how someone could make a borrowed hoodie look that cute.

He groaned into his hands.

He was screwed.

“You still awake?”

Mingi shot up halfway, nearly falling off the couch.

Seonghwa stood in the hallway entrance, arms crossed, followed closely by Hongjoong, who was sipping tea like this was some kind of midnight soap opera.

“Jesus,” Mingi muttered. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“You’re sitting in the dark,” Seonghwa pointed out.

“You’re also visibly spiraling,” Hongjoong added, walking over to sit on the arm of the couch.

Seonghwa raised a brow. “Is this about Y/N?”

Mingi froze.

They knew.

Of course they knew.

“I—” he started, then let out a sigh. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Hongjoong repeated.

“I don’t know, man. It’s not like I planned this.” Mingi sat up fully, dragging a pillow into his lap. “She was just my tutor. I thought she was cute. That was it. But now she’s here and we’re talking and she knows what Haikyuu!! Is and she makes food that feels like home and she laughs like she means it and she trusts me with the kind of stuff people don’t usually say out loud and—”

He stopped.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong stared at him.

Mingi stared at them.

Then Hongjoong smiled softly. “Oh, you’re in it.”

“Shut up,” Mingi muttered, hiding behind the pillow.

Seonghwa tilted his head. “Have you ever been in love before?”

Mingi didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly, “No.”

Another beat passed.

“I think I am now.”

Seonghwa’s face softened.

Hongjoong let out a low whistle. “Damn. She really got you, huh?”

Mingi didn’t say anything.

He just smiled.

Because yeah.

Yeah, she did.

The strange thing wasn’t that Mingi kept showing up.

It was that he always found her.

At first, she thought it was coincidence. Seeing him across the quad. Catching him outside her building. Running into him at the convenience store three nights in a row.

But then it became a pattern.

Every time she stepped outside, it was like he was already scanning the horizon. His eyes would light up, he’d jog over—bounding like an oversized golden retriever—and fall into step beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey! You heading to class? I’ll walk with you.”

“You done for the day? I was just gonna grab a snack—come with?”

It didn’t matter how busy the campus was, how cold the wind bit at her ears, how hard she tried to look distracted—he always saw her.

He was like a walking reclamation board.

Warm. Loud. Impossible to ignore.

And completely hers.

That was the part she didn’t understand.

The whispers started a few days later.

She caught fragments of them between classes, in the café, even walking past study groups on the quad.

“Is that the girl Mingi’s always with?”

“Wait—isn’t she his tutor?”

“She’s not even… like, his type, right?”

Y/N tried to brush it off.

But it stuck.

Every glance felt a little heavier. Every laugh behind her a little more pointed.

And she couldn’t ask Mingi what it meant—because he didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he didn’t care. Or maybe…

Maybe she was just imagining it.

Until the library.

She had found a quiet table tucked in the back corner, headphones in but nothing playing. Sometimes she just needed the silence to be filled with something that wasn’t her own thoughts.

She was reviewing flashcards when she heard them.

Two guys, seated at the next table. Their voices hushed, but not enough.

“—you seen the chick Mingi’s always with? The foreign one?”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

“Oh yeah. The tutor, right? The one with the thick thighs?”

She froze.

“Dude, what if he’s into chubby girls? Like… properly into it.”

“No way. I mean, maybe. But if he’s hittin’ that, it kind of makes me curious, y’know?”

“Same. I’d try it. Just once. See what it’s like to screw someone who’s got, like, actual meat.”

Y/N’s pulse roared in her ears. Her cheeks burned. She wanted to melt into the floor, to vanish completely.

They didn’t even know her. And yet, they talked about her like she was some experiment. A body to test. A curiosity.

Not a person.

She was still staring blankly at her open notebook when she heard a chair scrape sharply against the tile.

“Excuse me?”

Seonghwa’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

The two guys looked up, startled. Y/N turned her head just slightly—and saw Seonghwa standing beside them, arms crossed, expression icy.

“You want to run that last sentence by me again?” he asked, voice calm but deadly.

The guys fumbled, laughing nervously.

“Hey, man, we were just—”

“Talking like complete degenerates?” Seonghwa offered. “Yeah. I heard.”

Y/N felt her throat tighten.

“She’s a friend,” Seonghwa continued. “A good one. Smarter than both of you combined. So maybe next time you want to degrade someone for sport, you check your surroundings. Or better—just don’t be garbage.”

Neither guy responded.

Seonghwa didn’t wait for one.

He turned—and his eyes met hers.

Y/N didn’t even realize she was trembling until she saw the way his expression softened.

He walked over slowly, crouched beside her table, voice quiet.

“You heard all of it, didn’t you?”

She nodded.

He looked like it hurt him too.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish I’d stopped it sooner.”

Y/N shook her head, blinking fast. “It’s not your fault.”

“It still sucks,” he murmured. “People like that don’t get it. They don’t see how strong you are just for showing up every day in a place that constantly reminds you you’re different.”

Her throat was tight, but she managed, “I hate that it still hurts.”

“Of course it does.”

He stood, gently tapping her notebook.

“Want me to walk you out?”

She nodded, and he waited while she packed up her things.

And even though she didn’t say a word on the way to the exit, the warmth of him walking beside her—quiet, steady, protective—helped her breathe again.

The walk home was quiet, but not uncomfortable.

Seonghwa didn’t rush her. He didn’t try to fill the silence. He simply walked beside her, matching her pace, hands in his coat pockets and eyes forward like he knew she needed the space just as much as the company.

When they reached the gate outside her building, she stopped and turned to him.

“Thank you,” she said, voice soft but steady.

He nodded. “I meant what I said back there.”

“I know.”

He looked at her a moment longer, then added, “I also know Mingi.”

Y/N’s brows lifted slightly.

“He’s… a lot, sometimes,” Seonghwa said with a small smile. “Loud, chaotic, occasionally confused. But he’s loyal. And kind in ways that don’t always make sense right away.”

She stayed quiet.

“I just want you to know,” he continued, “he’s not hanging around you because of what those guys said. Or because he’s trying to prove something. That’s not who he is.”

Y/N blinked, startled.

Seonghwa’s gaze softened. “He likes you. I don’t know if he realizes how much, but it’s not shallow. I promise.”

“I didn’t think it was,” she said slowly.

“You’re surprised I said it, though.”

“A little.”

He gave a small chuckle. “That’s fair.”

There was a pause.

Then Y/N said, “I know Mingi’s a good guy. He… he never made me feel like I had to be anything I’m not.”

Seonghwa smiled. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

He stepped back toward the gate, giving her a nod.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night, Seonghwa.”

She stepped into her apartment and locked the door behind her before dropping her bag and letting her body sag into the couch.

Her brain, however, refused to rest.

The words from the library replayed in her head like a bad loop. The way those guys had reduced her to a body—like she was just a “type,” a curiosity, something to try and toss away.

Would Mingi ever think that way?

She didn’t believe it. Not really.

But the seed of doubt was already there, and once it took root, it was hard to shake.

Would Mingi ever want her?

She frowned, sitting up straighter.

Why was she even thinking about that?

He was her friend. Her chaotic, oversized, meme-sending, loud-laughing friend. Sure, he was handsome. And warm. And sometimes looked at her like she mattered more than she understood.

But he wasn’t… hers.

And yet, the thought of him being with someone else made something ugly twist in her stomach.

Her fingers curled around the hem of the hoodie she’d borrowed from him that night, still folded neatly beside her laundry basket.

Oh.

Oh no.

That was the moment it hit her.

She didn’t just like him.

She wanted him. Or, more accurately—she wanted to be wanted by him.

Not for tutoring. Not because she cooked once. But for her. All of her.

Curves and all.

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

[inseobts]

Roses or Swords - choose your story pt.4

zoro x fem!reader + sanji x fem!reader

how it works

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

tags: love triangle, secret admirer, slow burn, crew dynamics... the rest tags will come with your choices.

words count: 1.9k

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“If you’re not too tired… the stars are nice tonight,” Sanji says “We could… just sit. If you want.”

He doesn’t look at you. His voice is low. No flirting. No masks.

Just a quiet offer.

Just Sanji being serious, quiet, almost nervous. He won’t meet your eyes, like he’s worried he asked too much.

You nod “I’d like that.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, and gives you a small smile. No words. Just turns and leads the way toward the upper deck.

It’s quiet up there.

The kind of quiet you don’t get often on a ship full of chaos and noise. The kind of quiet that feels safe.

The sea glows dark and endless around you. Above, the stars are scattered in the big dark sky. You sit near the edge of the deck, side by side, not too close, not too far.

He doesn’t light a cigarette.

You notice.

Instead, he leans back on his hands and looks up.

Neither of you speak for a long moment.

“I didn’t mean to make it worse,” he says, voice low “With the last gift.”

You turn your head toward him, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“I just… I saw how happy you were before. And I thought maybe if you thought it was from him, you’d… or maybe that he’d…” He swallows “I don’t know what I thought.”

You don’t interrupt him.

“You looked so happy when you made that petal heart,” he adds “You smiled in a way I hadn’t seen before. And I just… wanted you to keep smiling.”

You finally speak “So you gave me a reason to.”

He winces “No. I gave you a lie. That’s not the same.”

Another long silence.

You lean back beside him, copying his posture, looking at the stars above.

“You were right, though,” you say “I did smile.”

Sanji breathes out a soft, bitter laugh “Yeah. At him.”

You don’t say anything to that. Not yet.

“I’m not asking for anything.” he says suddenly, and now he finally does look at you “I just don’t want to hide anymore. That’s all.”

The way he’s looking at you now is too honest. You see it clearly for the first time. There’s no mystery left. It was him all along. And not just the gifts.

Every quiet glance.

Every unsaid thing.

Every time he complimented someone else just to see if you’d look back at him.

It was always him.

And now he’s here. No roses. No boxes. No charm to distract you.

Just Sanji and the stars.

The wind is soft against your skin, carrying the scent of the sea.

You’ve both fallen into a comfortable silence again.

Then you speak, voice low but steady “You don’t have to keep giving me things.”

Sanji tilts his head, curious. You glance at him, trying not to look too serious, but still meaning every word.

“I mean it. The gifts were beautiful. They meant something. But I don’t want you to feel like you need to keep proving something to me.”

He doesn’t answer right away but you see the shift in his eyes.

So you continue, trying to make it clearer “I don’t want to sound materialistic, or… make you think I only smiled because of what I was given. I smiled because someone cared. Because I felt seen.”

Sanji breathes in like he might speak but he holds it and just listens.

“And now I know who it was,” you add, softer, “and that means more than any gift.”

Sanji lets out a long, exaggerated sigh, flopping back onto the deck like a dramatist in a tragic play.

“Well, there goes my next plan,” he groans “Was gonna carve your name into a rare sea pearl and bake it into a soufflé.”

You blink “You were not.”

“Of course not. Pearls would ruin the texture,” he sniffs “Please respect the soufflé.”

You laugh… a real one, full and bright, and he grins wide, basking in it.

“God, you’re such a dork” you say, smiling so wide it almost hurts.

“Unapologetically,” he says, dramatically flicking an invisible strand of hair from his face “But I’m your dork now. At least part-time.”

That makes you laugh harder. He sits up a little straighter, watching your expression shift from amusement to something warmer, like sunlight after a storm.

Then your voice turns quiet again “You really knew…”

He looks at you “Knew what?”

“That I wanted it to be Zoro. Even before I knew it myself.”

There’s no bitterness in your tone, just an open truth.

Sanji breathes through his nose, gaze dropping to the deck.

“Yeah,” he says “I knew.”

You look away too, fingers brushing the edge of your sleeve “So why keep going? Why keep doing all that?”

“Because,” he says softly, “Part of me thought maybe if I showed you the kind of love you deserved, one day… you'd want it from me instead.”

Your breath catches a little.

He notices, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t press.

“And if you don’t?” he shrugs, “That’s okay too. I just wanted you to feel loved. Even if in secret.”

Your chest aches, but not in a bad way.

He means every word. No pressure. No claim. Just truth.

“I do,” you whisper “I did.”

Then, for no reason at all, you chuckle “You really were out there making charms and arranging perfect deliveries like a love-struck teenager?”

Sanji presses a hand to his heart “I’m wounded by your tone.”

“You're ridiculous.”

“Yet charming.”

“Yet ridiculous.”

You both laugh again and when the laughter fades, it leaves something gentler behind. You’re sitting side by side, your shoulders almost touching.

He doesn’t reach for you, but this time, you’re the one who leans just a little closer.

You look up at the stars. Then you say “This one’s my favorite night so far.”

Sanji smiles, eyes half-lidded with warmth “Because it finally came with a face?”

“Because it finally came with yours.”

He doesn’t say anything back but the way his fingers twitch beside yours says everything.

—--------

Morning sun creeps over the edge of the ship, golden and quiet. The crew is already loud as Luffy is begging for more meat, Usopp and Chopper are arguing about who won their game, and Nami is yelling at both of them to eat without knocking over the table again.

But your world is quiet.

Sanji approaches with a warm plate in hand, steam rising in gentle curls. He sets it down in front of you with a bow and a teasing smile.

“Your royal breakfast, my lady. Crafted by the hands of a secret admirer, now slightly less secret, but just as desperate for your affection.”

You laugh. Soft and genuine “You’re such an idiot.”

“And yet, you smile every time.” he says, winking.

He leans slightly closer as if to say something else…

“Oi.”

The interruption slices the moment in two.

Zoro stands a few feet away, arms crossed, his voice flat but tight around the edges “Can we talk?”

Your smile fades. So does Sanji’s. His expression hardens just for a second, but then he straightens, nods once, and turns to walk away.

“I’ll go get the others’ plates” he mutters.

You notice the way his shoulders drop as he disappears toward the kitchen.

Your gaze lingers on the plate in front of you.

“After I finish here.” you say calmly, picking up your fork.

Zoro blinks “Can’t we go talk now?”

You don’t look at him.

“If you could avoid me for days,” you say, voice still quiet but sharp beneath the softness, “then you can wait a little longer now.”

The words don’t bite but they hold weight.

Sanji hears it and he pauses, hiding a faint smirk behind a cigarette.

Zoro stays quiet, he doesn’t argue. He sighs through his nose and sits down next to you, grabbing his own plate, eating in silence.

The crew remains loud. Robin turns a page in her book with a smile. Brook hums a tune under his breath. Franky is already talking about a new cola-powered grill idea.

But at this table, it’s just you, Zoro, and a quiet Sanji returning now and then to refill cups or clear plates.

He never says anything but his eyes flick to you every few minutes, checking in, soft and silent, and you notice, so you glance up, meet his gaze, and offer a small, private smile.

You lift another bite of food, savor it like you mean it.

“This is perfect.” you say quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.

Sanji doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t need to.

He turns before Zoro can see the grin trying to pull at his lips.

Zoro sees it anyway, and so he stops eating.

You push your plate forward with a satisfied sigh and lean back in your seat “Alright. I’m done.”

Zoro glances sideways, and before you can even stand, he mutters under his breath “Can we go talk now, you damn princess?”

You narrow your eyes at him and smack the back of his head, not hard, but also not gentle either “Do not act like this was all my fault, you dumbass.”

He grunts, rubbing his head like a sulky kid “Tch.”

Sanji watches the whole thing as he places another plate in front of Luffy. His eyes flick to you, lingering, not tense exactly, but… alert, guarded.

You stand and follow Zoro as he leads the way out of the kitchen, but right before you step through the doorway, you pause and turn around.

Sanji is still standing behind the counter, wiping his hands on a towel, pretending not to watch.

You catch his gaze and offer him a small, soft smile, like a whisper saying: it’s okay, I’ve got this.

Sanji freezes. Then slowly, his features melt into a small smile back, gentle and full of trust.

Only when you see it you finally step out of the room.

You and Zoro stand near the edge of the deck now, just outside the range of the others’ voices. It’s quiet. Still.

Zoro has his arms crossed, back resting against the railing, eyes focused somewhere far out at sea.

You wait.

He doesn't speak right away, and when he finally does, he doesn't look at you.

“I… should’ve said something earlier.” he mutters, almost too quiet.

You blink “You think?”

Zoro winces slightly but doesn’t fight back “I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to say it. I just… didn’t want to make it worse.”

You exhale, leaning beside him but not quite touching “You didn’t have to yell, Zoro.”

“I know.”

“And you didn’t have to disappear everytime.”

“I know.”

He rubs the back of his neck, still avoiding your eyes like they burn.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he adds after a beat “About… you not knowing anything about me. That was… bullshit.”

You stare at him “Why’d you say it then?”

Zoro is quiet for a long time, then, finally, he looks at you… not angry, not cold. Just raw and strangely… shy.

“Because you were smiling at me.”

That catches you off guard.

“You smiled at me like I was the one behind all those things. Like I… meant something more than I knew how to deal with.”

You don't interrupt him. You let him speak. It's rare when he does.

“It scared the hell out of me,” he admits, softer now “And I messed it all up.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward.

It’s heavy. Full of choices you haven’t made yet.

Tag List: @merrymars - @bubblefishiepop

[noxturnalmoth]

Pomegranates and Ambrosia

Summary: You make it through your life by the skin of your teeth. Working a god awful job while balancing classes you can barely pay for, along with an impossible loan looming over you as if you were Damocles and it the sword.

He is a man of distance, of cold calculation, who pours his mind, body and soul into his work until nothing is left but ash. Burning like a defective phoenix dressed in luxury, surrounded by many, yet lonely like a cuckoo chick in a new nest.

But there must be a middle ground to be made so both parties get their share of the cake, right?

Warnings: mentions of illnesses and near death

Word Count: 8,855

Masterlist: here

Chapter 1 - Cognitive Dissonance

"Fuck me."

You groan, face falling into an open textbook with a muted thud that resonated in the living room of your small dorm.

You knew how hard it would be, any type of subject within the medical field was after all. But sometimes you really wondered why the hell you'd picked a path in life that left you in such anguish.

"I'm a masochist."

Your words sync up with your mind, throat rattling in frustration again.

If people had to describe you, it would be with one single word. Overachiever. Hailing from Zaun meant that you were born with more disadvantages than opportunities, like a table top game character whose ability rolls you've thoroughly failed. Leaving you with severe penalties for the rest of the campaign, until you ultimately die. But even with all the cards against you, you had an ambition burning so bright that it would sooner cause a wild fire than be put out by the constant storms. You focused your frustration, your intelligence, into being the best you could be academically so you could build a better life for yourself and those you love, as well as those you don't even know.

"Others undermine you, let them. Use their ego to soar while they still believe you to be in their shadows."

Your mother had told you when you were just a child, and you took these words to heart and ran with them all your life. From age five to the current twenty three years you've spent on Earth, you've let them guide you like the North Star, always pointing you to your goal like a sailor coming home.

You breezed through school and with enough guts, earned yourself a scholarship to Piltover's Medical Studies Academy, the best STEM program in all of the continent. At the only price of being five hours away from your hometown and your beloved family, your parents whom always believed in you calling you once a week to check up on how you're doing.

You adore your studies, the field of psychology one that your mind has always drifted to since the formative years of your childhood. How wonderful would it be to study the human mind, to know its physical and chemical ins and outs, to analyze every anomaly in order to find ways to help those who suffer from them? To you, the brain, the most complex and intricate machine known to mankind, was the most interesting subject of all. And you wished to understand everything about it to give back to the world.

How much good could one do, how much healing could you prompt, if only you could give the help some needed? How much good could come from stripping veterans of the remnants of war, from helping amputees and others suffering from illnesses to feel better in their skin, from rewiring parents to not perpetuate unhealthy cycles, from helping younger people to bloom into themselves and leave their baggage behind?

So much, is the right answer.

Because as much as it has evolved in the minds of the greater public, becoming a topic many now believe to be important for a better society, psychology still holds some of its old reputation. Of being something shameful, only for the insane. And you wanted to be a part of the reason as to how it is stripped of its stigma and finally becomes accepted as is, a way to help all of those who may need it.

But you will not lie that oftentimes you missed the simplicity of Zaun, the lack of judgment in the folks' eyes, the sounds of nature that animated each early mornings and evenings on the countryside. You miss the smell of Sundays, pies golden like the sun resting on so many windowsills as their aromas fill the streets like fog at dawn. You miss the colorful houses, painted in every color that the human eye can perceive as if the homes were spring flowers, blooming and unfurling their petals. You miss the forest you played in as a child, the red cedars reaching up to the heavens like devouts praying for paradise when their time comes. You miss your mother's cooking, your father's laugh, the neighbors greeting you from their porch and the children running around in the streets playing adventurers with sticks for swords.

Because no matter how amazing it was to make a life for yourself, Piltover's glory was just a gilded facade. Classism and bigotry hidden beneath a thin veil that they pride themselves on, one they call progress.

The capital of innovation has always undermined the smaller, mountain city, despite the fact it supplied Piltover with most of the materials it needed. Leaving its mountains gutted like a pig in a slaughterhouse, poor, forgotten, in the shadows of the great inventions that would come to life from its entrails.

"Be a woman in STEM, they said. It'll be fun, they said. Mama, for once you were so fucking wrong."

Your head turns so you can gaze up to the ceiling, faint traces of previous leaks staining the off white paint.

Another problem, other than the excruciating distance from all you've ever known, is how expensive life is here. Your small dorm siphoning what little money you have left after paying for groceries and the little monthly part of your Academic endeavor not taken in charge by the scholarship. Because of course, the Zaun Academic Funding Program was not nearly enough to get you by in the city of progress. Although you still thank it daily, knowing your mere presence would have been missed from the University had it not been for the 60% it took in charge.

Three years of studies had proved to you that no dream comes without a hefty price, your mental health and wallet taking the brunt of it all. Your body following soon after with the sleepless night, unhealthy amounts of caffeine without much sustenance and your classes balanced with a part time job.

The glamorous student life was simply wool over the eyes of the idealistic little girl you had been, the pied piper leading you right into the maws of capitalistic hell and a very painful reenactment of Dante's travels down the nine circles of hell.

Abandon hope all ye who enter here should be put on the sign leading up to Piltover.

With a sigh you sit up, lazily running a hand down your tired face as your phone rings with an alarm.

Time for work.

So with sluggish movements you get up, picking your bag as your table remains littered with notes and textbooks. Waiting for you like a wife waits for her husband to come back for war, although nothing glorious or honorable comes from you coming back home other than the promise for another day of dragging yourself to and fro class and work.

Simply put: you are exhausted.

Of the loans, of the distance with your family no matter the calls, of the excruciating amount of school work and shifts. Long gone was the bright eyed little girl promising mama and papa that she'll make the world a better place, in her place is a jaded, tired young woman constantly on the verge of a breakdown.

And as you drag your feet across the warm Piltover pavement, shoddy earphones secured with the music blasting directly in your eardrums, the sun glaring down on you in the early afternoon, your phone rings yet again. This time with a notification.

Freud was right:

Claire-Bear: y'all, I think if I re-read the same sentence AGAIN I'm gonna go see professor shoola and smash her face in the lectern

A snort escapes you at the words. You couldn't have said it better yourself.

Freud was right:

Ames: you fucking tell me, the way I want to pursue developmental psych but that shit makes me wanna pull a Britney Spears

Ali-Baba; #freebritney

Claire-Bear: #freebritney

Me: #freeAmy

Ames: y'all suck, not you though pookie thank you yes please deliver me from my suffering

Ali-Baba: OUR suffering. We all chose to get thoroughly fucked by the system of which we are a part of

Ali-Baba: But really I'm about to commit first degree murder. Do we still have our study sesh tomorrow?

Me: If we don't I'm gonna scream y'all istfg. I'm hearing voices in my head when I study alone, I feel like Imma fucking rip into my textbooks with my teeth-

Claire-Bear: gurl, with those extra shifts you took it don't even surprise me. like really. we coulda helped with paying the leak you know? hell, even Ris wanted to pitch in

You sigh, cringing at the words that are both extremely true and nearly shameful to you. Help. Something hard to ask for and even harder to accept, a problem you've had since your earliest days. Independence ran free in your veins like the murders of crows flying past your quaint town, soaring in the skies and between the tall cedars and rocky mountains. A defiance built of the strongest alloys, hammered by stubbornness, shaped by ambition, quenched by ideals and used to defend yourself from the harsh enemy that is the outside world. Like a lone blacksmith drafted for war, you've built yourself up and your walls higher so you can reach your goal, your mind sharpened like a tall and heavy claymore.

All at the price of soldering your armor to yourself and becoming impervious to aid, your sword too heavy for you to carry at times as its weight grew heavier and heavier.

You wanted to feel deserving of it, especially as your exhaustion ate away at your passion like maggots on a carcass. But in building your independence, in working to build yourself up alone all this time, you've overlooked one simple yet intrinsic fact to your situation. A line of code that seemed optional but would have made your system run smoother, optimized you in a way that is now impossible to reform.

You believe that everything you own, or would be given, has to be earned. Through hard work, favors, blood, sweat and tears, it doesn't matter. You cannot be gifted anything lest you are left deeply unsettled, feeling unworthy and undeserving of the service. The feeling poisoning you from the inside out and leaving you in a state of feverish frenzy to repay whatever it is that has been entrusted to you.

And worst of all, god forbid the gift is but a neatly wrapped viper ready to pounce and sink its fangs into you to imbibe you of its venom at the prospect of you owing a piece of your soul after signing a contract you had no idea even existed. After all, many saw opportunity in giving less to demand more. And although you knew your friends would never do such a thing, the fear still lingered.

Me: I'm fine, like really

The words nearly singe your fingers as you type them.

Me: Now that shit's good, I asked the boss to give me back the same amount of shifts as before. I'm set dw

Ali-Baba: …

Ames: …

Claire-Bear: …

Claire-Bear: bruh bffr. but yes, I'm free tomorrow afternoon

Me: nah I swear, pinkie promise. i'm ALRIGHT

Ames: you terrify me, and I work with kids. (free too btw)

Ali-Baba: sometimes I wanna slap you, you're lucky I like u too much for that.

Ali-Baba: but it's settled, 2 p.m tomorrow study sesh in the campus gardens, same spot as always. Istfg Claire if you're 30 minutes late again I'll tear you a new one

Your phone continues to vibrate as you shut the screen, phone shoved in the pocket of your jacket as a heavy breath fills your lungs before you push the door to the cozy café.

Charon, a small café near the banks of the river Pilt and owned by Loris, a hulking beast of a man with the softest heart you've ever had the pleasure to experience. It has been your job to serve clients in this quaint little hole in the wall for the past three or so years, courtesy of Claire who's friend Ris had told her of their need to hire another barista.

The front of the shop was lined with beautiful windows laced with metallic frames twisting in organic shapes, not unlike the art nouveau metal work from back in Zaun. Multicolored reflects coming from the plethora of little stained glass decorations hung from the beams above. The wooden floor was lacquered, shiny and a beautiful shade of red tinted dark brown from the jarrah planks as tables of twisted metal rose from it, waxed copper reflecting the light beautifully as the round, wooden table tops were grazed by elbows, cups and laptops.

Plants and flowers lined the walls in pots between bookshelves that were so tall and so full with tomes that you cannot believe they're still standing. Shapes and colors unorganized, left chaotic by the patrons in a way that made the space lived in. A couple of leather couches littered one corner, a low coffee table in between, overlooked by a plush armchair.

Finally there was the jewel of the café, its beating heart, a beautiful counter with a single register topping it, followed by a display of pastries that your boss has so carefully baked for the day. Behind it all were coffee machines, milk frothers and other classic machines much needed for an establishment such as Charon.

And despite how many shifts you spent here, cursing the need for a salary under little to no sleep and unbearable stress from studies, it was the closest to home you had so far from your family.

"Wow, don't you look like shit?" You hear a familiar voice quip.

"Hello to you too, Ris."

The aforementioned Ris was grinning like the Cheshire Cat, head in their hands as their elbows were planted deep in the counter. Their dyed gray hair glimmered in the multicolored, gentle light filtered by the stained glass, and so did their mischievous eyes. Right one as cold as the arctic, left one sweet like chocolate.

"Aw c'mon, really dude, you look like you've been held captive and forced to watch cocomelon for three days straight with no breaks. Like you look like you're about to pop."

Your body slides within the employee space, stepping into the kitchen and to the right into the locker room. Your personal effects are soon placed in a cupboard, secured with a lock after you put on the maroon apron.

"Well I'm sorry that classes and a goddamn water leak have been kicking my ass, Kimaris."

"Wow, government name? Really?" They sneaker and you roll your eyes, albeit your annoyance doesn't come off as genuine from the way your lips curl into a smile.

"Oh my god don't annoy me before you grace me with a pour over, I beg of you."

You're given a pat on the back as you come back to the counter, Ris immediately grinding some coffee beans and placing a filter over your designated cup, boiling water ready to be poured on top of the fine powder to be made into what would essentially fuel you for the rest of your shift.

"So you're back onto your normal shifts? No more early mornings before class and all that?"

"Yeah." You sigh, smiling gratefully as you're given the hot mug, coffee already sweetened to your liking by your friend. "I just needed the cash to get my dorm fixed, I don't think I'd be able to last more than the two weeks I did if I continued with the extra shifts."

Your eyes gaze upon the cozy café, patrons talking, working, studying or simply enjoying a silent moment to themselves as soft tunes played from the speakers high up on the walls.

"Any new gossip I missed?" You voice to the relaxed Ris, leaning their hip on the counter with their back to the sitting area, arms braced on the wood.

"Not really, today's been fucking boring I'll tell you that. But we had a visit from Mitchell and Jackie this morning, as spry as ever."

You snort at the mention of the cute older couple that came by a couple of times a week for little dates. "Yeah, they're younger than us in essence that's for sure. Man, I wish I was like em sometimes. They're just so relaxed and like- I dunno, content."

"You tell me. I'm over here tryna repay my student loans, and you're being squished alive by them and studies that quite frankly are fucking you up, big time. The youth is miserable, for sure. But it's nice to see the old folks happy, makes you hope you get the same, y'know?"

Your lips find the rim of your cup, slowly sipping on the coffee as you nod.

Yeah, one could hope to attain this level of contentment for sure. Because as it is, you're pretty sure digging your own grave would be a much more fruitful endeavor than to pursue your degree.

Dropping out.

A thought you never believed would ever cross your mind when you were a child but that crystallizes itself more and more as time passes. Expanses, unending school work and the exhaustion of needing to stand for hours after class simply to be able to afford to live certainly took a toll on you. A physical toll clearly visible from the bags, no, the luggages beneath your heavy eyes, stemming from a very flawed sleep schedule granting you little to no sleep each night. And a mental one, breaking the confidence you spent your life building over your abilities, overwhelming thoughts of more work, of disappointing those around you and yourself planting seeds of doubt and despair that would grow into weeds that overrun your mind soon enough.

Your exhaustion only exacerbated by the bias Piltover holds over Zaun, discrediting your hard work and pushing you do be better than better, more perfect than perfect, simply to be given less than what you worked for. All of your efforts disregarded for others more fortunate than you in a frustrating display of mockery that you, quite frankly, had more than enough of.

You began attending the Piltover Medical Studies Academy with your ambition driving you, which then became motivated by spite to stick it to the city of progress, but by the third year you're rinsed. Feeling like you have nothing left to give, running on fumes is what you are. You still hold onto your dreams, like a child unwilling to let the seeds of a dandelion be blown by the winds, cradled in your hands like a precious but fickle thing. But by the gods you were at your wit's end.

Why should you continue fighting in a system rigged from the start? Began echoing in your mind instead of the more hopeful: How should I continue to fight for my voice to be heard in a system rigged from the start?

You were becoming one of the very cases you studied in class, and it was quite a terrifying thought.

"Excuse me?"

Your head snaps up as a low, accented voice makes itself known. The owner, a man seemingly in his forties, looks down on you as his hands brace themselves on the pommel of a cane.

"My apologies, sir." You clear your throat. "Welcome to Charon, what can I do for you today?"

"I would appreciate a simple lungo please, and perhaps one of your pastries." You quickly move around the area to set up the coffee machine, grinding the right amount and setting the filter holder full of the powder along with a mug at their respective places.

"What pastry would you fancy today, sir?" Your call out over your shoulder as you press the button, starting the process of brewing while you walk to the display.

"What would you recommend?" The tone rakes through you like a shiver prompted by the frigid winter mornings of Zaun, golden eyes targeting you as if dissecting your every move.

You bite at the skin of your lips in thought, a bad habit that left your mouth sore and bleeding more than once, as you gaze through the rows of sweet treats. The man was clearly more refined than you, with his three piece suit, the expensive watch around his wrist and the air of authority he carried. So you decided to rule out anything messy that would ruin his clothes…perhaps a slice of pie would be more his style.

"The pecan pie is my favorite item on the menu, if it's to your taste then that's what I'd recommend."

He hums, one hand leaving his cane to rub at the bottom of his goatee, chocolate brown hairs laced with silver grazing his hand in thought.

"Very well."

You give a curt nod and pick up a plate, the tart server soon in your hand to scoop up a piece of the pecan pie and lift it onto its new recipient. A spoon soon added next to the treat which is placed atop the counter while you reach for the man's lungo. You place both elements on a small tray that you'd usually use for busing.

"It'll be 6.80, please."

The man silently fishes his wallet from his pocket and gives a ten dollar bill, lifting his hand as a sign to keep the change, before taking crisp fifty that he places in the tip jar.

What the absolute fu-

"Thank you for your generosity, sir. And enjoy your treat."

"Thank you for your service." He nods to you, his voice velvety as it grazes your ears while he reaches for the tray, his piercing stare widening infinitesimally as you pick it first.

"Don't bother yourself with that, please choose a seat and I'll bring your items to you."

The elegant man straightens as he stands to his full height, having bent in his movement to pick up his purchase, and after giving you an appraising look he turns, his slow gait leading him deeper within the sitting area until he settles for a table in the corner. The click of his cane resounding like a third footstep, anchored in the sound of the first. The seat he picked is lonely, overlooking the rest of the café while being kept between two of the large, decorated windows.

You'd say it's fitting of a man like him, at least from what you know after a couple of exchanges and a quick look at his appearance.

So as he walks closer to his chosen spot, you follow, tray in hand which is soon placed on the wooden top of the copper table.

"There you go, sir. Have a good day, and if you ever need anything else don't hesitate."

"I shall keep that in mind, thank you."

And with the simple sentence, somewhat cold compared to what you're usually used to from patrons, you get back to the employee space, leaning your elbows on the counter.

The gentleman is now sitting, fishing a book from his satchel, one that he opens immediately as he drowns out the rest of the world and focuses on reading. It gives you the opportunity to observe him more, not having had the opportunity to while he was so close to you.

He seems fairly tall, his body is lithe yet the elegant and well fitted, darkly colored clothes give his stature much more strength and contrast with his milky, pale skin. His hair is long, half of it down and the rest pulled in a bun resting on the back of his head, brown and silver as his beard is. Exuding a sense of maturity and authority, he seems to command attention, even when this far, even when doing nothing special.

He felt as if luxury was a material and a sculptor carved him from it with painstaking determination, bringing his vision to life.

Glasses frame the golden eyes that pinned you to place like a butterfly on a board, and as your eyes begin leaving him a glint catches your eyes. There, on his right leg crossed over his left, is a brace. Elegant red leather belts surrounded by metal rods on either side, the knee encapsulated by a thick frame not unlike his ankle. For more support on the joints, you can only guess.

He looks nothing short of regal, and by the way he so generously tipped you, you can definitely say that whatever his profession may be, it's most definitely lucrative.

"Dude, did he just do what I think he did?"

You nod stiffly, eyes trailing to the fifty dollar bill in the tip jar. "He tipped fifty fucking bucks for a three dollar coffee and a three dollar and eighty cents slice of pie."

"Jesus fucking Christ. Do you think if we ask nicely he can pay our debts?"

You snort at the words and turn to Ris, lips cracked widely in a smile. "I fucking wish."

"Man, what I wouldn't give for a sugar daddy."

"Of course you'd say that." You sigh, shaking your head in faux consternation, grin remaining on your chapped, bitten lips.

"Hey! Easy money! Plus if I had to do favors to a hot looking middle aged man like that, trust me I'd be very happy." They croon, half joking, but you very well know that they would do it were they given the occasion to.

You groan and push Ris away from their place next to you, your gaze falling back to the elegant fellow who seemed to frown after taking a sip of his drink, the simple action more mechanical than anchored in tasting a bad coffee. And you can only be reassured in your thought as his lips wrap around the rim of the cup for another sip.

A habitual gesture more than one that pleases the one executing it, which would be what people usually seek when going out for a drink and a treat.

But still, if he didn't like black coffee, why the hell would he order it?

Viktor Kozlov was a brilliant man.

He began as a curious, bright eyed child in Zaun. And while the fates mocked him and gave his body imperfections that couldn't be remolded even if man was supposed to be made of clay, he persevered. In a way, no matter the pain and weaknesses his body suffered he almost thanked life for them for they animated in him a passion that burned brighter than the eternal fire of Zoroaster, than the flames the Vestals kept fed in their hearth.

His body, his mother had repeated time and time again, was stunted so his genius would thrive, so his character would grow, and so his strength wouldn't overcome all of the little obstacles of existence. After all, had he been able bodied who knows how much more he could have done? Unhindered by pain, what could he have achieved?

Everything.

But life needed its ups and downs, easy would render his mind complacent and his body lazy, and so as both a gift and a curse it had given him a malformed leg, and a terrible illness that would count as a ticking clock. A metronome ringing in his head and dictating the rhythm of his life, making him hungry for more, starving to be better, to do better, before his time is up and the music stops.

Viktor Kozlov was an ambitious man.

He used the cage of his body as a way to be undermined so those who walk over him become his own stepping stones. His mind freer than a dove soaring through the skies, slicing the clouds and linking the heavens to the Earth.

As he grew older, from a babe from a boy, from a boy to a teen, and a teen to a man; he kept his need for knowledge, stoked it like a bonfire. He would add each sentence, each term, each new words of wisdom, each skill and other bit of mastery to it to let it burn longer, harder.

Zaun was another way life had found to stunt his genius, but every shackle has a key, and even if his wasn't in his hand he would make it. And he did. He entered the best engineering program on the continent, part of Piltover's famed STEM initiative, under a scholarship and breezed through his classes no matter the dirty looks he was given.

Viktor Kozlov was an confident man.

One of ideals that would not be shaken by the harsh Piltovan classism. If anything, the adversity became his most notable fuel, the one that would come pouring from the city of progress and its citizens like gaz from a faulty pump. The smell of sterile labs and metal, his own personal gasoline, only served to push him further down his path as he strived to complete his doctorate in bioengineering and biomechanical engineering.

He was good, great even, the others feared his genius as much as they admired it. And from enmity, he began inspiring respect into others, breathing it into them like they were all suffocating on the stale air of a condemned cave before he led them out and let them choke on their first lungful of the crisp wind.

His genius, now noticed and revered by his peers as much as it was despised, caught the attention of the Piltover Multidisciplinary Engineering Academy's Dean: Professor Cecil B. Heimerdinger. A man who had, just like him, suffered a downside to his genius in the form of his size.

But no matter how small the man was, he was one of vast knowledge, wisdom and ideas, that he would impart onto Viktor as his mentor, and later on his boss as he took the young man under his wing as his Teacher's Assistant.

He saw the golden eyed boy and detected in him the same greatness he held, and decided he'd nurture it to its full potential.

Viktor Kozlov was a grateful man.

He wore a mask of detachment from the cruelty forced upon him from a young age, never the one to be picked, never the one to make friends, never the one to be seen or praised for anything else than his academic potential; simply because of his naturally quiet nature and his defective body.

But no matter how cold he would seem to others, while remaining polite all the same, he was grateful.

For each praise, even if they weren't necessarily the ones he needed. For each critic, each obstacle, each opportunity, each person that spoke a word to him, each papers he had to read, complete or grade. For each day he was allowed to live, although his body felt more like a personal hell than a sanctuary.

But he was especially, eternally grateful for his best friend, Jayce Talis, whom he met his penultimate year at the Academy.

A simple transfer into his class although he was a year behind, a duo formed out of necessity for a project, which then became an unprecedented partnership. The man was Viktor's polar opposite, a ray of sunshine in his own right. He was outspoken, warm, welcoming and faired much better in the spotlight than he.

But oh did they share a vision.

Jayce became the body Viktor never expected to have and an extension of his own mind. Ideas sparked, plans were followed through until completion and his last two years of studies passed faster than he could blink, leaving him to become a researcher at the faculty as he awaited his friend's graduation. Friend whom he employed, mentored, just as the Dean had done for him. A debt repaid, a friendship cemented in metal with tools and soot.

The both of them pursued the betterment of the lives around them and achieved greatness. With the help of the younger man's girlfriend, they secured funding for their dream: a company of innovative medical machinery and prosthetics, centered around erasing the stigma left on those needing treatment, on rendering said treatment accessible to any and all who may need it regardless of means.

Affordable, a way to reclaim agency over broken bodies and hopeless souls despite the hungry talons of society wanting to monetize pain and disability.

Thus, Hephextus Inc. was born.

But the truth of the matter was that Viktor Kozlov wasn't great. No.

Viktor Kozlov was a lonely man.

No matter how confident he was, his self-esteem was lacking in everything else that didn't come from his thirst for knowledge.

Stemming from being set apart throughout his childhood, that he would never have enough time to grow into something important, something bloomed within him. Something ugly, slipping through the foundations of his soul and feeding on the little seed of doubt he held, bursting through the walls as he got older. Wrapping around the beams and columns like pesky vines.

The idea that no matter what he did, nothing would matter in the grand scheme of things in the end. The whisper of "you've no right to have what you hold now, you haven't earned it", the hiss of "even if you achieve greatness you'll be sitting upon your throne alone and destitute, an empty shell of a man", the screams of "you'll die soon, why do you even try?".

And even after his lung transplant was successful, giving him a new chance at life without the prospect of premature death, the other voices remained.

Viktor kept everyone at bay, he had bore witness to betrayals and his good heart used one too many times. So he locked it in a safe, melted away the key and forced himself to forget the code just like many had forced his hand without remorse.

His politeness was shrouded in cold distance, like a pleasant winter's day once the sun has set. He never dismissed, but he always remained at arm's length. A presence felt and seen but never touched, a ghost, an apparition. The whisper of a man.

After all, how can one be hurt by others if others cannot reach them?

His mother and father, God bless them, were the only ones with a double of the keys at first. But even they had to leave, their time had come before even his. And from then on the safe was kept in a room, locked away from the world, deep inside his psyche.

Professor Heimerdinger was the first to find his way there after two years of complete loneliness, he had fashioned a key with great craftsmanship and stepped inside the room. But never strived to discover the contents of the locked box.

Jayce was the second and most intense. He had burst through the gate with a strength that rivaled Hercules', yet he carefully built a new one with parts of its predecessor and closed it once he was inside. As for the safe, he took the Dean's key and melted it into a smaller one to open the lock as the older man pulled away from his protégé, the code simply coming to him from the echoes of Viktor's heart hidden deep inside. Yearning for kinship and seeing more than a friend, but a brother in the powerful man.

Sky Young, at first an intern at Hephextus Inc then his secretary several years down the line, entered like a sigh in third place. Lock picking her way inside with gentle grace, with her quiet observation, her pertinent line of thought and her careful questioning. A balance to Jayce's nature. She had been kept out of the safe, simply content with remaining in the room with the other man who held the key to Viktor's deeper emotions.

Mel Medarda, now Medarda-Talis, was a stranger case. At first she was given the key to the room by Jayce, and would open the door to peek inside but never step in, not more than a moment. The Genius understood then that they were not dissimilar on certain key points, mainly that of keeping people away, and welcomed her in. They would clash at times, nearly violently, her vision of his ideal based on numbers and graphics rather than people and their plight. But he appreciated being challenged and so did she. He and Jayce made her see the bigger picture, albeit by different means, and she would teach him about the more administrative tasks he had to entertain as CEO.

But three was such a small number, especially when only one truly knew of his soul. The voices were right, after years of walking far ahead of everybody, no matter how good the few that stayed were, he was completely and utterly alone.

Jayce, as COO, was the face of the company, with his golden, boyish smile and his confident and joyful countenance he had to be. He got the interviews, the shows, the conventions, the front pages of magazines, he mediatized their dream, secured their funding and kept the relations with any and all that were needed by their enterprise.

And Viktor, solemn and secluded, remained in his lab or in his office, building, designing, and signing as the chairman. Seldom going out with his friends, barely leaving the building at all as he remained from the early morning until late at night. Avoiding others like him like the plague, he navigated the shark infested waters of the fame granted by Hephextus Inc., ignoring sycophants, turning down shady deals and risky alliances. He'd come back for a handful of hours, his home cold, morose, dreary, a reminder of all that he had locked away, all he was forced to abandon and couldn't fix nor find anymore.

The one true reason why the cold, minimalist and monochrome environment was considered his home at all was a beautiful sphinx cat, Rio, who had become a part of his life a handful of years ago. Soft skin, gentle purrs, round blue eyes that beheld him with love, a nigh silent companion waiting for him whom he didn't understand and that didn't understand him either but kept him afloat all the same.

His dream had been achieved at the price of humanity's most important gift, connection.

"You know, V. You really gotta go out more. I mean you've always been pale but twenty years as a glorified hermit made you nearly transparent. I won't be able to look at my best friend soon enough." The warm tone of Jayce's voice made itself known as the man entered the office, half teasing yet with a strong underlying current of worry, startling Viktor from his schematic.

"Zatraceně-" Dammit. He breathes out, sighing as the thumb and index on his right hand pinched the bridge of his nose right above his slipping glasses. "It is good to see you too."

"When was the last time you went out, like not at all for work or anything else professional?" The chair on the other side of his desk creaks at his friend's weight.

"I went out for groceries last Friday." Gone was the pressure of the svelte man's lithe fingers near his forehead, his hold now focused once more on the mechanical pencil that had escaped him at Jayce's explosive entrance. With a ruler in the other, he continues to meticulously plan out and annotate what he is to do.

"Doesn't count, dude." A snort echoes in the silent room whose only source of sound used to be the scratching of graphite on paper.

"It does, it was me going out for something that was not professional."

"Viktor, I swear to-" And incredulous laugh escapes the tanned man, black locks swaying at the shake of his head. "Okay, how about this- when was the last time you went out for something that was not necessary?"

The pencil stills on paper, tendons flex and relax as Viktor considers Jayce's question. He knows his friend most likely has a very close answer to give him, but wishes to torture him with the realization that he's essentially more machine than man with the lifestyle he has adopted.

"I believe…It might have been your and Sky's birthdays."

"So, from July to October, would you look at that over three months. We'll have to drag you out for your own birthday, as always might I add, then for Christmas and if we're lucky you'll accept to come out for New Year's Eve without much fussing. Then it'll be at least a month for Mel's birthday, if we manage to force you out of your fortress of solitude. Then it won't be for another six months. Jesus, Vik, you need to go out."

The CEO takes his glasses off and rubs his face.

"I am perfectly content with my life the way it currently is."

"Right, that's why you look like you've been taken straight out of The Walking Dead."

"Really flattering, Jayce." He grunts, annoyed yet unable to disprove any of the words the taller man utters. Knowing them to be the truth.

"But I'm right! Come on, take a break. It's Saturday of God's sake you're not even meant to work, everyone's on weekend!"

"I don't seem to remember criticizing how you spend your down time." Is all the svelte man can mutter before the mechanical pencil and other tools are put back in his pencil case by his friend.

"Because my down time is actual down time, V. I won't take no for an answer, take the weekend off, go walk, take a breather, see the outside. We're not getting any younger, don't waste your second chance at life by spending it in a prison and make good use of these lungs."

No matter how frustrated Viktor might have been at Jayce's interruption, if there is one thing he knows its that his friend is always right when it comes to his health. He'd been here when the sickness was still eating him alive, rotting him from the inside out, he'd been here when he was hospitalized and given news that should he continue to refuse transplant, Viktor would only have months to live at best. But Talis was also there to press his friend to get the surgery, he was there waiting for him as it happened, and there when the smaller man was healing from it.

And clearly, Viktor Kozlov was quite awful at taking care of himself with his minimal food intake, his dismal amount of rest and the very little time he took for himself, so it was the larger man's job to guide him down the right path.

Just as he was now.

"Stop working like you're still on borrowed time. I promise it'll do you good."

Damn those big hazel eyes, the man knew how to use them to get just about anyone to crack with their earnest sheen and the shift of green and brown moving like the red cedar leaves of his hometown shaken by the wind.

"Alright, stop looking at me like this."

"You'll do it?" Hope tainted his words.

"Yes Jayce, I'll go take a break. But only for today, not the whole weekend."

"That's enough for me. Thanks, V, I promise you that you won't regret it."

And that's how Viktor found himself limping his way around town. While he didn't particularly fancy the amount of people surrounding him, he had to admit that the soft sunlight alleviated some of the bone deep exhaustion he held since his earliest days.

He wandered without any real goal, simply letting his legs take him wherever they wished him to go as his mind took in the scenery of the city he has been in for over twenty years. Not knowing much of it despite the time spent there due to his unfortunate habit of restricting himself to the places he had to be in, the Academy and his lab and dorm then, the Hephextus Inc. building and his home now.

Saturday meant children, and oftentimes parents too, were out and about. Enjoying their day off and trading relaxing in their comfortable living spaces for a more proactive and enjoyable trip. And albeit the crowd made him anxious, the engineer found himself appreciating the energy others displayed, as if living vicariously through them.

His feet led him to the shore of the Pilt, stores littering the side of the cobblestone street as he took in the saltier air, mixing perfectly with the sweetness of the sun. But even through his mindless ambling, he felt his leg begin to protest at movement, demanding rest in a way that was so usual yet always frustrating. So he turned his gaze to his right, watching signs and windows to decide where he would rest his weary body for but a moment before going home.

Charon.

"What an interesting name for a café." He hums to himself, unknowingly approaching the building. His soul called to the organically shaped metal lattice within the glass of the windows, one so reminiscent of the metalwork back in Zaun.

Yes, this would do just fine.

As he pushed his way inside, a chime rang soft like rainfall, uncovering a well lived interior decorated with what he could only describe as nostalgia incarnate. Tall, thick bookshelves filled to the brim, thriving plants, copper tables, stained glass and beams above his head procuring a certain peace within him along with the smell of coffee and sugar, leather from the worn couches as well.

How peculiar that such a small hole in the wall would feel this homely to him. But then again, he was never one for the more popular places even when he was younger.

A few clients littered tables and seats, talking amongst themselves or enjoying their lonesome peace, but what caught his eye were the two employees at the counter. A taller, silver haired one seemingly teasing their shorter friend who was seconds away from collapsing on the counter, the exhaustion in her eyes one he knew all too well. A sense of forlorn bitterness tainting dead eyes within their faraway stare.

A kindred spirit, he could wager.

So with slow, deliberate steps he saunters to the one who seems to share his plight, even if a little. After all, he were to sit at a café it would only be polite to order something for himself.

"Excuse me?" He starts tentatively, unwilling to cause a fright to the already distressed looking girl.

Yet she tenses all the same, eyes quickly looking up to him with such speed it nearly pulled a chuckle from him.

"My apologies, sir." She clears her throat, clearly embarrassed at being caught off guard. "Welcome to Charon, what can I do for you today?"

It was nearly adorable really, how she cleared her throat to come back down from her reverie and back into the world of the living, building back up her facade of professionalism after being startled from her daydream.

And so, to put her out of her misery and back into neutral territory she could breathe better in, he answered.

"I would appreciate a simple lungo please, and perhaps one of your pastries."

It was more out of habit than necessity or appreciation that he had ordered the bitter drink really.

Viktor, for all his distance, all the cold calculation and removed politeness, despised bitterness although it very much was something he had grown used to from life and from himself. Stripping himself of the little pleasures of life had become habitual, maybe even comfortable, and stemmed from his years at the Academy. When spending more hours working than living, he had learned to forgo the pleasure of sweetness for the sting of the acrid tar. The same one he drank more than water, the same one that felt like a description of his existence, the very same one that had once corrupted his lungs.

So he could at the very least make the pain go away with a sweet treat, right?

The woman turned away to prepare his beverage. "What pastry would you fancy today, sir?"She had called out so softly over her shoulder, winded as if the smallest of movements demanded enough energy from her that it could leave her crumbling.

"What would you recommend?"

Shuffling within the small space of the bar area, the employee gazes at the display, eyes sometimes shifting to him. Whether our of recognition or calculation he doesn't know, but it certainly feels less uncomfortable than he is used to. Never one to be in the spotlight, he appreciated the consideration of the shifting look. Pastry, himself, himself, pastry, he'd wager that the lady is putting a tad too much thought into what he'd get before her bitten lips open again.

"The pecan pie is my favorite item on the menu, if it's to your taste then that's what I'd recommend."

Viktor grazes his beard in thought, something certainly unusual. The man devoid of worldly pleasures hesitating at the prospect of a slice of pie. But, it certainly wouldn't kill him to enjoy himself now that he's here, and he'd feel guilty for wasting this exhausted individual's time. As well as disappointing the inner Jayce nagging at his ear to let himself be just for a day, just for once.

"Very well."

A pie. How…unusual. Something more filling than the usual quick sugar fixes he'd get once in a blue moon, something to be eaten slowly, plated as it is currently by the girl's dexterous hands. Her body flying in the bar as she places the small plate and his coffee on a tray.

"It'll be 6.80, please."

He pulls out a crisp ten from his wallet, one that makes the barista's eyes widen a fraction before she places it in the register. The gaze freezing in surprise once more as he places fifty dollars in the glass jar sitting atop the wooden counter.

"Thank you for your generosity, sir. And enjoy your treat." The girl lets out, nearly stammered incredulously but controlled not to let him see just how shocked she is at the generous tip.

"Thank you for your service." And just as he was about to reach for the metal tray containing his purchase, she reached for it first.

"Don't bother yourself with that, please choose a seat and I'll bring your items to you."

Yet unlike the usual pitying stares and forced helpfulness many would display at his disability, something that would make him bristle and snarl internally perhaps even externally had his day been frustrating enough already, this seemed to be simply out of consideration. Professional, casual, a habit that he'd be remiss to shrug off.

So he straightens, back unfurling a bit more so his full height is presented, even if such movement causes strain upon his abused vertebrae. And, after turning around and observing the sitting space within the café he decides on the quietest spot, a table situated at an angle. Lonely, forgotten, calm, something perfect for a man like him.

As he slowly ambles towards the seat he'll be taking, he heart the padding of feet behind him, the barista placing the tray upon his chosen table as he settles himself upon the assigned stool.

"There you go, sir. Have a good day, and if you ever need anything else don't hesitate." Is said with a small, kind smile, one tired enough to make him want to crawl back into his shell but also appreciate the mundane gesture not rooted in manipulation nor anything edulcorated from within his usual circles.

A simple smile from someone doing their job.

"I shall keep that in mind, thank you." Is all he answers before she turns and walks back to her spot behind the counter, his hands already fishing a long forgotten book from his satchel. Perhaps today was the right time for him to pick it up once more.

Quiet chatter animates the café, from the patrons, from the barista and her friend currently, seemingly, teasing her about something. It all strangely felt nice, a forgotten and nigh forbidden feeling in his mind for all it's worth. But..perhaps he'd come do such a thing again, in this very same place.

His bad leg crosses over the better one, one hand reaching for his coffee as the other picks a page by its dog eared edge to come back to the passage he left the tome with. The bitterness of his beverage makes him gag, something he's grown used to but never grown pleased by, the bite always and forever feeling like bile sliding down his throat rather than an appreciated grit. But he doesn't let himself show much of it other than a frown, something his face had grown used to producing at the offending drink, at the offending people always crowding his space, at the offending acridness which he has let control his life for many a year now.

Sweetened only by his dream reaching for the stars and spreading to the people.

m.list || next

Viktor Masterlist: here

Arcane Masterlist: here

Navigation: here

[paranoid-rhythm]

FGO Fes Panel Voice Translations: Arjuna | Dante | Douman | Enkidu | Hajime | Indra | Karna | Merlin | Oberon

Arjuna

"Oh, Master? Welcome to the summit. I have decided once again, to join the battle as a warrior. Let me easily show you that even though I am wearing these thin clothes, I am the strongest! Please enjoy the show from the best seat in the house!"

Dante Alighieri

"It's Dante here~! Are really sure that you should be here...? Aaah! Wait, no, don't go! This isn't heaven or hell, look, it's just the entrance, the entrance...! A-anyway, since I'm here, there's no way I would chase you off, right? Hehe... All you who pass through this gate! Abandon all hope! You shouldn’t take it lightly... Don’t take it lightly, okay! Hehehehe......"

Ashiya Douman

"Nnn! What a surprise, My Master! Had I known that you would visit my forest, this Douman would have done his best to welcome you! Aah, how frustrating, how frustrating! Yes? The motif on this his humble priest's clothes? Is there something wrong? Poison? Ahahahaha! I know not what you speak of! Ahahahaha! Absolutely!"

Enkidu

"Hello, Master. This is the Mysterious Forest. It feels different from forests of Uruk, doesn't it? Are you curious about my outfit today? It may not look suitable for combat, but rest assured. It’s more than enough for me to perform my function as a tool. If you ever find yourself in a difficult situation, I will return to my normal appearance. Though, of course, I’m keeping a close eye on you to make sure that doesn’t happen."

Saitou Hajime

"Ooh! There you are, Master-chan! Good grief, you're always wandering off, as reckless as ever! You sure look like you're having fun, which is exactly why you can’t let your guard down. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are some scaaary monsters lurking around here. So! Because my dangerously carefree Master-chan is always getting into trouble, your invincible sword, Hajime-chan shall escort you! Just kidding. Well, the truth is, I just wanted to enjoy the day together with you. Alright then! Shall we head out together, my dear Master-chan?"

Indra

Indra: Fuhahahaha! Even the lightning that soars through the skies can sometimes set his feet down on earth on a whim! This king of the gods himself has come to greet you, so savor your good fortune! Now then! Try entrusting this so-called human festival to this god and see what unfolds!

Vajra: Huh? You can't tell if he's part of the staff or a fellow guest? Well that's because Lord Indra is one that transcends such things.

Vajra: If you fail to satisfy him, you'll be punished! Kishishi!

Karna

"So you've come, Master. This place is called Avalon's Chateau. I can feel that there's something mysterious here. If you're okay with me, then let me accompany you. I wonder if I can be of any more use to you, I probably would just become a nuisance at most... These clothes? I just found them under my pillow, so I changed into them. If there's a problem with them, then I'll go and change-... There's no need for that? Then I'm glad to hear that."

Merlin

"Hey, Master! It's me, Merlin, all dressed up to match the grandeur of this noble mansion! You think these clothes suits me strangely well? Of course it does! When I was the court magician, I often had roles like this. After all, it wouldn’t be fair if only the Knights of the Round Table caught the ladies' attention. Well, I did get scolded by Artoria later, telling me to think about my age..."

Oberon Vortigern

"Welcome! To Chaldea's glorious celebration of consecutive victories! Just kidding. I meant noisy, not glorious. You're quite forgetful, aren't you? Just enjoy it like you're looking back on the journey so far. There's plenty of bright hope and dark disappointment along the way. After all, a good gallery should have a contrast of light and shadow, don't you think?"

[mayfay]

I’m not the most clear on Xanxia stuff but isn’t Dao something of a personal philosophy mixed with martial arts and mystical magic? Sure it certainly isn’t following ANY known paths but who’s to say she Isn’t making a new one. Might be stealing the sword techniques from the sects and demons though, they have a lot more recent history refining those techniques.

As for the one sided space race it might not take quite that long weirdly enough. Sure it’s literal rocket science, but at the end of the day all you’re really doing is trying to get high enough up you don’t have to worry about gravity. Sure, there’s a LOT more involved with that, but if you’re just trying to leave you only need to get out of orbit with enough speed to reach your destination alive, all while keeping your fleshy human body intact. Bonus points if you can find a way to land.

Thing is? Ava is in one of the best worlds for “move stuff far”. With how many times people talk about “moving mountians” I wouldn’t be surprised if they have a mini ring from the number of rocks that probably get accidentally thrown up there.

Of course getting out of orbit might be the one big things but you still need to course adjust. Thankfully you can just do the same thing again, have a cultivator on board that can throw rocks and let the laws of physics do their job and push you the other way (long as you’re careful and don’t send the ship into a spin).

And lastly for the ever so small issue of Not Turning Into A Slurry from the physics at work, cultivation strikes again. You’d probably need a really tough cultivator sure, but with how much force these people’s bodies are taking on the regular, getting tossed into space is more doable than it should be.

All of those factors also serve to help themselves to, less fuel means a lot less mass which means you can throw faster which means you need less rocks/strength to throw for more speed in a feedback loop. Same for the food and water needs, no rations cuts down on weight and from what I remember most cultivators are pretty unaffected by heat or cold, which cuts down on how much shielding you need (though some is a good idea, for the radiation if nothing else, though that’s probably also less of a problem considering these people’s can reach immortality and not die of cancer, which has implications for how well cancer can do in a cultivators body). While I never heard of it it’s possible they might not even need an oxygen system since strong cultivators seem to be beyond most mortal needs (though the more you go without the higher the cultivation required to actually get into space).

That does still leave an issue though, where are you even going? Space, yes, but believe it or not there’s a lot of space up there. Blindly throw yourself out into the cosmos and you’re not going to land anywhere you want to be, assuming of course there’s even anything up there.

After all something had to bring Ava here, and that implies a certain level of gods. My understanding is that gods in cultivation implies realms instead of big standard planets, and that means space might be more an aesthetic than a place.

Besides, even if this is a standard planet but with gods, ancient tech, or some weird stuff in the water making people into cultivators there’s still the issue of Ava having no way of knowing where the hell she is and not having an easy way of finding out.

Riddle me this, Batman, Star Wars!

Are the best crossovers? Not found? When you take two wildly seperate things, smash them together, and see what cooks? See what makes you go "wait... no, no. I think she might actually be on to something. Hold up. Lets see where this goes..."?

Cause like?

Consider the humble Mandalorian!

Is there anything? Technically??? Stopping them from becoming a Cultivator?

Now I know what you're thinking! One, thanks for the beer, but I'm out. You've completely lost me. But wait wait WAIT! HEAR ME OOOOOUT! And Two, yes. They exsist in seperate realities. Kinda hard to stumble into town and Find/Fight/Fuck the Cultivators into the Great Mandalorian Way Of Life™ (as one does).

Plus like... religious differences. No offense. They're sure you're whole *hand wave* immortality thing, is kinda cool? But THEY got the Manda. Those that have marched on. Plus their individual religious osmosis bits that are specific to their family lines, you know?

So like? If Mando Oc? Let's calla her Ava, fuckin BITES it? Presumably amidst kick ass explosions and Lazer fire, as one does? Maybe bringing down a ship of enemies in some sort of Heroic last stand, for their Alor? Or some kids?? Just... REALLY "I fuckin EARNED that trophy! Give it BACK D:< "Sort of "this is not my beautiful Manda, this is not my beautiful yaim. Who the FUCK are you people and why am I naked?!" Start.

Where the FUCK is her armor. Why is everything primitive? The sword? She likes. Keeping that. But WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO GORAN?! Who will make her armor! WHY CANT SHE FIND ANY BESKAR!?!? Is this hell? This feels a lot like hell.

But then... a Demon rocks up to fight. And like?

......okay, so not COMPLETELY hell.

Just uncultured, naked, barbarians. Okay... Okay! Not their fault. Breathe. They don't know any better. You're a Stanger in THEIR land. You can't push your ideas on them. This is no-.... what do you mean "born here"? No I most CERTAINLY was not!!!

Like? One Mando's journey to FINALLY get some Proper Armor™, adopt a whole ass Sects worth of kids, and COMPLETE refusal to acknowledge she might be immortal. Because no. You all are Wrong. She is LONG LIVED. Not immortal! The only TRUTH is the Manda, not this Dao business.

But! She's not gonna argue with you. You can be wrong all you like. Takes all sorts. And it's rude to insult other people's beliefs. (Even if they're Wrong) so like.... what ever works for you, buddy. Glad it makes you happy or whatever. *adopts another orphan* *continues to cause problems* *is generally VERY Mandalorian*

@legitimatesatanspawn @mayfay @babbling-babull @hdgnj @leftnotright

[yanderepuck]

So imagine MC is like a little kid. And when I say little kid I mean between 5-8. Old enough to walk around the mansion on their own (not encouraged), but has not yet fully gained consciousness, morals, or knows when not to say something. That age where kids say ANYTHING.

Curling up with Napoleon in bed for a nap. Saying his bed is the comfiest for sleep. But also running up to him and asking him for his sword.

"what do you need my sword for?"

"sword"

"yes. Why do you need it? And he's crouching down to your level to talk.

"it's sharp"

"yes and that's why you cabt-"

"I want to stab."

"WHAT"

"stab stab stab!" And you smile at him and he's scared to ask anything else and just tells you no.

~~

Sneaking into Mozart room and looking over him as he sleeps, waiting for him to wake up, and when he does he screams and then you scream. And you both scream.

You just wanted to ask him if his hair is natural.

"What are you doing in here?"

"do you color your hair?"

"my hair? No. It's natural."

"I heard that people lighten their hair with pee"

And you both just stare at each other until he picks you up and sets you on the floor

"out"

"can you play music for me?"

"later. Get out"

He is however trying to teach you piano. You seemed interested once so now you are learning. Meaning you are the only other person to touch that piano

~~

Leonardo you have so much fun with. So many toys. You also associate him with Lumiere so you just call him 'kitty'

You run up to him asking to be picked up because you want to be tall. But then the moment he does you say he smells weird and immediately want down. He also keeps snacks in his coat pockets but one time you pulled out the screwdriver and started running around with it giggling.

"What do you have, bambina?"

"A KNIFE" and you run off with a giggle. And Leonardo gets up off the floor and bolts after you.

Oh yeah. Any time you see him sleeping on the floor you go through his pockets or lay on him.

~~

I've said it once and I'll say it again Vincent should never have kids but goddamn he's the fun uncle. You're going into his room and finger painting, even tho most of the paint is on you or on the floor. But to be fair there is a LOT of paint on the floor because Vincent isn't exactly clean.

He's asking you how you think of his painting and you look up from your finger painting of who knows what. Vincent painted some flowers

"hmm. I don't like it"

And Vincent immediately looks defeated. "You don't like it? What's wrong with it?", he's so frantic wondering what he did wrong.

You go back to your paper and paints "I don't like yellow" most of your paper is yellow.

~~

God you love to annoy Theo. And Theo fucking loves kids so he loves to play with you. So if you are in the foyer when he gets home, he picks you up but holds you upside down and you giggle and wiggle like crazy. He's definitely tickling you.

You constantly go into his room to play with King. Which really means you go in and let him and get him overly excited so then you HAVE to go outside and play.

"Do you want to help me give King a bath today?"

"yeah!" Aka you point the hose directly at Theo at one point and then run off into the garden giggling like a maniac.

Bonus: when the brothers are talking and you can hear them you look at them so confused, and then start telling gibberish like how babies sort of do and act like you are joining the conversation

~~

Arthur just likes to carry you around. He loves to tuck you into bed and tell you bed time stories. Honestly he's even brushing your hair and braiding it. Doing fun little styles.

~~

He would love to dress you up honestly. Actually. He's dressing you up as a little detective. He's also trying to teach you to play chess but you aren't having it. Since he's also a doctor he's the one you run to if you scrap your knee or anything.

You are messing with his stethoscope and he's telling you where to listen to his heart.

"hmm.."

"what is it?"

"this is serious."

"what do you hear?"

"you're gay"

Theo told you to say that to him..and you can hear him out in the hall laughing so hard.

Now Isaac is not great with kids. You give him so much anxiety..you appear out of nowhere and you're so small. You once hid under his bed to scare him after he came home from work and he screamed so loud that Napoleon had to come check on him.

When you hit that "why" phase everyone hands you off to Isaac (or Leonardo). Only Isaac doesn't give kids friendly answers. He answers how it is.

"why is he pointy?" When you're staring at Harry.

"because he is a hedgehog and he has quills to protect himself"

"protect himself from what?"

"predators"

"what's a predator?"

Or if he's working on something and you're watching him. He's working on some equation and you ask him what for and he explains it like he is talking to a fellow professor or student and you're zoned out after 2 words and after he looks at you

"you didn't get any of that did you?"

"I want chicken nuggets."

~~

DAZAI IS THE FUNNEST UNCLE. You beg him to take you to his farm out in the woods and he's like how do you know about that. And you giggle. No answer. Just giggle. But he does and the next thing he sees is you on the back of one of the older goats.

You watch him write and stare at it so hard.

"what are you drawing?"

"I'm writing."

"like..words?"

And he points at each word and says it slowly for you. Some of them you even repeat.

"see?"

"...I don't know those letters" you're in distress thinking you somehow never learned this side of the alphabet

You are also trying to copy him by going out windows. You have not grasped the concept of floors though. Luckily you can't really open windows yourself. You also chirp back at Bunta.

~~

You are also asking Jean for his sword. Only he would actually give it to you so they all have to tell him that you are not allowed to have any sharp objects. Sharp objects do not include guns- no he's not doing that. He knows better

"why is your eye covered?"

"I need to"

"why?"

"the world could explode if I don't"

"whoa..that's cool"

"what? No its-"

"take it off~" and you try getting it off of him. He grabs you and holds you away from him.

"I said I can't."

"you didn't say I can't."

You see him without his eye patch and call him a liar. However you say nothing about the burn mark and that makes him feel better about him.

~~

Sometimes Comte takes you over to Will's for tea. You just call it leaf water

"are you drinking leaf water?"

"it's called tea."

"it's made with leaves. Leaf water. Leaf water does smell better than bean water. Bean water is nasty"

You lay on the floor with Puck and just stare at him because you were told you have to be quiet around him and not make sudden movements. So you stare.

You have a hard time understanding Will at times. You do in fact tell him that he talks funny. You LOVE to go to the theater when they are rehearsing. They have fake swords and they let you have one.

~~

fIANLLY Comte. He's like #1 dad. He's dressing you up and spoiling you like crazy. He's getting you anything you want and you're going on little daddy-daughter lunch dates. He's constantly worrying about you. He's like a first time parent (don't look at his 9 other kids) and everything that happens he worries. Like if you get sick he rushes you to Arthur. He scolds everyone for playing a little too rough with you when one of your dresses is a little dirty. Meanwhile Theo is standing there soaking wet from the hose and Leonardo just had to wrestle a screwdriver out of your hand.

Comte would read bedtimes stories to you, only you prefer them from Arthur. He's taking you to the fancy balls and having you meet his friends. He's not doing it to show you off, he just really wants to spend time with you (and dress you up). He so so so wishes you would call him dad honestly.

~~

You bother Sebastian when you want a snack. He doesn't mind that you are in the kitchen as long as you don't touch anything. He will set you up into the counter and ask you what you want and make it for you. He's also teaching you how to cook. The only time you can have something sharp.

One time he turned around to see you biting into a whole baguette and he just sighed and let it happen since you were behaving.

"Are we having pancakes again?"

"yes. Master Theo loves pancakes"

You look at them and back up at Sebastian "can we add chocolate chips?"

"I don't know if he likes chocolate in his pancakes"

"this isn't about him" and you start looking for chocolate chips to add to the batter.

You will help him in the garden at times. Meaning you walk up to a plant and point at it and go "IS THIS A WEED?" And if it is you yank it out of the ground. And if it's not you point at the one directly next to it and ask again. Sebastian has a lot of patience but not this much.

Bonus: you are also giving Sebastian and Dazai weird looks when they are speaking Japanese and again speak gibberish thinking you are contributing

~~

You've spent the weekend at the castle a time or two. Vlad wanted you all to himself to spoil you. Meaning he has not let you out of his sight and he is teaching you all about flowers and showing you all over the garden. All that gardening with Sebastian paid off because you see a weed and immediately yank it out and Vlad thinks you are the smartest person alive because of that.

It gets cold in the castle so you have your own little fur cape that he got made for you. Comte dresses you in pastels and all cute like. And then you come back home in a big fur cape and a little suit. Looking like a little vampire yourself. Marshmallow tolerates you and lets you pet her which is a huge bonus.

~~

You almost never see Faust because he is always in his lab and when you are there he does his best to remember to lock the doors. But he doesn't always.

"What are you doing?"

He jumps and almost screams. You scared him. Plus nearly dropped the glass bottle filled with who knows what in it. Your little hands want to grab everything and he can't stand that. But once outside the lab he is great with you. A little blunt but he does read you stories and lets you out little flowers in his hair. Mephie 100% sits on your shoulder.

When you refuse to leave him alone he sets you on the lab table.

"Don't touch anything. Got it?"

"yep!" You're touching things. You look in his notebooks, but he writes in German so you don't know any of those words. He also talks to himself in German when he's trying to figure something out.

You've picked up on some bad words in German. When you repeat them at the mansion, whoever is watching you takes you to Mozart to translate. He cluches his pearls and is like "DONT SAY THAT"

~~

You have the most fun with Charles. He's taking you to the park, and to all the good cafes around the city and eating so many sweets. He will cook you anything you ask for. He's making you little flower crowns when you are out playing in the garden.

If you have a bad dream you immediately run to his room because you know he is awake and he makes everything better. He's playing games with you. You're playing outside and getting a little dirty. He'll even take you outside at night and go watch the stars. Most of the time you end up falling asleep in the grass.

As much as he will let you have sweets he is also telling you that it's important for you to eat other food. You say how he sounds like Arthur and that's how you find out they are both doctors.

~~

How are you getting to Drake and Galileos? Don't know..not important right now. Ignore that plot hole.

No one at the mansion will let you have their sword BUT DRAKE WILL. Drake is even teaching you how to use it. He's putting his hat on you and it's way too big for your head. He's dressing you up as a little pirate.

The amount of times you have nearly fallen out of the boat is insane. At this point Drake shouldn't even be watching you. But he does take great care of you. He loves to tickle you and hear you giggle. He tells you so many stories from his time at sea. He tries his best to make them kid friendly but gets half way through and realizes that there's no kid friendly way to say that you killed everyone on a ship and sank it.

"are there sea monsters?

"oh definitely. I've fought one before."

"whoa..did you win?"

"well...I'm here aren't I?"

"what about mermaids! Are mermaids real?"

"they are and they are actually quite mean. They sing to sailors and make them crash their ship to eat them"

"nu-uh. Mermaids are nice"

~~

Honestly. Galileo doesn't know what to do with you. Like Isaac, if you ask him something he is giving you the real answer.

You might go stargazing with some of the others but Galileo is actually teaching you about the stars. He's setting up the telescope and letting you look through and tell you all the constellations. He'll even teach you to read a star map.

"stars are pretty"

"it's weird how the death of something can be so beautiful"

"what?" You look up at him.

"all the stars in the sky are dead. They exploded and that's how we see their light"

And now you are crying and he doesn't know what to do. Don't tell a child that something is dead.

Bonus: you make a comment about how Galileo and Drake look similar and call them brothers. Galileo is gagging but Drake finds it so sweet and starts calling him brother

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

The Warblade Returns...

So now the real question is are you little cocksuckers capable of feeling FEAR!?

RRRAAAAWWWRR!

...!

Ah-!?

*SLASH!* *SLASH!* *SLASH!*

*CLANK!* *SMACK!* *CLUNK!*

Aaaaahah...!

*As soon as Kuripa issues his challenge, one of the Monokumas lunges at him with a feral snarl. But before it can even reach him, he snatches it mid-air by its short, stubby neck. With a cold glare and barely a flicker of effort, he raises his sword and tears the mechanical bear into ribbons, metal parts and sparks scattering across the room.

PUHUHUHUHUHU!

RRAAGGGH!

*CLAANG!*

RAARARR! RRAAAAAAAAARRR!

*SLASH!* *SLASH!* *CLANG!*

*A second Monokuma charges, claws glinting as it swings at him with a wide slash, but Kuripa’s blade meets it with a sharp clang, halting the attack instantly. More of the robotic beasts rush in with relentless aggression, their claws slicing through the air, but each strike is deflected, parried, or simply ignored. None of their blows leave a mark.

Come on! We gotta get a move on!

*Makoto helps one of his other operatives to his feet, who is clutching at his arm where the Monokuma slashed at him.

Looks deep...but it shouldn't be lethal. We have medical experts upstairs just in case.

Here! I'll help you!

*As Kuripa fends off the bears on his own, Makoto gathers the rest of his men.

Agent: Sorry sir...we're useless.

No, you're not...These things are just way too strong. And they caught you by surprise, so that's not your fault.

Agent: But Kurafto...since when is that kid so strong?

...Your guess is as good as mine...

HIIIRRAAGGGH!

OOOGH!

AAAGGH!!?

*The two nearest Monokumas attempt to flank him, but with two clean, fluid motions, Kuripa cuts them both down, each split open with a single, precise slash.

AWAAAAAAAAAAAARRRR!

*CHING!* *CHING!* *CHANG!* *BANG!* *CLINK!*

HHNNGGH!

*Another snarls and roars in frustration, but the Ultimate Animator doesn’t flinch. He shrugs off its frenzy of blows like they’re nothing more than raindrops.

Get everyone out! This could get messy!

*SLASH!*

RRAWR!

*WHACK!*

UGH! HYAAGH!

*SWOOSH!* *CLANG!*

GGRRRRRRRR!!?

YAHHAAAGGH!

*SLAASSH!* *SLASH!*

AAGGGGH!

*SMACK!*

*Kuripa retaliates with a wide, arcing slash. The Monokuma leaps backward, narrowly dodging, then counters with a powerful kick that knocks Kuripa off balance. He stumbles back a step, only to recover instantly and slash again, this time his blade connecting. The two clash in a brutal exchange of steel and claws, but despite the bear’s desperate attempt to block the assault, it’s eventually torn apart and hurled into the wall in pieces.

Right! You heard him! All of you, get up the elevator now!

Agent: What about you, sir!?

I'll stay here, just in case he needs any help. I'm not a good fighter, but some help is better than no help.

It's fine. This isn't my first rodeo.

AAAAWWOOOOOOOO!

[urbandeity]

the captain's duel

Day 1 of #LeviMonth25: Knight/Royalty (this was just knight/knight, hope that's okay!)

Pairing: Levi/GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Tags: Medieval AU, Swords, Duelling, Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: You've got one chance to make yourself known to the captain of the queen's guard. Winning against him is beyond your dreams, but the mere opportunity to put yourself in his attention is enough to motivate you.

ao3 link

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

A fool’s quest, they called it, but that hasn’t stopped you before. You’re not offering this challenge out of some misguided belief that you’ll win—no, even you know there’s little chance of that. The easier gamble is the opportunity to see the captain of the queen’s guard face-to-face, and to convince him that you’re more than worthy to join his attachment. 

Your armor feels clunkier than usual as you stride across the training grounds. Captain Levi is by the fence, his helmet doffed and his sword slumped against a fencepost. Everyone around you sweats and huffs as they train, but he acts as though dirtying himself with practice is more effort than it’s worth. 

“Captain.” You think your tone is strong, but his turned gaze is making you doubt yourself. “A fine day for training, isn’t it?” 

This man you’ve only spoken to in passing is thoroughly unimpressed with your advance. His eyes, with irises sharper than the steel of his blade, flick down to the hand you rest of the hilt of your own weapon. He’s aware of your challenge, but he isn’t leaping to accept it.

“An infantryman. Can I help you?” He knows your rank, despite no such indicator currently worn on your armor. 

The spark that compelled you to stand here is still burning in your chest, invigorating your confidence. “Yes, Captain. I’d like you to humor me.” 

He’s easily following the thread of your insinuation, but the prospect of a duel isn’t overly appealing to him. “Why?”

“Why not?” you dare. 

“Witty backtalk doesn’t earn you respect here, knight.”

A reasonable response. You know his acerbic attitude, and you know that buckling to it is a loud sign of weakness. “My apologies, sir. Should I assume that a duel would be too strenuous for you?” 

He straightens up, insulted enough to get off his lounging position. “Nor do brazen taunts. Who’s your captain?”

“You, I hope.” Your blade is unsheathed by a few inches. “Soon.”

For a brief moment, he looks past you at the array of soldiers that swing swords at each other. Some are his men and some are at your rank., though it's difficult to discern exact hierarchy in the beehive of a faux battleground. “You can’t audition for a place in the queen’s guard. I handpick my soldiers.”

“Don’t dismiss me so quickly, Captain. I might surprise you.” 

Your bait, despite how obvious it is, works to tug at his interest and lure him into a fight. “Fine,” he agrees as he steps forward. “Let’s make this quick.”

His sword and helmet remain untouched. You rip your sword out of its sheathe and delicately angle it in his direction. “I have class, you know. I won’t charge you while you turn around to pick up your sword.”

“I don’t need it.” His hands come up, his posture hunching into a combative stance. You, against your efforts to look brave, inch back. “Come on, knight. Strike me down.” 

He’s strong, undoubtedly, but entering a swordsman duel without a sword is ludicrous. You consider insisting that he follow the rules, but not even the will of the gods could make him obey a command he doesn’t want to follow. One little knight can’t lord any power over him.

“May the gods empower you,” you pray as you assume your own stance.

“I’d suggest you beg for their help instead.” 

The charge of your weapon goes wholly avoided by him, but you keep your balance and flick the blade away from his reciprocating gauntlet. His torso is the target, then his hip, but both attempts miss their mark and you flip positions with him on the sparring ground. With your back to the fence, you roll your wrist and slow your breathing as he goes on the offensive. 

His limbs are surprisingly nimble around the steel you poke at his attacks. He nearly trips you, but you can read his movements like a half-legible language and predict his strategy through how he positions himself. Your history of watching his toils both on the battlefield and in sporting competitions has prepared you for his attacks. 

So you think, anyway. One slash from you misses him, and instead leaves your underbelly open for him to throw himself into, a shoulder slamming against your chest. As you fall, your sword is wrung out of your hand and traded into his. 

His mighty foot pins your chest to the ground and he raises your stolen weapon high above his head, winding back with almost deadly intent. 

In a moment faster than thought, you toss a hand up to the sword that leans against a fencepost, toppling the steel and catching the handle as it falls beside your head.

His aim at your neck is blocked by his sword in your hand. 

“Oh,” he utters, momentarily impressed with your quick thinking.

It’s extremely short-lived, though. In the next instant, he wraps one sword around the other and flicks the handle out of your hand with remarkable strength.

You go to rise, but his foot bears more weight and he presses the swordtip against the underside of your chin. Your agape jaw snaps shut as he forces your head back against the dirt, his steel threatening to slice if you move suddenly.

“Captain—” you grit through clenched teeth, your hands pawing at the ground, trying to push away from him. 

“That’s not the right word.” 

Your heels dig into the dirt, burrowing into nothing as your ego trudges to the door of surrender. Grumbling out the last of your complaints, you yield to the unbeatable captain.

“Mercy.” 

“Hm?”

“Mercy, you little—” You stop yourself before the insult spills out. 

He elects not to mention it as he tosses your blade aside. Kneeling, he keeps you beneath his foot as he nudges a fingertip against your upturned chin. 

“Not bad,” he praises, alluding to his sword you used. You want to take his collar and throw him, but he’d probably predict that. Either way, the duel’s over. “Quick thinking. Gutsy, too.”

You can’t think of what to say when you’re beneath him like this. He’s awfully close, and he’s making sure to wring every second out of this display of his power. 

“Still far below my men,” he taunts, wiping up a droplet of blood from the cut on your chin. “But…promising.”

“Thank you,” you answer, meeker now more than ever.

“You need some work.” As he stands, he effortlessly takes your forearm and pulls you up with him. “I want you here tomorrow morning, before dawn. If I see the sun before I see you, you can give up any hope of the queen’s guard.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll be prompt.” 

[startanewdream]

Pirate, for @jilymicrofics

(Warning this is silly and so very much inspired by The Princess Bride)

The black ship was drawing near.

Lily wasn't troubled by it - whoever was following them was the least of her concerns - but her captors were, and it gave her some satisfaction.

"He will catch us," squeaked the small beady-eyed man called Peter. Lily had learned all their names by now, since they weren't shy about it; it was a bad sign, but she tried not to think about it.

"We should be quicker," noted Sirius. Lily could tell he was swordsman of the group, quick and agile. "Remus knows this waters like no one, and our vessel is swifter."

Peter didn't seem convinced. He glanced at Lily like she was guilty of being hunted. "He must be after the princess too!"

"I'm not a princess," Lily said tiredly. They insisted on calling her that, even though she wasn't one: she wasn't married to the prince, and, if it were up to her, she wouldn't ever.

The only one she had ever wanted to marry had been lost to the sea long ao.

Only Sirius paid her any attention, and it was only to wink amusedly.

"Hey!" Called Remus from the ship's wheel. "We will need to dock. If we stay on open waters, he will outrun us."

"Take your sword!" Peter cried desperately. "The cannons—oh, I knew we should have gotten a ship with cannons—"

"It would be expensive and you didn't want to pay for it," Sirius reminded him. "Besides, if he wanted to attack us, he could have gotten a nice shot a few miles ago. I'm telling you, he is not looking to sink us."

"And I am telling you, he wants the princess!"

Sirius just shook his head. "The princess is safe with us—aren't you, Your Majesty?"

Lily didn't deign to reply. Sirius seemed the silliest of her captors, but he was also dangerous. Lily had tried to fight him, using the same sword movements that James had taught her ages ago — back when they were young and Lily thought they would stay together forever. Only even the comfort of this memory had left her; Sirius had beaten her so easily that it didn't as if she had ever learned how to fight.

James would beat him, she thought savagely, only to feel sad soon after. James had been lost at the sea, captured and killed by a pirate who left no survivor, years ago.

The ship docked heavily; the water was rough there. Sirius approached her carefully, holding his dagger. "Now, I'm gonna cut you free so you can leave the boat, but don't try to run, okay? If you trip, Remus will have to carry you, and he's already done a lot of work trying to get us safe here."

Lily just glared at him. It was a bold request of her captors to ask her to be nice to them.

"Too bad neither of you were thrown in the sea."

Sirius just chuckled. "We can swim, Your Highness, it would be no trouble."

"Speaking of trouble, that black ship is nearly upon here."

"Yeah, well, that would be one big trobule." Sirius cut her free. Lily massaged her hands. "For both of us, I'd say. Only one pirate sails under that color, and he leaves no survivors."

She nearly fell. "Which pirate?" She asked, mouth suddenly dry. If it were the same person who'd killed James...

Sirius sighed heavily. "The infamous Dread Pirate Potter."

[bagelbnuuy]

Spear Training Arc!

Raphael × Mc

Disclaimer: I am NOT a good writer. I do not claim to BE a good writer. I wrote this about a year and a half ago in a solid thirty minute timespan. I also only sort of understand how posting on Tumblr works. God help us all, because nothing I am about to post from my notes app is going to be even remotely comprehensible. Shame is dead though and I am not, so just TRY to stop me.

Tw: none..?

Onto the. This. It's technically unfinished btw i had a habit of writing shit down and never coming back to it-

Everything is fine. Raphael is doing good in RAD, and is currently paired up with Simeon to start working on a presentation. They've already divvied up the work, and now they just have to start actually making the presentation.

Until suddenly,

The double-doors to the classroom slam open loudly.

Everyone's eyes dart to the door, looking not too concerned at first, oh, just another new trouble maker yet to learn how this school works. They're probably thinking, knowing how demon froshes can be, until they suddenly freeze upon seeing who it is.

It's MC. The human transfer with all seven demon brothers in the palm of their hand. Plus, if rumors are to be believed, a great sorcerer and an angel transfer as well.

And they look furious. Like entirely willing to kill a man angry.

And if MC had to deal with something bad enough to make them more angry than when they had to deal with the brothers for a year... well God help them all.

That was the demons thoughts as they watched her glare at the room, as if their looks could kill. They took a deep breathe, and relaxed even slightly, still looking cold and merciless as you can when you're about half a foot smaller than everyone else in the school. Even though they only relaxed slightly, it was enough to clear away most of the tension in their shoulders, and for that, most everyone in the room relaxed.

Until, she stormed up smoothly to Raphael and Simeon, with her brows furrowed and a tense smile on her lips, "sorry Simeon, gonna have to borrow Raph here for a while." Everyone's heart almost drops. Raphael, even though he's never been good with socialties, can even feel the frustrated tension in the room as she grabs his forearm and tugs him up out of the seat

"Woah- hey, what's happening?" He asks with furrowed brows.

"Raphael, please teach me how to fight with a spear!" She says, grabbing one of his hands with hers and holding it between them, paying no mind to the confused looking students in the background.

"Uh- why? Why do you need to learn how to use a spear specifically?" He asks, seeing as how the situation seemed urgent, and how she went to him instead of the brothers or Simeon, meaning this was not a magic or sword problem, especially since she's not going to Solomon. For whatever reason, she needed specifically a spear.

"Raph, please, it's a long story and I need to learn now. You are probably the most qualified person in all three realms with a spear, and I am desperately in need of learning how to fight with a spear." She says quickly, looking up at him with slight puppy dog eyes.

He stays quiet for a moment, then sighs. "MC, I didn't say no, I just want to know why." He says tiredly

She smiles brightly, the tension disappearing, and letting go of his arm with one hold, still holding his hand with the other, she dashes off with him in tow. "Oh, Bye Simeon! See ya later! So will Raph!" She says as they leave, Raphael still looking a bit exasperated.

In a secluded corner of the courtyard, he tosses her a spear, and she stumbles a little trying to catch it. "Don't have any practice spears, sorry. I don't exactly train people often. Or at all." He says, and she laughs a bit.

After a little while of training, "no, you hold the spear like- Mc its upside down."

"Oooo this is fun."

"Mc you're going to cut off your foot swinging it like that, if you want to learn tricks at least wait until you know the basics." He said, temporarily taking away her spear. She pouted, as he decided to give her a demonstration of what to do before handing her the spear next time.

"C'mon Raph, I know what to do now!"

"No you don't."

"Look!"

"Mc no-"

"Ow- okay maybe that wasn't the best idea."

They had decided to take a little break.

And by take a break, they ofcourse meant her sitting on a bench withstanding a lecture as he wrapped her leg -now with a massive gash in it - in gauze.

"This is why-"

"I know"

"I told you to listen before trying complicated tricks."

"I know."

"Now you're all cut up."

"I know."

"If you would've just been a bit more patient-"

It goes on for about 10 minutes. She has to stay there and listen to his lecture for about 8 minutes after her leg is patched up.

Until they get to making conversation, and Raphael eventually asks why she wanted to learn the spear in the first place.

"Honestly, I've wanted to for quite a bit now. I don't really know what was stopping me. Howevverrrrr, today, this absolute SCUMBAG-" She begins explaining

"Pushed me down a flight of stairs! Out of jealousy! He said something about power, or maybe it was luck, it mightve been brainwashing..? Anywho, I don't remember exactly, but when I got back up I said I would beat his ass back to before the celestial realm existed-" She said, very enraptured in telling her tale, not noticing how Raphaels brows furrowed slightly, although who's wouldn't when their friend got pushed down a flight of stairs?

"And they said to me, What are you going to do? Shove a spear up my ass? I'd like to see you try human. So ofcourse I'm planning to get revenge. Maybe not kill them, probably just... conveniently spear their legs as they're walking down the stairwell." She says.

"Y'know- I was planning to just learn spear for today and nothing else. Didn't think it'd be this fun." She says, spearing an apple off a stand infront of a tree.

[byetoto]

Some thoughts about The Art of Repetition

I’ve seen people in the baseball fandom post metas about their work, and I always enjoy reading them. There’s something deeply sad and existential in baseball—something I don’t know how to fully explain, and it resonated with me and my life now, all these stars aligned to create The Art of Repetition, so why not tell you about it.

TL:DR: You can find and explore yourself in sports (or any passion, really) and experience you and the world in new ways. Baseball and archery are not that different. The tragedy of it all. You never know what’ll spark your inspiration, even after years of quitting/not practicing a skill.

Earlier this year, I started archery. From a very young age, I always enjoyed watching sports, but I was never the sporty type myself. I’m rather small, weak, and have some physical conditions that inhibit me from doing certain things...I haven’t even considered myself capable of doing anything special, highly technical, or physically demanding with my body. But something drew me to archery, and after watching it on TV at the Paris Olympics, I found a club nearby and decided to give it a shot hehe.

I wasn’t ready for archery to carve its way into my life and heart so deeply, but it led me to interact with my body and psyche in a completely new way; to me, it is as much a psychological and metaphysical challenge as a physical, athletic one. It gave me a new perspective on the connection between mind and body, how we move, and how the world around us revolves: what meaning and value we give to ourselves, our successes or failures. I could go on and on about this, but for this post’s sake, let’s leave it at that.

Which leads me to Baseball. Baseball entered my life recently because of Bad Times™ and insomnia, as games are dead in the night in my time zone. I was fascinated by how complex, physically and psychologically demanding it is, specifically, pitching. I discovered that no matter how you turn it, pitchers have this detonator Damocles-sword-clock that counts their days backwards. It is a position so demanding and corrosive to the body (and mind) that at some point, pitchers just, well, break. The tragedy of it all just consumed me, and Max keeps circling back to this point when he talks about his craft.

Essentially, archery and pitching are very much alike - it’s not about shooting one perfect ten arrow or landing one nasty slider, it’s about doing it repeatedly, consistently, over and over and over again, until you’re satisfied, or until you break. The same biomechanic principles even govern these actions: converting potential into kinetic energy- using your body as a coil (pitching), or to control and harness one (archery).

This plagued my mind, so I grabbed a used archery face (our trials and errors, so different from the intangible strike zone, yet exactly the same) and my chalk pastels, which I haven’t touched in six years, and let it happen, and I’m feeling glad and scared and vulnerable sharing it.

Thank you for your lovely comments and reactions, and if you got here, here’s a gold star🌟

The Art of Repetition

Chalk pastels on a used 40 cm WA target face, approx. 10 hours.

[comeonblub]

okay so the whole episode was excellent and the fight was fantastic but this move in particular? lmao?

[muzsmocsing]

Quan Yizhen, watching Xie Lian make out with a ghost: What an effective way to exchange power, did you see how he got super strong sooo fast?? :D

Mu Qing: Oh for-

Pei Ming, uncle extraordinaire: That's right bud. Very efficient! But see, when two people love each other very much-

[demonsofoda]

Omida and Torahito read the letter.

I have gotten your letter thanks to my follower named Hanma. After reading it I will happily accept the invite of joining you for lunch this afternoon. And to meet you face to face. I was not expecting you or the generals to send me a letter but I hope we have not crossed any territories to cause a disturbance. If we have, I apologize for that.

Omida smiles, "It seems like they gotten our letter. I would love to tell Lord Cyno that no harm is done. Just want to talk to him." But Torahito did not expect as he reads the next paragraph.

As you get this letter, we will be making a peace offering to the Oda before coming to your estate so we can meet to show we are no threat of any kind. It seems it's rare to see that you also wish to propose us to be allies or be wedded/mates to one another.

"Wedded or Mates???" Torahito's eyes grew widen at those two words. One another?! What exactly did the generals wrote?! Who wrote this?!

"Ah.....I think I should of clarify with Genta and Chuyki." Oda sratched his cheek, looking a bit embarrassed.

The letter was a bit questioning but..it leaves me wondering what you are like and such. Seems even someone can bloom into something from mystery. I guess I'll find out when arriving. Given some old history, it would be nice to finally meet you after the stories some of my followers have told me about you and what your clan has done. Or even seen given the time scouting around. So, my second in command Iraku, along with some others will see you around lunch time or at 2 this afternoon.

"Ah so he does know about us." Omida smiles. Torahito twitched an eye at this. What the hell?! He couldn't get past the part about wedded/mates. "Omida...who wrote this?"

"Genta and Chuyuki. They're the ones who proposed this idea."Omida answers him. He needs to look at the time. "I should get ready for lunch." He said. "Please join me, Torahito and also...we need to get them offering as well in return. Please inform Makou and Danny to get me a high-grade curse in the thermos. I think I should get sword." He said.

"Of course, sir." He said as Omida gets up and goes to his chambers to get ready. As he left, leaving Torahito. He growls and shouts, "GENTA! CHUYUKI! GET YOUR BEHINDS HERE!"

The other sorcerers bow their heads seeing Cyno and Iraku walking back inside but seeing two sorcerers who bows to them. "Kisa, can you please prepare the offerings to the demon god. And Misa, can you be sure to keep a eye on the estate for a while?" he saw the two twin sisters nod.

"Yes Lord Cyno."

"...Thank you. Come Iraku, lets prepare. I'm curious to how this is going to go. Maybe I should bring a offering of peace.." he said crossing his arms as the two walk through the home before getting to the back, seeing the temple and the castle of the Fujiwara clan. He knew his bloodline was watching in heaven he hopes to make them proud. Just like his parents. For now, he will prepare.

~~~~Meanwhile at the Oda estate~~~~

"Do you think General Cyno got the letter?" Chikyu looks to Genta who was thinking and eating some lunch.

"Oh come now. I'm sure like Shukaku said, he did. Maybe he's going to deliver the letter soon or in a few days? I'm sure it's fine." he said laughing happily. That was till the two blinks hearing some thunder?

"Huh, strange....it said nothing of rain today." he said looking up at the sky seeing no clouds. That was till hearing a loud thunder boom with the flash of purple lightning. Some Oda followers jumps from the sudden strike even Zosuke looks out during his mid studies.

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?!?" he shouts seeing the other two blink. Seems like Cyno got the letter sent.

As for the letter, it did show the cursed energy from Cyno as it begins to show the words within the letter. Seems it was infused with it. The letter reads the follow:

Dear Lord Omida Oda,

I have gotten your letter thanks to my follower named Hanma. After reading it I will happily accept the invite of joining you for lunch this afternoon. And to meet you face to face. I was not expecting you or the generals to send me a letter but I hope we have not crossed any territories to cause a disturbance. If we have, I apologize for that.

As you get this letter, we will be making a peace offering to the Oda before coming to your estate so we can meet to show we are no threat of any kind. It seems it's rare to see that you also wish to propose us to be allies or be wedded/mates to one another.

The letter was a bit questioning but..it leaves me wondering what you are like and such. Seems even someone can bloom into something from mystery. I guess I'll find out when arriving. Given some old history, it would be nice to finally meet you after the stories some of my followers have told me about you and what your clan has done. Or even seen given the time scouting around. So, my second in command Iraku, along with some others will see you around lunch time or at 2 this afternoon.

I can't wait to meet you. See you this afternoon.

Leader and general of the Twlight Matra,

Cyno 'Twilight' Fujiwara

[afrophunk]

Was watching Game of Death the other day. Bruce Lee’s character is so funny and sassy(at least in the unreleased scenes), I just had to put my guy in this iconic pose to show my gratitude

He’s so right to do this for me specifically actually