#I'll yield to none

[habiyeru-art]

The Red Prince yields to none

[hopefulceladon]

︶⊹ all beauty, no beast | phainon x reader

summary: phainon, for whatever reason, refuses to reveal his demiurge self, up until the very moment you manage to get him to crack. notes: WRITTEN BEFORE THE 3.4 UPDATE!! if this ends up ooc at all i'll cry. i love phainon and freaknon so much that i ended up listening to an indulgent worm whispering that i should make a fic where you get to hug demiurge phainon. so now we're here. word count: 2.2k ao3 link: here!

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“I... really don’t think you should see me like this, partner.”

There was an anxious waver lingering within Phainon’s voice as he addressed you from behind the nearby wall; a broken, unsure cadence familiar to your ears, but deeply foreign as it rang forth from his lips.

It was hard not to frown at his desperately uttered sentiments, but it didn’t come as a complete surprise. After all, upon the days that followed both the retrieval of Kephale’s Coreflame and the subsequent beginning of Era Nova’s end, Phainon had grown increasingly distant.

It had stung, of course, being gradually pushed away by the very man who had already sworn nearly everything to protect you from whatever turmoil that’d erupt—and was, already, erupting—upon the disintegrating planet, not realizing that he was actively hurting you in the process, but you tried to regard the circumstances with as much understanding as your wounded heart would allow.

Still, never once did you suspect he’d ever go so far as to physically avoid you, too.

But despite all your growing fears of abandonment and the countless streams of resentful thoughts that had trickled forth from them, you swallowed down any trace of the biting poison that resided upon your tongue, and lathered your words with the patience you knew was far more productive to possess.

The vile aftertaste of the hastily downed bitterness had burned your throat, but you knew it was only a small price to pay to maintain a bond once so sweet.

“You’ve avoided me for the past few mornings,” you finally stated, silently praying none of your deeply bruised feelings would surface. “You’ve hid behind pillars, slipped off into abandoned corridors...” you trailed off with a frown. “Whatever it is, it can’t possibly be as dire as you so clearly fear.”

A small, shaky chuckle from the other side proved he was still there, still listening.

“You’re right,” Phainon agreed, and it had lifted up your hopes for only a second, before they were chased back down with a weary sigh. “...it’s worse.”

“Phainon.”

The stubborn man didn't yield, even at your utterance of his name. “I know,” he whispered, despite his own cluelessness. “I know what you're thinking—that we’ve stuck to each other's side through thick and through thin, rejoiced in both our highs, and tried to cheer the other up at both our lows...”

He took a breath before he continued. “But, this is... different. This-” 

“Phainon.”

You were pleased by the silence that had followed—it always was hard for him to outshine your own obstinance, after all.

“...amidst all this chaos and all this uncertainty, I really just wish to see you again.”

In light of your earnest sincerity, Phainon allowed for nothing to escape in response; not a word was uttered, nor did even a single sigh escape past the separating barrier. All you could hear was a series of light tapping noises against the surface—rhythmic, yet hurried, steady, yet unassured.

This time, his silence had worried you.

“I think,” Phainon continued after moments had passed, as if he had taken the time to deeply mull over your words. “...that if you’re trying to avoid any sort of ‘chaos’ in your life, then I’m right, and I really should stay behind this wall.”

“Oh, please.” you brushed his words off with a huff, growing weary of your unwilling role in this endless song-and-dance. “...how bad can it really be?”

You swore you heard a soft gulp.

“...very bad?”

It had taken an arduous amount of restraint to force down a harsh groan that, judging by Phainon’s current tone alone, would’ve certainly deflated him into a completely pitiful pile, but you willingly did it for his sake.

“My love,” you uttered the endearment abruptly, before softening your voice down to a pleading whisper. “...please.”

It was a terribly cheap tactic, but it was one you had indeed learned and mastered from the indirect guidance of the very worst. After all, the master must’ve surely been even the slightest bit fallible to the very weaknesses he exploited?

The small, hushed ‘that’s hardly fair...’ you heard Phainon whisper—whine?—underneath his breath already allowed you to picture the pitiful expression upon his features, from the slight frown upon his lips, to the widening of his pupils as he immediately yearned to rectify his mistakes.

“...I never could say no to you, could I?”

Upon his confession, a bitter, resigned sigh had escaped him, as if Phainon had finally accepted his own fate.

“But... you can’t say I never warned you.”

Even amidst such a dire situation, you couldn’t help but crack a weak smile at the familiar words. It was a phrase that once would’ve forced a loving wince out of you in happier times, but now, you were just thankful to be even brief acquaintances with a fleeting touch of normalcy at all.

As expectant as you were to hear approaching footsteps, tapping against the shared ground beneath both your feet, you were taken aback by the stillness that followed. Even if you could somehow sense that Phainon’s presence was drawing near, you weren’t certain as to how that was.

That was, of course, until Phainon finally revealed himself.

What stood—moreso hovered, really—in what you had expected to be Phainon’s place, was a floating figure that strongly resembled a man of similar stature, if not just the slightest bit taller.

The first difference you had recognized was his hair, once a comforting shade of snow-white and lightly fluffed, now a glowing hue of pale gold, unruly and tousled about. Phainon’s sudden lack of the typical armor that adorned his body was the next thing you noted, as unfamiliar wings of black and gold shielded his form away from your perception, the shiny, nearly mechanical plumes wrapped around his torso like a curtain that hid away all of his shame.

You finally looked up to meet his eyes, hoping to still see the same pair of aquamarine you’ve familiarized yourself with, only to gaze upon shimmering gold instead.

The man who levitated before you might’ve looked so vastly different compared to what you’ve always known, but despite all the physical changes that might’ve separated one from the other, deep down you could tell it was still him.

And as you cast your gaze upon the spiked, gleaming halo that clung behind Phainon’s head and bathed his form anew with warm, ethereal light, you swore he was a sight ripped straight out of a myth of old, a celestial vision bestowed upon only a select few.

You weren’t scared like he had feared you to be, no.

Matter of fact, it was hard to feel anything but downright awe at the sight.

Still, in light of your sudden brush with speechlessness, Phainon’s lips obliviously downturned.

“...you must think it’s pretty bad, too.” 

Phainon’s voice, despite his tensed features, was still soft, as if he had already resigned himself to the likes of his false beliefs, yet remained so dejected because of them.

It was then you swore to yourself you never wished to hear the once-beaming man sound so uncertain ever again.

“What? No, you look-”

“Like a monster, prepping himself to strike?” he guessed.

“No!” you cried out, your boiling frustrations over his lack of understanding starting to spill over into your words. “We’ve both seen monsters before. We’ve both seen the depraved hunger in the eyes of the creatures consumed by the Black Tide, the crazed bloodlust radiating off the corrupted Titankin—we’ve even both been on the receiving end of the Flame Reaver’s blade!”

You paused, hastily chasing after the air that eluded you upon your spiel.

“We’ve both seen the very epitome of evil before, my love—”

Even as your gait trembled, with every step more cautious than the last, you stood before him, closer than either of you expected to be.

“—and I’m positive you couldn't look anything less alike.”

Phainon had froze at your words, a slightly hitched intake of breath giving his surprise away.

The silence that fell upon the atmosphere was solely broken up by the pattering of more careful strides towards him, all gentle in their approach, treating him as if he were a wounded stray at high risk of snapping forth to protect himself.

But even despite his new, slightly imposing visage, Phainon remained incredibly docile.

“You really are breathtaking.” you whispered with earnest reverence.

Phainon chuckled weakly before he shook his head. “You know, if I were you, I’d... probably be running away from me in utter fear.”

“Right, well,” you clicked your tongue, unable to prevent the smile that soon formed. “...you’re also sometimes an idiot, so...”

Cautiously, you lifted up your hand and cradled Phainon’s cheek against your palm, the surface of his pale skin surprisingly warm against the thumb you stroked it with.

“...maybe it’d be for the best if I didn't always listen to what you’d do in my shoes, yeah?”

It didn't take long for Phainon to lean—no, melt, into your soothing touch.

As your fingers reached skyward to thread themselves through his mussed locks of ivory, it was if your presence alone had been what finally stilled him, as Phainon all but clung to you like a scared, helpless puppy would still cling to a beloved tattered toy, his arms firmly wrapping around you and pressing you closer against him as if you were the very fragile, fraying tapestry that upheld what little remained of his diminishing stability.

Maybe because to him, that's nearly what you were.

And as you basked in the comfort of his embrace—even if it had, indeed, felt far stronger than the likes of the ones he bestowed from his other form’s arms—you willingly molded yourself against Phainon’s frame in kind, bathing yourself in the pleasant, perfect warmth that radiated from his body, breathing in the sweet scent of the morning's dreary dew that had bonded itself to his skin.

Phainon soon turned his head and pressed fleeting kisses to the skin of your palm, his eyes squeezed shut, as if this were a blissful dream he had no desire to rouse from.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you.” Phainon murmured, further sealing his apologies against your hand with another press of his lips, the brief touch nearly trembling, as if he’d rather soon perish than to allow for even a mere inch of your palm to go unloved.

You deeply loathed the waver that remained in his voice.

“It’s alright,” you tried your best to soothe, hugging him ever closer. “...the past few days have been absolute living nightmares. I could never fault you for falling prey to any stressful whims.”

Phainon didn't respond further, stiffening at what you presumed was the reminder of all the discord that wreaked havoc upon the surrounding world. Before you could apologize for bringing such a depressing topic up, however, the man had scooped you closer and floated down until you both rested upon the ground, propping you upright against the wall that once separated you, before choosing to rest his head against your lap.

You froze.

Hesitant to break the tranquility of the moment, and even more reluctant to shatter the peaceful expression upon Phainon’s features that had only grown to be an increasingly rare sight as of late, you didn’t dare question his actions, choosing instead to resume rubbing soothing circles against his warm scalp.

“...angel?”

Your fingertips stilled at the abruptly whispered name, and you were quick to glance down towards the source.

What had met your gaze was the precious sight of Phainon looking up at you through long lashes, his softened, golden eyes gleaming—tenderly, pleadingly so—with the same levels of potency as the bright blue you’ve always known.   He then grabbed onto one of your hands—utterly careful with exactly how he had grasped it, solely so that the gilded claws of his armor would not penetrate your flesh and draw pointless blood—and squeezed it within the confines of his own, firm enough to ground himself in the moment, firm enough to remind himself that yes, you truly were there with him.

Phainon’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“I never wish to live a life where you’re not there by my side, you know.” he confessed quietly.

It was such a profound thing to admit so suddenly, but you knew why he had done so; Phainon’s life had always been dotted and dashed with countless loss after loss, and so he must’ve feared that you...

You squeezed his hand in return.

“I... I don’t think you ever will.”

Of course, you both knew that neither of you could ever wholeheartedly afford to keep such a lofty promise, but you were more than willing to take your chances upon whispering flimsy sentiments none could ever fulfill, if it meant your beloved hero could finally find some temporary semblance of rest.

And it must’ve worked, because the tension that had once left Phainon’s shoulders haggard seemed to have ebbed away at your reassurances, which only encouraged him to hold you even closer, his arms now lazily draped over atop your legs.

“Mm, good.” Phainon finally whispered against your thighs, his voice slightly muffled.

Your heart warmed at his sleepy murmur, your hands still idly playing with his hair.

“Why 'good?'”

“...because you really were my greatest miracle.”

[yorsgirl]

Perhaps, in another realm

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: An elixir of life – you, destined solely for his consumption. Yet, in his pursuit, he forgot, he sipped away your essence, your breath of life.

Tropes: Dark romance, Historical fiction, Angst, fluff.

Warnings: implied nsfw, implied forced intimacy, forced marriage, baby-trapping, knife play, yandere themes, isolation, trauma, one-sided love implied, non-explicit violence, mild stockholm syndrome(to empathize with one's captor), misogyny, minor character death, healthily unhealthy relationship, Sukuna being a red-green flag, Sukuna has eyes for no one except his wife.

General Warnings: Heian Era, strict Japanese setting, usage of Japanese terms(glossary provided), True form!Sukuna, husband!Sukuna, wife!reader, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n.

Word Count: 3.7k

Glossary || Pictures

Ryomen Sukuna beholds secrets which he musn't.

Each dawn's awakening, he notes the sun's radiant dance on your irises. Marking the gentle arc of your lips, a telltale sign of mirth's embrace. By the garden's edge, he watches as the winds tousle and play with your hair curls.

With each flicker of your essence, he can't help but feel a pang of frustration at his own inability to guard his heart against the allure of your presence. Each time your unpredictability unfolds before him, he curses his own vulnerability for the arising tenderness within him.

It vexes him deeply.

Gnawing at the recesses of his, once assumed, dormant heart. Yet, now brought to life by unknown sensations – fuzzy and irksome.

An elixir of life – you. Meant to be solely consumed by him.

Your intricate curls destined to be twirled in his fingers alone. Singularly, he'd stand as the privileged observer, captivated by your brilliant elegance. Your figure draped in the resplendent folds of an opulent kimono, delicately bestowed upon you by his hands.

Thus, he embarked on the sole course he could comprehend – take you.

Splitting you away from the familiarity of a family, hearth and hamlet; for in his eyes, your fragile essence demands his safeguarding against this wicked, cruel realm.

Persuading you, that a life enfolded in his embrace had no reason for trepidation. Your purity, too immaculate to endure the harshness of existence.

Yet, persuasion faltered; your resolute heart held no inclination to remain in his grasp. Mounting a relentless siege, to break free from him and his distorted path.

"You crave peril as I assume, so be it," He conceded. "But know this: I'll be the sole peril haunting your very being."

Pressed beneath the weight of his body upon the bed, your resistance proves to be futile against his strength. Leaving you ensnared in a struggle where defiance falters in presence of his immense power.

"Isn't this what you desired? Didn't you yearn for peril?" He questions, his forefinger trailed across the delicate curve of your neck, assessing the rhythmic beat of your pulse point.

"Fear not, I shall burn the world down to literal ashes until none poses a threat to you, save for me, of course."

For danger, befalling upon you while his eyes held the witness and hands were the forebearer of pain – he'd allow. After all, he embodied peril, haunting humanity for centuries.

"My dearest," He began, twirling a blade before your defiant gaze. "I've wielded this to afflict your kin but fear not, it shall yield pure ecstacy for you."

Said so, he thrusted the timber end of the blade within your slick, delicate folds. Your screams shunned out over his malevolent laughter, fingers twisted the cotton sheets as he glided the blade in-and-out of you.

Blood dripped down his wounded hand, staining the white to red, yet his countenance held no response to pain. Gaze fixated upon your shuddering form, underneath him.

He was no stranger to the acts committed in bed. Knowledgeable of all ministrations and threads he needed to ensnared in order to make it pleasurable. Yet, you found no pleasure in this undoing.

The act of intimacy, which you envisioned to be filled with love while your lover would pepper kisses on your skin much akin to the gentle touch of spring's warmth.

That dream left shattered like shards of glass when your chastity was cruelly left to ruins under his harsh caress.

The night stretched on, your anguish unending as he remained vigilant, subjecting you to his torment.

When it ceased, he gingerly held your fragility while tears streamed down your eyes. He cradled your head in his palm, enfolding your trembling form against his chest as he murmured endearments into your parched ears.

You feebly hit on his chest, for you were seeking comfort from your captor – a sickening act.

He brought you pain and despair, yet here he was, bringing you solace in his arms. A sickening man, indeed, he was.

And with him, you were to stay.

.

You kneeled before the shrine deity.

Decked in a white shiromuku with traces of pink pattern embellishing the fabric, haori lowered just above your lips – grateful to the one who dressed you. Moisture laden lashes would've been a sight for sore eyes.

Beside you, your husband knelt. A black montsukini hakama draped around your self-proclaimed fiance and soon to be husband. Perhaps, you'd have seized the moment to admire him in such a lavish attire if he didn't commit the acts he did.

Abduction and coercion reigned heavy on your mind, the priest's chanting muffled over your loud thoughts. Your fear of the impending, palpable.

Later, you stood by his side, bedecked in jewels, unknown to you. Countless villagers and curses bowed before you but you were a foreigner to such deference.

It was his decree. For he was the King of curses and you – his consort, his queen.

.

Sukuna witnessed you gazing at the pond situated in his garden.

You gazed upon the lotus blooming at the heart of the pond, longingly. Reaching out for it, the trailing end of your garment splashed in the water – a futile attempt, too distant to grasp.

He stifled a snort on the brink of his lips as he descended into the garden, tethering on the stoned pads placed in between soil – approaching you.

"You desire that flower, wife?"

You rose swiftly, clutching the dampened hem of your attire. Refusing to meet his gaze, you brushed off the fabric, clearing away the soil.

"Apologies," You murmured. "I was just curious."

"That doesn't answer my question." He stated, an arch of his eyebrow at your frame. "Do you yearn for it?"

Standing before him, a hush lingered in the air, mere seconds passing. Fingers fidgeting, you nibbled on your inner cheek.

"Perhaps," you admitted, finally locking eyes with his feet once he takes a step forward. Bracing for the inevitable, you tightly shut your eyes.

You shouldn't have considered it. Entertaining the thought of plucking it behind his back, hoping he wouldn't notice, all the while unaware of his presence. You should have realized. Defiance in the past had met harsh retribution. This would be no exception.

"I beg–"

"Enough," He interjected.

You gritted your teeth, fists clenched tightly. This was worse. A single mistake, and you're sealed to a worse fate.

Yet, the vision never bore life.

He took your right hand, delicately clasping it within his own. Slowly, he pried open each finger, tenderly placing something within. Curiosity overrides your apprehension, and you cautiously open your eyes – finding the lotus nestled in your palm.

Your lips parted in astonishment as you gaze up at him, wonderstruck.

"Apologies should not leave your lips for trying to claim what is rightfully yours." He asserted, a ghost of an arc perched upon his lips.

"You desire something, you speak up," He waited, letting the words sink down. "Its upon me, how I'll bring it to fruition."

.

"You are to accompany master to dinner tonight," Uraume conveyed, head and eyes lowered in a humble bow.

The fusuma slid shut, signaling their departure, leaving you to your solitude once again.

Lately, companionship has been ceased from your existence. Confined to your chambers by Sukuna's decree that none other than he should share a moment with you. Save for his devoted servant and few maids he deemed worthy, who prepared you for the day.

Upon your bed, you rested, gazing into a void. Softly humming a melody, reminiscent of a distant song, echoing from the depths of your memory; harkening down the familial embrace in your ancestral village.

The day commenced to dusk, the sky donning a cloak of darkness – welcoming the night's silhouette.

Attended by chosen handmaidens, you were draped in a lavish kimono of crimson and ivory. Crushed red cherry paste graced your lips, a stroke of kohl ran along your lashlines.

You beheld your reflection, lovely; yet the joy eluded you. Unable to savor your captivating visage amidst your plight.

You were escorted to the dining hall by Uraume. As the doors parted, your captor, your husband, awaited you; seated on the head of the table. You took your place across him, evading his malevolent stare, your attention fixed solely on the delicacies presented by the servants.

"Afraid to meet my gaze, wife?" He inquired, his smirk palpable in his tone.

Still, you didn't meet his gaze, eyes fixed on your folded hands resting neatly on your lap. "I fear, I am not deserving to meet your eyes, your highness."

His sight danced upon your figure, measuring you as though you were his quarry. A chuckle escaped him as he poured the sake in his ochoko, indulging in a sip.

"Amusing, how you speak so when you are moons away from birthing my offspring, wife."

Your frame grew rigid, lips drawn tight whilst you glanced at your burgeoning womb.

Restraints couldn't bond you to him forever, he comprehended that moons past. Thus, he had to resort to unruly stratagems. Seeding you with his progeny – rendering you incapable of fleeing him.

If only, you acquiesced and remained by his side, as he craved, he wouldn't have acted thus. But your resolve left him with no alternative.

Not a matter to ponder his head upon, he would've planted his seed in you eventually. A kinship with you, his aspiration.

"I wouldn't leave you famished in such a state, wife. Begin eating." He declared, slicing a strip of meat with his chopsticks.

Eating, as if it were possible in such a condition. The satisfaction of a hearty meal has long deserted you. You didn't suspect the flavors of dishes perched before you. Furthermore, you lacked appetite.

You partook in meals solely to survive.

With adjoined palms, you offered a silent prayer to the almighty reigning above you. And so, you began.

.

Blood bathed the tatami mats of your chambers.

A severed head of a, newly appointed, handmaiden, laid near your feet. Her corpse, probably resulted into hundreds– no thousands of strips, indistinguishable.

Your stance remained rigid and motionless. Terror evident on your countenance, fragile fingertips shaking with shock and apprehension.

"Ah wife," Your husband's voice echoed in your ears. He approached you, stepping over the puddle of blood and sliced flesh.

"You weren't supposed to witness that– come," He gingerly caressed your skin, ushering you out of his chambers with a hand on your back.

"Uraume," He summoned his loyal servant, as on cue, they knelt before their master. "Have the maids tidy this mess."

With the subtle nod, Uraume pivoted around, carrying out their master's command alike a proclamation from thee almighty.

Snapping a life wasn't on his schedule today. He wished to spent it with you, hence summoning you back to your chambers.

Perhaps, a foolish handmaiden, attracted by his visage, made the decision to lure him with her appeal. Lowering her uniform to display her curve of of breast, singing praises of his brilliance to him.

Taken him to be resembling any ordinary man, giving into his desires by just any woman's revealed skin. Alas! He had no interest in any woman other than his wife.

An act of like that, only receives the treatment he'd bestow upon any mortal other than you.

Death.

.

"I must say, you look lovely, my queen." Twirling a strand of your hair, he pushed it behind your ear.

Upon the engawa of your husband's abode, you knelt, sight fixated on the swarm of fireflies illuminating the garden.

Sukuna held his stance beside you, lower two hands bearing his weight behind, the third perched upon his arched knee. He set the kiseru down with the fourth, his thumb and forefinger lifted your chin; coaxing your towards him.

"Intriguing, you are," He remarked, eyebrow arched.

"Such defiance you displayed upon our initial union, and now, you show indifference. Continuously subjecting me to such blank stares and compliance." A hint of exasperation lingered his tone.

"Isn't that what you wished for?" You retorted, a moment later.

Drawing you near, his lips brushed against yours, "Perhaps, I did do." He murmured, breath caressing your cheeks, prompting a flutter of your eyelids.

"But now, I yearn for something greater."

With that, he seized your lips in a fervent, fiery kiss. Only parting, a hair's breath away, to allow you to catch your breath.

He pivoted you gently, drawing you into his embrace. Two arms encircled your waist, one caressing your swollen belly. Third, Brushing aside your hair, you heard the tinkling of ornaments. Moments later, a chain adorned your neck, a crimson gemstone nestled between your collarbones.

"Ruby?"

"Rubies are ill-suited during pregnancy, its diamond" He corrected, whispering beside your ear, securing the clasp of the chain. "Unlike most, this one's tint sets it apart than rest."

"For what?" You questioned, assessing the gem like it were poison. Grasping it between your middle finger and thumb, the lantern lights reflected on its surface. Though small, you knew it amounted to more than your ancestral wealth.

"Do I need a reason to spoil my wife with jewels?"

A moment passed in silence, your gazed him through your peripheral vision, the next. "Perhaps not, its beautiul."

"Turn around," He commanded, you complied instinctively. Turning your body to face him.

His gaze met yours at first, second they drifted to the chain bedecked on your neck and on third, he glanced at both, at once.

The jewel's radiance evoked with you being it's wearer.

A grin cracked upon his lips, gingerly holding your cheek in his calloused hands in which you begrudgingly leaned in. With a mouth, summoned on his palm, he placed a chaste kiss on your skin.

"Just how Intriguing you are, wife."

.

Love for your son eluded you.

A splitting image of his father with the identical hair and carmine tinted eyes. You pondered if he'd grow up to be just like your husband.

At days, you couldn't muster the courage to cast your eyes upon him. His mere presence: a testament to your plight, evidence that you were no longer the woman you once were and evidence to your compliance to Sukuna's desires.

Even then, you never shied away from your duties as a mother.

Perhaps, some love existed, for he wielded your flesh and blood too.

You were rendered from ever escaping. Though half-heartedly, you didn't wish to leave your child with Sukuna even though you despised both of their existence.

In this era, nurturing a child as a sole woman was beyond grasp. For all held the thought, as a woman your sole duty was to remain by your husband's side and bear his offspring.

You couldn't return to your home either. Your father, though loved you, would never let you set foot in his abode ever again.

Reasons: You were abducted by a man, your chastity stripped off of you. You were no longer pure in any sense.

He wouldn't tarnish his family name and reputation for just a daughter.

Moreover, your matrimony with the wicked, king of curses had reached rivers far; binding you to his side forever.

Peril loomed at every turn, dangling your life by a single thread. Easily snapped by even the weakest of men. Sukuna's adversaries would leave no stone unturned to reach him, venturing as far to lay down the life of his innocent wife. Someone absolved of his transgressions.

Reluctantly, you accepted that remaining by his side was the wisest decision.

You cradled your son in your embrace, rocking him back and forth as you hummed a lullaby to put him to sleep.

Once his snores serenaded the room, you tenderly placed him upon his cot, adjacent to your own resting place. Gentle pats graced his chest, once you noted him stirring in the embrace of slumber.

"Come to bed," Your husband's voice echoed in your ears. Compliance swiped in your being, a swift rotation of your heels after you had checked your son to be far from awakening. You parted the curtains and perched upon the bed – lying beside your husband.

His arms encircled around your waist, drawing you to his chest, he inhaled your scent.

Your body tensed when his lips brushed against your nape. You dreaded the inevitable.

Six moons had passed, since he last embraced you intimately. The last two, post your son's arrival, were a blur of exhaustion. From tending to your physical strain and catering to your son's ceaseless crave of attention.

Tonight, all you longed for was to surrender yourself to slumber, wrapped in embrace of gentle linens. Alas, it seemed that wish would remain unfulfilled.

You were keenly aware of his intentions tonight – for he was but a man. Thus, you braced yourself.

You waited in anticipation, for him to act on his desires. Yet, it did not come to pass.

You cracked your eyelids open, stealing a glance at him. His carmine eyes met yours in a resolute stare, holding it with unwavering poise.

"Retire to sleep," he finally remarked, tenderly brushing aside the tendrils from your weary visage.

A year prior, during the early nights of your newly forged union, you would have taken a moment to contemplate his actions, perhaps even staying awake the entire night to discern his intentions.

Now, whether out of trust or simply exhaustion from the demands of motherhood – you found yourself slipping into a dreamless slumber without further ado.

The haunting nightmare of humanity, he was; yet, you found solace in falling asleep in his embrace.

.

His son has taken just after you.

Verily, his offspring could be likened unto a veritable likeness of himself in countenance, yet in comportment and carriage, he bespoke tales of you.

Awaking to the crack of dawn, shedding tears should companionship elude him. Taking solace in the embrace of the verdant garden, to which you oft escorted him. Even directing reproachful glances towards him, his father, whilst cradled lovingly in his paternal arms.

Beneath your eyes lay heavy shadows, hollows etched upon your cheeks, and a perpetual frown graced your lips, save for moments spent conversing with your offspring.

Sukuna escorted his sobbing kin from their chambers, affording you the much-needed respite that has eluded you of late; his offspring casted a disdainful gaze upon him.

"What? Speak up if you wish to," He queried, a playful lilt adorning his speech.

He tenderly traced his son's tender cheek with his claw, wary of leaving any mark upon his cherubic visage. His son seized his finger in both tiny hands, elevating it as though clutching a covert weapon – scrutinizing the nail and the ridges with keen interest.

His little one beamed, a gesture akin to the gentle breeze of summer, bestowed upon him by the heavens above. A giggle swift past his lips – a laughter, he assumed angel's melody wouldn't sound better.

His smile was yours – Sukuna realized. Perhaps, he hadn't completely taken after him in physical features.

Rocking his form back and forth on his arms, a tender smile danced upon his lips.

"Lower the tone, child. Your mother rests inside."

.

Sukuna couldn't help but contemplate alternative scenarios.

He sipped his sake, his gaze fixed upon your figure, leaning against the amado – your eyes lingering on the cherry blossom trees outside, in the garden.

The fragrance of spring permeated the air, imbuing a soothing atmosphere, starkly contrasting with the terror he instilled upon the village beyond the river.

At moments such as these, he can't help but ponder on the possibility of attaining a kinship with you, without resorting to unruly methods.

His thoughts rewind to the clash conversation he shared with you, mere moments past.

In your gaze, defiance ablazed, aimed straight at him.

"What's your intent? To end my life? Proceed, now. Who held you back? Proceed. Perhaps, I'd choose that fate over spending another day with you."

"Make no mistake," You pressed on. "My sentiment for you isn't love, don't deceive yourself. What festers within me is pure, unadulterated hate."

How could he let slip from memory? A curse he was, brutal and unyielding. Unwelcomed, marked with shame – The disgraceful one. How could he fail to recall? Love's realm, forever beyond the reach of his reach.

He seized you, by means unorthodox yet deemed vital. Yet, he finds himself lost in contemplation.

What if he had treaded a different path?

Would a love aglow your heart if he had courted you in a proper manner? Would you accept him in your life – a husband, a companion, a lover? Would you had willingly become his? 

For your presence brought his heart back to life; in doing so, the life and light was lost from your eyes.

Scorned by the desire to claim you as his, the thought of your own desires, feelings was pushed to the desolate corners of his mind.

In another realm, he assumes– in another realm, he might have treated you properly from the very beginning.

In another realm, you wouldn't have to have a lingering threat struck on your mind. You wouldn't fear him.

In a realm beyond, you'd stand beside him by choice, not coercion. A realm where he'd navigate every step flawlessly. A realm where, instead of vowing to set the world ablaze for you, he'd pledge to journey with you until the world's end.

Perhaps, in another realm, you'd fall in love with him like he did for you in this.

A/N: uhm uhm uhm, just typed down an idea which I had for days + I used a new format of literal english (idk how it turned out, I am so sorry if it's cringe 😭) + I fucking don't know how to end stories so bear with me.

[unintentionalseductress]

Can I be the Snoflake emoji? :D Requesting a 15...of Zayne AND Dawnbreaker Zayne somehow?

Hello! Yes you can be my snowflake anon! I'll update the emoji list. Now, I almost said no to this because I have a Dawnbreaker and Zayne threesome fic I'm working on with a very similar concept but I can't help myself, I'd religiously be taking cock everyday from these 2 if I could.

So if there are some similarities spotted between this and my other fic, pardon. I just really like both of them.

DVP

--------

Sex had always been a two person act according to you. You'd never wanted anyone else, not with Zayne satisfying your every need so thoroughly, not to mention his possessive streak.

So what the fuck were you doing, allowing Zayne's doppleganger to pull off your shirt as he gently traces your smooth skin reverently. This alternate dimension with Zayne's future self was mindboggling. You can see the differences between him and Dawnbreaker as plain as day and night.

Zayne's eyes hold tenderness for you, his girlfriend of many years, while Dawnbreaker's look at you with longing, like a man finding an oasis after wandering the desert. And both of them wanted you equally. Zayne had been thrown off when you both saw him at first but after hearing his story, it appeared that his mind had softened for his alter ego.

"I love her too, and I never thought I'd have her in my life," Dawnbreaker had whispered, gazing at you with those haunted eyes that made your heart ache for him. And somehow, Zayne had yielded, perhaps because in his mind, he was giving you to himself. You doubted he would have gone through with this if it was someone else.

And now you're having your first threesome, except it was with the same man you'd been sleeping with, copied, and feeling the same way Zayne did. It was so arousing, having two of him, with none of the awkwardness of a threesome because you knew him and what to expect.

Still, your body shivers as both Dawnbreaker and Zayne take one of your nipples into their mouths, their lips and tongue feeling similar but flicking different patterns onto the heardened peaks. You whine against the dual stimulation. One Zayne left you satisfied and warm. Two was going to break you, you were certain, in the most delicious way possible.

They suckle and pull, two pairs of hands roaming over your skin, squeezing and stroking every inch of you. Dawnbreaker is under a spell, marveling at the softness of your skin and the taste of your breast as he leaves a mark on the swell of flesh before kissing his way down to your navel, dipping his hot tongue into the little depression, making your squirm with need. Zayne reassuringly pets your hair before pulls you back against his chest, and he grips your thighs, spreading them apart for Dawnbreaker.

A flush erupts over your skin as he completely exposes you to Dawnbreaker's attentive eyes which widen at the sight, seeing the glistening membranes, and the proud little pearl peaking out of your folds at the apex.

"Suck it, like you did her nipple." Zayne issues the advice softly and Dawnbreaker, feeling his mouth water at the sight, obliges, running his tongue between your folds, making you sigh before sealing his lips over your clit. Your body is sensitized and your arousal keeps mounting, the knowledge that these two men were so utterly consumed with you and eager to bring ecstasy into your veins.

You moan and your hips buck but your legs are firmly held apart by Zayne as he helps Dawnbreaker bring you to your peak. "Does it feel good?" He whispers teasingly in your ear and you nod breathlessly.

"It's just like you," you admit then bite your lip as Dawnbreaker slips his fingers into your fluttering hole. His fingers work up a tantalizing rhythm inside you and your eyes squeeze closed and you let out a broken mewl as you cum so satifyingly on his fingers. Dawbreaker crawls up to kiss you and you're sandwiched between the two men.

"I think you can take both of us," Zayne purrs seductively and you're shifted so that you're laying on top of Dawnbreaker. As primal instinct takes over, you raise your hips and start taking his cock into you, feeling a rush at the way Dawnbreaker's eyes go wide as your velvety wetness envelopes him, welcoming him into your heat. He seems unsure what to do but you shush him and start to ride, and his head falls back as he lets out a groan.

Zayne embraces you from behind, kissing the back of your neck and fondling your breasts before leaning you onto Dawnbreaker's chard chest. You gasp as you feel him enter you, gently pushing past the muscle and filling your channel alongside Dawnbreaker. The headiness of being so full, so stretched and used draws a shuddering cry from you. Their cocks move in tendem inside you, strokng your walls and pushing you to the brink, caressing your gspot and kissing your cervix with their tips.

Dawnbreaker grunts and Zayne empathizes with his counterpart; of course he didn't know how needy he would become after experiencing you and your delicious cunt. He's barely holding on, teeth gritted from the additional stimulation of having another cock rub against him. He cums first, releasing his load into you as his hands grip your sides. Zayne starts playing with your clit as he thursts and stars form behind your closed eyes as a second orgasm rips through you before Zayne allows himself to climax, his seex mixing with Dawnbreaker's and making a mess in your already sloppy cunt.

[sun-and-flames]

A Rising Dawn - Chapter 4

Mydei X (female) Reader

Fic Rating: Mature (will change for a later chapter)

Chapter Length: 4k

Fic Status: Ongoing (4/8)

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Falling in Love, Learning to Trust, Sweet, Wholesome, almost no angst, no use of y/n, smut in a later chapter, set before the events of 3.0

Author’s Notes: Time to learn more about Reader's past ^.^ Reader's based on a mythological person and I'm curious if you can figure it out. If not I'll reveal it in the next chapter because the inspiration is rather loose. I hope you'll enjoy the chapter <3

Previous Chapter

AO3 Link

Summary: In the Holy City, daily life remained the same for the citizens despite the threat of the Black Tide lurking beyond the city’s borders.

But sometimes, a brief encounter can bring about a new dawn for its residents. Chrysos Heirs and regular citizens alike.

Even more so when the Golden Thread has tied your fates together a long time ago.

Mydei took your training a step further over the following days and weeks.

He replaced the training poles with an actual sparring partner. Him. He’s caught your reaction at the idea of it. Doubt. Hesitation. Worry.

It was all over you. In your posture, your expression - even if you tried to hide it behind a faint smile.

“Never show you fear your opponent,” he told you.

“I don’t-“ you stopped yourself as you realized the meaning behind his words. No, you were not afraid of him. You have shown and proven that despite your - at the time - odd first encounter. Something he appreciated. Valued.

In the current climate of Okhema, finding someone who was not only not intimidated but sought him out - or rather, Kremnoans to begin with - without prejudice was a rare but welcome - and needed - change.

But right now, he was your opponent. He was much bigger, much stronger, a Kremnoan warrior and in a real fight, you wouldn’t withstand a single blow from him.

Even if the odds were stacked against you, never show fear, never let your enemy know they’re stronger than you.

Fear did not hinder a Kremnoan Warrior.

Neither should it stop you. Not right now.

You nodded and took on the stance he’s shown you. Mydei indulged you, mimicked it with his own practice sword. Far from his preferred weapon but neither would he meet you in a sparring match with a lance nor with his fists.

He didn’t even feel your first swing.

When your swords collided it felt like a breeze, although he saw on your face you put your all into the motion. His lips curved upwards in a smile. Amused. Teasing. Yet, he did not say anything.

He kept pushing you, watched how you stumbled, how you reacted when he didn’t give you a chance to use any of your practiced movements and forced you to act on instinct.

He saw the sweat on your forehead, your parted lips from breathing heavily, but you didn’t give up. There was a quiet fire simmering in your eyes. It uplifted your face, giving it a glow he’s previously only witnessed when you were indulging the children. A glow he ultimately deemed pretty.

And your attitude remained commendable.

You were quick on your feet. Agile. You were defending and not attacking. Dodging. Evading. It wouldn’t bring you the victory, you would tire out before you could find an opening, but a reasonable strategy nonetheless.

Someone who mastered the art of fighting could drag out a battle with him for a very long time.

So he kept going. Always pushed a little more. How long before you would give up and yield?

Mydei pushed you back with his sword - and one hand only - when your swords collided and he caught your frustrated - pouting - expression.

Yet, you kept trying. Evading and dodging, but attempting to swing at him when you thought you saw an opening. There was none. But you lacked the experience to judge these fragments of time during a battle accurately.

Commendable nonetheless. Most would’ve given up already. Yield and flee from him. The fact you did not - although you must know that you didn’t stand a chance - made his competitive side flare up within himself.

He allowed himself to let go. A bit.

It was enough to win. And too much for you.

No more attempted attacks from you, just hectic movements to dodge his attacks. He caught your wide eyes, heard the quick breathing, noticed how your arms and feet moved less coordinated, how your reactions came slower.

You didn’t give up and didn’t give in to the fear of being overpowered any moment.

He respected that. Earnestly.

Still, this battle was over.

When Mydei forced you to dodge his next attack his free hand surged forward, grabbing your wrist easily and halting you dead in your tracks. He didn’t need to put a lot of strength in his grip at all to let you know you wouldn’t be able to free yourself.

He won.

It was only then that it slowly dawned on him what he has done.

He heard the sudden, sharp inhale before he managed to catch a glimpse of your face. Wide eyes, lips pressed into a thin line, skin pale. Your body frozen.

A moment passed, not longer than a heartbeat and yet, it felt like centuries. A moment in which Mydei felt the very air around you both shift. And a moment before the ice shattered and made your body tremble in a way that caught him off guard.

He loosened his grip instantly, let you slip out of it before he managed to pull it back.

And you did.

Your sword clattered to the ground, and you held your hands close to your chest, your gaze unfocused as you breathed heavily, the fire in your eyes diminished in a flash.

The sight of it felt like someone reached inside his chest and clenched his heart in their fist. Guilt. And it hurt. That hasn’t been his intention.

He… didn’t want to see you like this.

He didn’t like it.

An apology danced on the tip of his tongue but before he managed to speak a single word, your eyes caught his. Teary. Full of remorse. It left him speechless.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice breathless. From training or your undeniable panic he didn’t know.

Why were you apologizing?

You attempted to take a few deep breaths and looked around, undoubtedly trying to ground yourself to something that wasn’t him. But when that didn’t work, you turned around. And ran. Almost leaving your basket behind.

He let you go.

And didn’t attempt to call to make you stop either, although it left him with a stinging sensation in his chest that felt like a stab wound.

He has been aware of your situation - not the reasons for it - but that you had this condition. He lost himself. Giving in to the joy a battle gave him even if this was a sparring match with someone who couldn’t last a moment against him in an earnest fight.

He could’ve - should’ve - been more considerate.

He owed you an apology. Again.

Mydei looked at the practice swords on the ground and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He would find you later. For now, he gave you space. Which you probably needed right now.

But maybe, once he found you… Maybe he could get to the bottom of this.

If you accepted his apology.

———————

He found you many hours later - after he finished the few duties he had to take care of after the incident with you on the training grounds - on Okhema’s rooftops.

A quiet place. Peaceful. Away from the crowds and buzz of Okhema and yet, not out of sight. He came up here often. Gave him time to think. Make decisions. Barely anyone ever dared to approach him up here.

He wasn’t surprised that you sought out a place like this.

Mydei rolled the pomegranate he purchased before coming up here in his hand as he approached you with slow and steady steps.

He didn’t hide his presence, his steps made noise, his armor clanked as he stepped over the stone. He gave you all the time and chances to stand up and leave if you didn’t want to be around him.

Yet, you didn’t.

Your head turned slightly as you heard his steps, looked over your shoulder to confirm his identity before you looked up ahead again, into the clear blue sky above them.

He wondered if the tension left his shoulders out of relief.

Mydei lowered himself to the ground next to you, left a small distance between you. Still, he noticed how you neither flinched nor moved away from him.

Silence settled upon both of you.

Instead of throwing his apology at you right away he waited, in case you changed your mind and intended to leave after all. Instead, he held the pomegranate in front of him and began peeling the top of it. It left some stains on the tips of his gauntlet but he would clean that later.

When he revealed the deep red seeds, he held the fruit in your direction.

You picked some of the seeds with a quiet “thank you” on your lips. Your hands didn’t touch and yet, he didn’t catch any trembling, any hesitation at the proximity. It made him ponder the reason for your reaction this morning even more.

“I’m sorry,” you said eventually. He looked at you, a frown on his face, though you didn’t meet his gaze.

“I… I didn’t mean to run away. I didn’t know I would… react like this,” you kept talking. Mydei wasn’t the most adapt with words, talking about feelings always proved difficult, even more so if he had to offer comforting words.

So he waited. Until you spoke on your own.

———————

You never wanted to run away. To flee from him like a frightened animal. But when his hand caught your wrist, the onslaught of images - of sensations - overwhelmed you until your heart threatened to burst from your chest.

Fear. Panic. Not because of him. But because of what the motion in that moment triggered.

That he was here now. Sought you out and obviously intended to talk to you.

He meant no harm. He never did.

You knew that. Better than most probably. He has saved your life more than once now and you’ve seen over the past weeks just how much he cared for his people - the kids especially.

It was enough reason for you to try to tell him the reasons. And maybe - just maybe - he would remember that day and could understand.

“I’m not from Okhema,” you said, “I’m from a small island at the Southern sea. We called it Aethio but most people never heard of it. We also never left the island either. Small and isolated I guess.”

Understandably so. There was nothing left of it. And you pushed the memories of it in the farthest corner of your mind, collecting dust until they would hopefully one day fade away entirely.

You could still recall the warmth and humidity, the smell of salt in the air near the coast, and the sight of the mountains in the distance. What lay beyond those you’ve never known. Never allowed to travel, never allowed to venture beyond the city and its outskirts…

“My parents didn’t much care for me. I don’t remember my childhood well, but I remember that they were distant, cold. Looking back on it, it probably made sense,” you continued. Mydei was watching you, he listened but didn’t interrupt. Something you appreciated immensely.

“Then the Black Tide showed up.”

You still remembered. The shadows and darkness taking over the sea. The creatures rising from the waves, flooding the coast and charging at anything that moved.

“At the time we didn’t know anything about it. I remember hearing people call it punishment from the Titans for not worshiping them properly. Monsters swarmed the city from the sea, the priests called them Cetus…”

Mydei made a small ‘hmph’ sound next to you but didn’t interrupt.

“Eventually, the people tried to appease the Titans. And their solution was to sacrifice a citizen. Ludicrous today, maybe to Okhemans back then already, but we didn’t know any better.”

Priests wandered the streets, preaching and talking about the doom the Titans were bringing upon the island, how only a sacrifice would cease their wrath. You were merely a little kid at the time and yet, remembered your mother forcing you to watch and listen as they called and spoke of the horrors their home was facing…

“How old have you been?”

“At the time when the Black Tide came?” you shrugged with one shoulder. “I think eight? Maybe nine?”

Mydei nodded but didn’t ask anything else. You took a deep breath before continuing.

“The ironic thing is that it worked. A young woman, I don’t remember who she was, was sacrificed and the Black Tide ceased its attack. Occasionally a monster emerged from the sea but not masses of them.”

An occasional monster. An accident. Deemed a reminder from the Titans to never stop appeasing them, to never stop worshiping them. At least, that’s what the priests have said.

“So of course, the people believed it. We lived in peace for the next years. I still remember seeing the Black Tide, for us it was a literal tide, as if the sea had been replaced by a black liquid…”

From the shore the sea engulfed in shadows and darkness with a faint red glow was still present, a threat and danger looming over them at all times.

“It came back when I was sixteen. Stronger than before. So many died. So the city wanted to sacrifice another person…” you trailed off and looked into the sky. You probably didn’t need to mention the rest of the story, Mydei knew what you were getting at. But…

You remembered how you were dragged off. How you have fought and screamed. How your own parents didn’t even flinch when you were taken away. You remembered hands on you, disrobing you without prevailing any sense of modesty or dignity, dressing you in expensive silk that was supposed to appease the Titans and creatures - the Cetus - spawning from the Black Tide as they were supposed to drag you into the sea.

“I was dragged to the shore, chained to a rock,” you inhaled sharply as you recalled the memory. Your hands came up to your chest and found the charm hanging over your heart. You grabbed it through your dress absentmindedly. It was soothing, reminded you of the outcome of that day, of the reason why you weren’t consumed by the Black Tide then.

“But it didn’t work this time. The monsters kept coming. They just… kept coming… until…”

You dared to look to the side, the charm still clutched in your hands. Mydei looked down, brows furrowed, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“I was there. That day,” he said before meeting your gaze. Realization flashed across his eyes. He remembered.

You nodded.

“It was the first task Aglaea handed to me after settling in Okhema. A distant island, about to be destroyed by the Black Tide. We were supposed to evacuate the survivors,” Mydei said and you closed your eyes.

He probably didn’t know much about that island because there wasn’t much to know. Distant. Isolated. It hasn’t even owned any ships aside from small fishing boats.

“There was a warrior,” you said after a long pause. “I don’t know who he was, but he…” you took a deep breath. “He released me from the chains while the creatures attacked and… died while doing so.” You closed your eyes and inhaled sharply through your nose to suppress the burning behind your eyelids.

You never wanted to see anything happen like this again. No one should ever risk their life to save or protect you. If only to avoid seeing them being swallowed and corrupted by the Black Tide…

“And then…” you didn’t finish the sentence and instead looked at Mydei again. He looked... conflicted. As if there were things he wanted to say but held himself back.

“I remember barely anyone survived,” he said eventually. You lowered your head.

Though… Did that actually matter to you? They took your life for granted, treated you like an animal that was up for slaughter. Why should you care?

“We brought you to a city on the mainland.”

“You did,” you said, though your smile - albeit soft - was ridden with sadness. That nameless soldier pushed you away before the Black Tide got to him. And you remembered running, stumbling over stones, slipping on wet rocks until you encountered him.

The moments afterwards were a blur still to this day. All you remembered was Mydei, creatures born from the Black Tide crumbling at his feet as you were dragged away. Away from the island. To safety.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t remember you.”

You shook your head. The smile on your lips was more genuine now. “It’s been many years. I never expected you to remember me”, you said.

Of course, you would remember. Forgetting the person who saved your life was difficult.

But to him, you have been a task, a duty, a face among many he rescued over the years. And back then, you were a teenager. You’ve changed. You never held it against him ever since encountering him again in Okhema.

Mydei didn’t say anything, but the frown didn’t leave his face. He was contemplating, evaluating what you’ve told him.

Now, he knew.

“I’m sorry again,” you said, “for my reaction this morning.”

You hadn’t imagined you would react this way. Brushing along someone on the streets was odd - uncomfortable - but manageable. But when was the last time someone touched you? A hand on your shoulder? Taking a hold of your hand? A hug?

You couldn’t recall. And something about that sent a knife into your heart and yet, the thought of this contact still… scared you.

And Mydei has grabbed your wrist. Where the chains have held you in place. Cold. Unrelenting.

Probably a combination of it all triggered it. The lack of physical contact, the inhibition to have it at all and where he had touched you.

“It won’t happen again,” Mydei said.

And as you stared into his eyes, those burning suns, you found yourself… trusting him. Despite how you have been treated by the people in your own hometown, even your own parents, taking you for granted, ignoring your own wishes and trying to throw your life away, you knew he would never do that.

Never.

Under any other circumstances such a sentiment was enough to make you tear up. The sheer consideration for your wellbeing, that he found you here to talk to you. Not to ask for a justification or to reprimand you, but to ease your mind.

Were you deserving of such care?

“I was taken by surprise. Contact usually… isn’t that bad but…” You took a deep breath and allowed a small smile to appear on your lips.

“I want to overcome this. I don’t know how just yet, but I know that I… I don’t dislike this,” you said and nodded towards how close you were sitting together. The fabrics of your clothes entangled between you in a whirl of colors, the pomegranate he’s brought with him sitting between you, and you could almost feel the warmth of his body radiating off of him.

You found no lie in that statement. None at all. After his reassuring words and the realization that you could place your trust in him, you were comfortable around him.

You didn’t dislike being here with him.

Whatever that meant for you.

The silence that settled upon you, only disturbed by the distant buzzing of the city below, was not uncomfortable. You basked in it. In the warm air around you, in the smell of pomegranates around you, in his company.

“Have you eaten yet?”

His question surprised you, pulled you out of your thoughts, and you needed a moment to register what he wanted to know. You shook your head slowly.

Mydei looked at you, studied your expression, for a moment his eyes darted downwards to where you were still holding on to the charm around your neck. It still soothed you. Grounded you in the here and now.

Even if you still didn’t know what it was.

But it was connected to him. And after the past moments specifically, that alone was reason enough to keep it. As a means to remind you that you had to keep moving and working, that one day Mydei - or anyone else - didn’t have to come to your rescue again, but also that he did save you. Where the people in your home decided to throw your life away for an unfounded belief, he - and that warrior - had come to your aid.

“Should you be comfortable with the idea,” he paused, his brows slightly furrowed, as if it wasn’t easy to voice whatever he meant to say. Perhaps it wasn’t.

“You can accompany me back and I will prepare something.”

“To your place?”

He nodded. “I understand it might be too much after everything today, but I am offering it to you nonetheless.”

You opened your mouth but closed it again. He invited you? To cook for you? You wondered if Zagreus was playing a trick on you but his golden eyes burned into yours with a sincerity you have almost gotten used to by now. No hesitation. In no part of what he’s said.

“I… I didn’t expect this,” you admitted and looked down at the people on the streets below.

This morning you ran away from him in a blind panic, then you ended up telling him what happened to you before you came to Okhema, and now he was inviting you.

Maybe if it hadn’t happened in the span of a single day you wouldn’t doubt the situation so much.

And yet…

You decided that you trusted him. Maybe this was an opportunity - one that probably wouldn’t come again anytime soon - to test this newfound trust in him.

“Alright. I… Thank you,” you said, hesitation still evident in your voice but your smile was genuine.

A flash of something close to surprise crossed his eyes, though it vanished quickly. He probably didn’t assume you would accept. But then again, you wouldn’t have expected to either a little while ago.

———————

He didn’t expect you to accept his offer.

Nor did he expect himself to invite you to his place either.

He had been thinking about your words - your story - and what had happened. Not only today but before. And he couldn’t describe the sensation inside of him. A feeling that made him want to reach out and offer… something.

He was not adapt with comforting words or gestures.

But then he saw how you held onto the charm he’s given you. You never let go of it, throughout your explanation you held onto it as if you found something within it. Solace? Safety?

You didn’t know the origin of it, didn’t know his curse and abilities. Would your attitude change if you were aware of them?

He found no answer to that.

But you clutching it in your hand while you told him about the darkest day of your life made him ponder something.

When he thought back to how your face lit up when he brought you the bread he made, or the sliced fruits for the kids, or the effort you went through to bring him pomegranate juice for your training sessions…

Maybe you appreciated such things - little gifts and gestures - more than words.

And preparing a dish was what he was good at. One of the few things aside from fighting-related matters that he excelled at even.

Nervousness wasn’t a word in the Kremnoan dictionary. So he did not care that you saw his home in Okhema. Having a guest implied being familiar with one another. Whether that was true or not for you, he could not tell.

You were no mere strangers. Arguably you shared more of a history than he did with many other people in Okhema.

Ironically, the feeling he’s gotten when he first saw you, that he’s seen you somewhere before, had turned out to be true.

Still, he did not mind your company either.

He wouldn’t have tolerated your presence when he was playing - training - with the kids, wouldn’t have indulged your wishes for training, wouldn’t have asked Chartonus to prepare a proper charm of his crystallized blood, wouldn’t have prepared Nikador’s Shield of Victory for you…

… and wouldn’t have sought you out today to apologize - remedy - his mess up earlier this morning.

He felt your nervousness in the way you slowly walked behind him, didn’t say anything and he saw your eyes shift around all the time.

Yet, you didn’t hesitate when he invited you inside.

[rpmemes-galore]

Hozier : Hozier album ... sentence starters pt. 1

tw: allusions to drugs and death throughout. change pronouns as needed

"I'd be home with you."

"I guess any thrill will do."

"God, I never felt young."

"All I've ever done is hide."

"Command me to be well."

"My heart's already sinned."

"I was born sick, but I love it."

"Now, at last, the worst is over."

"Offer me that deathless death."

"I know that you hate this place."

"I'm somewhere outside my life."

"That's a fine looking high horse."

"I should've worshipped her sooner."

"I didn't care much how long I lived."

"I'm so full of love, I could barely eat."

"No more alone or myself could I be."

"There's something tragic about you."

"And Lord, she found me just in time."

"But I swear, I thought I dreamed her."

"There's something broken about this."

"Oh, good God, let me give you my life."

"Heaven and hell were just words to me."

"There's something lonesome about you."

"Heat of her breath in my mouth, I'm alive."

"We were born sick, you heard them say it."

"You're supposed to drag me away from it."

"Free and young and we can feel none of it."

"I lay my heart down with the rest at her feet."

"My veins are busy, but my heart's in atrophy."

"Only then, I am human, only then, I am clean."

"I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies."

"We tried the world; good God, it wasn't for us."

"Lord, we should quit, but we love it too much."

"She'd give me toothaches just from kissin' me."

"I start digging up the yard for what's left of me."

"Lurched like a stray to the arms that were open."

"She never asked me once about the wrong I did."

"But you don't know what hell you put me through."

"There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin."

"I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife."

"My lover's got humour. She's the giggle at a funeral."

"You knew who I was with every step that I ran to you."

"So tired trying to see from behind the red in my eyes."

"No better version of me I could pretend to be tonight."

"I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door."

"No grave can hold my body down. I'll crawl home to her."

"And they'd find us in a week, when the weather gets hot."

"The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you."

"I need to be youthfully felt 'cause, God, I never felt young."

"Innocence died screaming, honey... ask me, I should know."

"Lord, it'd be great to find a place we could escape sometime."

"I fall in love just a little, a little bit, every day with someone new."

"I have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me."

"When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth."

"My babe would never fret none about what my hands and my body done."

"Would things be easier if there was a right way? Honey, there is no right way."

"Honey, when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes, I feel like a person for a moment of my life."

[satansdarlin]

Marigold Margins

oneshot

Tim drake x Fem!reader, Established relationship, period comfort

notes: made this cause I was having terrible period cramps

word count: 4.4 K

rating: G

Warnings: None :)

The penthouse was unusually quiet when Tim returned home well past midnight. The board meeting had dragged endlessly, but your morning message calling in sick had lingered in his thoughts all day. A simple "Can't make it in" followed by a string of crying emojis had been unlike your usual professional demeanor.

The bedroom was dark save for the faint city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A mountain of blankets on the bed shifted slightly at his entrance, and he noticed the usually neat space was scattered with tell-tale signs of your day: empty tea mugs, a half-eaten pack of crackers, and what appeared to be a hot water bottle peeking out from the blanket pile.

"Baby?" Tim's voice was barely above a whisper. A muffled groan emerged from the blanket fortress. "Oh, sweetheart." His hand traced the outline of your form beneath the layers.

"I want to cease existing," came your pitiful declaration from somewhere within the cocoon. "Everything hurts. My back feels like someone's trying to fold me in half backwards."

"Not on my watch," he murmured, amusement threading through his concern. "Have you taken anything today?"

"Ibuprofen. Twice. Barely touched it." You shifted, and he caught a glimpse of your pale face in the dim light. "The cramps woke me up at three AM. Couldn't even stand straight enough to make it to the office."

Tim's expression softened. He knew how much you hated missing work, how seriously you took your position. For you to call in, it must have been truly unbearable.

"Why didn't you call me earlier?" He was already shrugging off his suit jacket, mind cycling through ways to help.

"You had the board meeting. The expansion plans." Your voice was muffled again as you burrowed deeper into the blankets. "I didn't want to... distract..."

"Hey," his tone grew firm, "your wellbeing is never a distraction."

He located the heated blanket, plugging it in and carefully arranging it over your curled form. The medicine cabinet in the bathroom yielded extra strength painkillers, and he filled a glass of water.

"Here," he offered both to you. "Small sips."

You emerged just enough to take the medicine, and he noticed the slight sheen of sweat on your forehead, the way you winced at even the small movement.

"I'm going to run you a bath - the really hot kind you like. And then I'm calling Indi."

"Why Indi?" you mumbled, already curling back into your nest.

"Because last time this happened, she brought that special tea blend that actually helped. And because she'll kill me if I don't let her know you're suffering."

A weak laugh escaped you. "You're too good to me."

"Just good enough," he corrected softly, pressing his lips to what he hoped was your forehead through the blankets. "Try to rest. I'll be right back."

In the bathroom, he started filling the oversized tub, adding the lavender bath salts you kept for especially rough days. His phone was already out, typing a message to Indi:

To: Indi

Message: Monthly visitor hit hard. She's in rough shape. Any chance you still have that tea blend?

The response was immediate:

From: Indi

Message: I’ll be there first thing in the morning with supplies. Tell her to hang in there. Making her favorite soup too.

Tim smiled slightly, grateful not for the first time for your support system. He returned to the bedroom, finding you had migrated slightly toward the edge of the bed.

"Bath's almost ready. Think you can make it?"

"If you help me?" Your voice was small, vulnerable in a way you rarely allowed yourself to be at work.

"Always," he promised, already moving to assist you. "Indi's on her way with reinforcements."

"Mm, you love me."

"Yes," he said simply, helping you stand. "I do."

.

.

.

In the morning, the sun had just barely crested over the horizon and you were bundled up in Tim's oversized Gotham University hoodie and a pair of well-worn sweatpants. The familiar scent of his laundry detergent mixed with the persistent aroma of Indi's infamous liver soup - a "family recipe" she swore by during these times. You were curled into the corner of the plush sectional, looking absolutely miserable as your sister wielded a spoon like a weapon.

"Come on," Indi coaxed, the soup spoon hovering dangerously close to your face. Dick was perched on the arm of the couch beside her, poorly concealing his amusement at the scene. "It's good for you!"

Tim, settled in the armchair nearby, let out a poorly suppressed snicker at your expression of absolute betrayal.

"If it's so amazing, why don't you all-" your indignant protest was cut short as Indi, ever the opportunist, shoved the spoon into your open mouth. Her triumphant "Ha!" echoed through the penthouse.

"You need the iron," she insisted, already preparing another spoonful. "Your color's terrible."

"It tastes like sadness and betrayal," you whined, pulling Tim's hoodie up to cover half your face. "Why can't I just take iron supplements like a normal person?"

"Because," Indi started, her voice taking on that familiar lecturing tone, "this is Grandma's recipe. It helped me, it helped Scarlet, and it's going to help you."

Dick leaned forward, his expression sympathetic but clearly entertained. "You know she's not going to give up, right? I've seen this exact scene play out with Babs."

"Traitor," you muttered, but accepted another spoonful with minimal resistance. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"I'm on the side of not having my girlfriend worry herself sick about her baby sister," Dick countered smoothly.

Tim watched the exchange with soft eyes, noting how even in your misery, there was something comforting about the familiar family dynamic. Your phone buzzed - probably Scarlet checking in for the hundredth time today.

"How about this," Tim offered, "three more spoonfuls and we can watch that terrible reality show you pretend not to love."

Your eyes narrowed at him over the hoodie. "Five episodes?"

"Three."

"Four, and you don't complain about the drama."

"Deal," he conceded, earning an approving nod from Indi.

"See?" Indi beamed, "Compromise! Now open up for the airplane..."

"I will literally fire all of you," you threatened weakly, but opened your mouth anyway.

Dick's laugh was warm. "Pretty sure you can't fire me. Indi and I don't even work with you and Tim is literally your boss,"

"I'll find a way," you mumbled around another spoonful of soup, but there was no heat in it. Just the comfort of being surrounded by people who cared enough to force-feed you liver soup and negotiate reality TV treaties.

Tim's hand found yours under the blanket, squeezing gently. Another spoonful down, two to go, and then maybe - just maybe - you'd admit that the soup was helping. But not out loud. Never out loud. You had a reputation to maintain, after all.

"Last bite," Indi announced triumphantly, wielding the spoon like a victory flag. "And then my work here is done."

You swallowed dramatically, collapsing back against the couch cushions. "If I die, tell Scarlet it was Indi's soup that did it."

"Drama queen," Dick teased, but he was already reaching for the remote. "Which trashy show are we subjecting ourselves to tonight?"

"Real Housewives of Gotham," you and Indi said in unison, causing Tim to groan softly.

"You promised not to complain," you reminded him, shifting to rest your head against his shoulder as he moved to join you on the couch. The heating pad was still warm against your abdomen, and his presence was steadying.

"I'm not complaining," Tim defended, adjusting the blanket around you. "I'm just... expressing concern about your taste in television."

Indi bustled around the kitchen, cleaning up the soup aftermath and preparing what sounded like tea. Dick had somehow produced a bag of chocolate-covered almonds from somewhere - your favorite guilty pleasure snack that you were pretty sure Tim had started keeping stocked just for these occasions.

Your phone buzzed again:

From: Scarlet

Message: Soup status? Did they get it into you? Don't make me come over there.

To: Scarlet

Message: Mission accomplished. Your evil minions succeeded.

From: Scarlet

Message: Good girl. Rest up. Love you.

"Scarlet checking in?" Tim asked softly, his fingers absently running through your hair.

"Mmhmm. Making sure the torture was successful." You nestled closer, the combination of warmth, full stomach, and pain medication making you drowsy.

"Here," Indi returned with mugs of her special tea blend. "This should help with the cramping."

"If it tastes anything like the soup..." you started to protest, but Indi's stern look silenced you.

"It's peppermint and ginger. Maybe a few other things. Family secret." She settled back next to Dick, who immediately draped his arm around her shoulders.

The show started playing, its familiar dramatic intro music filling the penthouse. Tim's hand hadn't stopped its gentle motion through your hair, and you could feel yourself starting to drift despite the theatrical arguing on screen.

"You can sleep," Tim murmured, just for you. "We won't tell the Housewives."

"'m not sleeping," you protested weakly. "Just resting my eyes."

Dick's soft chuckle suggested he didn't believe you either, but you were too comfortable to argue. The pain had dulled to a manageable ache, and the familiar voices of your favorite guilty pleasure show mixed with the quiet conversation between Indi and Dick.

"Thank you," you whispered to Tim, not sure if he heard it.

But his gentle kiss to your temple suggested he had.

The last thing you registered before drifting off was Indi's voice: "Dick, don't you dare tell Bruce about the soup recipe. Some things need to stay in the family."

.

.

.

Consciousness returned slowly, accompanied by the gentle hum of familiar voices. The penthouse - usually your and Tim's quiet sanctuary - had transformed into what could only be described as organized chaos. Tim was still asleep beside you, his breathing deep and even, one arm protectively draped over your middle where the heating pad had slipped.

The scene unfolding before you was like something from a Renaissance painting of domestic life. In the kitchen, Alfred and Indi were deep in conversation, recipe cards spread between them like battle plans. Alfred's eyes twinkled as your sister demonstrated what looked suspiciously like the proper way to dice vegetables.

"Master Timothy always did prefer the carrots julienned," Alfred was saying, his fond smile evident in his tone.

Near the window, Jason and Dick's hushed argument with Damian had something to do with proper gaming console setups - their gestures becoming increasingly elaborate while trying to maintain their whispered volume.

"Pennyworth's setup is clearly superior," Damian insisted, arms crossed.

"Yeah, if you're living in 1995," Jason countered.

Stephanie and Cass had claimed the bar stools, systematically working their way through what appeared to be Alfred's special triple chocolate brownies. They shared knowing looks each time they successfully nabbed another piece without drawing attention.

Your baby sister Petal had commandeered a corner of the room, her easel set up to capture the whole scene. Her tongue poked out slightly in concentration - a habit she'd had since childhood - as she mixed colors on her palette. The morning light caught her dark hair, making the purple streaks she'd recently added shimmer.

Bruce and your mom had claimed the comfortable armchairs by the window, sharing what looked like coffee and quiet laughter. Your mom's eyes crinkled at the corners the way they always did when she was truly relaxed, and Bruce's usual stern demeanor had softened considerably.

"I swear," your mom was saying, "teenagers are the same whether they're vigilantes or not."

"Tell me about it," Bruce replied with a knowing smile.

Near the dining room, Barbara was patiently explaining something about the smart home system to Duke, who looked both impressed and slightly overwhelmed.

"So you're saying Tim basically built his own AI?" Duke whispered.

"More or less," Babs confirmed. "Though don't let him hear you call it that. He's very specific about the terminology."

You couldn't help the warm feeling spreading through your chest at the sight of both your families so naturally intertwined. Pressing a soft kiss to Tim's neck, you felt him stir slightly.

"The cavalry arrived while we were asleep," you hummed against his skin, watching his eyes flutter open.

"Mm," he mumbled, taking in the scene. "Alfred's here. That explains why it smells edible."

"I heard that, Master Timothy," Alfred called from the kitchen, not even turning around.

You stifled a laugh against Tim's shoulder as he had the grace to look slightly sheepish. Your phone buzzed - another text from Scarlet:

From: Scarlet

Message: Stuck at the shop but Harkin insists on sending you his latest masterpiece. [Picture attached: a somewhat abstract crayon drawing of what might be you, surrounded by what appears to be every color in the crayon box]

To: Scarlet

Message: It's beautiful. Tell my favorite nephew he's definitely getting extra cookies next visit.

"How are you feeling?" Tim asked softly, his hand finding yours under the blanket.

Before you could answer, your mom's voice carried across the room: "Don't let her tell you she's fine, Timothy. She always says she's fine."

"Mom!" you protested, but there was no heat in it.

"She's right, you know," Tim murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You always say you're fine."

The smell of fresh bread suddenly wafted through the penthouse, making your stomach growl traitorously. Alfred and Indi shared a knowing look.

"Perfect timing," Alfred declared. "Master Timothy, if you would assist in setting the table? I believe we'll need the extended leaves for this gathering."

Your attempt to help was immediately shut down by no less than three people.

"Don't you dare," Indi warned, wielding a wooden spoon threateningly.

"Sit," Tim commanded gently, untangling himself from you.

"TT. Drake's companion should rest," Damian added, surprising everyone. When they stared, he shrugged. "Pennyworth says so."

Your mom approached with a fresh mug of tea, settling beside you on the couch. "How's my baby really feeling?"

"Better," you admitted, accepting the tea. "The soup helped. Don't tell Indi."

"Your secret's safe with me." She smoothed your hair back, just like she used to when you were little. "Though I think everyone knows by now. Family recipe and all."

The word 'family' caught you, making you look around the room again. Bruce was now helping Tim with the table, their movements synchronized from years of practice. Jason had somehow been roped into helping Alfred plate food, though he kept stealing bites when he thought no one was looking. Petal had convinced Cass to pose for a quick sketch, while Stephanie offered increasingly ridiculous pose suggestions.

"Speaking of family," your mom's voice was careful, measured. "Bruce and I were talking..."

"Mom," you warned, knowing that tone.

"Just hear me out. The penthouse is lovely, but that Manor has so much space. And Alfred mentioned something about the guest house being renovated..."

You nearly choked on your tea. "Are you and Bruce trying to get us to move to the Manor?"

"It would be practical," Bruce chimed in, apparently having bat-hearing when it came to Manor-related conversations. "Shorter commute for both of you."

"And closer to family," your mom added.

"We're literally having this conversation while everyone's here in our penthouse," you pointed out.

"The Manor has a better security system," Tim contributed, earning him a betrayed look.

"Et tu, Timothy?"

He raised his hands in surrender, but you could see the consideration in his eyes. Before you could protest further, Alfred announced that lunch was ready.

The spread was impressive - fresh bread, three different soups (including a conspicuous absence of liver), and what looked like enough food to feed a small army. Which, given the current occupancy of your penthouse, seemed appropriate.

"I can't believe you're all conspiring about real estate while I'm vulnerable," you grumbled, but allowed Tim to help you to the table.

"Master Timothy," Alfred said as he placed a bowl of your favorite soup in front of you, "perhaps we should also mention the plans for the greenhouse?"

Your eyes lit up despite yourself. Tim shot Alfred a look that clearly said 'traitor.'

"Greenhouse?" you asked, interest piqued.

"I was going to mention it when you were feeling better," Tim admitted. "Bruce suggested we might want to restore the east greenhouse. It's got good light for your herbs..."

"And it's right next to the guest house," Bruce added innocently.

"You're all impossible," you declared, but you were smiling.

Your phone buzzed again:

From: Scarlet

Message: They're trying to get you to move to the Manor aren't they? Mom just texted me. I vote yes. Better security.

To: Scarlet

Message: Traitor

The family meal continued around you, conversations overlapping, laughter filling the space. Tim's hand found yours under the table, squeezing gently.

"We don't have to decide anything now," he murmured.

"I know." You leaned against him slightly. "But maybe... maybe we could look at the greenhouse?"

His smile was worth the chorus of triumphant looks from both your families. 

You were watching Jason pass by your seat when something caught your eye - a familiar glint of metal on his key ring. Beside his motorcycle key and what you recognized as his Manor key hung a delicate rose pendant... and a very familiar brass key that you'd seen countless times at Scarlet's flower shop.

"When did you get a key to Scarlet's shop?" The question left your mouth before you could stop it, casual but pointed.

Jason froze mid-step, his expression flickering for just a split second - but long enough for you to catch it. Years of training with the Bats couldn't quite hide the deer-in-headlights look that crossed his face.

The pieces suddenly clicked into place.

"YOU'RE THE MYSTERY GUY!" The synchronized shout from you, Indi, and Petal made several people jump. Dick actually choked on his water.

"The one who's been leaving the poetry books?" Indi gasped.

"And the vintage botanical prints?" Petal added, her paintbrush forgotten mid-stroke.

"The reason she's been humming love songs while arranging flowers?" You finished, watching Jason's composure crack further with each accusation.

Tim's eyebrows had shot up so high they were practically in his hairline. "Jason, you've been dating Scarlet?"

"I... we..." Jason ran a hand through his hair, a rare sign of nervousness. "It's not... we were going to tell everyone..."

"When?" Bruce asked, looking both amused and intrigued.

"Eventually," Jason muttered.

Your phone was already in your hand:

To: Scarlet

Message: JASON TODD?!?! THE POETRY BOOKS WERE FROM JASON?!

The response was almost immediate:

From: Scarlet

Message: ...I can explain?

Message: Actually no I can't. Surprise? 😅

Message: DO NOT TERRORIZE HIM I SWEAR TO GOD

"How long?" you demanded, turning back to Jason who was now looking increasingly like he wanted to jump out the nearest window.

"Six months," he admitted finally.

"SIX MONTHS?!" The collective exclamation made him wince.

"Does this mean Jason is going to be our brother-in-law?" Petal asked innocently, making Jason choke on air.

Your mother gave Indi a pointed look. She was glaring daggers through Jason's back with a protective older sister aura that made her seem like the biggest threat in the room – which, considering the present company of vigilantes, was quite an achievement.

"Indigo..." Your mom spoke in a warning tone. Indi tore her gaze away from Jason's backside.

"You can't blame me for being cautious," Indi mumbled, fingers tapping an agitated rhythm against her thigh. "Last guy she was with knocked her up and left."

"Maybe that's why Scarlet didn't tell us," you murmured under your breath. The moment the words left your mouth, you saw Indi's expression shift from anger to understanding, her shoulders dropping slightly.

Your mother placed a gentle hand on her eldest daughter's shoulder and guided her toward the kitchen for a private discussion. Left in the aftermath, you looked up at Jason and offered an apologetic smile.

"Sorry. Indi is just... protective. She doesn't show it often, but you didn't just come into one of her sisters' lives – you're in her nephew's life too." You explained, watching Jason's expression carefully. "And well, Scarlet didn't let us hunt down her ex." You lowered your voice to add, "Not that it stopped me."

Tim quirked a brow at you, and you felt your cheeks warm slightly. "I may have gotten him blacklisted in most of Gotham's elite circles?"

Tim let out an amused chuckle, not at all surprised you'd basically doxxed the guy. His arm tightened around you slightly – proud, not disapproving.

"Well, if I see the guy on the street it's on sight," Jason grumbled, his jaw set in a way that suggested he meant every word. The declaration made you and Petal both smile.

"That's enough for a seal of approval from me," you declared, then turned to your youngest sister. "What about you, Rose?"

Petal nodded with all the gravity of a supreme court justice delivering a verdict. "Agreed, sister." She leaned over toward Damian, whispering something that made him roll his eyes but nod nonetheless.

The sight made your chest swell with pride. If you hadn't gotten that job under Tim a few years back, none of this would have happened. Your families would have never merged into this beautiful chaos. Damian and Petal would never have become best friends (though Damian insisted Rose was "delusional" even while being first in line at her art galleries). Dick and Indi might never have found each other – and now they were planning her upcoming tour together, Dick already committed to joining her on the road.

Your eyes drifted to Bruce and your mom, who had been suspiciously meeting for lunch lately. They thought they were being subtle, dodging questions with practiced ease, but you and your sisters had your theories. The way they gravitated toward each other, sharing private smiles over coffee cups, hadn't gone unnoticed.

And now Jason and Scarlet. Your phone buzzed again:

From: Scarlet

Message: Is the coast clear yet? Did Indi go full protective mode?

Message: Also please tell me you didn't mention the poetry he writes me 

To: Scarlet

Message: HE WRITES YOU POETRY?! 

Message: This keeps getting better 😈

You watched as Jason's phone buzzed, and his eyes widened slightly – no doubt getting a warning message from Scarlet about the poetry revelation.

Eventually, Indi returned, her expression softer but no less intense. She pulled Jason aside for what appeared to be both an apology and a series of creative threats about what would happen if he hurt her sister or nephew. From your angle, you could see Jason's expression shift from wary to respectful – recognizing and appreciating the fierce protection of family.

Your phone buzzed one final time:

From: Scarlet

Message: For what it's worth... he makes us really happy. Both of us.

Message: And Harkin adores him. Says he's cooler than Spider-Man now

Message: Just... don't let Indi scare him off? Please?

"How's Kori, Babs?" You looked over at Barbara who smiled warmly at the mention of her girlfriend. The way her whole face lit up never failed to make you happy – especially after everything they'd been through to get where they are now.

"She's doing good," Barbara's eyes sparkled with affection. "Actually, she's presenting at the National Astronomy Conference next week. She's been practicing her speech for days – keeps worrying her English isn't 'sufficiently academic.'" The air quotes made you chuckle.

"As if anyone could question her credentials," Dick chimed in from where he sat with Indi. "She literally navigates by starlight."

"Tell her I still want those space cookies she promised," Jason called out, then immediately looked like he regretted drawing attention to himself as Indi's protective gaze snapped back to him.

"Space... cookies?" your mom asked, looking both intrigued and slightly concerned.

"They're these amazing cookies Kori makes using a Tamaranean recipe," Tim explained. "They literally sparkle and somehow taste like stardust – if stardust was delicious."

"And completely safe for human consumption," Barbara added quickly, seeing your mom's expression. "Alfred helped her adapt the recipe."

"Indeed," Alfred confirmed from the kitchen. "Though I must say, some of the substitutions were quite... creative. Earth cinnamon is apparently a reasonable alternative to pulverized meteor dust."

"Scarlet's been trying to convince her to let us sell them at the shop," Jason mentioned, then immediately looked like he wished he could take the words back as everyone's attention returned to the revelation of his relationship.

"You've been hanging out at the shop?" Petal's eyes narrowed. "Is that why there've been fresh flowers in the Manor greenhouse?"

Jason's slight blush was all the confirmation needed.

"Kori's been teaching Jason the language of flowers," Barbara supplied helpfully, earning a betrayed look from Jason. "What? Kori told me. She thinks it's romantic."

"The fearsome Red Hood, learning Victorian flower meanings," Dick grinned. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Shut it, Grayson," Jason growled, but there was no real heat in it. "At least I don't write songs about Indi's eyes in the middle of patrol."

Now it was Dick's turn to blush as Indi turned to him with delighted surprise. "You write songs about my eyes?"

"I... that was supposed to be private, Jay," Dick muttered, but he was smiling as Indi pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Your phone buzzed again:

From: Scarlet  

Message: JASON KNOWS FLOWER LANGUAGES NOW?! 

Message: Is that why my latest bouquets have been so specific??

Message: Tell him if the red carnations meant what I think they meant, then yes 🥰

To: Scarlet  

Message: You two are disgustingly cute. I'm telling Indi.

From: Scarlet  

Message: DON'T YOU DARE

Message: ...but also maybe tell her he's learning it properly? She always said a guy should know what he's saying with flowers...

"Scarlet says yes, by the way," you told Jason quietly, watching his face soften in a way you'd never seen before. "To whatever the red carnations meant."

The smile that spread across his face was enough to make even Indi's protective stance relax slightly.

"What did they mean?" Petal asked innocently.

"None of your business, Rosebud," Jason replied, but his voice was gentle.

"'My heart aches for you,'" your mom supplied casually, not looking up from her phone. When everyone stared at her, she shrugged. "What? I dated a florist in college. Some things stick with you."

You looked up at your expanding, complicated, beautiful family. Tim caught your eye and smiled, somehow knowing exactly what you were thinking.

"Pretty amazing, isn't it?" he murmured, just for you.

"Yeah," you agreed, watching as Alfred began distributing fresh cups of tea, as Bruce helped your mom with something on her phone, as Damian and Petal bent their heads together over her sketchbook, as Dick pulled Indi into a comforting embrace, as Jason typed what was probably a very apologetic message to Scarlet. "Pretty amazing.”

.

.

.

Taglist:

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[taragreenfield]

The Darkling, or the bizzare case of a character that was never written

Expectation: The Darkling is an antagonist you couldn't just dismiss.

Reality: That's why the protagonists clutch pearls and scream bloody murder after any word said by him and automatically dismiss anything he says as deception and manipulation. Makes sense.

Expectation: He's deceptively charming; he doesn't wear a sign saying "I'm a bad guy".

Reality: Yes! That's why he wears an ominous black cloak, has a reputation of a scary, ruthless dark wizard, and is called The Darkling. It's totally not "a bad guy" sign. it's a whole fluorescent banner!

Expectation: he's a leader you can imagine yourself following.

Reality: Never mind his ideology and politics are never explored. Grisha totally follow him because he's such a charismatic politician, enticing them with inspirational speeches and deceptive lies we never get to see, and not because their other alternatives are being hunted like an animal, vivisected, sold into slavery, or, I don't know, being burned on a pyre.

Expectation: He is manipulative.

Reality: We won't get to see a single occasion of him using a plausible manipulative technique and yielding any results. Baghra and Zoya say he's manipulative; what more do you need?

Expectation: He is seductive.

Reality: he runs away after kissing a girl and drops silly innuendos like "I'll make her scream". Yup, emotional ineptness is all the rage! So seductive.

Expectation: He is a tyrant.

Reality: yes, that's why when he briefly takes the throne, we get to witness bloody reign in its full glory! No, he doesn't slaughter otkazats'ya. No, he doesn't start random massacres. He commits much more terrifying, bloodcurdling acts of tyranny: he signs documents! And receives supplicants! Literal dictatorship!

Expectation: He has no regard for human lives.

Reality: Yes, like that time he destroyed a skiff full of civilians just so he could run away with his bestie. Oh, wait, it wasn't him; it was the heroic protagonist. Or that time he starved his own men to get a political advantage... Wait, it's also one of the good guys! Our guy is the one who spends centuries protecting an oppressed minority. That's the bad guy, yeah.

Expectation: He's brutal and power-hungry.

Reality: True, it's a well-known fact that any power-hungry megalomaniac with immense power in his hands usually waits for at least 3 centuries to strike. That's just a common courtesy among power-hungry maniacs.

Expectation: He evokes empathy.

Reality: That's why the protagonists foam at the mouth and scream "eeehvil" every time he's mentioned (so you, stupid reader, won't forget you are supposed to hate him), and none of his supporters or followers ever gets more than a footnote. What if you start thinking they are not evil, corrupted, mindless cronies who were stopped by righteous heroes!

LB: I wanted to create a leader who was charismatic, appealing, a dictator you could imagine yourself following, an antagonist you couldn't just dismiss. Readers: So...What stopped you?

[calisources]

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑? 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒.

All these quotes are taken from different media and some made from scratch about the royal succession line and the troubles it brought during a medieval/fantasy period. Change pronouns, names, titles and locations as you see fit.

You poison a king so that they may take his place.

Have no fear, Stark. I was only keeping it warm for our friend Robert. It's not a very comfortable seat, I'm afraid.

I swear to you, sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one.

Seat Stannis on the Iron Throne and I promise you, the realm will bleed.

I will claim the Iron Throne by myself, with your swords and your allegiance.

If Daenerys is no more than a sweet young girl, the Iron Throne will cut her into sweet young pieces.

Princess Catherine. Your loss has endeared you to the people. They share your grief.

 You've had your courses for days, but you do not tell anyone. I don't understand.

God would have me wed Prince Harry.

But you are his brother's widow. It is impossible. It is forbidden.

I am every inch the soldier... And commander.

In England, widows don't handle swords, much less a widow carrying a prince in her womb. 

And I'll wager that you were praying for a boy.

My mother is already planning my next marriage, though in God's eyes it will be my first marriage.

If you are still a maid, then, Catherine, I can be your husband. 

I will raise you up, you... you and all of England. You will be my princess and... and my queen.

Ten years since the king has been on the throne and there is no heir apparent. Only his brother, gods forbid. 

Daughters don’t inherit, sons do. 

You have a son but you must have a spare too. Gods know what would happen if the boy dies.

The line of succession is clear on these matters. Girls are the last resource.

I am a woman, whoever I marry must be clear on his duty. He is not the crown, I am.

His Majesty has no male heir and will have none but he, Buckingham will succeed to the throne.

By assassinating His Majesty.

Right of Conquest is still a rightful way to gain a throne. Has anyone banned it as a law?

Will you like it when an old man tries to make love to you?

 God forbid that the king should abandon her just to ease his own conscience. I don't think the English people would ever forgive him.

She is threatening the peace in this realm by playing the king with empty promises. No one can predict a son. 

Perhaps the succession must change, this dynasty is large and will survive.

Your Majesty, I beg that you yield to the King's will.

To your wife, the mother of your child. You treat me so unkindly and in public neglect me.

You think he might invade England in support of the queen?

You underestimate the support he/she has with the smallfolk and highborn alike. They would  go to war if you dismiss them.

Perhaps, one day this little girl will preside over empires.

Now I am indeed Queen.

Perhaps Elizabeth isn't even mine! 

Perhaps there should be reasons to annul the marriage and make the king consider marry another. He is still young. 

Nothing like a young bride to make a man forget his troubles. 

He will have his heir or else he will have my head.

Tell Sir Francis to double the guards around the Princess Mary and defend her with their life- for if the King dies, some will be for the boy, others for her.

There shall be a proclamation soon, the king shall announce his heir and the realm will rest.

A lifetime of building an empire can fall in a day because of the wrong successor to the empire.

It is not by blood, anyhow, that man's true continuity is established.

He became their king by right of blood; he's held the position by beating the crap out of anyone who tries to take it away.

When the crown is weak and struggles, anyone can come and sweep it away. And in this world, it is allowed.

This small council tried to work out what that meant for the line of succession.

If she were to wed him, her claim to the throne will increase, as her popularity. 

While the king entertains the highborns, the prince/princess makes friends with the people they rule. The decision is easy.

Whoever he marries is as important as how many heirs he can produce. 

Sons are good for the realm, Daughters are good for alliances. 

My father chose me, his firstborn child, to succeed him. He held to his decision until death.

They stole my crown and murdered my daughter, and they shall answer for it.

I would rather feed my sons to the dragons, than have them carry spears and cups for your drunken, usurper cunt of a king.

I understand why you're angry. And you are my sister and technically have a claim to the throne. And believe me, I would love for someone else to rule. But it can't be you.

Father would hate to see you sit in his seat, when it was never you he chose.

The pretty decent king split the crown between his heirs.

Proclamations are good, but this should have been in written, send to every corner of the world. Now we have war.

When the king needed to be replaced, one of the royal family would be elected to be the new king.

Succession is never peaceful. The King new this and the reason he called a council for his new heir to be chosen.

The line must always continue.

That little bit of dragon blood in him allowed Robert Baratheon to sit on the throne and continue.

Our son is a wastrel and a halfwit. We shudder to think of the throne in his hands.

My greatest hope is that you will surpass me in every way, consigning my name to some forgotten corner of history.

What's most important is what he isn't like—his father. I think you'll find him to be a reasonable man.

The King is easily controlled by those in his council. All too happy to give some of the power away to another.

A king is a martyr to their ideals.

If the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne.

Women can rule as wise as men, perhaps even more.

Men would sooner put the realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne.

Have you never imagined yourself on the Iron Throne?

We have royal wombs, you and I. The child bed is our battlefield.

Ten years you’ve been king, and yet not once have you asked me to be your Hand.

The princess remains your best bet to step closer to the throne. Seduce her, marry her. 

In the end, history will remember little, as history is written by the winners.

You have not one son now but two, Your Grace. Perhaps some changes to the successions are to be made.

I know why you are here. Men want my crown as much as they want the pleasure of a woman. 

I need to give the realm an heir and plenty of spares. 

What use is to gain a throne if you are already in crisis by having no heir by blood?

I can give you what she never gave you. Another son. 

Are the rumors true, then? There is a child in your belly? 

All of my father’s work will crumble if I leave it all to a weak sickly child.

[come-into-the-fallout]

(Sequel to this. I wrote the good end, how about the bad one? Just Butch for this post, I'll see when I can get around to writing the rest. Enjoy) Content Warning: Alcoholism

[Fo3] Companions React to Lone confessing before activating the purifier [Butch ver.]

Butch

Pounding. The immovable glass wall met his fists with resistance. But he could barely feel it, barely feel the raw scratchiness clawing its way into his throat while he screamed, barely feel the pulsing pain in his hands as he beat them against the near transparent barrier, not while in his hysterics.

"You can't do that! You don't get to do that!"

Denial.

"Come back- Get back here and come back, we weren't finished!" His hands finally yield their barrage against the door as adrenaline trades it place for exhaustion, his body forced to slouch and the cold surface against his sweat drenched forehead as he leans against it will be the closest thing to solace he'll get as he watches you input the code to finish the job.

"Come back! Please."

Pleading.

But the only voice to reply to his calls was the Paladin behind him trying to pry and coax him away from the scene. Those words didn't matter, though. They weren't the honey sweet words of mutual affection muttered from him to you- and you to him with flushed faces, the same words that had so stubbornly invaded his mind and brought both frustrating and delightful fantasies at every chance. They weren't your soft laughs filled with agreement to his declarations that the two of you would tear up the wasteland together and never part, that together you would make not only the best duo to exist but the fiercest force to be reckoned with.

They were words of attempted assurance, but Butch didn't feel any assured, couldn't even pay them any mind when the sight of you collapsing and the muffled thud that followed took over his sights. Even the final scream he let out in response felt muted with how zerod in on you he was. You were gone. Gone. The only one who was by his side after the vault went to shit. His partner-in-crime, and you could've been... partners.

Butch couldn't bare lingering on that thought. Couldn't think clearly, couldn't breathe, couldn't see clearly. If you hadn't been so foolish to chose the moment right before you died to tell him, and if he hadn't been so stupid and just told you about the butterflies and yearning pressure in his chest you caused him earlier.

None of it mattered now. No amount of berating would fulfill his hopes to see you smiling at him again.

He was all alone again. And he never would have expected that thought to bring him to his knees the way it did.

[ Quest completed

Take It Back ]

[ The Aftermath ]

Pounding. Persistent pounding. But not of the noise that had been mixed with desperate yells that day. A feeling. His head was pounding, and he discouraged against any thoughts of wishing that he could barely feel it. Anything to drown out the empty yet so despiar-filled feelings that had burrowed itself into him. Any distractions to make up for the lack of your company by his side.

He couldn't stop himself from wondering. Why? Why did you have to go and do that? You could've left it unsaid, you know. Could've left him debating if you ever felt the same when you were alive. It wouldn't have ached as much. Hurt still, sure, but maybe then he would've been left with enough stability to get up and move on.

But maybe he didn't deserve that. Maybe he deserved this. Treating you and Amanda that way when you were young. Always making some snide remark, always going out of his way to collide his shoulder into yours when passing by down the halls, or cornering either of you with his gang with threats of an altercation. He was an asshole, a juvenile prick. And you were too good for him. That's something he always felt deep down inside but would never confront. But it was true. And maybe that's why fate so bitterly turned out this way.

The day your life was lost was the day a numbness washed through him and tried to bury the grief that'd leave him immobile on the floor crying his heart out for months otherwise. He had trudged back to Rivet City to drown it out further at the bar. Forget for as long as possible anything that had to do with you or him. But he wasn't spared that.

"They can't be gone. They can't be. Not them, not someone as unstoppable as them. They have to be.."

Denial.

None paid attention to the drunken mumbling of the lone tunnel snake. Not as he rocked in his seat, an unconscious attempt to soothe himself.

"They can't be. You have to come back Lone. Please."

Pleading.

Maybe one day he'll get himself together. Leave his place at the bar stool and travel into the wastes again. Maybe to pick up where his companion had left off.

"Come back to me? Back to the Tunnel Snakes?"

Or maybe this will be how he wastes away. Their sacrificial feat being celebrated by many being what causes him to crumble and rot away in some water hole.

"I know I was an ass to you, but.. I can make it better. I can do better. I could be a great boyfriend if you just..."

Maybe some will say it serves him right, say its a lesson to not take what you have left with prickly and uncaring fronts. The only one who was left to stick around, to patch up his wounds when his initial inexperience led to rookie recklessness in a proper scuffle, to care- in the words he would've used; 'the only person who gives a damn about me'. That person is gone, and a chance to meet someone like them again will never cross his path.

"Come back."

[gunpowder-gemini]

Hi I have many many thoughts on Dandadan and where specific characters are going in the story, so incoming ramble posts lol. I've got thoughts on Okarun, Turbo Granny and Kinta specifically.

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR THE MANGA THROUGH CH. 175

First up: Okarun!

So obviously he's lost his turbo granny powers bc he's a good boy who keeps promises, but him having yokai curse powers is like, half the concept of the manga right? (The other half being Momo getting powers due to alien abduction). So clearly, he's gonna get them back because we can't just have one of our two main characters permanently sidelined. The question is just HOW.

I'm pretty sure Turbo Granny is gonna come back, she's a major supporting character and she had a whole little montage panel of Reasons To Stay despite her saying she has none but I'll get into that in a different post lol. HOWEVER! I don't think she's gonna give Okarun her powers again. I mean, they're HERS. And she just spent all that time getting them back why would she give them away again? So Okarun can fight? She can use her powers way better than he can, so if they're needed SHE'LL use them.

I think Okarun is gonna develop his own spiritual powers like Momo's.

In the recent chapters it's gone out of the way to highlight how ridiculously fit Okarun is now. Like, SUPER fit. Most obviously in the fitness tests, where he blew everyone out of the water:

But also in the fight against the pygmies he easily kept up with Aira, who was in her yokai form at the time.

Which I mean, it makes sense that he got fit - he's been fighting for his life as an after-school hobby lol. Obviously continually training to handle Turbo Granny's powers AND fighting things would result in him getting incredibly fit. But they've like REALLY emphasized it these past few chapters. It feels like they're really calling attention to it, you know?

But that in and of itself isn't the real reason I suspect he's got his own spiritual powers. It's actually because he can enter Empty Space.

So per the Serpoians, Empty Space is something aliens create that only pulls in humans with high spiritual power so the aliens can capture and study them. It's why once Aira got her acro silky powers she could enter Empty Space.

Okarun's high spiritual power wasn't his, it was Turbo Granny's. He was able to enter Empty Space because he had her power, but without it he's just a normal kid. So once he gave it back he should be unable to enter Empty Space. And yet:

He's gets pulled into Empty Space to fight the pygmies. He himself calls that out as strange! He shouldn't be able to! He doesn't have Granny's power! But there he is! So he must still have high spiritual power!

I think he spent such a long time with Turbo Granny's full power inside him, utilizing it so frequently, that it changed him. Either it awakened latent spiritual power within him or left behind an imprint of itself, I'm not sure lol. But I think he's developed his own version of Turbo Granny's power. I think it'll be a bit different from her, but still similar (I don't think they're gonna give him a completely different power ya know?). I suspect it'll come with a cool form change to his yokai form, like a costume upgrade lmao.

Furthermore, I think this happened because of the Danmanra arc. During that arc, in the final fight against the Fairy-Tale card, Okarun went all out three times.

He's never been able to do that - it's been kinda implied it would kill him. But through the ~power of love~ he managed to pull it off, and I think it is going to have an effect/consequences. I think this moment here changed him in some way, and it might be the catalyst for him developing his own version of Turbo Granny's powers.

Further to that point is Count Saint-Germain. He cornered Okarun, got him to yield and clearly intended to take his powers, but didn't.

I suspect it's because he wanted Turbo Granny's powers, but Okarun no longer has them. I think he either doesn't know Okarun has his own powers, or he does know and is waiting for Okarun to properly awaken them before he takes them. I'm like 90% sure the Empty Space in the pygmy fight was caused by him. Empty Space is pretty clearly outlined to be an Alien Thing and while the pygmies are spirits/yokai/whatever, Count Saint-Germain is probably an alien given his affiliation with the Kur. AND he was the one who gave Keiko the knife and the mission to steal Momo's power. Since Okarun got pulled into that Empty Space, if pretty boy here didn't know Okarun has some hidden spiritual power, he sure does now.

Either way, Okarun yielding to him here is definitely a Chekov's gun that's gotta fire at some point, and I've got theories on that but I'm gonna save them for my post on Turbo Granny lol.

Anyway TLDR; I think Okarun has his own superpowers like Momo now and we're gonna see them awaken in this arc.

Thanks for reading!

[berryzxx]

Things I cried about in tog and need to confirm it wasn't just me: spoilers ahead ofc

(this list is making me realise i cried way too much)

"It was all borrowed time" "Tell rowan it was borrowed time" NO BECAUSE. THIS WAS JUST. DOWNRIGHT AWFUL.

The last half of assassin's blade....do i need any FURTHER ELABORATION??

Rowan and Aelin meeting in Rifthold GODD I SCREAMEDD IN HAPPINESS AND CRIED WITH JOY

Dorian and the collar around his neck :(

CHAOL SACRIFICING HIMSELF i fr thought he died and sobbed until i found it he survived with an injury (i found out recently people hate chaol like...why guys 😭🙏🏼)

THE THIRTEEN. THAT WAS JUST. NO WORDS. NONE.

"Live Manon.....live"

"WHAT IS YOUR VOTE AELIN." "IT DOESN'T MATTER" . IT DOES MATTER AELIN IT DOES MY POOR BABY

Don't get me started on Aelins two months, 3 days and 7 hours. that was downright awful and i could barely read that without SOBBING

"You do not yield"

Abraxos almost dying because of that stupid iskra and then watching his mate die

Fenrys after the two months, 3 days and 7 hours, he was just empty. 😔 he deserves sm AND WATCHING HIS TWIN DIE??

"close the gate, aedion" I WAS FINISHED. I REFUSE TO BELIEVE HE'S GONE

"my boy" ......................im just an empty shell CAUSE WDYM he remembered his name the first time he looked at dorian 🙏🏼😭

Aelin thinking rowan was no longer coming for her 😔

Aelin, chaol and dorians last hug in KOA. UGHH MY HEART.

The whole of Asterins story. I love her

I thought sartaq died and cried when he was stuck between the rocks makes me realise i should read on a little

Lorcan thinking no one would care if he didn't step off the battle field. UHM. I CARE.

KALTAINS SACRIFICE. NDLKSNKJDNNSD.

Dorians father telling aelin that her parents loved her very much while they forged the lock :(

AND WHEN aelin swung around the canon or wtv it was and rowan was like that's what sam did and maybe he would be smiling down LIKE NDFKGKJDNFDN UGHHHHHHH

Aelin giving the blood oath to gavriel. I wanted him to have it so bad and a few chapters later she did it and i was LIKE GOD YESS.

"In a land long since burned to ash there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom very much" UGHH. esp in koa when this was mentioned

Nehemia my poor girl

actually just finishing the whole series. made me wonder what to do with life now

guys i fear i'm never getting over this. close the gates keeps coming to haunt me. i'll probably keep adding to this because i've forgotten half the things i cried about after spamming people

[thefirstknife]

My Grimoire Vol 7 (Penumbra) arrived and it's a banger. I'll post some illustrations from it and some new lore that hasn't been seen before.

The grimoire contains several full lore books: Unveiling, Regarding Stasis and Inspiral + multiple individual grimoires and lore tabs. It also contains some parts of several collector's editions (BL, WQ and TFS). I'll transcribe new lore under read more, but first! Intro and pictures:

Intro from Eris!

Friend. I write as a woman changed. My recent contact with the Darkness was as formative as my long-ago rebirth in the Light. So after all this, here, at the end, I will say: Do not ignore the changes we have endured, and do not disregard the difference between the Light and Darkness. It is not vanity for me to acknowledge that I have unique insight to impart. I have witnessed Darkness in all its forms, in all its terrible pain and contortions, and all the violence it inflicts. But despite this and above all, I see in it the aches and yearnings for a more complete world. There is collapse and indistinction, but also, there is preservation. Not stultifying, but vital. This is what I have learned. We have harnessed the Darkness because it beats harnessing. It has yielded the fruits of our future, nurtured against great opposition. Every boundary invites transgression. We are not beyond our own affronts, which have inevitably changed us. That is not weakness, or folly, or failure. I maintain that balance is not equity. I do not accept the Darkness on the same terms as the Light. Darkness is a tool to be used and a path to walk, but it is not our essence. We must hold fast to that understanding. To do otherwise invokes delusion. The Darkness and the Light are not opponents, but neither are they allies. There is a natural conflict between them, but we have the capacity to hold contradictions within ourselves, and so they mingle with great effort on our part. That is the beauty of our complexity, the purview of the Light. Our safe contact with the Darkness is only possible because of the Light. Even so, the Light exists not as our protector, but as our guide. That is all I wish to impart. To every fire, its fuel, Eris Morn.

This is the illustration for Clovis' dream from the Traveler in which the Traveler appears as a wolf, from BL CE. The dream is in the book. More under (seriously long post below):

These are two Darkness grimoires with this additional drawing.

It Stared Back with the illustration of Calus. There's also this page of the Confessions lore book.

This grimoire with the illustration.

The entire Unveiling, the illustration is paired to "The Flower Game" page.

Drifter illustration paired with his entry in the TFS lore book, Chirality.

They put THE lore of all time, Pujari and the Black Garden, and paired it with this illustration.

The entire Regarding Stasis lore book and illustration with this page :)

A lot of stuff from the WQ CE, this illustration of Ikora going ham on Shaxx and Zavala and Ikora playing their game included.

The entire Inspiral lore book is here as well, with these two illustrations.

Mataiodoxia lore tab with this illustration. Subjugator!

And now! New lore. Some of these may be upcoming lore pages? Or they're only for this book, unsure yet. But either way, they're not in the game as of now.

Club Morgue Ahsa, lay low your flukes. Doff your cap and coat. You're safe here. You know you'll keep your promise to find the place where this all began. But for now, rest. No, I'm not death, though it is my tool. "Nothing" doesn't interest me, you understand? A flawed existence is preferential to none at all. Things are the way they have to be, instead of the way they'd like to be. Ah, Ahsa. You saw it all - the extinction, the extermination, the gamma-ray bursts burning up your garden worlds, the singularities eating up infant suns. It hurt you so! And you turned to me, asking why it had to be. I didn't answer. I never do. I'm a question. It's up to you to find the answer. Build the castle. So far they all fall over, but maybe one day one won't. How? I don't know. Figure it out, do the work, ask the question. What will remain in the end, when the stars go out, and creation freezes in the half-light of evaporating black holes? These killers you're after. They were very much like you, Ahsa. They wanted to know why; why there had to be life, why there had to be death. But then, not liking the answer they made for themselves- Well. You'll see. Go on, Ahsa. Someone's coming to see you, and I'm sure she's got a real humdinger of a proposal for you to hear. Her sister, though... it'll really wind her up if you die by any other hand but hers. She means to take you for her worm. And she pretty much runs this town, truth be told. Watch yourself out there. It's a war zone.

I will assume this is future lore tab for Heresy. Deals with the Hive and someone talking to Ahsa. Very strange speaking tone, reminiscent of Unveiling to me. Obvious mention of Savathun ("humdinger of a proposal") and Xivu who apparently wants to take Ahsa as her worm. Very strange overall, probably lacking in context from the next episode, but a nice little treat for what might be coming in Heresy. Would love to see more on Ahsa!

Charybdis It seemed so simple to me when I first heard it: the strongest survive. It's obvious. If it can be destroyed, it must be destroyed. And in that destruction, the victor becomes even stronger. Kind of like Guardians, honestly. All of us. It makes sense of how we grow. Take the Crucible. We sharped our skills against each other in the arena. The less skilled become fodder - for a match point, for practice, for testing new ways of burning or electrocuting or... spaghettifying. Those who reach the top climb stairs made of bodies. Sword logic seems simple, clean, beautiful. Scooped out of Hive goop and guts, it shines like a searchlight, a bright beam cutting across the sky in perfect straight lines. But there's something more to it. Some extra... magic? The Hive do magic, sure. Runes and math and a sharp edge. What are the Hive doing that we can't do? Or is it more about the Darkness than the Hive? Or is it both? I need to know. To be part of it. I decided the best place to start figuring it out was by studying Hive. The way they live, the way they die. And no one looks at me twice for going after Hive - any good Guardian fights Hive, right? I beat through Thralls and Acolytes with my burning mauls. It got routine. And one day, as typical as any other, I realized how easy it was, how these Acolytes were barely worth the air they breathed if they were just going to break like simple bone - but then, something changed. I felt it. My mind reshaped into sword-thinking. I began to practice it like I lived it, and then I did live it. It was part of me, and I of it. You'll feel it, too, if you follow that path. You'll know when the sword goes from being your weapon to part of your arm. I became one with the sword, and the Light in my hands burned brighter and brighter. Since then, I've just been getting stronger. I triumph, and the Light sings, and from my heart to my fingertips, I am alight with glory. Again, and again, I prove my existence to be the truest thing: that I am more real than any other who strives to strike at me. My sword, my self, is forged in Light, and it is hungry. What else can I do with this sharpness that I have cultivated so carefully? What else could WE do? How strong could we become? We Guardians are worthy. I know I can yet become sharper. // ACCESS: RESTRICTED DECRYPTION KEY: 32C49KLD032XAR-612 HIDDEN AGEND: [REDACTED] RE: VIP #1290 Departure from the City Confirmed VIP #1290 has left the Last City without further incident. Hidden agents have traced her trail and have destroyed data and materials left behind to avoid potential misuse or corruption. However, VIP #1290 eventually discovered the Hidden tracker and burned it out - so she's in the wind. Ghost status currently unknown, but probably alive. At least for now. At this time, recommend scouts do not approach. She's dangerous enough without us feeding her. At least she's out there, not in here.

Another one that seems like something coming up in Heresy. Some Guardian who we only know is a Titan has started practicing the Sword Logic and she's dangerous and currently missing. VIP number is brand new, it doesn't match any of the existing ones so we don't know who this is. Either not entirely important, as it's just one small look into what's going on or it's something that will be further elaborated in Heresy. That is, if my assumption that these are going to be lore tabs in the game is correct. Certainly feels like it.

Next is a new lore tab from Osiris! On the left is an old lore tab, on the right is new.

On Concerns, Previously Expressed Ikora, You know as well as I that the Vex yet require attention. I have said before - many, many times - that their threat is greater than any other. And while the recent depredations of the WItness have proven this set of priorities temporarily mis-ordered, I fear that the threat of the Vex may not only spread in the aftermath, but also go underestimated. It is tempting to let our guard down and breathe easy. We cannot. Before my exile, I made plain my opinions on Light and Darkness, on the foolishness of considering them "good" and "evil." This remains true, doubly so now. Our enemy was never the Darkness itself, but that which worked within it. And that childish division of good against evil has distracted from the unceasing enemy: the Vex. They care not which force they grasp. They care not about morality. They care - if one can call it that - only for convergence. They advance, and they will not stop unless we stop them. Every time they have closed their gap to paracausality, even in the smallest way, it has been nigh disastrous. I am sure I need not remind you of Quria, of the eternal night that threatened to fall over the Last City. Of the Black Heart, that Vex attempt to recreate the Veil which could itself have been catastrophic. Of the Black Garden, and the remnant of the Witness that Guardians found there, redolent of Darkness. We may not yet have seen what happens when the Vex grasp the Light, but I assure you, if it has not yet begun, it soon shall. Time is inevitably limited, until the Vex in their infinite adaptability learn how Light and Darkness both may be turned to their advantage. It is my recommendation as advisor to the Vanguard that the Vex be logged as the most urgen enemy of sentient life, both of the Last City and the growing alliances formed these past years. Please, Ikora. I would not raise this yet again if I did not believe it to be of utmost importance. Consider it well. -Osiris.

NO CLUE where to place this one. It's definitely not in the game, so either also upcoming lore or just in the book. What makes me suspicious about it being upcoming lore is that the name is too big to be an item, so maybe a lore book page? But Heresy is largely going to be about the Hive so I'm intrigued about a letter from Osiris to Ikora urging her to act on the Vex being relevant. Other than that, it's Osiris back to cooking about the Vex. He is out here literally "as per my last email"-ing Ikora and continuing the same argument he's had for centuries. I am also wondering where is this lore tab in relation to the stuff from Echoes. It's likely post-Witness' defeat, but no idea if it's also after Echoes. Osiris is definitely worried about them getting paracausality and reaching for the Light. Future setup? Very cool, I ate it.

Both of these are new.

On the Witness My Hidden friend, The neonate worm, Ahsa. She spoke to the Guardian, and this is what she imparted: Look to the place where the Witness formed. An exhausted world, made so long ago that even silicon was a luxury. That is where the hunt began. The Traveler graced that world. But it wasn't enough. Those who lived there saw a creation born to die. They wanted it to mean something. It had to mean something. And if it didn't, they would make it mean something. For, in their view, to make something was to understand it. I understand this impulse too well. But they chose a truly rotten betrayal. To open up and take, and remake, their god. And they would use the Darkness to do it. Finding no meaning at all in the act of creation, they decided, that the only place left for reason, intent, and consciousness to reside was in the act of elimination. If their god the Traveler made things for no reason, then a merciful, purposeful winnower must have good reason to remove them. In mimicry of this belief, they winnowed themselves down to a single awareness - all their thought and pain compressed into a bombshell of consciousness and intent. Magnificently aware of all the universe's failings. A conscious witness to the testament of the Light's sins. A final, ruinous creation born of their civilization. A knife. And it set out after the Traveler. Not to destroy it, but to defeat it. To impose a will upon an absence it saw as unacceptable. Negligent. To dictate, by force, how things ought to be. The motive is to impose meaning upon Dark and Light beyond mere primordial dynamics. The killer is an anthology of this ancient civilization's rage at their god's silence. I find that I pity these vanished people. But if all the cosmos turned inward, as I turned inward for a while, as these people turned inward forever, then we would all be alone. Yes, it is awful to face loss. But we must keep cooperating in the face of all extinction. Or there can never be anything better. This is all I know.

Also most likely coming up in Heresy. Wild stuff in here. Ahsa is mentioned again; I'm not sure if this is referring to what Ahsa showed us back in Deep or if she'll be showing us something more. Obviously it would be spoilers to tell us everything but these little bits and pieces are unhinging my mind. No idea who is talking here and to whom; my assumption is that Mara is writing to Eris, mostly because Mara says "My Hidden friend" to Eris in the Taken King opening cutscene. What to say about this other than I am insane. More about the Witness and its civilisation please.

Cacophony, Euphony We listen. We witness. We wait. Through the Darkness, we hear a single voice. With a thought, we are there, to touch the mind that reaches into this domain. Cradled by Darkness, it asks a question. We answer this one, like we have others. We are generous with answers. Not all beings can understand the answers we give, but we try. Again, and again. None ought to cry out, only to suffer no answer. There are always more voices in the Darkness, reaching out. We turn. Far distant, there is a people lacing ribbons of Darkness through their thoughts to bring them closer together, that no one might be divided from the purpose they have dreamed for themselves. But they have no come to Darkness through the Gardener's neglect - it is simply their natural course. In time, we shall enfold them into our shape, but they need not urgent salvation. Our presence drifts. And still, we listen in the Darkness. There is violence that corrodes constructs like peace. There is the Hive. Some resist the rampaging Hive, crying out into the Darkness. It is to us they reach, in the end. We hear their pleas and grant them succor, salvation, enshrining them in our monument. Toward our inevitable final shape. There is time enough to reach out to the farthest corners of Darkness, to inhabit it so deeply and thoroughly; we will hear whomever calls out in it. We will answer. We will always answer. Even that which passes temporarily below our notice will be found again; and we will hear those questions and give purpose. Give salvation. Always, we listen for signs of the Gardener. Our Disciples pursue it still, to pluck it from the chords of infinity. We listen. We wait.

This is a banger. Also probably coming in Heresy (or after?). Very curious about this one. There's indication that this is from the Witness while it still lived; the speaking as "we," the name mentioning "euphony" (Salvation's Edge raid exotic also with curious lore in regards to the Witness), saying "our Disciples." It also makes sense; the Witness felt betrayed and abandoned by the Traveler who never spoke back and never answered questions or given directions, so the Witness sought to do the opposite. It's why it was so easy to fall under its influence; the Witness always reaches back. And it's all framed as the Witness believing it was helping. I also love how it mentions other species that were using Darkness naturally; they aren't specified, but we know they existed. Either way, I'm obsessed.

Finally! These two are also both new and it's how the whole book ends. This is a different "Winnowing" from the one in Inspiral.

Winnowing I have come to delight so in this: in possibility, and its end. Oh, I kicked and fought and screamed about it at first! I was fond of what we had! But the table was upturned, and a knife cannot be un-invented, and so here we are. The rules changed - a little. The pattern altered - but a micron. I got used to it, as they say. People can get used to anything, and the same holds true for concepts that have existed before and after time itself, though it may take an eon or twenty. So here I am, among the stars. They burn so brightly, but given a billion or ten billion years, they chill: their mass reduces to nothing but throbbing embers, at last gasping into stillness and ash. Even the loudest of celestial roars cannot outpace infinity. I am assured. I have come around. There is charm in diversity, in the uncountable ways a speck of cosmic dust may climb to cognizance and philosophy, only to find the same old truth of decay. Again and again, I am proven right: it all ends the same. It isn't about violence, mind you. It's about inevitability. Simplicity. The unnecessary removed, the requisite remaining. Whether the knife is made of metal or the folded layers of time, it matters no. The pattern triumphs. The stars burn out. And I am right. So every being made in that garden of possibilities, every creation that looks at infinity and comes to my same conclusion - why, I cannot help but love them. The rules were altered, and still they have said: here is the truth. Possibilities do not change what is. The pattern is the pattern, and its reliable certainty is its beauty. Even a cheater of eternity cannot yet win its wager. The game is longer now, but I will be its victor. In this eon, or a thousand hence.

Losing it seriously, I'm losing it. This is a clear throwback to Unveiling and Inspiral and also Nacre! It is the same speaker or emulating the same speaker at least, so we'll call it "Winnower." I really like how it calls itself a concept. There's not really much to say other than delving into a 10k word essay on the philosophy and concepts and options and possibilities (hah) so yeah. Very obviously referring to the Flower Game and the change in rules with paracausality and how this entity still believes itself to be correct and how it will still win in the end. Since it literally refers to itself as a concept, I will continue treating this whole thing as allegorical rather than talking about it as some real character, at least until further notice. There's a lot of metaphorical language going on here and I will continue looking at it as such rather than making clickbait statements like "this is the new antagonist and we'll fight it in a raid in 10 years." Maybe! Who knows. For now, all we have is yapping like this and this thing calling itself a concept and talking in allegories. Either way, absolutely stunning piece of lore. There's a reason my favourite thing ever is Unveiling and it's this mystical, religious incomprehensible information from a thing that maybe exists beyond time and space, who everyone can interpret in a different way. 10/10

Gardening You delight in possibility. The same action, over and over, only produces the same results if all circumstances are the same. But there are so many variables - a million different outcomes may spring forth from one action. One stray atom changes a lifetime, and one breath of wind, an eon of history. Choice is infinite; and possibility, endless. To some, it is only statistics. But you have ever been captivated by that miracle. You know stagnancy. You have seen it many times: the same stable oblong it all comes down to when growth has ended. The soft-pulsing oscillation over one spot, never truly carrying on further until stirred by some outside force. A depletion of possibility, the flowers never finding further growth, even if they never die. A single breath might be enough to change it. You understand, of course, that a breath is a breath, and a flower is a flower. That, having bloomed, the petals will one day fall. Still you guard the next flower, and the next, for there is meaning in the moment of bloom. So you breathe. So potential spirals, like seeds floating on the wind. One breath. Barely a whisper. Nothing more than that. And for such a thing, the gift of infinity. Always, always, you look on with hope.

Obviously as opposed to Winnowing, there is Gardening. I believe this is the Traveler's POV, primarily because it's told in second person, which is typical for the Traveler. Also because of everything is says and how it ends. Like an opposite of the previous entry. What a banger to end the whole book with, both of these side by side. Again, probably new lore coming in the future, or maybe just for this book? These could honestly be grimoire-exclusive, but who knows. Much to think about, much to look forward to.

It's a really good grimoire. They all are honestly, if you can grab these physical books, I highly recommend them. This is one is really nice because it also has several entries that are otherwise locked to collector's editions and it comes with all of this new stuff as well. The illustrations are, as always, peak.

Hope y'all enjoy this, especially the new stuff.

[littlesparklight]

What are the specific sources that say Helen went willingly with Paris? Was discussing with a friend but all I could remember was Sappho fragment 16? Ty!!

Let me start with a quote from the preface to Ruby Blondell's Helen of Troy: Beauty, Myth, Devastation:

"Though her [Helen's] departure is typically referred to as an "abduction", none of our sources claims that Paris took Helen by force against her will. Her complicity is essential to her story."

I could, in short, give you almost any and all sources possible, anon! Even the late sources like Dictys and Dares include mutual attraction and desire, even when Helen is, actually forcibly taken. And sure, some might protest about Aphrodite's (implied, usually) forcible meddling in Helen's psychology, but that is never what we really see and that is, secondly, not really how personal responsibility, even in the face of potential/actual divine interference, works. (In that case you'd have to absolve Zeus of a lot of his escapades.)

Anyway, I'll try to give you a selection, vaguely arranged in chronological order.

The Iliad - I could pick several different lines from here, and they'd all be from Helen herself. Sure, if one's interpretation is that she is not honest about what she's saying, you might not agree, but I'm going to insist on allowing Helen the agency she is claiming for herself. So, here, from Helen's conversation with Priam in Book 3:

"Honored are you to me, dear father in law, and revered, and would that evil death had pleased me at that time when I followed your son here, abandoning [...]" (trans. Caroline Alexander)

Elsewhere Helen uses "I went". But for this the pertinent thing is that "had pleased me" because the clear implication is that what pleased her back then was Paris, not death.

The Kypria; fragmentary, here's a quote from Proclus' summary: "Aphrodite brings Helen and Alexandros together. After their intercourse, they load up a great many valuables and sail away by night."

That "brings [them] together" isn't a language of force in the terminology used, and it's clearly both Helen and Paris who takes the valuables, not Paris alone. In fact, lets compare a directly comparable sentence from the (much) later Bibliotheke, Epitome 3.3: "Alexander persuaded Helen to go off with him. And she abandoned Hermione, then nine years old, and putting most of the property on board, she set sail with him by night."

'Persuasion', 'she abandoned', '[she] put most of the property on board', 'she set sail'. You see the point here. Helen is not baggage that Paris has picked up like an inanimate object and left with, no matter what its will. She is doing things.

You already mentioned Sappho 16 yourself, so let's turn to her contemporary Alkaios, fr. 283 (taking the translation of the quote of this from Blondell's book): "... and [Eros?] excited in her breast, the heart of Argive Helen; and driven mad by the Trojan man, the host-deceiver, she followed him over the sea in his ship."

The rest basically reiterates these opening lines, and you can see some of the similarity to Sappho 16, but Alkaios is a lot more condemnatory. Of Helen and Paris both.

Euripides next. Iphigenia in Aulis: "[...]and he, finding Menelaus gone from home, carried Helen off, in mutual desire, to his steading on Ida." (Agamemnon speaking.) and "[...]that Hellas might exact vengeance on the one who had fled her home to wed a foreigner." (The chorus speaking.) Trojan Women: "Their captain too, whom men call wise, has lost for what he hated most what most he prized, yielding to his brother for a woman's sake—and she was willing and not taken by force—the joy he had of his own children in his home." (Kassandra speaking.) I'm not going to quote all of Hecuba's speech in the agon against Helen, but her whole argument is that Helen went willingly... and some of Helen's own arguments are less to deny this idea of mutual desire/having left willingly and more to say Aphrodite is impossible to resist (but then we have to absolve Zeus, for Helen uses his vulnerability to Aphrodite as her thrust for as to why she should be excused).

Herodotus in his Histories is another that speak of abduction out of one side of the mouth and implies something far more willingly/mutual with the other (from 2.115):

"gave wings to and were gone with her"; the phrase really is that, quite literally, and I haven't been able to find anything that actually discusses this. (Another translations goes with "did stir her to desire" which, while that isn't what the text literally says, does, like, get the idea of something mutual happening/the usual focus on Helen's desire for Paris across to us better.)

And for something a little later, Gorgias' Encomium of Helen: like Blondell points out in her book, Gorgias' suggestion of actual force/violence as a potential factor in Helen leaving Sparta is quite singular. (In fact, all of his arguments turns into force/violence against Helen and make her basically an object who doesn't so much have no agency as no will or personhood that might react independently at all.)

And Ovid's Heroides certainly has Helen inviting Paris' attentions, even if she does so in a circuitous manner, circling up on saying "yes, come here, now that Menelaos has left".

Anyway, I could probably have gone on, but there's a couple sources, at least!

And I'd like to point out that whether one wants to insist that Aphrodite's potential direct influence means any "willingness" of Helen's is meaningless or not, there's a whole galaxy between "Helen went off with literally no thought to what this would cause or to her daughter and Menelaos and her family, and didn't care about the consequences/intentionally meant to cause all this destruction to both sides" and "she cares about this, and is/will be conflicted over it, yet is also attracted to and leaves with Paris".

Like, just because she wasn't violently kidnapped against her will, and was/is actually attracted to Paris (which she is still in the Iliad! That is part of the point of her confrontation with Aphrodite!) and so on, doesn't mean there aren't a lot of nuances (as the Iliad itself shows) that can be put into Helen being attracted to Paris and leaving willingly in some manner.

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

The Hybrid House | ateez x reader

Pairing: hybrid!ot8!ateez x rich!girl!reader

Genre: fluff, romance, slice of life

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1441 words.

a/n: welcomeeee to my new story! this story will be updated alongside Aurorise! I'm excited to share this with you. <3 If you'd like to be a part of the taglist, please send me an ask or private message, that way I'll be able to see it faster. Hope you enjoy! <333

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Chapter 1

As a child, it was always expected that you surpass your cousins and maintain the family’s reputation. If you didn’t, you were a stain that blotched the beautiful pages in which so much effort and hard-work was put into according to your parents.

Coming from the new money generation, your family was engrossed with relevancy and out-beating everyone. They spent lavishly and focused attentively on expanding the business throughout the world. Your parents had built their legacy from the ground up, and while it was definitely something to admire, overtime they began to lose sight of what mattered and developed an intense desire to earn more and outdo your uncles and aunts who behaved in a similar way.

As such, your childhood included having to be perfect and successful in academics to outdo your cousins. Coming from a family of five siblings and as the youngest, you often found it difficult to relate to your older siblings. Your oldest brother and sister yielded to your parents’ demands ensuring their non-stop praise and favor. And your fraternal twin brother followed suit. Except for your third eldest brother Axel. Only you and Axel disliked your parents’ way of upbringing because it felt inauthentic and ingenuine. Axel included you in most of his escapades such as sneaking out at night to the treehouse in the backyard for a late night frozen treat that was definitely against your parents’ rules or a slight detour on the way home from after-school activities to the street-food cart and arcade. Once the two of you were free, you spent most of your time together breaking the rules and never getting caught. Except for that one time you did because your eldest brother decided to tattle. But Axel took the brunt of the punishment and in return, you helped apply gel to ease the burning sensation in his hands and camped out in his room for the rest of the night, discussing what the two of you wanted to do when you got older. 

He is your best friend and managed to persuade your parents to let you accompany him for the Summer to your Great Aunt’s. He concocted a scheme with your Great Aunt about a good internship opportunity but really, it was an attempt to be able to spend the vacation period away from home. Lucky for you, that Summer had your parents occupied with various business meetings and so, they waved their hands in an disinterested and unconcerned manner and let you and Axel go your way. 

If there was one person out of your venal family that still had their head on their shoulders, it was your Great Aunt. From rags to riches, she’s an eccentric and smart woman who built a successful business after her former husband ran his family business into the ground. She was so good at what she did, she basked in her success and prosperity for years to come, and never had to work a day in her life again.

Surprisingly, she was the opposite of your family - she was warm-hearted and gentle unlike your parents and compassionate, accommodating and patient when it came to others. But she did play along with your materialistic family and took great pride in flaunting her assets like the giant diamond ring her boyfriend at the time gave her or her glamorous semi-bejeweled purse with precious rhinestones to silence your frivolous aunts. 

But her most prized possession that she marveled to everyone was her newly-bought 20 000 acre estate and her enormous and towering mansion that covered part of it outside Seoul in South Korea. It was a property her then-boyfriend suggested purchasing because in later years to come, it would cost a fortune. She called it her wonder of the world. 

And when you arrived that Summer, when the skies stretched wide with wisps of clouds and the air was thick with the golden warmth of the sun descending upon the flower petals and lakes in a shimmering dance of light, you were in absolute awe at what you saw. It was like a palace right out of a fairytale and for the rest of the holidays, you would spin around and elegantly twirl and dance in the foyer and halls and live your Disney princess dreams while your brother played the grand piano.

Your aunt joined you on several occasions, advising you to work hard and don’t solely depend on a man.

"And then you'll have your own palace like me." She giggled.

On the last day of your trip, while picking some flowers you wanted to take back home, you noticed a dug up part of the ground. Further peering into the bushes, there was an elderly squirrel laying there in a semi-conscious state, injured with its fur caked in blood. You immediately called your aunt, whispering reassuring thoughts to the squirrel. She assured you she would take care of him and not to worry.

And on the next summer trip with Axel, who once again schemed with your Great Aunt to tell your parents about an apprenticeship with a well-known firm, you met two new faces on the estate - Hongjoong and Yunho, children of some of the workers on the estate. 

Your Great Aunt also indicated about the elderly squirrel; he recovered well and there was also a baby squirrel and golden retriever she found when she went to investigate the other side of the bush. Unfortunately, the elderly squirrel passed a few months ago. 

You met the said animals later that day after Hongjoong and Yunho went home. They came out of nowhere while you were having dinner in the garden with your brother. But every time you tried to introduce your new human friends to your new animal friends, either one of the other could not be found.

Coincidence? 

You didn’t think anything of it because you had more important things to do - spy on your brother and the pretty girl he visited in the local town and teach Hongjoong and Yunho how to dance in the foyer like you did.

The next two summers followed with you becoming close friends with eight boys, the new additions going by the names of Seonghwa, Yeosang, San, Mingi, Wooyoung and Jongho. Correspondingly, much to your excitement, your aunt also adopted new little animals each year ranging from a rabbit, to a doberman, a capybara, two cats and a little bear. 

Your brother dramatically expressed that you were replacing him.

“As if,” you answered, rolling your eyes, “No one can replace your annoying self.”

“Excuuuuuse me, I am a delight,” he argued back, “I’m glad though, you won’t be alone when I head off to college.”

“I’ll miss you.” you expressed. The thought of not having your brother around as usual felt daunting and scary. He’s the only one you could relate to and talk to about anything. 

“Don’t worry,” he reassured, “No matter how far apart we are, when you need me I’ll be there.”

The golden retriever who decided to finally come out of hiding listened attentively to your conversation under the table.

Your aunt decided to host Thanksgiving that year. But deep down, you wish she didn't because maybe then, things wouldn't have fallen apart. Your family got into a large and heated disagreement when your parents found out about your brother’s girlfriend.

“Don’t tell me how to raise my child,” your Mother sneered, “I know what is best for him and you are out of place to even think about him and that girl.”

“He likes her,” your Great Aunt argued, “There’s nothing wrong with that. She’s well-educated too.”

“She is not one of us. We are high-society people. What would others think if they found out? You are out of your mind!” your Father bellowed.

“I know what is best for my son!” your Mother repeated.

“And yet he never comes to you.”

“You’re corrupting my children! You have all these animals running around and then you have my daughter hanging out with your employees’ children too!?”

“They are people too! Do you hear how you sound?” 

After a lot of yelling and shouting of spiteful words and profanities, your brother retaliated and stormed out with your Father behind him while your Mother dragged you out of the house to the car. From your blurry watery vision, you spotted your friends from afar, Wooyoung and San attempting to run to you but were held back by the others.

In the backseat of the car, you pressed against the back glass sobbing as the car drove off.

That was the last time you had seen your friends. 

[lychniis]

⚘ ― EVENFALL ! ( valentines day event ).

( # )ㅤ evenfallㅤ —ㅤ twilight ; dusk. the period or the light from the sky between full night and sunrise or between sunset and full night.

syn. a valentines day / white day event inspired by hozier lyrics ( and also seconding as my 1000 follower event i suppose XD ). feel free to drop by and select a prompt from the list below alongside a flower / genre. you could always opt for more flowers. however please note that minors are not allowed to request for / interact with nsfw works. please note that the maximum character limit is three.

this was more of a last minute bout of silliness, but i'd love to write some requests for you guys after supporting me and my bs for nearly two years now XD. so hey hey, my inbox is open to be raided! i'm currently taking this event for genshin impact and honkai star rail!

prompts. the prompts and flowers available are listed below. you can request a single prompt + one of more flowers of your choice! you could also add some additional suggestions if you'd like, say a setting or an au or a scenario! requests close by the 20th of febuary. i'll start posting on white day, march 14th.

daisy — fluff.

hyacinth — angst.

tulip — crack / humor.

orchid — smut.

i. ❛ there’s nothing sweeter than my baby. ❜

ii. ❛ no grave can hold my body down, i’ll crawl home to her. ❜

iii. ❛ you knew who i was with every step that i ran to you. ❜

iv. ❛ some like to imagine. the dark caress of someone else. i guess any thrill will do. ❜

v. ❛ honey, when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes. i feel like a person for a moment of my life. ❜

vi. ❛ i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight. ❜

vii. ❛ honey please, try to love me. my love will never die. ❜

viii. ❛ know that i would gladly be the icarus to your certainty, oh my sunlight. ❜

ix. ❛ you don’t understand, you should never know, how easy you are to need. ❜

x. ❛ idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword. ❜

xi. ❛ honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips. ❜

xii. ❛ i'm so full of love I could barely eat. ❜

xiii. ❛ honey you're familiar, like my mirror years ago. ❜

xiv. ❛ i know who i am when i’m alone. i’m something else when i see you. ❜

xv. ❛ there’s something tragic about you. ❜

xvi. ❛ there’s nothing sweeter than my baby. ❜

xvii. ❛ still my heart is heavy with the hate of some other man’s beliefs. ❜

xviii. ❛ i’ve known the warmth of your doorways. through the cold, i’ll find my way back to you. ❜

xix. ❛ screaming the name of a foreigner's god, the purest expression of grief. ❜

xx. ❛ i couldn’t utter my love when it counted, but i’m singing like a bird about it now.

xxi. ❛ the only heaven i’ll be sent to is when i’m alone with you. ❜

xxii. ❛ i’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. ❜

xxiii. ❛ i have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me. ❜

xxiv. ❛ honey please, try to love me. my love will never die. ❜

xxv. ❛ i had been lost to you, sunlight, and flew like a moth to you. ❜

xxvi. ❛ it’s not my arms that will fail me, but this world takes more strength than it gave me. ❜

xxvii. ❛ i need you to run to me, run until you feel your lungs bleeding. ❜

xxviii. ❛ i will not ask where you came from. i will not ask and neither should you. ❜

xxix. ❛ be still, my foolish heart. don't ruin this on me. ❜

xxx. ❛ honey, i wanna race you to the table, if you hesitate, the getting is gone. ❜

( all the dialog prompts presented here are taken from songs by hozier. i own none of them. )

EVENT WORKSㅤ •ㅤ ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN