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love-toxin · 5 months ago

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Godslayer -> Phainon

(cws: yan!phainon and probably ooc, gn!darling, very elaborate kidnapping, amphoreus story spoilers, brief mild violence, brainwashing, phainon's a lowkey perv, guilt tripping, gaslighting/manipulation, mild nudity) word count: 4.3k a/n: @yandere-romanticaa ding ding! i'm ringing the dinner bell darling <3 (also yes i wrote this specifically bc of u teehee)

“Then it's settled,” Aglaea declared with a disarming smile on her cold lips. “The Trailblazer will remain here as collateral, while you two head back to the stars.”

Caelus and Dan Heng both looked between themselves, and then back at you uneasily. Not even your own smile could quench their anxieties, but this was a necessary evil that you were willing to lay yourself at the mercy of.

The demigod leader of Amphoreus didn't trust you nor your fellow Trailblazers, at least not enough to keep your secrets of the worlds beyond the stars to yourselves after your companion's little incident. They needed to return–Caelus for the Stellaron that he housed inside him, and Dan Heng for his lineage, his knowledge and experiences the Astral Express crew needed to continue their venture. But you?

You were an old dog by this point. Too many adventures had left you tired and lagging behind the younger ones, and there was no feat you could perform in battle that the others couldn't achieve ten times over. Your wisdom couldn't touch that of Himeko or Welt, and you couldn't even carry the mood like Pom-Pom or March 7th. After your journey to Penacony, the crew even had the Memokeeper and Sunday to add to their ranks, and the cars were getting busy nowadays. The truth was there even if they didn't want to admit it.

Nobody needed you. They had all grown up and branched out, and your tending wasn't a necessity anymore. And more importantly, Aglaea demanded a peace offering to ensure that the Astral Express would keep the existence of Amphoreus to themselves. Though both boys offered themselves up like lambs, you knew better than either of them that they weren't destined for the slaughter quite yet.

You ushered them away, kept the goodbyes brief; Caelus took one last photo of you for March, and Dan Heng pulled you into an unexpected hug, to whisper a promise that they would come back for you in your ear. You patted his arm, knowing he shouldn't be deterred lest he be forced to show his real emotions about your departure, and simply reassured him that there was no need to rush. You would be well taken care of, even if at the back of your mind you knew it was in captivity. As the two young men took their leave and watched you disappear as they hurtled back into the sky in their car, the urge to spread your wings and follow them welled up inside you–but it was swiftly and staunchly quelled as you were led to your quarters, where you would while away an unfathomable string of days with a new, hollow world ahead of you.

Although you didn't know him well, you grew to like Phainon as you adjusted to your new home.

The white-haired boy was seemingly on the younger side, though he held a calm serenity about him that spoke to years of hard-fought battles. He didn't come to visit often, only on rare occasions, but he brought gifts when he was able and he was a welcome source of companionship, even on days where he was more quiet than friendly. Aglaea's warnings about you ensured that the people of Okhem kept their distance, which was useful to keep your vow, but dreadfully lonely. When Phainon arrived, he would tote along all manner of things to entertain you: a jug of wine, a puzzle box, bits of seaglass to decorate your balcony, bread, salt, things you neither needed nor asked for but he brought nonetheless. He once brought you a kiss on the cheek but you both refrained from speaking about it since–with you hoping it was merely a cultural oddity–and sometimes, he would bring you a little carafe of oil and leave it in some conspicuous place for you to find.

Why a man as handsome as he was–and a hero no less–would seek refuge with you was…uncanny. Strange. It wasn't as if Phainon had eyes for you and nobody else, in fact he often barely looked at you at all, even when he came knocking on your door. But he was steadily encroaching on what little space you had for yourself, and despite finding it unnerving, you never asked him to stop to his face. You didn't even tell Aglaea about his visits at all, though you were sure she must know.

It was the day he visited you in your quarters and asked outright if you needed more oil that things finally came to a breaking point. You asked him, point blank, what he intended you to use it for. And his answer was as blunt as you expected it to be.

“For you.” His blue eyes caught the light and shimmered, much like the shallow water of your bath where he was lounging while his clothes hung on the chaise nearby. Most citizens of Amphoreus were free-spirited enough to attend the public baths nude, but to have a man you barely knew strip himself down in your chambers was something else entirely. He did so on rare occasions, yet he still never acknowledged it nor your reluctance to join him.

The quiet, peppered only by the soft splashes of water feeding into the bath from the miniature fountain, hung like a heavy pendulum that could barely swing. Phainon's crystalline eyes bored into you for once as you lounged stiffly in the chaise beside his belongings, and you felt a distinct shift take over the air.

“Your friends won't be coming back.” He murmured. He slowly stood from the bench while the water cascaded down his rippling musculature, your gaze averted in an instant despite him making no move to cover himself. He had no reason to be ashamed, but even as he took slow steps towards you–drip, drip, dripping on the marble floor–you steeled your nerves and avoided peeking even out of pure curiosity. Especially because, due to his brazen nature as of late, it seemed as though he wanted you to look. “They will never be allowed to approach Amphoreus again.”

He didn't need to tell you that for you to understand the reality. You weren't an evergreen adventurer; you were a Trailblazer, a seasoned veteran of the stars, and with the freedom of your exploration you knew fully well the consequences could be as dire as the pain of death. Finally turning your head towards him, you locked eyes with those endlessly blue ones and got to your feet to match him.

“The Astral Express never abandons its crew. They may venture on, and Amphoreus may crumble while they're away,” A light flickered to life in your eyes that he could see, and his breath hitched despite him being the one that was so bold. “But they'll come back to find me. They always do.”

“Aglaea's pact stands.” He rebutted, his brow furrowing. “They won't be allowed entry. Even if I have to intercept them myself, I will, under her order.”

“They don't need your permission.” You answered in kind, reached down to the chair beside you, and threw his clothes carelessly at his chest. “Get dressed, and get out.”

“Kick me out, and I won't be back again.” Now his teeth made an appearance, glaring scornfully at you in a manner much more akin to a villain than the hero he proclaimed he was. “See how long you last alone. I was doing you a kindness.”

“Do me a greater one and leave. Your presence alone pisses me off.”

His breath caught in his throat at your insult, but his anger evaporated as if it were a ploy all along. Phainon suddenly looked frightened, anxious, as if he was hoping his bluff would sow enough doubt in your mind for you to plead with him to stay. Now, he seemed altogether out of place, shifting weight from foot to foot while you made your way out to the balcony and took in a breath of fresh air.

After several minutes of fabric shifting and the clicking of buckles and buttons, your door creaked open and shut as you were finally left on your own. The polished stone cooled your arms as you leaned against the railing, and peered out over the lively streets of Okhem with a longing ache for home.

Despite the confrontation during your last meeting, it didn't take very long for Phainon to come knocking on your door again–less than a week had passed since you threw him out. After a few days of him trying to gain entry to your dwelling and being turned away, he started bringing gifts again. Every time you refused them he left them sitting by the door, a pile steadily growing over the days and weeks that followed.

Aglaea questioned them only once when she came by for a rare visit, but your mild answer at the time seemed not to satisfy her. Even so, she only glanced at the stacks of wilting flowers and jugs of stale wine briefly before attending to the business she had with you.

About a month had passed since your interaction when you came home to your quarters, fresh off a walk supervised by two guards as per usual, and found Phainon waiting for you on your balcony. He was fully dressed this time, thank the aeons, but the kicked puppy-dog look on his face immediately soured your mood. He held not a flower nor a loaf of freshly baked bread in his hands, but a book. One you hadn't seen in a long time.

Despite your better judgement you approached the people's hero, and he held out the leather-bound bundle of pages and letters for you to gingerly take from his hands.

“I found this at the crash site, where you and your comrades first landed.” There was no need to flip through it, you were already readily familiar with this precious treasure. It was your diary, stuffed full of memories from years of trailblazing…it was something you thought you would never see again after losing it in the explosive collision. Your fingers mindlessly traced the etchings in the leather that Welt had spelled out in your name, while the slightly askew binding was the work of March and Dan Heng's dogged collaboration. The pages had been scented with flower oils from Himeko's prized collection and stamped with Pom-Pom's paw print; it was a gift from the Astral Express for a birthday that had long passed, one that marked so many years of adventuring with the steadily-growing crew. It was a memory of happier times, and aside from the lightest bit of scorching around the edges of the cover it was still intact.

Phainon cleared his throat, having watched you stare down in deep contemplation at the book. “I take it this is special to you?”

“Yes,” You answered, finally lifting your head to look at him. “I don't know how you found it, or why, but you have my thanks for returning it to me. This is…very special, indeed.” The sickening, hollow feeling of homesickness set in again as you tenderly laid the diary down on your side table to keep it out of reach of any more danger.

“Well, I brought it as a token.” Phainon declared, and straightened his posture subtly as he clasped his hands together before him. “You have a duty to assimilate into Amphoreus’ culture, but I imagine it'll be difficult if you cannot confront your past, first. Hence why I went out of my way to retrieve it for you.”

His words put a bitter taste on the back of your tongue. Confront your past? Something about the way he said it, with such imminent finality, put you ill at ease and drew you to turn and face him with half a scowl already brewing. Phainon seemed to sense it in an instant but only appeared more determined.

“If you think I'll be throwing this into the fireplace, you're abysmally wrong.”

“I wasn't expecting it to be that dramatic,” He sighed, though your stout rejection put a pout on his lips. “But yes, I do think you should get rid of it once you give it one last read.”

Here we go again. “I have half a mind to hit you over the head with it. Are all the heroes of this world as arrogant as you?”

“Let me be very clear with you-”

“Enough of this.” Cutting him off abruptly was the only way you could imagine saving yourself from more of his drivel.

“-I'm trying to help you!” But he continued, the prim and calm façade cracking as he grew increasingly irritated with your interruptions. “Don't mistake my kindness as anything else! If you just listen to my proposal-”

“Proposal?” You scoffed. “Tell me you mean something else.”

“What I meant is what I said.” He growled. “You are, by divine rights, mine. You're just fortunate that I possess some self-restraint, and haven't forced you to accept that against your will.”

“Have you lost your mind?” With a shake of your head, you brushed him off conpletely. “What delusion has possessed you to think that I'm in any way yours?”

“Because I claimed you!” He finally burst out. “When Aglaea told us you would be exiled, I begged her to allow you safe haven. I promised her that if you were here, that if I could keep you, then I would gain the strength to slay Nikador myself–to slay any god that stands in my way!” Phainon's voice rose to a tremoring bellow, his blue gaze nearly bordering on a scarlet glare as his eyes pierced into your very soul. In that moment he was no man, but a terrifying, hysterical beast that roared so fiercely he left the silence shaking afterwards.

“You aren't here as collateral damage. Make no mistake–you are here for me to claim, as your husband.” His words resonated off the polished walls, overwhelmed the soft bubbling of the bath and the breeze that blew in from the beautiful, blue sky beyond your balcony.

Phainon’s outburst left you aghast; had he always been such a selfish and arrogant hero, or were you simply blind to it up until now? “I am no such thing, and I never will be.” You seethed. “Get the fuck out of my room.”

“Fine.” He took several steps forward and latched on to your wrist, his grip so tight it threatened to break you. “But you're coming with me. I've had enough of this charade–I won't entertain your childish rejection any longer.”

You yanked your arm from his grasp to stumble backwards, and your eyes flicked towards the door. Phainon took a step before you even worked up the courage to sprint, and when you did, he threw his weight into you to take you off your feet with ease, and flipped you down on to the floor, his hand twisted in your hair and your cheek pressed to the cold marble.

“...I love you, can't you see that? You're the one I love!” He cried out, his knee digging painfully into the small of your back as you struggled. Clearly he took your attempts at escaping him as an insult, and freshly infuriated, he gripped you harder by the hair and pulled you up to meet your ear with his lips. “I need you. I need you, or nothing else matters. I don't care about the gods anymore-” His teeth grazed your ear and he bit down hard, the blood fueling his hunger with the smallest taste of it on his tongue. “-But I need to become one so I can protect you. My world.”

“You're…You're out of your mind,” Phainon scoffed at your gasp for air, at the insult that you thought would hurt him, and does. “..Your gods are nothing compared to the aeons. You're just a sheltered little boy, you don't scare me.” -Which was a lie, because he scared you–he scared you a lot.

“You will change your tune with time.” He muttered back with one last dab of his tongue on your bleeding cut. “I tried to ease you into loving me, but you just can't get over that wretched simple-mindedness of yours. We'll have to work on that before the ceremony.” With one last hard squeeze, he finally dropped your head from his grip and let you slump, pained, to the ground. As he stood, you lashed out and tried to sweep his leg out from under him, but he avoided it with ease and just glared down at your pathetic form.

A soft knock at your door brought the tension to a halt; you raised your head, hopeful, yearning for whoever was opening your door to see Phainon's cruelty and save you from it. The long, white locks of Castorice, the mortician whom you didn't know very well, floated through as she stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. The hope was quick to drain from your spirit as she walked over to Phainon and looked down on you with him, the two of them speaking in hushed whispers with each other without ever sparing you a glance.

“C-Castorice-” Finally, she turned her icy gaze towards you and stripped away your defenses with nothing but her chilling, near-demonic aura. Your body started growing cold, and Phainon murmured some false reassurance, but you couldn't hear anything but your own heart thumping as the rest of the world froze out of your mind. Eventually, all the connection you shared was the heavy stare Castorice held with you, before she raised a finger and hovered the tip of her nail above your forehead.

“It will be painless.” She whispered in an echo of a thousand voices. The press of her finger to your skin was unbearably frigid for only a moment–and then, in the silence, your heart ceased its reckless beating in your ears while the world turned cold and black.

“Phainon! Phainon's back! C'mooon, hurry up!”

“Okay, okay!” You laughed as you were dragged along by the gaggle of children at your knees. The kids were high-spirited in the face of any circumstances, it seemed like, but even moreso when their favourite hero was returning from an epic journey.

Phainon, the white-haired hero of Okhem and beyond, was the subject of many stories and whispers between the people of your city–and for good reason. He was a kind, fair, and loving man who was as friendly as his wit was quick. Even when hanging around Mydeimos, who was a characteristically brutal man with a near-nonexistent sense of humour, Phainon could make light of any situation and see the good in any person he met.

It was no secret that he was popular with the ladies too, for all those reasons and even more. You could go to any corner of the city and find a man swimming in muscles, you could find confident men and smart men and ones who were as handsome as the gods themselves. But Phainon had every piece of that puzzle and it made him irresistible to just about everyone that met him. And of course, that included you, too.

You had a special connection with Phainon that, despite contradicting your rather simple existence in Okhem, acted as a source of jealousy for the hero's other admirers who hoped to be noticed by the endlessly charismatic (future) godslayer. Before you'd settled into your life in the city, something awful had befallen you that, to this day, you had no memory of. In fact, your memories from before the incident were all bleary and incomprehensible; your first moment of waking up had been spent in agony, your body aching as you'd been caught and wounded in the midst of a skirmish with Nikador's forces. In the fire and chaos that ensued, you were certain you were going to die, frightened and alone. But before you could, a man with snow-white hair had appeared and slayed the enemies pursuing you–and from that day on, it was history.

Phainon had been your hero when you needed him most, and now, you had a second chance at life because of his bravery. As the kids dragged you to the bathhouse, you stumbled somewhat but still maintained your cheerful demeanour–it was only when you got to the top of the steps that the waterfall parted on its own, and the man himself stepped out like a god emerging from a sacred lake. The kids rushed him, he laughed and humoured their excited questions, but through it all he had his attention focused on you until he could manage to part the youngsters and make his way to where you stood.

“I missed you,” He grinned, and leaned in to kiss you on the cheek. You'd always thought it was an odd greeting for friends, but once Castorice gently informed you that it was simply the custom of Phainon's people, you accepted it without batting an eye. “I hope the children haven't worn you out while I've been gone.”

“You worry too much.” You returned his smile and patted one of the young ones who hadn't left your side, her eyes wide and sweet as she clung shyly to your leg. Phainon had helped you get a job working with the children of Okhem as their mentor, and as tiring as it could often be, there was no greater sight than seeing the new generation flourish under your care and gentle countenance. Besides, Phainon took so well to the little ones–you had no doubt that fatherhood was one of the many goals he strived for.

“May I have a moment alone with your teacher, little one?” He knelt down and asked her kindly, his confident yet gentle tone easing her off of you while you directed her to go play with the other children in the baths. Phainon was quick to lead you away from the other admirers fiending for his attention around the entrance to the bathhouse, into a quiet alley where few people would eavesdrop on your conversation. From his sleeve he produced a small, yellow flower, and your cheeks warmed as he delicately pressed it into your palm as a gift. He always brought home little trinkets like this, and you treasured each and every one of them as they granted you a lingering sense of nostalgia.

“Oh, this is lovely, Phainon.” You sighed with reverence, clutching the flower to your chest. “Thank you. I hope you didn't strain yourself just to get a gift for me, you know you don't have to.”

He shook his head with a chuckle. “It's because I love seeing how happy they make you. I love yow grateful you are for my gifts..” He trailed off and stared deeply into your eyes, a question pressing at his lips. “I have something to ask you, my sweet.”

“You do?” He nodded. Phainon plucked the flower from your hands and tucked it behind your ear, before taking both your sweaty palms in his and getting down on his knees.

“You see, I…I've been in love with you since the day we met. Since the first moment I watched you stagger out of that ship-” Wait…what? “-I knew you were destined to be mine.”

“You..?” As tempted as you were to ask what he meant, what ‘ship’ he spoke of, you let him continue. And how fortunate it was, as Phainon took it as a sign that his wooing was in full swing, and beamed up at you with the most glorious joy.

“Yes! Yes, I do. I want only to give you a comfortable life–I want to part the clouds so the sun shines on you always.” With your encouragement he climbed to his feet to meet your gaze. He was friendly, and jubilant, but you'd rarely ever seen him so blindly excited; it was pure and innocent, and as tightly as he clutched your hands and as odd as some of his words were phrased, you couldn't bear to pull away from him during such a crucial moment.

“I don't…I don't know what to say, I-” Out of nowhere, a cold sense of dread made its way into your heart, and despite your befuddlement as to why it settled there it refused to let up. Your mouth grew drier as you tried to speak, but eventually Phainon helped you.

“Say yes?” He pleaded with glistening blue eyes, tears threatening to spill against the backdrop of his hopeful smile. “Please?”

“I-I..” You swallowed the growing anxiety that choked you up, and without words, you nodded.

“You'll be mine?” He prodded eagerly, and again you mumbled a soft ‘yes’. Phainon leapt to his feet and practically cheered with joy, slinging his arms around you to lift you off your feet and twirl you around. He laughed, and happy tears made their way down his cheeks, before he planted a cool, wet kiss on your mouth that somehow chilled you right down to the bone.

The guilt, the fear, the unease that grew inside you would all come to a head at some point. But the truth could be so easily twisted, cut up and rearranged to fit the story he wanted to play out. There wasn't any urgency aside from his own impatience, and not a single one of his fellow heroes or the demigods could judge what he did when it propelled him leaps and bounds closer to slaying Nikador. There would come a day when you would uncover his lies, just as surely as the sun would set at dusk and rise in the dawn.

But what difference did it make? He had so much time to clear your mind to a blank slate, and conjure up a new life for the two of you as many times as it takes.

#phainon #phainon x reader #honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #ellie writes #yandere fic #4k

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apollosgiftofprophecy · 2 years ago

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WHEEZE

Athena is the ultimate daddy's girl and Apollo is the ultimate mamma's boy.

These are facts and you can't change that.

#knowledge n wisdom #apollo #athena #zeus #leto

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apollosgiftofprophecy · 2 years ago

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athena and apollo headcanons?

also guess who

@txny-dragon IS THAT U (if not i'm sorry txny is the only person i've really screamed about this with - well, and chronic...👀)

jfhxjbj,sx

Athena and Apollo???!!!! hrmmm...

Headcanons

Athena always got annoyed whenever she saw Hermes hanging around Apollo, especially during 'her' time with him. She's a competitive person, after all. Quit eating up her time!

Apollo got Athena to play the flute again - however, she only plays it around him.

He also taught her how to play the harp. Why the harp? idk, Athena would just look very poised playing a harp

Their first argument was over prophecy - Athena was experimenting with some pebbles for prophecy and Apollo got upset about it and complained to Zeus, who told Athena to leave prophecy alone.

Subtle bonding over being Daddy's Favorite and how that isolated Athena immediately and over time with Apollo.

Athena based her own parenting style off of Zeus's - the only parental figure she has. Apollo based his off his mother's.

The ~PARALLELS~

Surprisingly, their conversations can be like:

Apollo: Athena, NO!

Athena: Athena, YES!

Athena quietly felt bad after the Olympian Rebellion when she saw Apollo's mortal punishment - but she was too self-persevering to think on it for long.

she still snuck him extra ambrosia dessert when he returned and listened to him as he told her about how cruel Laomedon had been

They have friendly arguments over who's city is better - Sparta, or Athens. Athena's mood, however, lowers if Ares is within earshot. Then it turns into a yelling match between the two war gods with an awkward Apollo standing Right There.

Arts and crafts sessions - weaving, painting, usually ends with somebody (Athena) covered in paint and somebody (Apollo) tied in thread.

They both have "Can Use The Aegis" Privileges from Zeus - Athena uses them more often, Apollo has used it exactly once during The Trojan War

Apollo gave Athena the cold shoulder after The Trojan War for helping Achilles kill Hector. Athena tried to tell herself that it didn't matter he wasn't speaking to her - she didn't need friends, after all! - but when she saw how he would speak with Dionysus, Hermes, Artemis, and even - bleh! - Ares over her...it made her stomach twist in ways she never thought it could

She used Orestes's trial as a way to get back into Apollo's good graces - she really did believe Orestes valid for killing his mother (it was on Apollo's orders, after all) but if it came with the perk of Apollo's icy-cold shoulder melting? *zips lips*

As Artemis and Apollo slowly drifted apart, Athena gladly stepped in and started taking up more of Apollo's usual Artemis time - something he thought Artemis wouldn't notice, but she did.

(this, of course, leads to some stink-eyes between Athena and Artemis. platonic love triangle beloved)

Athena is the only one who suspects that the "flaying Marsyas alive" thing was a hoax - she was the one who put the curse on the flute, after all. But she never sensed the death of the one who picked it up.

When Rome came around, and Athena morphed into Minerva, it put Apollo off-kilter. He didn't quite know who this was anymore - sure, she was still the craft goddess he messed around with, and was a heck of a lot more interested in poetry, music, and medicine now, but...she just wasn't quite the Athena he knew.

He became more worried when the raging began. Minerva would flicker into Athena, and Apollo's heart would leap - she's back! she's okay! she's still here! - but then drop as all Athena would do is scream bloody vengeance upon Rome, and he realized that he was right.

Minerva wasn't the Athena he knew...but neither was the one before him.

When his fellow gods' Greek/Rome halves melded together after the fall of the Roman Empire, he was particularly worried about how that would affect Athena - and for a while, it seemed like nothing had.

(Though strangely she was suddenly interested in having kids. Not that there's anything wrong with that, he just never thought Athena would want to be a mom. She never said anything of the sort to him before...)

Then she sent her first child to retrieve the Athena Parthenos. They didn't return. She sent another. Same story. Over and over. Over and over. Apollo watched as Athena kept sacrificing her children for that damn statue the Romans stole.

Apollo tried to talk to her, to knock some sense into her, but nothing worked. Not until they moved all across Europe, and she finally stopped (for now).

In the modern day, they like to visit museums, art galleries, and theaters. Dionysus used to join them up until his punishment.

Athena attends every concert/party Apollo puts on. Partly because she wants to, and partly to flip the bird at Artemis, who rarely shows up.

(i swear i love artemis athena just isn't that fond of her. platonic love triangle beloved)

(txny if the anon is you...you'd get this next one)

Manwhore Manipulate Manslaughter. That's it that's the post.

While it's widely believed that Artemis does a lot of damage control for Apollo when their father cracks down on him - and she does - Athena is another major player in the game. (see: the Parthenon in Blood of Olympus - Athena being the only one to (covertly) defend Apollo, while Jason is the only one to openly defend him. Two underrated people, these two are.)

Why she can't openly defend him? It's because she knows Zeus sweats in his shoes ahem. becomes...concerned when his two favorite, and Very Powerful children form an alliance.

While she was unable to prevent Apollo's third mortality punishment, Athena believed whole-heartedly the entire time that he would return. He had to. He was Apollo, he was her friend, her brother, and he couldn't just leave her by herself die. So when Hermes made that betting pool? She betted on Apollo's success. Partly to gloat to the Council about being right, partly to throw the failed bet into Hermes's face, and partly because she liked winding Ares up.

I also firmly believe Athena was doing some deux ex machina on Apollo's behalf throughout the series. Artemis couldn't get away with it, sure, she had Zeus's eagle eye on her - but Athena? Why would Zeus ever consider her as a possible person to disobey him? Why I never-

The nod she gave him in The Tower of Nero is her equivalent of a bone-crushing hug.

Athena helped Apollo write his story with Calliope's help - they made two versions: the heavily censored version they gave to Zeus for him to parade around, and another, secret version - the one Apollo has in his library, the one Athena has in hers.

The one we have read.

#the oracle speaks #riordanverse headcanons #knowledge n wisdom #anon ask #ask and replies #asked and answered #apollo #athena #aaaaaaa #i love these two #the dynamic #also the parrelism of their children #one (athena's) are raised to glorify and fear their mother #the other (apollo's) love and defend him with all their hearts #it's like poetry it rhymes #the trials of apollo

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odileeclipse · 3 months ago

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In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 15

<<<Previous Next>>>

A/N I might not get the chance to look at my inbox properly until tomorrow afternoon but I finally got around to finishing and polishing ch15 and wanted to post it before I forgot <3

Shadow Milk Cookie said nothing at first, but there was something almost indulgent in the way he regarded you, as if he found your amusement at his answer amusing in turn. Then, without another word, he took a seat at the harpsichord, his fingers poised over the keys. You weren’t sure what you had expected but the first few notes he played were enough to make you fall silent.

The first note rang out, crisp and clear, reverberating through the vast chamber like a ripple across still water. It was not merely sound it was a presence, filling every corner of the space, settling deep into your bones. The harpsichord’s voice was unlike any instrument you had ever heard before, bright, articulate, but carrying an undeniable weight, as if each note was a carefully chosen word in a language older than time itself. And at the center of it all was him. Shadow Milk Cookie was seated before the grand instrument, and in that moment, he looked untouchable.

The afternoon light filtering through the high-arched windows illuminated him in a way that felt almost deliberate, as if even the sun wished to acknowledge his presence. His robes, always refined, seemed richer in this setting deep celestial blue, embroidered with delicate gold constellations that shimmered when he moved. But it was his hair that held you captive.

It was like a galaxy unfurled, dark sapphire at the roots before fading into a luminous, ethereal blue, each strand shifting as though it contained the movement of the night sky itself. Stars tiny, glimmering motes dusted his locks, flickering like distant constellations caught in the ever-changing current of his hair. It moved as though it belonged to something greater than mere gravity, undulating softly, as if stirred by an unseen cosmic tide.

And then there were his eyes. One blue, deep and unfathomable like an ocean at midnight. The other gold, gleaming with an otherworldly brilliance, as if alight with the very knowledge he so devotedly pursued. Together, they carried a weight that sent a shiver down your spine, wisdom beyond years, mysteries yet unraveled.

They were eyes that had seen truths most could never hope to comprehend, and yet, as he played, they softened, half-lidded with a focus so pure it was almost reverent. You could hardly breathe. His hands glided over the keys with effortless precision, fingers weaving melody and meaning together in a way that felt intentional, as though each note carried an unspoken truth, meant only for those willing to listen. He did not simply play the harpsichord he commanded it, coaxed from it something both powerful and delicate. You watched, utterly transfixed.

He was magnificent. Like something out of a masterful painting, framed in golden light, captured in a moment of pure artistry. It felt unreal to be witnessing him like this, to see him immersed in something beyond lectures and research, beyond the unshakable composure he so often maintained. There was something deeply human about the way he played his fingers pressing just a little deeper into the keys on certain phrases, the faintest movement of his lips as if he were silently following the melody, the way his shoulders subtly tensed with the weight of emotion woven into each note.

Your heart thundered against your ribs. Your fingers twitched before coming to rest over your chest, pressing lightly against your sternum, a subconscious attempt to steady the overwhelming sensation blooming there. But the moment your hand made contact, realization struck, and you quickly dropped it, as if burned. No. That wasn’t your intention. It wasn’t that. …Was it? You pushed the thought aside, gripping the hem of your sleeve to ground yourself. And yet, no matter how you tried to suppress it, the feeling remained. A warmth, curling in your chest, persistent and unfamiliar. The piece swelled toward its conclusion, cascading notes falling like stars scattered across the sky. Then, at last, the final chord resonated through the air, ringing out before dissolving into silence. The absence of sound was almost startling. You exhaled, only now realizing you had been holding your breath. For a moment, you could only sit there, stunned, the weight of what you had just experienced settling over you. It was beautiful, so achingly beautiful that you felt something tighten in your throat, a prickle at the corners of your eyes that you hastily blinked away.

“…I’ve never heard anyone play the harpsichord before,” you admitted, your voice quieter than intended. It felt almost wrong to speak after such a performance, as if words might shatter the delicate atmosphere that still lingered in the air.

Shadow Milk Cookie finally turned to look at you. You didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered, how his golden eye glowed just a little brighter in the afternoon light, or the way the corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly. You didn’t see the way he studied you, taking in your expression with a knowing softness, as if the reaction he had just drawn from you was one he had anticipated all along. But he had noticed. He had noticed everything. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, lingering like the final note of his performance. You were still caught in it, still holding onto the last echoes of sound in your mind, unwilling to let them fade completely. Your breath felt unsteady, your thoughts even more so. And then, at last, Shadow Milk Cookie spoke. “Did you enjoy it?”

His voice was soft, smoother than usual, as if the music had softened him in turn. It was not the theatrical cadence he often used when debating, nor the measured patience he carried when tutoring. No this was something quieter, something almost intimate. You swallowed, still processing everything you had just heard, everything you had just felt.

“I…” You hesitated, then exhaled, your fingers curling against your knee. “It was… breathtaking.” You looked down, gathering your thoughts. “I've never heard anything like it before. The way you play… it’s like” Words failed you. Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head ever so slightly, his golden eye glinting with curiosity. “Like?” You clenched your jaw, searching for something, anything, that could do justice to what you had just experienced. But how did you describe something like this? How did you explain the way each note had wrapped around your heart, the way it had stolen the breath from your lungs, the way it had made you feel as if you were witnessing something rare, something precious?

“…Like the stars are singing,” you finally said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Like a story without words like something you don’t just hear, but understand somewhere deep inside.”

His expression didn’t change immediately, but for the briefest moment, something flickered in his gaze. His hair, ever shifting like the cosmos itself, rippled with a subtle glow, as if stirred by unseen stardust. Then, with a hum of amusement, he leaned back slightly, his fingers idly ghosting over the keys. “A most poetic description,” he murmured, his tone unreadable. “But then again… I suppose you’ve been listening more closely as of late.”

You blinked, his words settling in your mind with a strange weight. Had you? Before, you would have struggled to keep up with his lectures, grasping at concepts like sand slipping through your fingers. But now, you found yourself hanging onto every word, every note, every subtle shift in his expression as he played. You had been listening really listening. And he had noticed. The realization sent something warm curling through your chest, but you pushed it down before it could take root. Instead, you cleared your throat, your gaze flickering to the harpsichord beneath his hands.

“…You told me you composed music,” you said carefully. “Was that piece one of yours?”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s fingers stilled for a moment. Then, he exhaled through his nose, almost as if he were smiling. “It was.” Something in your chest tightened.

“…Then you’re even more brilliant than I thought.” The words left you before you could reconsider them, but the sincerity in your voice was undeniable. This time, there was no mistaking it his lips quirked into the faintest, most fleeting hint of a smile. And though the silence returned, it no longer felt heavy. It was different now lighter, charged with something unspoken, something neither of you had the words for just yet.

You exhaled slowly, still trying to collect yourself after everything you had just witnessed. The music, the way he carried himself, the sheer grandeur of it all it was overwhelming in a way you hadn’t expected. And yet, amid the awe still thrumming in your chest, curiosity tugged at the edges of your thoughts. You glanced at him, watching as his fingers idly traced over the harpsichord keys, not pressing them, just… lingering. Almost absentmindedly. “…How many people have you played for before?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them.

Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t look at you immediately. His golden eye flickered with something unreadable, while his blue eye like the deep cosmos swirling in endless motion remained calm, contemplative. “Why do you ask?” he finally said, tilting his head slightly.

You hesitated. “I just… I mean, people talk. It’s rumored that you’ve played before. So I figured… well, many people must have seen you by now.” A soft hum left him, almost thoughtful. He rested his hands properly over the keys again, though he made no move to play. His gaze drifted, as if sorting through distant memories, his starlit hair shifting ever so slightly, shimmering under the afternoon light that filtered through the window.

“…Fewer than you might think,” he said at last. That caught you off guard. You blinked. “Really?” He glanced at you then, his expression unreadable but patient, as though waiting to see what you would make of that answer. You frowned slightly.

“But… you’re you.” You gestured vaguely, still struggling to fully wrap your head around it. “You’re well, the Sage of Truth. You’ve taught so many scholars, given countless lectures, been part of some of the most renowned research studies in the Academy’s history. I just assumed that if you played, people would want to hear it. That they have heard it.”

His lips quirked ever so slightly, something almost resembling amusement flickering in his gaze. “I do not perform for an audience, if that is what you mean.” You stared at him.

“…You don’t?” He exhaled through his nose, shifting his hands slightly over the keys, but still not pressing them. “Music is a discipline much like any other. It requires practice, precision, and understanding. When I compose, it is not for the sake of spectacle.” He cast a glance at you, his gold and blue eyes gleaming with quiet intent.

“It is for the sake of expression.” Your breath hitched slightly. Something about the way he said it; so assured, so firm, yet with a weight that made your chest tighten struck you in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Expression. Something for himself. Not for the Academy. Not for prestige. Not for a title or a research paper. Just… for him. You swallowed, your fingers curling slightly in your lap.

“Then… I was lucky to hear it?” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Perhaps.” The warmth curling in your chest deepened. You glanced down, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, but you couldn’t help it. The realization was settling now, sinking into your bones.

You weren’t just one of many. You were one of the few. You felt warmth creeping up your neck, embarrassment curling into your chest like an uninvited guest. It wasn’t that he had said anything particularly bold, nothing overt or damning yet the weight of his words, the knowledge that you had just witnessed something intimate, something not meant for the masses, made your heart stutter.

You weren’t sure why it felt so monumental. Your fingers tightened slightly in your lap before you shifted, glancing away, feigning a sudden interest in the other instruments scattered throughout the room. There were violins neatly arranged on a stand, their lacquered wood catching the afternoon light. A cello rested in the corner, its strings taut with readiness. Various wind instruments lay in careful display cases, alongside aged manuscripts of compositions that must have belonged to scholars long before your time.

“This room is… really something,” you murmured, hoping your voice came out steady. Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you. His stare was nothing like the prying, judgmental eyes of a crowded lecture hall. He had the kind of presence that naturally commanded attention, but when his gaze settled on you, it felt… bearable. Pleasant, even. You weren’t sure what to do with that realization. “Indeed,” he finally said, his voice as composed as ever.

“Each of these instruments has its own history, some crafted by artisans long forgotten, others once belonging to scholars whose names remain etched in time. Music, like truth, is eternal in its preservation.”

You nodded, trying to focus on anything but the way his words sent a quiet shiver down your spine. “Do you ever play anything else?” you asked, tracing the outline of a delicate lyre resting on a nearby stand. There was a slight pause before he answered. “I have studied several,” he admitted. “But none call to me quite like the harpsichord.” You glanced at him again, your face still warm but no longer burning.

“That makes sense,” you said with a small smile. “It suits you.” His eyes flickered, something unreadable passing through them. For a brief moment, you wondered if you had said too much, if you had allowed something to slip through the careful barrier you had built between admiration and something else entirely. But then he simply nodded, turning his gaze toward the instruments once more, and the moment passed like a quiet note fading into stillness. You exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you brushed your fingers along the polished wood of the lyre. “I always wanted to be musically talented,” you admitted, glancing at Shadow Milk Cookie before turning back to the instrument.

“When I was younger, I really wanted to learn the guitar.” You let out a soft sigh, tilting your head as if picturing yourself in some long-gone moment, struggling with chords that never quite sounded right. “But I was so bad at it. I mean, really bad.” You laughed at yourself, the memory distant enough that you could find humor in it now. “At some point, my teacher just very gently suggested that maybe I should try singing instead.” Your fingers traced along the delicate carvings of the lyre’s frame as you added, “Apparently, playing wasn’t really in the cards for me.” Shadow Milk Cookie was quiet for a moment, though you could still feel his presence beside you, his gaze steady, unreadable as always. Then, after a beat, he hummed thoughtfully.

“Perhaps it was not a matter of talent,” he mused, “but rather that your hands were searching for the wrong instrument.” His words made you pause. You turned to him, brow slightly furrowed. “What do you mean?” He regarded you with something softer than his usual sharp intensity, something thoughtful, considering.

“Not every scholar finds their truth in the same pursuit,” he said simply. “Just as some seek knowledge in tomes and others in the world itself, music too has its own avenues. One must find the medium that allows them to express what words cannot.” You blinked, absorbing his words.

“So… you’re saying I just haven’t found the right instrument?” “Precisely.” His gold and blue eyes gleamed, his expression as composed as ever, yet there was something almost… expectant in the way he looked at you. Your gaze drifted back to the instruments around the room. It was a nice thought, the idea that maybe just maybe you hadn’t failed, but simply hadn’t found the right voice through which to speak. Still, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Well, unless there’s an instrument out there that requires absolutely no coordination, I think I’ll stick to listening.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s lips quirked, amusement barely visible in the corners of his mouth. “Then perhaps you were meant to be an audience rather than a performer.”

You smiled, glancing at him again. “I think I’m okay with that.” Your gaze lingered on the instruments, fingers still ghosting over the intricate carvings on the lyre. The weight of the conversation settled in your mind; his words, the music, the feeling of witnessing something rare and deeply personal. It was almost too much, too grand for something as ordinary as a tutoring session. A tutoring session.

That thought struck you suddenly, like a chime breaking through the hush of a quiet room. How much time had passed? You glanced toward the tall windows lining the far wall, their glass panes streaked with the golden light of the afternoon sun. The hours had slipped by unnoticed, the world outside continuing on without you while you sat in the Scholar’s Wing, listening to music that left your heart aching in ways you weren’t entirely sure how to name. You hesitated before speaking, reluctant to break the quiet atmosphere you had both fallen into.

“I… suppose that means there’s less time for tutoring now,” you murmured, half to yourself, half to him. Shadow Milk Cookie turned his head slightly, his gaze still unreadable. If he had noticed the time slipping away, he made no indication of it. Instead, he merely tilted his head, a thoughtful hum leaving his lips. “Do you regret it?” he asked. The question caught you off guard. You looked at him again, at the way the light touched the edges of his hair, making the deep blues shimmer like a night sky scattered with distant stars. Regret? No. That wasn’t the right word at all.

You shook your head, a small, almost sheepish smile pulling at your lips. “No,” you admitted. “Not at all.” His expression didn’t change much, but something in his eyes shifted something unreadable yet warm, as if he had expected your answer and found it… satisfactory. “Then the time was not wasted.” You let out a quiet breath, allowing yourself to relax. No, it wasn’t wasted at all. The weight of the moment lingered between you, the echoes of the harpsichord’s melody still curling through your thoughts. You glanced toward the door, then back at Shadow Milk Cookie, suddenly feeling the need to ground yourself again to return to the familiar, to your friends, to the usual rhythm of your days. “We should probably go,” you said, shifting slightly where you stood.

“It’s almost time for dinner, and I really don’t want to deal with the rush of hungry people.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a moment before standing smoothly, his robes catching the afternoon light like a shifting night sky. “A prudent decision,” he murmured, his voice rich with its usual refinement. “There is a particular ferocity that emerges when scholars are deprived of sustenance.” You let out a small, amused breath. “Dramatic, but not inaccurate.” He gestured for you to walk ahead, and together, the two of you left the quiet sanctuary of the music room. The halls of the Scholar’s Wing were hushed, save for the occasional murmuring conversation in passing. Shadow Milk Cookie walked with you at a measured pace, and it wasn’t until you were nearing his office where your things still waited that he spoke again. “Which of your friends will be there?” he asked, his tone casual. The question didn’t strike you as odd. If anything, it was expected he had encountered your friends before, even in passing. “Chai Latte, for sure. Hazelnut and Earl Grey too, probably,” you answered. “We usually eat together.”

Shadow Milk Cookie hummed in understanding, his gaze briefly flickering ahead before settling back on you. There was something unreadable in his expression, but it was gone before you could think too much of it. The two of you reached his office, and as you stepped inside to gather your belongings, you found yourself glancing at him once more. He had already moved toward his desk, absentmindedly adjusting the placement of a few scattered notes. It was strange this entire evening. Not in a bad way, just… different. And yet, as you slung your bag over your shoulder and turned back toward him, you found yourself hesitating for just a second longer. You shot him a curious glance, adjusting the strap of your bag as you gathered your things. “Why do you ask?”

Shadow Milk Cookie barely paused, his fingers still idly arranging the papers on his desk. “Simple curiosity.” His voice was smooth, as if the question held no deeper meaning. “You often speak of them, and I am merely observing the consistency of your patterns.” You huffed a quiet laugh.

“Right… same as always, then. Chai Latte, Hazelnut, Earl Grey. My usual group.” You lingered by the door for a moment before adding, “If you wanted to join us, I don’t think they’d mind.” His hands stilled for just a fraction of a second before he resumed his movements, expression as poised as ever. “An intriguing proposition,” he mused, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“However, I believe my presence would be… an unexpected variable in your usual dynamic.” You blinked. “I mean, probably, but it’s not like we’d mind. They already know I’ve been studying with you. It wouldn’t be that weird.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with that same measured look, the kind that always made you feel like he was studying something just beyond your own understanding. Then, after a moment, he exhaled softly, his gaze briefly drifting toward the window. “A gracious offer,” he finally said, “but one I shall decline. For now.” There was something about the way he said it that made you wonder if, perhaps, he had considered it more seriously than he let on. But before you could dwell on it, he was already moving toward the door, gesturing for you to step out first. “Come,” he said. “You wished to avoid the rush, did you not?” And with that, the conversation slipped away, leaving behind only the faintest thread of curiosity lingering in its place.

You let out a small chuckle, adjusting your bag as you followed him toward the door. “What, have I overstayed my welcome?” you teased, glancing up at him with a grin. Shadow Milk Cookie paused, just for a moment. His golden eye glimmered with something unreadable before he turned his gaze forward once more. “Hardly,” he said smoothly. “If that were the case, you would have known.” His tone was even, his words poised but something about them made your stomach do an odd little flip. You scoffed, shaking your head. “Right, because you’d be so subtle about it.”

“A scholar must be direct in their findings,” he remarked, the faintest trace of amusement threading through his voice. “If you had, as you say, overstayed, you would be informed immediately and without hesitation.” You rolled your eyes.

“Good to know.” Still, as the two of you stepped into the dim corridors of the Scholar’s Wing, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that, if anything, you had been welcome for far longer than you realized. As you reached the threshold of the Scholar’s Wing, where the lantern-lit corridors gave way to the more bustling walkways of the Academy, you slowed your steps, hesitating for a moment before turning back to him.

Shadow Milk Cookie stood there, watching you with that ever-measured gaze, the soft glow of the nearby sconces catching in his deep blue and gold eyes. His presence, as always, felt larger than the space around him contained, yet vast, like an endless sky just waiting beyond the reach of your fingertips.

You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder, feigning a casual air despite the odd flutter in your chest. “Same time tomorrow?” you asked, as if it weren’t already set in stone, as if you didn’t already know you’d be here again without question. The corner of his lips curled, just slightly. He tilted his head, considering you.

“Have you already forgotten our schedule?” You huffed, pretending to scoff. “Just making sure,” you muttered. It was an excuse, flimsy at best. You just… didn’t want to leave without saying something else. His expression remained unreadable, but there was something in the way he regarded you, something quiet, something thoughtful. Then, with the same practiced ease he always carried, he dipped his head ever so slightly.

“Tomorrow, then,” he confirmed. Satisfied though you weren’t sure why you nodded. “Alright. See you.” You turned on your heel, making your way toward the main halls, but even as you walked, you could still feel the weight of his gaze lingering just a moment longer before he, too, disappeared into the depths of the Scholar’s Wing. The dining hall was comfortably full but not yet overrun, the earlier dinner rush having already passed. You slipped into your usual seat with ease, the warmth of familiar company grounding you. Chai Latte Cookie barely gave you time to set down your tray before leaning in, her eyes flickering with mischief.

“You’re not late this time,” she noted, propping her chin on her hand. “Color me surprised.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie barely looked up from his notes, adjusting his reading glasses. “What a miracle.” Earl Grey Cookie, on the other hand, studied you with a glance brief, but precise, like he was peeling back layers of an unseen puzzle. You ignored all of them, focusing instead on your food. Or at least, you tried to. But you must have hesitated too long, because Chai Latte Cookie’s teasing smile softened, her voice dipping just a little quieter. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you said, too casually. You poked at your meal, as if arranging it just right would somehow erase whatever it was that had settled in your chest. It wasn’t nothing, though. It was the image of long, elegant fingers dancing across harpsichord keys, of stardust-swept hair catching the soft glow of lamplight, of a gaze that held something unreadable, something you hadn’t had the courage to decipher. It was the lingering echo of music that had never touched your ears before today. And it was the way you felt, sitting there, recalling it not just admiration, not just awe, but something else. Something quieter. Something you didn’t quite know how to name.

“You’re thinking about something,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie pointed out. Earl Grey Cookie turned a page in his book but didn’t look away from you. “Or someone.” Your fork clattered against your plate. “I was not ” Chai Latte Cookie hummed, reaching for her drink. “Mmm. If you say so.” You buried your face in your hands. Because the worst part? You didn’t even know if they were wrong. Chai Latte Cookie tilted her head, eyes sparkling with amusement as she swirled her drink lazily. “You’ve got a look,” she mused, her tone far too knowing for your liking. You blinked. “A… look?”

She grinned, resting her chin on her palm. “Mhm. I know that look.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised a brow but didn’t comment, while Earl Grey Cookie merely observed in silence, waiting. You huffed, turning your attention back to your food. “I don’t have a look.” Chai Latte Cookie just laughed. “Oh, but you do. It’s that soft, far-off, thinking-about-someone look.” She took a sip of her drink, eyes never leaving you.

“And I have never seen it on you before.” Your whole body stiffened. “I ” You faltered, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. Because was that what this was? You weren’t… thinking about him like that, were you? You were just caught up in the moment, in the music, in the sheer unexpectedness of seeing Shadow Milk Cookie the Sage of Truth doing something so… human. That was all. Wasn’t it? Chai Latte Cookie didn’t press further, but the knowing curve of her lips told you she’d already drawn her own conclusions. And the worst part? You weren’t sure you could argue against them. “Do you guys think you’d wait an eternity for someone?” You asked wistfully a question you were still hung up on. The story from the city lingering, latched onto your heart like a tick.

Chai Latte Cookie’s playful smile softened as she swirled her drink in her hands, the dim light of the dining hall reflecting in her eyes. “You’re still thinking about that story, huh?” You nodded, glancing down at your plate. The tale had lingered in your mind ever since you heard it, refusing to be forgotten. “I just… I keep wondering. Could someone really wait that long? A hundred years, just for a single moment with someone?”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie exhaled through his nose, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. “If they had no other choice, maybe. But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be agonizing.” Earl Grey Cookie, ever thoughtful, tapped a finger against the table. “It depends on what they’re waiting for. If they knew, without a doubt, that they’d see their beloved again even after a century then perhaps the waiting wouldn’t feel like suffering. But if there was no guarantee…” He trailed off, his expression unreadable. You swallowed.

“I don’t know if I could do it.” Chai Latte Cookie tilted her head, a knowing glint in her gaze. “I think it’s less about whether you could and more about whether you’d want to. If someone meant that much to you, maybe time wouldn’t matter at all.” That struck something deep within you. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to respond. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a short breath. “Still sounds tragic to me.”

Chai Latte Cookie chuckled. “Oh, don’t act like you weren’t invested in the story. You were the one who insisted we stay and listen to the end.”

“I appreciate good storytelling,” he replied smoothly, but the tips of his ears were a little pink. You shook your head, smiling faintly, but the weight of the question still pressed on your mind. Chai Latte Cookie studied you, then reached across the table, her fingers just brushing yours. “Are you asking because you’re curious? Or because you’re wondering?”

Your breath hitched slightly. You weren’t sure. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe you just wanted to understand the kind of love that could last beyond time itself. But before you could dwell on it further, Chai Latte Cookie gave your hand a gentle squeeze and grinned. “Well, if you ever decide to wait a hundred years for someone, let me know. I’ll wait right there with you.” You laughed, shaking your head. “I think I’d rather not wait that long at all.” But something in your chest tightened, a quiet, unspoken feeling curling at the edges of your thoughts. Because wasn’t that the whole point of the story? Sometimes, the choice wasn’t yours to make.

Chai Latte Cookie’s playful energy dimmed, her gaze soft as she watched you, fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup. “Is it the Sage of Truth?” Her voice lacked its usual teasing lilt no laughter, no playful nudges. Just quiet understanding, the kind that only a close friend could offer. Your breath caught in your throat. “What?” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know you, you know? And I know that look. You’re thinking about someone, and it’s not just because of some ghost story.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie set his utensils down, leveling you with a knowing glance.

“Chai’s not wrong. You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately.” Earl Grey Cookie, who had been stirring his tea with methodical patience, finally looked up. “You never used to care about staying late to study. Now, you act like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”

You fumbled for words. “I-he’s just tutoring me. That’s all.” Chai Latte Cookie sighed, resting her chin in her hand. “I’m not saying you have feelings for him.” A pause. “But if you did”

“I don’t.” She gave you a look, unimpressed. “Okay. But if you did, I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Your fingers curled around your fork, a tightness settling in your chest. “I don’t see why that would happen.” Chai Latte Cookie hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “It’s fun to joke and tease about it, yeah, but…” She glanced away for a second before meeting your eyes again.

“I don’t think you should get your hopes up. Not because it’s impossible, or because I don’t support you, but because realistically nothing good could come from it.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie crossed his arms, nodding. “Nobody really knows much about him. He’s private. Guarded.” Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses. “And to be blunt, we don’t even know if he’s single.” That made you freeze. “You mean…?” Chai Latte Cookie exhaled through her nose. “He’s so private, he could already be spoken for, and we wouldn’t know.”

The words settled uncomfortably in your chest, heavy with unspoken weight. Earl Grey Cookie looked at you carefully, his voice even. “I’m not saying this to discourage you. But you have to admit, for all the time you’ve spent around him… how much do you really know about him?” You hated that you didn’t have an answer. The Sage of Truth Shadow Milk Cookie was… unfathomable. A beacon of knowledge. Someone revered, admired, respected. But beyond the theatrical wisdom and the careful distance he always maintained, what was there? You realized, with a quiet sort of dread, that you weren’t sure. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a slow breath. “We just don’t want you to set yourself up for something that might never happen. And if he really was with someone ”

“I know,” you cut in, voice quieter than you expected. “I get it.” Chai Latte Cookie reached across the table, her fingers warm against yours. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” You swallowed, forcing a small smile. “I know.” But deep down, the uncertainty lingered. Chai Latte Cookie’s fingers tightened around yours, grounding, steady. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice a gentle lull, like waves against the shore. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” You shook your head, but the motion felt half-hearted. A dull ache settled in the pit of your stomach, something quiet and gnawing. They’re right. Of course they’re right. Who is Shadow Milk Cookie? You’ve seen only glimpses of a scholar wrapped in truth, untouchable, illuminated like a figure from a painting. He reveals knowledge like pulling back a veil, but never himself. And yet… he’s seen you. The thought twists like a knife. You’ve bared your struggles to him, your weaknesses laid out like an open book. He’s seen you hesitate, stumble, fail, watched as you fumbled through lessons, watched as you grew. You had nothing to hide, no layers of mystery, no grand secrets. But him? He was always just out of reach. Always the untouchable scholar, his mind an endless expanse of wisdom, while you were just… you.

It feels unfair. Chai Latte Cookie must see something on your face because before you can say anything, she pulls you in, arms wrapping around you, her warmth pressing the ache deeper into your chest. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice close to your ear. “I didn’t want to make you feel like this.” You breathe in, her scent familiar, spiced tea, something sweet beneath it. It makes the ache worse, somehow. You swallow past the tightness in your throat.

“It’s okay,” you manage, though your voice is unsteady. “It’s not,” she says, softer this time. Your fingers dig into the fabric of her sleeve, just for a second. You don’t know what you’re feeling, but it sits heavy in your ribs, uncomfortable and raw. “I just…” You hesitate, trying to find the words.

“I’ve spent all this time with him, but I don’t really know him. And he ” Your throat tightens. “He knows me.” Chai Latte Cookie pulls back just enough to look at you, her brows knitting together in concern. “That’s not fair to you.” You let out a breathy laugh, but it holds no real humor.

“I know.” She studies you for a long moment before sighing, brushing her thumb over the back of your hand. “Listen,” she says gently. “If you ever need to talk about this, and I mean really talk about it, I'm here, okay?” You nod, though the ache doesn’t fade. Earl Grey Cookie and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie haven’t spoken, but they watch you carefully, offering presence in place of words. You appreciate it. Chai Latte Cookie’s grip lingers a moment longer before she finally lets go, smiling, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Come on,” she says, nudging her cup toward you.

“Drink. It’ll make you feel better.” You don’t know if it will. But you take the cup anyway. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie shifted closer, his warmth a quiet reassurance, mirroring Chai Latte Cookie’s gestures with his own steady presence. He squeezed your shoulder, just firm enough to ground you. “You know,” he said, keeping his voice light, as if sensing you needed the softness, “you don’t have to figure everything out right now.” His words were meant to comfort, but they only made the ache in your chest tighten. Figure everything out? As if there was anything to figure out. As if this strange, lingering feeling inside you needed to be named.

But it did, didn’t it? You just weren’t ready to say it aloud. Earl Grey Cookie, ever poised, didn’t smother you in warmth the way the others did, but his presence was a balm in its own way. He adjusted his glasses with an air of careful deliberation before speaking.

“If something troubles you, it would be unwise to carry it alone,” he mused, his voice smooth as dark tea. “Emotions are like fine blends best shared, lest they become too bitter to swallow.” You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Are you comparing my feelings to tea?” Earl Grey Cookie’s lips quirked in a barely-there smile. “Would you expect any less from me?” Chai Latte Cookie giggled, and even Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out an amused breath.

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The dinner table felt heavier than it had when you arrived, your appetite dulled by the weight in your chest. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It wasn’t even his fault. But you hadn’t realized, not until this moment, just how attached you’d become. And still, you told yourself it wasn’t anything more. But the dull ache in your chest wanted to say otherwise. Of course, your friends knew. They weren’t blind. They saw the way you lingered in your own thoughts, how your eyes softened at the mention of him, how your chest rose just a little lighter at the sound of his voice. But they wouldn’t say it for you. Not until you were ready.

And right now, you weren’t. So instead, you let them be there for you. You let Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s steady touch remind you that you weren’t alone. You let Chai Latte Cookie’s quiet warmth soothe the edges of your unease. You let Earl Grey Cookie’s careful words give you a sense of control, however fleeting. You let yourself be held in the way only friends could hold you. And for now, that was enough.

The gardens were quiet tonight. The faint hum of nocturnal magic wove through the air, barely perceptible beneath the rustling of the willows and the occasional ripple of the reflecting pool. You traced idle patterns into the stone bench beside you, your fingertips cool against its weathered surface. It was peaceful. It was yours. And yet, you were not at peace. You exhaled slowly, shoulders sinking under the weight of your own thoughts. Foolish, wasn't it? How much could change in the span of a day? How quickly a simple conversation could unravel something you had not even realized was fragile until now? You had sat at this very bench countless times before, but tonight, the air felt heavier.

Your friends had been right. Who was he, really? A figure of brilliance, a mind beyond compare, a presence that carried itself with an effortless grace. He was revered, admired, respected. His name was spoken with awe in the halls of the Academy, his intellect the kind that shaped scholars for generations to come. And you? You had only ever seen glimpses of him pieces of a much greater whole. And yet, in some foolish, unguarded way, you had allowed him to see you. It felt unfair. Your fingers curled into your palm.

You had seen something of him today that no lecture hall could capture, something beyond truth-seeking, beyond measured wisdom. A moment in which he was simply himself, the music flowing from his fingers, his expression softened with focus, his gaze distant yet utterly present. It had been mesmerizing. It had made your heart stutter in ways you did not wish to acknowledge. And now, here you were. Hiding away in the place you had once brought him, as if trying to reclaim something, as if trying to pull yourself back into the comfort of before. But even this place had changed. Because now, he had been here too. You let your head fall back, staring up through the willow branches. They swayed gently, their glow pulsing faintly in the darkness. A part of you wished you had never invited him. That you had never let him into your space, where you could pretend you were not affected. But another part of you… Another part of you was glad he had come.

The sky stretched endlessly above you, deep indigo melting into black, pricked with shimmering stars that scattered like flecks of silver dust. A familiar sight one you had gazed upon countless times before, from this very spot, no less. Yet tonight, it felt different. Or perhaps, you were different. You exhaled, watching as your breath curled faintly in the night air. You shouldn’t have been thinking about him. And yet, the stars only served as a reminder, twinkling reflections of his hair, that impossible cascade of dark silk shot through with light, shifting even in stillness. You could picture it perfectly, the way it had moved as he sat beside you, strands slipping over his shoulder like liquid dusk.

"It is… a reflection of who I am."

Your own words came back to haunt you. "So that means… your true personality must be beautiful." A quiet warmth had settled in his golden eyes then, unreadable yet thoughtful, as if turning the words over in his mind. As if he had not expected them. And you? You had been so caught up in the moment, in the effortless rhythm of conversation, that you hadn’t realized, hadn’t understood what was happening. Not until now. Your fingers curled against the cool stone of the bench. What were you doing? You barely knew him. So what if he played the harpsichord? So what if his laughter, so rare, so carefully contained had managed to weave its way into your thoughts, lingering like the final note of a song long after the melody had faded? So what if his hair shimmered like a starry sky, if his presence felt like something grand yet unreachable, if his voice carried the weight of knowledge and mystery alike? What else did you actually know?

What was his favorite color? His favorite meal? Did he even have a favorite meal, or was he the type to forgo such simple pleasures in pursuit of loftier things? Who were his friends? Did he have any? You frowned. You had never once seen him linger with others outside of academic discussions. No quiet moments of shared meals in the dining halls, no casual conversations in the corridors. Only debates, lessons, the ever-constant pursuit of truth.

And yet… he had found you that day. Had sought you out. That should have meant something, shouldn’t it? But what if it didn’t? What if that was simply who he was, someone who never left questions unanswered? If he had sought you out, it wasn’t because he missed you. It wasn’t because he cared. It was because you had not shown up. Because he was expecting you. Your chest ached. It was foolish. It was foolish to have let yourself grow attached, to have let the glimpses of him a quiet laugh, a thoughtful gaze, the rare and fleeting moments of softness mean something. And yet, what was worse… was that it wasn’t his fault. He had never promised anything. He had never given you a reason to believe he was anything but what he had always been the Sage of Truth.

Not Shadow Milk, not the man beyond the title, beyond the wisdom, beyond the grandeur. Just the Sage. You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your palms against your temples as if that might somehow ease the dull ache spreading through you. Was he taken? The thought struck like a cruel whisper, unwelcome and unbidden. You had no idea. He was private. Mysterious. The kind of person who could have been spoken for, deeply committed to someone, and no one would ever know. And if he was? You swallowed hard, ignoring the way your throat tightened. Then it had never been yours to hold onto in the first place. The wind stirred the willow branches above you, their leaves casting shifting shadows along the ground. The koi-like creatures in the reflecting pool swam lazily beneath the water, unbothered, unburdened. You envied them. Your hands fell limply into your lap, your shoulders sagging beneath the weight of it all. You were just another student. He was the Sage of Truth.

And yet, the ache in your chest whispered that even knowing all of this, you would still meet him tomorrow. You would still listen to his voice, still try to understand the way his mind worked, still watch the way his golden eyes flickered with something warm, something almost gentle, whenever he looked at you.

Because despite everything, despite the foolishness of it all… You weren’t ready to let go. With a slow, heavy exhale, you let your shoulders slump, exhaustion settling over you like a thick, inescapable fog. What was the point in dragging yourself back to your dorm when sleep was already pulling at your limbs, threatening to drag you under? Here, beneath the willow’s gentle canopy, with the quiet rustling of leaves and the distant ripple of the reflecting pool, the world felt softer, less overwhelming.

It wasn’t as if anyone was here to stop you. You shifted slightly, curling in on yourself as you leaned back against the stone bench. The cool surface pressed against your spine, grounding you, yet offering no protest as you allowed your body to sink further into its embrace. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy. The Academy felt so far away from here. The expectations, the lessons, the weight of failure all melted into the background, lost beneath the hum of the wind and the distant croak of a nightbird. Maybe, just for tonight, you didn’t have to think about anything. Not about your classes. Not about your struggles. Not about him. You exhaled one last time before letting sleep take you.

You awoke to the stiff ache of your neck protesting even the smallest movement. A dull, throbbing pain settled at the base of your skull, a punishment for the way you’d let yourself slump awkwardly on the stone bench overnight.

For a moment, you sat there, groggy and dazed, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the willow leaves. The Academy Gardens were still quiet, untouched by the usual morning bustle, and the air was crisp with the lingering scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine. It would have been peaceful, had a sudden realization not struck you like a bucket of cold water.

What time was it?

Your stomach twisted as you scrambled upright, your joints aching from the awkward position you had slept in. Without even checking your reflection in the water, you grabbed your things and bolted from the garden, feet pounding against the mossy paths as you rushed toward the main halls. You barely made it through the doors, heart racing, before the bells signaling the start of the first period rang out.

You were disheveled.

Your uniform was wrinkled, a stray leaf still clung to your sleeve, and your hair...oh, you didn’t even want to think about your hair. You smoothed it down quickly as you ducked into the lecture hall, ignoring the curious glances from a few students already seated. Sliding into your usual spot, you caught your breath, trying to ignore the stiffness in your neck. You’d have to suffer through the day like this.

You slumped slightly in your seat, rolling your shoulder in a weak attempt to ease the stiffness in your neck as you waited for your friends. The morning rush had left you slightly winded, and you knew you must’ve looked a mess your uniform wrinkled, your hair hastily smoothed down but still undeniably unkempt, and a faint, lingering imprint on your cheek from where you’d pressed against the stone bench.

It wasn’t long before Chai Latte Cookie arrived, sliding into the seat beside you with a puzzled expression. Hazelnut Biscotti and Earl Grey followed shortly after, both eyeing you with quiet curiosity. “You weren’t at breakfast,” Chai Latte Cookie pointed out, tilting her head. “We were wondering where you went.” Hazelnut Biscotti frowned slightly, adjusting his glasses.

“We even thought you might’ve gone ahead, but clearly…” He gave you a once-over. “That wasn’t the case.” Earl Grey merely raised an eyebrow, but his silence spoke volumes. You smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck in an attempt to play it off. “I, uh… overslept.” Chai Latte Cookie blinked. “Overslept? Where? Your dorm?” You hesitated for half a second too long. Her eyes narrowed. “Wait.” Then she gasped, leaning in with a scandalized whisper.

“Did you not sleep in your bed?” Hazelnut Biscotti let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, for the love of- don’t tell me you-” Before they could properly interrogate you, the lecture hall door swung open with a sharp clack, and Almond Custard Cookie strode in, posture straight and severe as always. The chatter in the room immediately died down as students straightened in their seats.

“Good morning,” he greeted, though his tone was as firm as ever. “I trust that you all have reviewed yesterday’s material.” You forced yourself to sit up properly, silently relieved by the well-timed interruption. But out of the corner of your eye, you caught Chai Latte Cookie leaning just slightly in your direction. “This conversation isn’t over,” she murmured, voice laced with curiosity and concern in equal measure. You sighed. You’d have to deal with that later.

The lecture passed in a blur, your mind still fogged with the lingering exhaustion of a poor night’s sleep. Normally, you’d be the first to slip out of the classroom once dismissed, eager to avoid any unnecessary conversation or scrutiny. But today… there wasn’t much of a point. Chai Latte Cookie was a fast walker, and no matter how much of a head start you tried to get, she’d always catch up. Hazelnut Biscotti and Earl Grey, for all their composed exteriors, were equally determined when it came to making sure you were alright. There was no escaping them. So instead of making a run for it, you packed your things at a normal pace, bracing yourself for the inevitable. Sure enough, Chai Latte Cookie looped her arm through yours the moment you stepped into the hallway, tugging you along with a knowing smile.

“So,” she began, tone as sweet as honey but sharp with intent. “Where did you sleep last night?” You sighed, your attempt at a sheepish grin doing little to disarm her. “Just… my favorite spot.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie groaned behind you.

“You slept on that stone bench again?”

“Wait, again?” Earl Grey Cookie echoed, raising an eyebrow. Chai Latte Cookie’s grip on your arm tightened slightly in a way that told you she was not letting this slide. “No wonder you look like you got steamrolled. Do you know how bad that is for your back?” You rolled your shoulders, still feeling the stiff ache in your neck. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Hazelnut Biscotti muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Earl Grey sighed through his nose, his expression unreadable as he studied you. “We would have woken you this morning,” he said, tone softer than usual. “If we had known, that is.”

You looked away, guilt creeping up your spine. You hadn’t meant to worry them. Chai Latte Cookie sighed, letting go of your arm only to poke your forehead lightly. “Next time, just tell us, okay? You don’t have to wander off alone when you’re feeling down.”

Hazelnut Biscotti huffed. “Or at the very least, pick somewhere comfortable to mope.” You let out a small, tired laugh. “Noted.” Your friends exchanged glances, clearly still unconvinced, but they didn’t push further not yet, at least. Instead, Chai Latte Cookie simply linked her arm with yours again and led the way down the hall, her warmth grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. No matter how much of a mess you felt like, they weren’t going to leave you alone. You weren’t sure you minded.

“So,” she began, her voice light but far too knowing. “Care to explain why you slept on that bench?”

“I wasn’t moping, if that’s what you’re all thinking.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie hummed, arching his brow clearly unconvinced. “No one said you were.” You shot him a pointed look. He was gaslighting you. “But since you brought it up…”

“I wasn’t!” you insisted, exasperated. “I just… needed some fresh air. That’s all.” Chai Latte Cookie tilted her head, considering. “Fresh air, huh?” You nodded quickly. “Yes. Fresh air. Perfectly normal, perfectly reasonable fresh air.” Earl Grey finally spoke, his voice as smooth as ever. “And this fresh air just happened to lull you to sleep on a cold stone bench?” You huffed. “It wasn’t cold.”

Hazelnut Biscotti groaned. “That is not the point.” Chai Latte sighed, resting her chin against your shoulder as she continued to walk beside you. “You know, if you wanted fresh air so badly, you could’ve told us. We would’ve gone with you.”

You felt a pang of guilt but shrugged it off. “I didn’t want to bother you.” Earl Grey gave you a pointed look. “And yet, here we are, bothered.” You winced. Okay, maybe that was fair. Chai Latte pulled away just enough to nudge your side. “Next time, tell us. You’re not alone, you know?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded. “Seriously. If you’re going to have a lone sleepover outside your dorm, at least let us know before we have to find out about it.” You hesitated, but the way they all looked at you the concern that lingered just beneath their teasing made something in your chest feel uncomfortably tight. “…Fine,” you relented, rolling your eyes.

“Next time, I’ll say something.” Chai Latte Cookie grinned, satisfied, while Hazelnut Biscotti just sighed in relief. Earl Grey, though, watched you for a moment longer before giving you a small nod, as if he knew there was more you weren’t saying but that he’d wait until you were ready. For now, at least, they let the matter rest. But you had no doubt they’d be keeping an even closer eye on you.

The day slipped past in a haze of half-heard lectures and half-hearted notes. You weren’t absent, your body remained in its seat, your pen moved, your eyes followed the text but your mind drifted, floating somewhere between the shimmering stars of Shadow Milk Cookie’s hair and the quiet ache lodged deep in your chest. You weren’t moping. You were just… preoccupied. When the time came for tutoring, your legs carried you forward on instinct, muscle memory guiding you through the halls as though you had no say in the matter. You considered turning back, skipping, just this once. But that would only make things worse.

A/N #2 My exam is tomorrow I feel prepared but still worried about a couple reactions...but I'm still going to do my best also once my exam is done the chains keeping me from my freedom will have been broken yippeee!!! no update tomorrow but probably Wednesday <3 anyways...thanks for being patient these past 4 days have felt like an eternity without speaking to y'all...I will be back in full force and answering questions once I'm fully liberated...my inbox is like piling up so I'll get started on that soon...ALSO I separated the paragraphs more hopefully that makes it easier to read, if not, pls lmk in the comments thanks <3 (I just realized I posted the version where i deleted and added things so some of the transitions are off UPDATE: It's FIXED this time its fr thanks for letting me know something was off in the comments <3)

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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petalbcrnes · 2 months ago

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✫ㅤ𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐄ㅤㅤ𝑜𝑓.ㅤㅤ𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆ㅤׁ . °ㅤ

𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐘 ㅤ＼ 𝓙𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 ’n shazam!reader

♡ · REQUEST — Could I please request a Jason Todd X Shazam!reader? Reader has the same powers and Shazam and she looks damn good in her suit, Jason and her are the chaotic couple everyone in the Justice League and their side kicks are jealous of, and they get fan edits made of them lmao

⊹ 💬 · my knowledge of the Justice League is vvv limited so i apologise if they’re a bit to ooc, i did all the research i could to fully understand this req (forever a tattooed jay truther so don’t mind the moodboard lol)〟

ഒ DIRECTORY⠀’N⠀RULES.

Before Jason, the Justice League headquarters felt isolating for you. Which sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?

You, who’s blessed with the gifts of gods from the very mountain of Olympus. You, a hero intertwined with the same golden threads that make up demigods. The world could be so small under your fingertips—wisdom, strength, stamina, speed and courage—you’re supposed to have it all. And somehow, it feels like you keep nothing at all.

Being at the top of the world is truly a lonely feeling. You experience it everyday with the other heroes between these walls. They don’t necessarily do it on purpose. You’re just so painstakingly different. Off. Something they haven’t dealt with before.

Before Jason, that is.

You’ve had lightning dance across your fingertips, bend to your will and strike along the sky for you. But Jason Todd was something else. Something else with his sharp sea-green eyes. Something else with his stupidly charming grin. Something else with the way he’d find you every time in this labyrinth of a building and untangle the knots in your body with his quips, mean and handsome face, sparkling eyes—he is thunder in front of you—unbowed, unbroken, unshakable, perfectly imperfect and for some reason he’d started directing his stupidly charming grins at you.

Wandering the halls with your shoulders stiff, walk hurried, eyes cast to your feet and nervous of every word said to you—never mind if it was kind—was a draining ritual you bonded yourself to.

Falling for him was too easy. It was natural how you’d seek him out too. It spurred you even more when there was a flush on his cheeks after seeing how you’d call out his name in a crowd of other shining heroes. You two got drunk off of each other like the very presence of one another was ambrosia—golden life ichor sent by the gods.

They’d truly blessed you this time. You’d never give this up. The way the relationship you two had actually grew into a real relationship. How you’d have your hand in his and he’d trace circles on your palm and how he’d kiss your shoulders and fingertips, claiming you needed to be taken care of. He understood that isolation. Jason Todd understood and changed it all to a fairy tale.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Even now, sitting with him in one of the many common rooms the headquarters has, bodies pressed close, head on his shoulder and his arm playing with a strand of your hair. His head is tilted back against the cushions, a rare, soft smirk on his lips as he mutters something that makes you laugh quietly.

He smelled like smoke and leather and warmth.

You could’ve stayed like that forever.

It hadn’t dawned on either of you that the relationship wasn’t exactly public yet.

Most of the League is returning from a late mission. They’re tired, soot-streaked, and ready to debrief and crash. The doors slide open with a familiar mechanical hiss as Diana, Barry, Hal, and Bruce step in—talking quietly among themselves.

But the chatter halts.

You two absolutely, undeniably comfortable. Domestic, even.

And in public.

Barry stares wide-eyed, as if there was a comically big light bulb above his head that just lit up.

“Are you guys—? Wait. Is this—? Are you two—?”

Jason didn’t even look up. “Took you long enough.”

“Seriously?” Hal sounded like he was choking. “You’re dating Red Hood? Jason Todd? Are we just letting anyone into cuddle territory now?”

You sighed, not moving. “He passed every test I gave him.”

“I barely passed,” Jason added, smug. “Or maybe I’m just effortlessly charming.”

“Are you kidding me?” Barry blinked between the two of you. “You’re like—lightning bolts and golden capes! And he’s—he’s literal Gotham crime trauma incarnate—no offense.”

“None taken, I guess?” Jason said, finally glancing up. “We make sense in a messed-up but perfect way.”

There was a pause. Even Diana didn’t say anything at first. Just observed them, the way you leaned into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way Jason’s hand never stopped tracing soft, lazy circles on your side.

“You look happy,” Diana said after a moment.

“I am,” you replied simply.

That was something you were sure of. The happiest, the purest joy had threaded itself into your being when you were with this man.

Diana nodded once, apparently satisfied. “Then that is all I need to know.”

Bruce was silent. No one expected anything else.

“Still feels illegal,” Hal muttered, grabbing a drink from the nearby fridge. “Like, morally. Cuddling with Jason Todd in the Watchtower.”

Jason gave him a lazy grin. “Then close your eyes next time.”

“I am texting Clark,” Barry announced. “Power Couple status: officially threatened.”

You finally cracked a smile. “Tell him we’ll duel him and Lois any day.”

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Seeing you two cuddling on the couch was a shock. But fighting side by side? That was truly a sight.

The ground shook with the force of the blast. Smoke curled upward in jagged columns as buildings groaned, half-toppled. Civilians were still evacuating, but the League was already deep in the mess—and so were you and Jason.

Jason reloaded without missing a step, ducking beneath a burst of plasma that barely missed his head. “Three on the left, armored. One's got a cannon.”

“A cannon, seriously?” you deadpanned, eyes glowing gold as static crackled along your skin. “Cannon first?”

“Cannon first.”

You launched into the sky with a thunderclap, a streak of white lightning behind you. The cannon-wielding merc didn't even have time to flinch before a bolt ripped through the clouds and slammed him back into the earth, smoking.

Jason whistled low. “Damn. I don’t think that I need to tell you how attractive that was.”

“Focus, Hood.”

“I am,” he muttered, firing three quick rounds into the knee joints of the other armored targets. “Deadly attractive and helpful.”

Roy and Kori are perched on a broken wall, watching as Jason and you tear through another group of enemies with terrifying precision.

Roy let out a low whistle. “Okay, I’ll say it—hot.”

Koriand’r smiled brightly. “They are very passionate! It is nice.”

Back on the ground, Jason threw a smoke pellet, vanishing into the haze just as another unit arrived. The moment they were disoriented, you flew in from above—fist-first—sending shockwaves that scattered the troops like dominos.

Then came the lightning—pure, radiant energy arcing from your hands, guided by Jason’s markers, precise as a sniper.

He appeared beside you again just in time to catch your elbow, steadying you.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Never better.”

Jason grinned. “Then let’s end this.”

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apollosgiftofprophecy · 1 year ago

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Canon

fashion designer athena and model apollo.

#knowledge n wisdom #apollo #athena #the trials of apollo

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wordsofwhimsy · 4 months ago

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🅲🅾🅽🅲🆁🅴🆃🅴 🅵🅻🅾🆆🅴🆁🆂

A/N: I’ve been going BONKERS reading through all of the Mark Grayson x reader fanfics on here. Y’all are so damn talented!!! Got a girl having all the feels. It really inspires me to write more myself :’). The last thing I posted got a little bit of love & it really meant a lot to me! I’m also going to try working on my formatting to make it more appealing.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

PAIRING: [Budding] Sinister!Mark Grayson x Reader

WARNINGS: Series-Typical Violence & Gore, suggestive abusive/possessive

INSPIRED: by the song “luther” by Kendrick Lamar & SZA

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

♫♪ If this world was mine… ♫♪

Something was changing in Mark. The sweet, funny, and thoughtful guy you’d known for years was still there, but you’d noticed within the last few months that there was also something else—something much darker bubbling just below the surface. At first you told yourself his heavy emotions were normal and made sense. What he went through with his father was nothing short of traumatic, and he never truly had a chance to process any of it. Not in the typical sense, at least. No therapy, no counselors, no support groups. Just himself, his mom, and all of the poor souls who dared to take up the mantle of being a career criminal. Of course there was always you, but what words of wisdom could you really offer? You were just a regular girl, working an ordinary nine to five as a library assistant. The life he led was so fantastical and impossible for you to ever truly understand. You loved him dearly and would always support him in any way you could, but the reality was you did not relate to his current life at all.

As time went on though you noticed that what started as a shadow within him was growing, becoming like a black sludge that would seep out of his mouth when talking about Cecil, or his father—or anything really that he disagreed with. If you were being honest with yourself, it scared you. You of course knew he was not his father and would never even conceive of committing such atrocities, but somewhere in the recesses of your mind you held the image of the destruction that was caused by Omni-Man, and then the knowledge that Invincible was more than capable of doing the same. Not wanting to add the stressors that consumed Mark’s life, however, you never voiced these feelings. But they were there nonetheless, and becoming harder for you to ignore.

♫♪ I'd take your dreams and make 'em multiply ♫♪

“I don’t understand what you’re so upset with me about [Name],” Mark stated, the irritation evident in his tone. “You wanted to become the lead librarian, and now you are. That’s literally what you asked for.” You stared up at him incredulously, arms stiff at your sides with your hands clenched into tight fists.

“You have got to be kidding me right now Mark.” You waited a few moments, for some reason believing his senses would come back to him. Instead, you were met with him starring evenly back down at you. Your eyes widened as you shouted, “You threatened Mrs. Crump into retiring!”

“I gave her strong encouragement.”

“Be so for real right now…” You dropped your head and covered your face with your palm, needing to regroup your thoughts. “Maybe I’m mistaken. Did Invincible not show up at my job this morning and tell my boss that if she was smart, she would make this her last day?” His dark, slim eyes glanced away from you now as he gave no answer. Your lips pursed as you slowly nodded your head, at a loss for words. Mark looked back at you, his expression suddenly so soft and tender. It almost made your heart flutter.

“Your life is so short, [Name],” he said in almost a whisper. “You deserve for every dream you ever have to become reality. In fact you deserve even more!” All the built up tension in your muscles suddenly melted away as you instinctively reached out to take his hand in a comforting gesture.

“Oh—” Your fingers trace up the solid and muscled contours of his arm, gently grazing over his shoulder and neck to finally cup his jaw. Your eyes meet with his and you couldn’t help but feel a soft smile tug at your lips. “Mark… My life may seem short in comparison to yours, but understand that for me, it’s the longest thing I’ll ever experience.” Your words seemed to do nothing to comfort him as a look of frustration pulled at his features. You only continued to gently smile. “Besides, the fight for our dreams is the most important part of the adventure.”

This seemed to register for him, at least on some level. “I love you,” he hushed while holding your face in his calloused hands. He leaned down to give you a soft, lingering kiss that made you weak in the knees. This time, as was the case with every time that you began to worry about his dark tendencies, he touched you and flooded your brain with oxytocin causing you to forget all about your concerns. Just like he wanted.

♪♫ If this world was mine, I'd take your enemies in front of God Introduce 'em to that light, hit them strictly with that fire ♪♫

This is a dream, you told yourself. Every cell in your body was shaking in horror. This is dream, you repeated in your mind, tears welling in your eyes. This has to be a dream. Mark stood facing you, donning his superhero attire. Although the blood that heavily stained his right hand up to his elbow did not lend itself to the idea of heroism. “[Name],” he spoke your name so calmly. Nausea churned in your stomach as you took a step back from him. “I had to do this. His life was meaningless – he didn’t deserve to be on this planet with you.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look anywhere but at his face. You didn’t dare see what was undoubtedly laid in a careless, bloodied pile at his feet. “You know that I’m right, [Name]. Don’t you understand? He was—”

“He was my father!” you cried, the tears now spilling freely from your swollen eyes. “How could you do this?!”

“How could I do what? Save you from his abuse? Spare you from another bruised eye or busted lip? Another horrible insult being spit at you from his vile mouth?” As he talked you could see the blackness gushing from his lips. This was what you had feared all along but denied endlessly, until now. And now it was far too late. You took another step away from him and suddenly felt your back pressed into something solid and immovable. Mark’s arms closed around you from behind, his face leaned down next to yours. “I am all you really need, [Name]. I can keep you safe. No one else can do that for you. Only me.” You sobbed without restraint, all of your body giving way under his embrace as he kept you on your feet effortlessly. “I know this is hard for you right now, but don’t worry, I promise you’ll understand someday.”

Having gone numb to your own senses, it took you several minutes to realize you were no longer on solid ground and instead floating above your father’s home. It was quiet out, no sirens or people screaming. Your neighborhood and the police were none the wiser. And even if someone did know, what could they possibly do? “I love you, [Name]. I know you know that. You might not feel the same right now, but I hope soon enough you will again.” The tone in his voice left you feeling like you didn’t have a choice in the matter. And suddenly, you could see the future clearly. He would follow in his father’s footsteps, and this world would bend knee to his every whim. You would be no exception. In the name of self-preservation, you found yourself reaching up to hold onto his arms which still gripped tightly around your rib cage.

“I love you too.” The words surprised even you as they cracked out of your throat. A low hum of satisfaction could be heard from Mark before he placed a tender kiss to the crook of your neck.

“I’m so glad to hear you say that.” He squeezed you even tighter, pushing the breath out of your lungs and putting a deep ache in your spine. How could your sweet, thoughtful, caring boyfriend have changed so much? Where did the Mark you know go? Your stare fell back down to the roof of your father’s home and the sight immediately brought tears back to your eyes, blurring your vision. “Things in this world are going to be changing.” You bottom lip quivered at his words. “But don’t worry, I’ve done some things to your house just to make sure you can stay safe. I can’t wait for you to see.” He placed another kiss to your throat, and you felt yourself slip out of your skin. Nothing would ever be the same.

#mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #invincible fanfic #mark graryson fanfic

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songbirdseung · 27 days ago

Text

𝑺𝑬𝑳𝑭 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑹𝑶𝑳 he knew what he was getting into, especially after knowing you. so, why did he tease you pass the pushing point?

you'd think knowing someone to where you know their breaking point, what irks them, or what's it going to take for them to lose all control would stop them from acting a certain way or do things to avoid casualties.

but why did none of that wisdom and knowledge on you didn't deter jake from pissing you off and doing too much?

simple. he can be a jackass and also because he knows you could never be mad at him, especially with that little crush you have on him, that little crush you think he didn't know about.

“Why are you so prissy? Lighten up, Y/N,” he teased, smirk painted across his lips like he was born to annoy you.

If anyone else said that, you'd take offense. But when it came from him, delivered with that smug glint in his eyes and a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, you knew better. He didn’t mean it. Not really.

Still, you groaned, clutching your stomach, pain blooming with every movement. “Shut up. You’re not helping.”

You wanted to slap that smirk off his face. Or maybe kiss it. You weren’t sure anymore. Either way, the bastard wasn’t fazed.

Jake had made it his personal life mission to get under your skin the moment he became your best friend. And now that he knew you liked him? He dialed it up tenfold.

“Oh please,” he said, leaning against the edge of your desk like he lived there. “You love me, don’t you, pretty baby?”

Pretty baby.

What the hell?

That was new. Even for him. But somehow… it didn’t feel foreign. It rolled off his tongue like it had always belonged to you. Like you were made to be called that.

Your breath hitched, and all your smartass comebacks died right there in your throat. Pink flooded your cheeks like a slow burn, crawling down your neck, betraying you in full.

Jake saw it. Oh, he loved seeing it.

“What? Something wrong, my pretty baby?” he purred, voice softer now, deeper, warmer. His hand reached out, grazing your cheek. His thumb brushed along your flushed skin before tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he did it every day.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning every inch of your expression, memorizing the way you looked at him right then wide-eyed, breathless, wrecked from a simple nickname.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispered.

You were gone. Done for. There were no thoughts left. No words. Your vocabulary? Gone. Stolen by the boy now inches away from you with a hand on your face and the most sincere look in his eyes.

You couldn’t tell if this was another one of his games or something more. Something real.

Because someone like Jake who was bright, warm, magnetic... how could he possibly fall for someone like you? It didn’t make sense. Not in your head.

But in his? It made perfect sense.

He watched your reactions, how your eyes dilated whenever you looked at him, how your voice softens when you spoke to him, your lips turning upright as you saw him walk in the room.

It was so different from the first few months of adjusting him to your life. You were so mean, but in a lighthearted friendly way, you would narrow your eyes at him and mock him all the time. But now, you toned it down and he sees the look of pure adoration in your eyes.

You were awfully horrible at hiding your feelings, which made it ten times easier for him.

He leaned in, lips just barely hovering near your temple, his voice dropping into a breathless murmur. “It’s a shame,” he whispered, “you can’t use your pretty little head to figure out that I love you too.”

You blinked, once or twice, maybe more but that doesn't matter, so you just laugh it off.

It wasn’t loud, it was small, breathy, a little bitter. Because your chest was tight and your throat was dry and your brain was trying to convince you this was just Jake doing what he always did, teasing.

“You’re such an ass” you whispered, trying to smile, trying to pull away but he didn’t let you. His thumb lingered on your cheek, soft and grounding.

Jake didn’t flinch. “I’m serious.”

“Sure you are,” you muttered, reaching for a cushion or something to throw at him, to break the moment before it became something dangerous. Something real.

But he caught your wrist, held it gently in his hand. “Y/N.”

You hated the way your name sounded in his mouth. Hated how it made your stomach twist and your heart do that dumb little jump. Hated how even now, even when you knew he was probably messing with you. “You don’t get to say that,” you said quietly. “Not if you don’t mean it.”

“I do,” he said without hesitation.

You stared at him, searching his face for a crack. The classic smirk, maybe that usual glint of mischief in his eyes but there was none.

Just Jake. Calm. Sure. Focused, like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to believe him.

He stepped closer, slowly, like he was afraid you might run. “You think I’d joke about loving you?”

You looked away, trying to laugh it off again. “Jake, you joke about everything. You literally called me prissy ten minutes ago.”

“I joke because it’s the only way I could say anything without you shutting me down.” His tone was different now. Lower. Honest. “You’d never believe me if I said it seriously. Not until you heard it through a joke first.”

You were quiet. Meanwhile, he wasn’t done.

“I watched you fall for me,” he said. “Piece by piece. I saw it. The way you started softening. The way you look at me now like I’m the center of the damn universe.”

Your throat tightened. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re so full of me.” He grinned, but it was gentler this time. “I didn’t think someone like you could ever feel this way about someone like me. But once I knew, I couldn’t let it go. I wouldn’t.”

He stepped closer again, crowding your space now, his hand still on your cheek, the other one dropping your wrist just to wrap gently around your waist.

“I’m not playing with you,” he said. “Not this time.”

You hated how badly you wanted to believe him.

“You’re confusing,” you whispered. “You mess with me so much I can’t tell what’s real.”

Jake leaned in, lips brushing your temple, voice barely audible.

“This. Right now. You. Me. It’s real.”

The silence that fell between you two was electric. It wasn't that awkward silent type. It was the kind of silence where your heart was the loudest thing in the room. Where every second stretched thin and taut like a string about to snap. You were staring at him, really looking. And Jake... God, he just stood there and let you.

Let you take your time. Let you search his eyes like you were waiting for the moment he cracked and said “just kidding.”

He just stood there, inches away, fingers resting on your waist, warm and steady, eyes softer than you’d ever seen. The kind of soft that made you ache.

You didn’t know when your hand lifted to his chest, fingers gently curling into the fabric of his shirt like muscle memory. Your body moved instinctively, drawn in by the gravity of him. Your forehead tilted closer, breath mingling with his.

You got so close that your nose brushed his.

His lips parted and your eyes flicked down to his mouth briefly, fleeting and just when his lips twitched into the beginning of a smile because he knew that's when you pulled back.

You did it not to tease him, you didn't lean back that far away, just enough to put an inch of air between you. Just enough to test him.

To see if he was still playing, to see if he’d chase you.

And oh, he did.

Jake didn’t hesitate. Not even a second.

The moment he realized what you were doing, he surged forward, one hand threading into your hair, the other pulling you flush against him as he kissed you.

You gasped against him, fingers fisting his shirt, knees threatening to give out. Jake’s lips moved with purpose, like he’d been waiting forever. Like he was done playing. Done pretending.

Your back hit the wall behind you, and he didn’t even break the kiss, just groaned low against your lips like he’d been holding that sound in for too long.

And when he finally, finally pulled back, barely an inch and his voice was hoarse, breath ragged.

“I’ve been dying to do that.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “What took you so long?”

His eyes burned into yours. “You did.”

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #engene #enha #enhypen x reader #jake #jake enhypen #jake sim #jake sim imagines #jake sim x reader #jake x reader #jaeyun #sim jake #enhypen jake #enha jake #sim jaeyun

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2b4st4r · 26 days ago

Note

Can you do Zoro x female reader where they are hit with a devil fruit power and are now brainwashed into believing that chopper is their child for a couple of weeks. Like actual blood child, as if they birthed and raised chopper themselves. Reader and Zoro already had feelings for each other, but havent confessed yet, and are now having to deal with this mess. Poor chopper having to deal with his "new parents" till this wears off, and the crew being hysterical about the whole situation.

Forced Family

Zoro x Reader

Words: 9,041

Warnings: Temporary Mind Alteration, Implied Non-Consensual Actions (due to mind alteration), emotional distress, and mild violence, and use of y/n, FEMALE READER.

Requests open

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

The Thousand Sunny sailed under a sky painted with the vibrant hues of a new day, the salty spray of the Grand Line a familiar kiss on Y/n's face. As the Straw Hat Pirates' Quartermaster, their days were a symphony of organized chaos – ensuring supplies were stocked, negotiating with eccentric island merchants, and meticulously logging every berry spent and earned. Yet, their role extended beyond the ledger and the storeroom. As the Master-at-Arms, Y/n was responsible for the maintenance and readiness of all weapons on board, a task they approached with a quiet intensity that mirrored their own formidable skill.

Y/n’s relationship with each Straw Hat was a thread woven into the very fabric of the crew. With Luffy, it was an easy camaraderie built on shared dreams and an understanding of boundless freedom. They often found themselves laughing at the captain's antics, a quiet smile playing on their lips as they watched him chase a new adventure. Nami and Y/n shared a pragmatic bond, often poring over charts and supply lists, their shared sense of responsibility a grounding force amidst the crew's eccentricities. Y/n admired Nami's unwavering determination and sharp wit, and Nami respected Y/n's meticulous nature and unwavering loyalty.

Usopp often sought Y/n out for advice on new weapon designs or to boast about his latest invention, finding an appreciative and discerning ear in the Master-at-Arms. Y/n, in turn, found Usopp's boundless creativity and occasional bursts of unexpected courage endearing. Sanji always ensured Y/n had a steaming mug of their favorite tea during late-night inventory checks, his chivalry extending to a respectful acknowledgment of their tireless work. Their banter was light and frequent, Sanji's flamboyant compliments met with Y/n's dry wit.

Chopper would often bring Y/n newly gathered medicinal herbs, a silent offering of his care, and Y/n would always make time to listen to his latest medical discoveries. Y/n's calm demeanor was a comfort to the easily flustered doctor. Robin and Y/n shared a quiet understanding, often found reading in comfortable silence on the deck, a shared appreciation for knowledge and history binding them. Their conversations were often profound, delving into topics that went beyond the immediate adventures.

Franky and Y/n frequently collaborated on ship upgrades and weapon enhancements, their combined mechanical prowess leading to some of the Sunny's most ingenious features. Y/n appreciated Franky's unbridled enthusiasm and innovative spirit, while Franky admired Y/n's precision and attention to detail. Brook would serenade Y/n with a melancholic tune, often leading to a shared moment of reflection or a burst of laughter at his skull jokes. Y/n enjoyed Brook's unique perspective and his unwavering spirit. Jinbei, the newest addition, found a reliable and steadfast presence in Y/n, often exchanging quiet observations about the sea and the crew. Y/n respected Jinbei's wisdom and strength, and Jinbei recognized Y/n's quiet resolve.

But it was with Roronoa Zoro that Y/n's connection hummed with an unspoken electricity. Their interactions were often clipped, a language of nods and shared glances, yet each held a depth of unspoken understanding. They sparred together with a brutal honesty, the clang of steel on steel a familiar rhythm that resonated deep within them. During these training sessions, their eyes would meet across crossed blades, a spark igniting in the silent space between them. Y/n admired Zoro’s unwavering dedication to his dream, his formidable strength, and the surprising moments of genuine care he showed, often disguised beneath a gruff exterior. Zoro, in turn, was captivated by Y/n's quiet confidence, their sharp mind, and the fluid grace with which they moved, whether wielding a weapon or meticulously organizing supplies. A mutual, unspoken admiration simmered beneath the surface, a delicate tension that added an intriguing layer to their already intricate dance aboard the Thousand Sunny. Both were too stubborn, too focused, and perhaps, too afraid to acknowledge the blossoming feelings that pulsed beneath the surface, a silent promise hanging in the salty air of the Grand Line.

The anchor dropped with a familiar thud, signaling the Thousand Sunny's arrival at yet another uncharted island in the New World. This one felt… different. The air, though carrying the usual salty tang, held a stillness that was almost unsettling. From the deck, you could see a small, clustered town nestled amidst strangely twisted trees, and the few figures moving about had a languid, almost detached air about them.

"Something feels a bit strange about this place," Nami murmured, her brow furrowed as she scanned the island with her keen eyes. "Keep your guard up, everyone."

As Quartermaster, the need for resupply was always on your mind. "We're running low on a few key items," you announced, consulting your meticulously kept list. "I should head to town and see what they have." You were generally comfortable handling such tasks on your own, your skills with a blade more than sufficient to deter any opportunistic trouble. You were kind by nature, always willing to lend a hand or offer a comforting word, but you were also fiercely capable and self-reliant.

Nami, however, her observation skills honed by years navigating treacherous waters and even more treacherous people, didn't seem entirely comfortable with the idea of you going alone this time. "Y/n," she said, her gaze thoughtful, "this island… the people seem a little… off. Maybe it's just my nerves, but I'd feel better if Zoro went with you."

Zoro, who had been honing his swords nearby, his movements as precise and deadly as a striking viper, paused, his dark eye flicking towards you and then to Nami. He didn't comment, but you could sense a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

"It's alright, Nami, I can handle it," you started, not wanting to pull Zoro away from his training, especially since you knew how seriously he took it.

"Humph," Zoro finally grunted, sheathing Wado Ichimonji. "Doesn't matter to me. Lead the way, Quartermaster." There was a subtle shift in his stance, a readiness that spoke volumes despite his seemingly indifferent tone.

Nami sighed in relief. "Thanks, Zoro. Just… be careful, both of you. Something about this place gives me the creeps."

You met Zoro's gaze for a fleeting moment, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. A small, almost imperceptible warmth spread through you at the thought of him accompanying you. It wasn’t just the added security; there was a quiet comfort in his presence, a feeling of unspoken understanding that always lingered between you.

"Alright," you said, a subtle nod to Nami. "Let's go see what this town has to offer." As you turned to head towards the shore, you could feel Zoro falling into step beside you, his large frame a reassuring presence at your side. The familiar weight of your own weapons at your hip felt a little less significant with him there, and as you both set off towards the peculiar little town, a strange mix of anticipation and unease settled over you. You couldn't shake the feeling that this seemingly simple resupply trip might turn out to be anything but.

The path from the shore to the town was overgrown with thick, unfamiliar foliage, some plants sporting vibrant, almost unnaturally bright blossoms, while others were a dull, sickly green. The air grew heavier with a strange, sweet scent the further you walked, a fragrance that was both alluring and vaguely unsettling.

"You smell that?" you asked, turning your head slightly to Zoro. Your voice was low, a natural caution in your tone.

He grunted in response, his hand already resting on the hilt of his Wado Ichimonji, his single eye scanning the surroundings with a familiar intensity. "Something's off," he echoed Nami's earlier sentiment, his voice a low rumble. "Smells like… too much. Like it's trying to cover something up."

You nodded, a shiver tracing its way down your spine despite the warm, humid air. "My thoughts exactly." You picked up your pace slightly, eager to get to the town and finish your business.

As you walked, the silence between you was punctuated only by the rustling of leaves and the distant, indistinct sounds from the town. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, not with Zoro. With him, there was a shared understanding, a sense of quiet companionship that transcended the need for words. Still, the underlying tension of your unspoken feelings thrummed beneath the surface, a constant, subtle hum in the air around you.

Suddenly, a small, dark shadow darted across the path ahead. Your hand instinctively went to the hilt of your own blade, but Zoro was quicker, his sword half-drawn before the shadow even registered. It was just a small, scurrying creature, resembling a large, dark rodent.

"Relax," he muttered, though his eye remained sharp. He re-sheathed his sword with a soft click.

"Just a little jumpy, I suppose," you admitted, offering a small, sheepish smile. You dropped your hand from your weapon. "Nami's warning got to me."

Zoro let out a low "Hmph," a sound that could mean anything from agreement to amusement. He didn't look at you, but you felt his presence, a solid, reassuring anchor beside you. The air around him always felt… steady. Strong. It was a feeling you found yourself increasingly drawn to.

As you neared the town, the strange quiet deepened. The small, wooden buildings looked like they'd been built haphazardly, leaning at odd angles. The few villagers you saw were indeed "off," as Nami had put it. They moved slowly, their eyes vacant, and they didn't seem to acknowledge your presence, even when you passed directly by them. They were like puppets on slack strings.

"This is really strange," you whispered, pulling your list from your pocket but feeling less and less inclined to actually shop. You glanced at Zoro, and for the first time, his gaze met yours directly. There was a rare intensity in his eye, a hint of concern that was rarely visible.

"Stay close," he said, his voice softer than usual, barely a whisper. His hand, subtly, moved closer to yours, almost brushing your fingers as you walked. The unspoken current between you flared, a brief, hot pulse. You quickly looked away, your cheeks warming, but you didn't move your hand. The almost-touch was a tantalizing, frustrating, beautiful thing.

You continued through the deserted-feeling streets, the tension between you and the unnerving atmosphere of the town building with every step. You needed to get those supplies, but something here felt deeply, fundamentally wrong. And with Zoro by your side, the air was thick with more than just the sweet, cloying scent of strange flowers. It was thick with unspoken words, with a silent yearning that neither of you dared to name.

You and Zoro pressed on, the unsettling quiet of the town amplifying with every step. The main street, which should have been bustling with activity, was eerily still. Shop doors hung ajar, revealing interiors that appeared perfectly preserved – baskets overflowing with vibrant fruits, shelves stacked with colorful fabrics, tools glinting in the dim light. But there was no one. Not a single soul.

"Hello?" you called out, your voice echoing strangely in the deserted space. You felt a prickle of unease at the lack of response. "Is anyone here? Shopkeeper?"

Zoro, ever pragmatic, strode directly into what looked like a small grocer's. You followed, your eyes scanning the shelves for the items on your list. A display of bright red apples caught your eye. They looked perfectly ripe, glistening under a shaft of sunlight that somehow seemed too artificial.

"Seems like everyone just… vanished," you murmured, reaching for an apple. You pulled your hand back just before touching it, a strange intuition stopping you.

Zoro, meanwhile, had been peering intently at a stack of what looked like freshly baked bread. "This is a waste of time," he grumbled, his voice cutting through the silence. He picked up a loaf. "Just take what we need. They're clearly not here to sell it."

"Zoro, no!" you protested immediately, your quartermaster's ethics kicking in. "We can't just steal from them, even if they're not around. That's not how we operate." You might be pirates, but you had your own code, and wanton thievery wasn't part of it, especially when no direct threat was present.

He sighed, dropping the bread with a soft thud that seemed overly loud in the quiet shop. "Fine. But we're not waiting around forever. This place feels wrong."

You hesitated, your gaze lingering on the vibrant apples. The silence stretched, the air growing heavier, almost suffocating. Something compelled you to try, just to confirm. With a deep breath, you reached out and firmly grasped for one of the red fruits.

Your fingers passed right through it.

Your eyes widened in disbelief. No resistance, no tangible form – just air where the apple should have been. You looked around, your heart beginning to pound. The vibrant colors of the fruits, the intricate patterns on the fabrics, the solid-looking walls of the shop – they all seemed to shimmer, ever so slightly.

"Zoro," you breathed, the word barely a whisper, your voice laced with sudden urgency. You grabbed his arm, your grip tight. "Zoro, it's an illusion! This whole place… it's not real!"

As if on cue, the world around you began to waver. The edges of the shop, the shelves, the apples, even the street outside, started to blur and distort, like a painting melting in the rain. The vibrant hues faded, replaced by ghostly, translucent outlines. The sweet, cloying scent vanished, replaced by the faint, familiar smell of the sea.

The unsettling quiet of the town morphed into a chilling, echoing silence as the illusion peeled away. You could feel Zoro's muscles tense under your hand, his single eye now wide with realization as the fabricated reality dissolved around you. The seemingly solid world was dissolving, revealing whatever lay beneath.

You looked around frantically, the dissolving town a swirling vortex of shimmering light and fading colors. Panic clawed at your throat. The perfectly arranged shops, the cobblestone streets, the peculiar villagers – all of it was dissolving into thin air, replaced by what appeared to be a vast, oppressive darkness.

Then you saw it – a flicker of movement, a deeper shade of black against the already encroaching gloom. A shadow.

A sharp pinch on your hand ripped a gasp from your lips. You looked down, your eyes wide with confusion, and saw nothing. No bite, no sting, no mark. Yet, an immediate wave of nausea washed over you. The world tilted, the faint outlines of the illusionary town spinning around you. You felt lightheaded, the ground swaying beneath your feet.

"Zo... Zoro..." you mumbled, your voice thin and reedy, your gaze fixed on your hand as if it held the answer to this sudden, crushing weakness.

Zoro’s worry was immediate, a tangible force that cut through the lingering traces of the illusion. His usual stoicism shattered, replaced by an raw, urgent concern that painted itself across his face. His hand instinctively shot out, steadying you as you swayed. "You're okay, you are okay," he said, his voice a low, rough rumble, far softer than you’d ever heard it. He didn’t seem to be talking to you as much as trying to convince himself, his grip tightening around your arm.

Your knees buckled. You went limp, your vision tunneling. Zoro moved instantly, catching you before you could hit the ground, gathering you into his arms. The scent of salt and steel, uniquely his, filled your senses even as darkness threatened to consume you. He knew he should let you go, knew he should be drawing his swords, ready to confront whatever unseen assailant had struck you. But he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to just drop you. His resolve to fight warred with an overwhelming need to protect you, to ensure your safety above all else.

Just gently, he told himself, just put her down gently.

He lowered you carefully to the ground, his touch surprisingly tender despite the urgency of the moment. Your head rested on the strangely coarse earth beneath the dissolving illusion, your eyes fluttering closed. He straightened, his body instantly coiled, ready for battle, his hand already on the h hilt of Wado Ichimonji.

That's when he felt it. A sharp prick on his neck, mirroring the sensation you'd described on your hand. His fingers instinctively shot to the spot, but there was nothing there. Just a sudden, searing pain that quickly gave way to the same sickening lightheadedness that had stolen your strength. His vision blurred, the last vestiges of the illusionary town fading into an oppressive blackness.

Zoro felt the world tilt, the oppressive darkness pressing in on him. His muscles, usually steel-hard and responsive, began to go limp, betraying him. His vision blurred, the last flickers of the dissolving illusion replaced by swirling shadows. Panic, cold and sharp, cut through the haze of confusion. Protect her. The thought roared through his mind, a primal command overriding the sudden weakness.

With a monumental effort, he managed to pull Wado Ichimonji from its sheath, the familiar weight of the sword a faint comfort in his failing grasp. He tried to take a fighting stance, to brace himself against the unseen assailant, but his limbs felt heavy, distant. Numbness crept insidiously from his neck, spreading rapidly through his arms and legs. He swayed, his formidable balance deserting him. The ground, which had been solid just moments before, seemed to lurch beneath his feet.

He staggered, his resolve to fight warring with the relentless advance of the unknown poison. His grip on his sword loosened, his arm trembling uncontrollably. Every instinct screamed at him to stay upright, to defend Y/n, but his body was failing him. The darkness swelled, threatening to consume him entirely, and with a final, desperate lurch, he lost his footing. He collapsed, Wado Ichimonji clattering uselessly beside him as the blackness swallowed him whole.

A dull ache throbbed behind your eyes, a constant drumbeat against a canvas of unfamiliarity. Your eyelids felt dry, glued shut, but with a monumental effort, you forced them open. Your body was a symphony of soreness, every muscle protesting, every joint screaming in protest. You blinked, attempting to clear the haze from your vision, and as your surroundings slowly came into focus, a wave of confusion washed over you.

This wasn't the strange, fading town. This was the infirmary aboard the Thousand Sunny. The familiar scent of antiseptics and Chopper's unique medicinal herbs filled the air. But something was profoundly, terrifyingly wrong. A hollow ache bloomed in your chest, a feeling of searching for something, someone, vital. Where was Zoro? Was he okay?

You tried to sit up, a sharp wince escaping your lips as pain lanced through your side. Your limbs felt heavy, sluggish, but the desperate need to find Zoro spurred you on.

"Y/n! Please sit down! You'll just injure yourself more!"

The familiar, small voice cut through your muddled thoughts. Your eyes, still swimming with concern, met those of Chopper. He was standing by your bunk, his little hooves fidgeting with a clipboard, his face etched with worry. But as your gaze locked with his, the world shifted. The lingering confusion solidified into something else, something intensely, unequivocally real.

"My child," you whispered, the words escaping your lips before you could even process them. A profound, overwhelming love flooded your heart, a fierce protective instinct unlike anything you'd ever known. You reached out a trembling hand, a deep, maternal yearning gripping you. "Are you alright, my little one? Are you hurt?" The notion that this small, adorable reindeer was anything but your flesh and blood, your very own child, simply didn't exist in your mind.

The memory of a strong, steadfast presence, of calloused hands and a comforting scent, flickered through your altered mind. "And… your father?" you continued, your voice laced with fresh worry. "Is your father well? Where is he?" You were certain, with every fiber of your being, that Roronoa Zoro was not just your crewmate, but your devoted husband, the other half of your family. The concern for him was a desperate, agonizing knot in your stomach.

Chopper stood frozen, his little hooves gripping the clipboard so tightly his knuckles turned white. His wide, innocent eyes blinked rapidly as you, Y/n, a fierce and capable pirate, reached out and gently cupped his furry cheek. Your touch, usually firm and reassuring, was now impossibly tender, filled with an emotion that utterly bewildered him.

"There, there, my precious one," you murmured, your thumb stroking his fur. "It's alright. Mama's here."

Chopper’s jaw dropped. Mama? His brain, usually a whirlwind of medical knowledge and panicky deductions, seized up entirely. He was a reindeer! A doctor! He was definitely not a "child," especially not your child. And "Mama"? That wasn't even… He felt a flush of heat rise to his face, a mix of profound confusion and genuine fear.

Then, you leaned in, pressing a soft, maternal kiss to his forehead.

GASP!

Chopper literally levitated a few inches off the ground in sheer, unadulterated shock. His fur bristled. This was beyond odd. This was beyond a concussion. His mind, scrambling for a diagnosis, whirred through every medical text he'd ever read. But no fever, no head trauma, no obvious injury could account for this.

A Devil Fruit! The thought hit him like a cannonball. It had to be! Some insidious power, something they'd encountered on that strange island, had twisted your mind. Or… or was it a severe case of amnesia coupled with a delusion? But the way you looked at him, with such overwhelming maternal affection, felt too real, too deep to be just a simple bump on the head. He frantically searched his memory for any information on mind-altering abilities, his tiny heart pounding in his chest. His beloved Y/n, his sensible, reliable Y/n, was calling him "my child" and looking at him like he was her son. It was terrifying, and he had absolutely no idea what to do.

"There, there, my precious one," you murmured, your thumb stroking his fur. "It's alright. Mama's here."

Then, you leaned in, pressing a soft, maternal kiss to his forehead.

GASP!

Just as Chopper was about to launch into a full-blown medical panic, the infirmary door creaked open. Zoro stumbled in, leaning heavily against the doorframe for support. His face was pale, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, and his movements were sluggish, like a marionette with tangled strings. But his eyes, though still a little glazed, immediately found you and Chopper.

The sight of you, your hand gently caressing Chopper's fur, ignited a familiar, fiercely protective instinct within him. The subtle influence of the unknown power had woven itself into the very fabric of his being, replacing logic with a profound, unshakeable conviction. This was his family. His wife. His child.

"Y/n," he rasped, his voice rough with lingering weakness but laced with an undeniable tenderness. He pushed off the doorframe, taking a shaky step towards you. "Are you alright? What happened?" His eyes, filled with a deep, loving concern, swept over you, searching for any sign of injury. He then looked at Chopper, a softer, almost proud glint in his gaze. "Is our son okay?"

Chopper, who had been on the verge of tears from confusion, froze again, his tiny jaw hanging open. "Our... son?" he squeaked, looking from you to Zoro and back again. The sheer, compounding absurdity of the situation sent his mind spiraling. Two of his most reliable crewmates, the toughest ones, were now completely convinced he was their child and they were married.

You, however, beamed at Zoro, a wave of relief washing over you at the sight of him. "Oh, Zoro! Thank goodness you're alright, my love," you said, your voice thick with emotion. You quickly tried to get up again, extending a hand towards him. "I was so worried about you, husband. I woke up here and you weren't with us. Our little one here," you gestured to Chopper with a loving glance, "was just telling me what happened."

Zoro’s eyes softened even further, a rare, gentle smile gracing his lips as he saw your outstretched hand. He stumbled the rest of the way, his large hand enveloping yours. "Never worry, Y/n. I'd always come back to you. And our son." He pulled you gently into a sitting embrace, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, a silent promise of protection in the gesture. He looked at Chopper again, a flicker of something akin to fatherly pride in his eye. "What exactly happened, Chopper? Are you both truly well?"

Chopper, trapped between two doting, completely deluded "parents," felt his fur stand on end. He was a doctor! He needed to figure this out! But how could he explain to his "Mama" and "Papa" that they were both victims of some bizarre, mind-altering attack? The air in the infirmary, usually a sanctuary of healing, now felt thick with a bizarre, familial delusion that only he seemed aware of.

As Zoro settled beside you, his arm a warm, solid weight around your waist, his gaze, usually so intense, softened to an almost unbearable tenderness. His eyes, in their altered reality, saw you not just as his crewmate, but as his beloved wife, the mother of his child. Leaning in, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It was a kiss born of a deep, comfortable familiarity, as if it were a daily ritual performed hundreds of times, a silent promise of enduring love.

When he pulled back, a rare, genuine smile stretched across his face – a smile that usually only made an appearance when he was fighting a truly challenging foe or indulging in a particularly good nap. He looked at Chopper, his smile widening. "You're a strong one, aren't you, little guy?" he rumbled, his voice laced with an affection that made Chopper's fur stand on end. "Just like your dad."

Chopper, his small brain reeling, felt a fresh wave of panic. He had to make them understand! "No! Zoro! Y/n!" he squeaked, jumping up and down on the bunk. "You're not my parents! And you're not married! We were attacked! Remember? On the island! Something happened to your minds!" He waved his little hooves frantically, trying to gesture towards the distant memory of the strange town.

Zoro let out a deep, chesty chuckle, the sound warm and full. You, still leaning into Zoro's side, laughed too, a light, melodic sound that filled the infirmary. "Oh, Chopper," you said, reaching out to gently pat his head, "what a funny joke! You always have the wildest imagination." You exchanged a fond look with Zoro. "He's always been a bit dramatic, hasn't he, love?"

Zoro nodded in agreement, his rare smile still firmly in place. He tightened his arm around your waist, pulling you closer against him. The infirmary, meant to be a place of healing, was now transformed into a bizarre, heartwarming domestic scene, utterly oblivious to the true nature of their altered reality. Chopper, left staring at his "parents" nestled together, could only gape in dismay.

The rest of the day was a bizarre, bewildering spectacle for the Straw Hats, and a nightmare for poor Chopper. He spent most of his time trying to subtly avoid his two deluded "parents," hiding behind Franky's legs or attempting to blend in with a pile of spare cannonballs.

The full extent of the situation became undeniably clear at lunch. Chopper, still reeling from the morning's events, sat at the long table, glumly poking at his sandwich. "I hate the crust," he mumbled, pushing the offending edges away.

Across the table, your head snapped up. "Oh, my precious one," you cooed, instantly reaching for his plate. With deft movements, you quickly and carefully sliced off the crusts, just the way he preferred, your movements as natural as if you’d done it a thousand times. "There you go, sweetheart. Mama knows you don't like the crunchy bits."

Luffy, mid-chew on a massive bite of meat, paused, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Shishishi! Y/n, you're acting just like a mom!"

You smiled, a genuine, loving warmth in your eyes as you looked at Chopper. "Well, of course, Luffy. He is my baby, after all."

A collective gasp rippled through the table. Nami's jaw dropped, her eyes wide with shock. Usopp choked on his drink, nearly spraying Franky with cola. Robin, usually unflappable, raised a hand to her mouth, a rare flicker of surprise in her elegant features. Sanji spluttered, dropping the plate of food he was carrying, his usual suave demeanor completely shattered. "Y-Y/n-chan?! A mother?!"

Before anyone could fully process this bombshell, the mess hall door swung open. Zoro strode in, his lingering stiffness barely noticeable as his gaze immediately found you. Without a word, he walked directly to your side, leaned down, and pressed a deep, unhurried kiss to your lips.

The mess hall erupted.

Luffy burst into roaring laughter, slapping his knee. "SHISHISHISHI! ZORO'S A DAD! AND Y/N'S HIS WIFE! THAT'S HILARIOUS!"

Nami practically shot out of her seat. "WHAT?!" she shrieked, pointing an accusing finger. "Zoro! Y/n! What is going on?! You two have never even looked at each other like that!"

You, however, were completely unfazed, a soft smile on your face as you pulled back from the kiss. You leaned your head contentedly on Zoro's shoulder. "That's my husband," you stated simply, as if stating the most obvious fact in the world. "We've been together for years, haven't we, dear?"

Zoro grunted in agreement, a rare, fond light in his eye as he looked down at you. "Of course. And this noisy little one," he gestured to a horrified Chopper, who was now attempting to burrow under the table, "is ours."

Sanji, looking utterly devastated, dramatically clutched his chest. "IMPOSSIBLE! Y/N-CHAN, MY SWEET ANGEL, MARRIED TO THIS MARIMO?! AND A MOTHER?! MY DREAMS ARE CRUSHED!" He began spiraling into a maelstrom of despair and self-pity.

Usopp, still recovering from his cola incident, spluttered, "But... but how?! When?! We've been on this ship together for years! We would have known!"

Robin's eyes, though still surprised, took on a thoughtful glint. "This is certainly... unexpected. It would appear a powerful external force is at play."

Franky, ever the dramatic one, pounded the table. "SUPER! Our Quartermaster and Swordsman, secretly married with a SUPER doctor son! This is the most UNEXPECTED romance of the seas!"

Brook, ever polite, bowed his head. "Yohohoho! My deepest congratulations on your matrimonial bliss and your adorable child! Though, forgive me, my eyes are but sockets, so I had no idea of such a grand secret!"

Jinbei, ever the voice of calm reason, stroked his chin. "This is highly unusual. Y/n-san and Zoro-san are clearly under some kind of influence. Chopper-san, did you notice anything peculiar on the island before this began?"

Chopper, finally emerging from under the table, his face a mottled mix of red and blue, pointed a trembling hoof at you and Zoro. "They're not my parents! They're not married! Something from that island did this to them! They were stung by something!"

You and Zoro just smiled at him, a unified front of delusional parental affection. The rest of the Straw Hats exchanged worried glances. This was going to be a long day.

Days bled into a bewildering week, a constant, low hum of anxiety settling over the Thousand Sunny. The initial shock had worn off, replaced by a grim determination among the Straw Hats to find a cure. It wasn't just Chopper freaking out anymore; it was everyone. Sanji still occasionally keeled over dramatically, muttering about the sanctity of love, but even he, alongside Nami and Robin, worked tirelessly with Chopper to research every known Devil Fruit ability, every strange plant, every rumored curse of the New World. Luffy, while still finding the situation amusing, also worried, sensing the underlying wrongness. Even Jinbei, calm as ever, acknowledged the gravity of the situation, constantly looking for any subtle changes in the afflicted duo.

What truly unnerved them all was the chilling accuracy of Chopper's assessment: this wasn’t the natural progression of Y/n and Zoro’s unspoken feelings. This was a forced reality, a complete overwrite of their personalities. Their quiet, subtle affections had been replaced by a saccharine, domestic intensity that felt utterly alien. They still looked like Y/n and Zoro, but the essence of who they were, those distinct quirks and personal rhythms, felt stripped away, subsumed by this imposed familial role. And Chopper, the unwitting "son," was the primary victim of their relentless, if affectionate, parental delusion.

The little "parent things" were constant, a bizarre new routine for the crew.

One evening, Chopper, exhausted from another day of frantic research and dodging parental overtures, finally managed to sneak into the infirmary for some rest. He'd just pulled his blanket up to his chin when the door gently creaked open. It was Y/n, her eyes soft with a profound maternal love.

"My little one," she whispered, tiptoeing to his bunk. She carefully tucked the blanket tighter around him, smoothing it down with a tenderness that made Chopper's fur prickle. She then leaned down, humming a soft, unfamiliar lullaby, and gently brushed his forehead, a gesture of almost ethereal affection that made his stomach churn with discomfort. "Sleep well, my precious deer. Mama will watch over you."

Another time, during a particularly stormy night that had Usopp huddled in fear, Zoro, instead of his usual silent contemplation of the raging seas, found Chopper shivering under his blanket. "You're a strong boy, aren't you?" Zoro rumbled, his voice low and comforting, completely devoid of his usual gruffness. He sat on the edge of Chopper's bed, gently ruffling his fur with a large hand. "No need to be scared, son. Your father's here. Nothing's going to hurt you." He stayed there for a long time, a silent, unwavering presence, until the storm passed and Chopper, despite his internal turmoil, actually drifted off to sleep, feeling oddly safe.

Mealtimes, previously a chaotic free-for-all, now featured Y/n meticulously cutting Chopper's meat into bite-sized pieces and even, to Sanji's utter horror, attempting to spoon-feed him a few times. "You need your strength, my big boy," she'd insist, her voice laced with a warmth that was undeniably genuine, yet utterly misplaced.

Even during training, Zoro would often call out to Chopper, his voice booming with pride. "Look, Y/n! Our boy's got good reflexes! He'll be a fine fighter!" He'd then demonstrate a simplified sword movement, urging Chopper to mimic him, completely oblivious to the trauma he was inflicting on his "son."

The crew observed these moments with a mixture of heartbreak and desperation. They knew these actions, while outwardly loving, were not truly Y/n and Zoro's. They were manifestations of a cruel, forced illusion, turning two of their most formidable members into doting, oblivious parents, and their innocent doctor into the bewildered victim of their warped affection. The clock was ticking, and they knew they had to break this spell before their nakama were lost to them forever.

The breaking point arrived during one particularly surreal dinner. Zoro had just demonstrated how to properly polish a sword to a bewildered Chopper, referring to it as "something a son should learn from his father," while Y/n meticulously arranged Chopper's vegetables into a smiley face. The sight was too much.

"Alright! That's enough!" Luffy suddenly roared, slamming his fists on the table, his usual jovial expression replaced by a stern, determined frown. "This isn't fun anymore! Y/n and Zoro aren't acting like themselves! We're going back to that island! We're gonna find whoever did this and kick their butts!"

A wave of relief, potent and almost palpable, washed over the crew.

"It's about time, Luffy!" Nami exclaimed, her eyes blazing with resolve. "I've run every diagnostic, every environmental scan, cross-referenced every Devil Fruit, and nothing explains this! We need to find the source!"

"My dreams of chivalry are shattered, but my loyalty to my nakama is not!" Sanji declared, lighting a cigarette with a dramatic flourish. "I shall unleash the full force of my kicks on whoever dared to sully Y/n-chan's precious mind!"

Usopp, though visibly nervous, clutched his trusty slingshot. "Yeah! They messed with our friends! And our doctor! That's unforgivable!"

Robin's usually calm voice held a rare edge of intensity. "This 'Kokoromi no Mi,' as Chopper has tentatively identified it, is a truly insidious power. Its effects are deeply unsettling. We must locate its user."

Franky pounded his chest. "SUPER! Time to bring back our SUPER serious swordsman and our SUPER organized Quartermaster! No one messes with the Straw Hat family!"

Brook strummed a mournful chord on his violin. "My heart, though I have none, weeps for their altered state. We must restore their true selves! Yohohoho!"

Even Jinbei, who had maintained a stoic front, nodded gravely. "We cannot allow our nakama to remain under such a spell. This is a task that requires our full attention."

Zoro, his arm still around your waist, merely grunted, his gaze fixed on Chopper. "What are they talking about, Y/n? Are they going somewhere without us?"

You smiled sweetly. "Oh, dear. Perhaps they're just planning a little outing. But we have our little one to take care of."

Luffy, however, had already sprung to the deck. "Alright! Set sail for that weird island! We're gonna find out who did this and make them regret it!" He turned to Zoro and you, a mischievous glint in his eye. "And Zoro, Y/n! When this is all over, we're gonna tell you all the funny stuff you did! Like how you two were kissing all over the place!"

You and Zoro exchanged a loving glance, completely oblivious to the crew's exasperation. "Kissing?" you murmured, a light blush dusting your cheeks. "But we do that all the time, don't we, husband?"

"Hmph. What's wrong with that?" Zoro added, completely missing the point.

The rest of the crew groaned, a unified wave of frustration washing over the deck. This was going to be a tough fight, not just against the Devil Fruit user, but against the sheer awkwardness of their friends' delusion.

Hours later, the Thousand Sunny once again dropped anchor off the strange, silent island. The twisted trees seemed to loom even more ominously in the twilight. The crew disembarked, their faces grim and determined. Luffy led the charge, his voice echoing through the eerie stillness. "Alright, you weirdo! Show yourself! We're here to get our friends back!" The hunt for the Kokoromi no Mi user had officially begun.

The Straw Hats fanned out, their usual boisterous energy replaced by a focused, almost grim determination. The island, which had seemed merely "off" before, now felt palpably sinister. The twisted trees clawed at the perpetually overcast sky, and the sickly sweet scent intensified, clinging to their clothes and hair.

Nami led the charge, her navigator's instincts honed by years of charting treacherous waters. She pulled out a small, intricate compass, its needle spinning wildly at first, then settling on a distinct, unsettling tremor. "The magnetic field is completely warped here," she murmured, her brow furrowed. "Whatever's causing this... it's radiating a powerful, unnatural energy."

Robin walked beside her, her usually serene expression thoughtful. She used her Devil Fruit ability, sprouting eyes and ears on the strange flora, extending their sensory reach far beyond their immediate vicinity. "The 'villagers' we saw earlier," she observed, her voice low, "they appear to be little more than echoes. Residual projections, perhaps. The true source of this illusion must be nearby, manipulating these phantoms."

Chopper, still reeling from his "parental" ordeal, pointed a trembling hoof. "That smell! It's stronger over there!" He had noticed the distinct, sickly sweet aroma was more concentrated near certain clusters of the gnarled trees.

Usopp, ever the sniper, climbed one of the taller, less stable-looking trees, his scope scanning the bizarre landscape. "I've got nothing! Just more weird plants and... wait! There's a clearing up ahead, deeper in the woods! And something's shimmering there!"

As they pushed through the dense undergrowth, the air grew thick and heavy, the sweet scent cloying, almost suffocating. The ground underfoot became strangely soft, spongy, as if they were walking on a rotten carpet of leaves.

Suddenly, Franky let out a shout. "SUPER! Look at this!" He pointed to a patch of ground where the strange, colorful flowers seemed to glow with an ethereal light. As he approached, the flowers seemed to shimmer, and for a fleeting moment, he saw faint, transparent images of the town's buildings flickering within their petals.

"It's a resonance," Robin deduced, her eyes narrowing. "These flowers... they are somehow amplifying and sustaining the illusion. The user must be at the epicenter of their concentration."

Following the increasingly strong scent and the subtle shimmering of the flora, they eventually stumbled into a circular clearing, strangely devoid of the gnarled trees. In the very center, seated cross-legged amidst a vibrant bed of the glowing flowers, was a thin, almost frail-looking man. His eyes were closed, his hands clasped, and a faint, almost invisible aura of shimmering light emanated from him, pulsing in time with the faint distortions in the air around him. The air here was so thick with the sweet scent it was almost difficult to breathe.

Luffy saw him, and his usual grin vanished, replaced by a dark, intense fury. The image of Zoro and Y/n, so utterly unlike themselves, flashed through his mind. His fists clenched, steam beginning to rise from his body.

"So you're the one," Luffy growled, his voice low and dangerous, "You'll pay for messing with my nakama!" Without another word, he lunged forward, stretching his arm back, ready to unleash a devastating Gum-Gum Pistol. The fight for Y/n and Zoro's true selves had finally begun.

Luffy's Gum-Gum Pistol shot forward like a compressed spring, aiming directly for the man's serene, unsuspecting face. But just before impact, the man's eyes snapped open, revealing pupils that seemed to swirl with iridescent colors. The air around him shimmered violently, and Luffy's fist passed through him as if he were made of smoke.

"An illusionary body!" Nami shouted, instantly grasping the situation. "He's projecting himself! The real one is somewhere else, maintaining the illusion!"

"Then we just have to hit everything!" Luffy declared, not missing a beat. His arms began to flail, a flurry of Gum-Gum Gatling punches raining down on the entire clearing. Each punch dissolved a part of the shimmering landscape, tearing away at the illusion, revealing glimpses of rougher, more mundane reality beneath.

Sanji, meanwhile, was already in motion. "Diable Jambe!" he roared, his leg igniting with flames. He launched himself into a searing kick, aiming not at the man's image, but at the very ground beneath the glowing flowers. His kick tore a fiery trench, disrupting the delicate network of roots and earth that seemed to anchor the illusion.

Robin's hands sprouted from the glowing flowers, from the bizarre, twisted trees, even from the man's illusory form itself, seeking a physical connection. "Dos Fleur!" she commanded, her eyes fixed on the man's true body which, she surmised, had to be tethered to the focal point of the illusion. Her hands probed through the shimmering air, feeling for any point of resistance, any solid form.

Usopp, perched on a higher branch, loaded a special Pop Green. "Sleep Star!" he yelled, firing a small, spherical projectile that exploded into a cloud of soporific pollen. The pollen, however, seemed to simply phase through the illusionary man, wavering and dissipating. "Damn it! He's not even real!"

"We need to disrupt the source directly!" Jinbei bellowed, his powerful fists slamming into the ground, sending shockwaves through the earth. He targeted the clusters of glowing flowers, recognizing them as key components of the man's power. "Ryugu Kawarajima Seiken!" His attacks sent plumes of dirt and pulverized plant matter into the air, each impact causing a visible ripple in the illusion.

As the Straw Hats unleashed their assault, the man's calm demeanor began to crack. His face contorted in a sneer, and the illusions around them became more aggressive, spectral figures rising from the dissolving trees, attempting to swipe at the crew. But the Straw Hats, focused and determined, ignored the phantoms, concentrating their attacks on the central figure and the glowing flora.

Suddenly, Robin's eyes widened. "Found you!" she exclaimed, her hands appearing on a tiny, almost imperceptible tremor in the air behind the illusory man. She had found the true, vulnerable body, hidden deep within the illusion's core. "Cien Fleur: Wing!" Hundreds of arms sprouted, forming massive, powerful wings that slammed down, shattering the last vestiges of the illusion.

The shimmering veil ripped apart, revealing the man's actual body, frail and shaking, hidden behind the dissolving mirage. He was small, cowering, and utterly exposed.

Luffy, his face still etched with anger, didn't hesitate. "Gum-Gum... RED HAWK!" His fist ignited with flames, a powerful, haki-infused blow that struck the man squarely in the chest. The man crumpled, unconscious, the glowing flowers around him instantly wilting, turning to ash. The air cleared, the sickly sweet scent dissipating, replaced by the natural smell of the island's damp earth and the distant sea. The illusion was completely, utterly broken.

Back on the Thousand Sunny, in the infirmary, Zoro and Y/n lay peacefully, their eyes closed. As the Devil Fruit user on the island fell, a violent shiver ran through both of them. The warmth that had enveloped their minds, the loving conviction of their marriage and parenthood, abruptly shattered. It was like waking from a vivid, beautiful dream into a stark, bewildering reality.

A gasp escaped your lips as your eyes snapped open. The familiar ceiling of the infirmary came into focus. A sharp, disorienting ache pounded behind your temples, and your body felt strangely heavy, intimately connected to something else. You tried to shift, but something held you fast.

You looked down, your eyes widening in shock. You were not alone. You were lying pressed against a broad, muscular chest, an arm thrown possessively over your waist. Your head was nestled in the crook of a strong shoulder, and your legs were tangled with another's.

Zoro.

His eyes, still a little unfocused, blinked open moments after yours. His breath hitched as he, too, realized the intimate proximity. His vision cleared, taking in the soft, dark hair against his cheek, the curve of a familiar waist against his side, the warmth of a body pressed against his own.

A rush of heat flooded your face. This wasn't the false warmth of an illusion; this was raw, undeniable embarrassment mixed with a dizzying current of something else, something thrilling and terrifying. You were in Zoro's arms, your bodies intimately connected, closer than you had ever been in waking reality.

He stirred, his arm tightening around you almost imperceptibly, his body stiffening with a mixture of confusion and dawning realization. His gaze met yours, wide with shock, a deep blush slowly creeping up his neck and dusting his ears. The unspoken tension that had always hummed between you now roared, a deafening silence filled with mutual, profound mortification. Neither of you moved, caught in the sudden, undeniable reality of your entangled forms, the remnants of a powerful illusion leaving behind a very real, very awkward truth.

A wave of disorienting clarity washed over you and Zoro, replacing the comforting delusion with a sudden, searing awareness of your intertwined limbs. The softness of the infirmary bed beneath you was undeniable, as was the unmistakable heat of Zoro's body pressed against yours. Your face burned, a deep crimson flush spreading across your cheeks.

"Wh-what the hell?" you stammered, trying to shift, but his arm, still possessively draped over your waist, held you firmly in place. Your mind raced, piecing together fragments of memory: the strange island, the illusion, the prick on your hand... and then, a horrifying, vivid recollection of calling Chopper "my child" and Zoro "my husband."

Zoro's single eye, wide with a mixture of shock and mortification, met yours. His usual stoic composure had completely evaporated. A deep blush, so rare it was almost unheard of, crept up his neck and stained his ears. "What in the…?" he grunted, his voice rougher than usual, betraying his utter bewilderment. He too, was clearly grappling with the sudden, jarring return of his true memories. The image of Y/n, his crewmate, his Quartermaster, his... you, calling him "my love" and then that kiss... it slammed into him with the force of a cannonball.

The awkward silence that followed was deafening, filled only by the rapid thumping of your hearts. The air crackled with a tension that was both mortifying and, inexplicably, electric. You were acutely aware of the warmth radiating from his skin, the scent of him – salt, steel, and something uniquely masculine – filling your nostrils.

"We… we were on the island," you managed, your voice barely a whisper, trying to make sense of the chaos. "And then… that man… the illusion. And then… this." You gestured vaguely between your tangled bodies, then to the infirmary around you. "Did... did they bring us back here?"

Zoro groaned, a deep, guttural sound of pure exasperation. He finally managed to pull his arm back, creating a sliver of space between your bodies, though the warmth where he'd been lingered tantalizingly. He ran a hand over his face, scrubbing away the last vestiges of confusion. "That damn Devil Fruit user," he muttered, his voice laced with annoyance. "They hit us with something. That's why... that's why we were acting like that." He paused, a fresh wave of mortification washing over him as he recalled his own actions. "Calling Chopper our kid... and you..." He trailed off, unable to voice the word "wife."

You instinctively drew your knees up, covering yourself with the blanket, suddenly acutely aware of how disheveled you both must look. "And you! You were acting like... like you've been my husband for years!" You couldn't help but feel a flicker of indignation, despite the heat still flooding your cheeks. It wasn't fair that he was the only one allowed to be embarrassed.

He shot you a rare, exasperated look. "Don't look at me like that! You were calling me 'my love,' and 'husband'!" He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the green strands in frustration. "And that... that kiss... we've never..." He trailed off again, the unspoken truth hanging heavily in the air.

The memory of the kiss, though under the influence of the Devil Fruit, sent a fresh jolt through you. It had felt so natural, so right in that warped reality. And the way he had looked at you, with that deep, loving concern... a part of you, a very quiet, secret part, had actually liked it.

You both lay there for another long moment, the silence thick with the unspoken tension of your mutual feelings, now magnified by the bizarre circumstances. The illusion might have been broken, but it had stripped away the comfortable layers of unspoken understanding, leaving raw, exposed emotions.

Finally, with a frustrated sigh that seemed to echo the very depths of his embarrassment, Zoro groaned again. But this time, instead of pulling away, he shifted. He leaned back into you, his large frame settling comfortably against yours, his arm subtly sliding back around your waist, his hand coming to rest just above your hip. He lowered his head, nestling into the crook of your neck, his warm breath ghosting over your skin.

You stiffened, your breath catching in your throat. Every nerve ending screamed in awareness of his proximity, of the subtle weight of his head, the familiar scent of him now intoxicatingly close. For a split second, panic warred with an overwhelming wave of something else – a deep, almost primal comfort that settled over you. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, you relaxed into his embrace. The awkwardness was still there, a buzzing undercurrent, but beneath it, a new, fragile warmth began to bloom. The illusion had been a lie, but the connection, the undeniable truth of your intertwined feelings, was very, very real.

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