#it has to be all or else it doesn't matter)

[bi-writes]

you'd do anything to fuck your boss. (18+, ghost x f!secretary)

well, he's not technically your boss. you report to captain price, but he never fails to remind his boys that there's a pretty thing that sits outside of his office that can file their paperwork and take notes for them. he's always volunteering your services to them, and all you can do is cross your legs behind your desk and smile. even if you didn't want to do it, you would never tell your captain no.

except for him—not for your favorite.

lieutenant riley is exactly the sort of thing you would ruin your career for. closed-off. angry. matter-of-fact. he dealt with no bullshit, and he said whatever he wanted to; he did not care for how anyone perceived his opinions.

there is something comforting about someone that does not wear a false face. ghost is not creepy nor is he mean (not unless you're asking for it). he tells it to you as it is, and he doesn't reserve room for comfort nor ease. he doesn't care, and that's what makes him feel safe to you. there is nothing to discover. he has no secret to hide from you. there's something transparent that he keeps close to himself, and in that way, you can't keep your eyes off of him.

oh, well—he's also built like a fucking tank.

you think often about what you might have to do to get him to look at you. he's so massive; you find yourself in meetings, watching the way he takes up whatever side of the room he's in. the chair creaking as he sits down, straining to take his weight. the top of the doorway nearly skimming his head. the way he pins you to where you are just with a fixed glare.

fuck. he's hot. when his reports come across your desk, you even feel yourself squeezing your legs together at the way he writes—eloquently, with expansive vocabulary, a keen eye for detail and a penmanship that isn't written in fucking blue crayon (you'll never forgive johnny for that shit).

capable, confident, killing machine—holy fucking shit, will you just forget you're in my bed for one night? please, please, please, please—

for fuck's sake, how hard could it be? he's just a man; and men are all the same.

it's late when you knock on his door. he likes this little corner of the base; a room with four walls and one measly window, tucked in with just enough yellow light to keep him settled. when he opens the door, you can smell the cigarette he must've been smoking. he's dressed down because of the hour; just in the shirt under his jacket and dark jeans, mask just under his nose as he blows the remaining breath of smoke he was holding to the side.

"'s late," he mutters. you're supposed to be off-base by now. at home, back in civilian life, back with people of the real world and not amongst the ones that hide from it. he talks like he doesn't care you're even there; like he didn't even notice your wet eyes.

"i-i know," you whisper. "i-i need some help. no one else is...up."

you hold up your hand, which is shaking now. the side of your hand has been sliced open—an office accident, a paper cutter in the wrong position. there's blood dripping down the skin of your arm, soaking through the thin napkin you're trying to use as a makeshift bandage. ghost tilts his head, looking down at it, and he shakes his head when he sees it.

"clumsy girl."

you sit on his desk as he flips open a first aid kit. it's quiet here, no music, no men, just the sound of the outside and the rustle of plastic as ghost fishes out a clean bandage. he already helped you clean up the cut over the sink; nothing but soap and water, big hand scrubbing at the cut until he was satisfied it was clean.

he uses his teeth to tear open a new package, and you keep your eyes on his as he smooths it over your hand. he's not looking at you; he's focused on your hands, keeping you still, and when he finishes, he finally looks at you.

"thank you," you whisper. ghost doesn't move away. he doesn't want to; if he did, he would already be out of your space. you don't flinch when he reaches a hand up, a gloved hand wiping under your eye. when your lashes flutter, ghost's nostrils flare, tongue coming out to trace along his teeth. you smile, so demure, so soft.

you look sweet; and a man has to eat.

you squeak when he takes a blade out of his boot. you meet his eyes, mouth dropping open in a pant as he licks across the metal before using the tip of it to cut the button of your blouse. you look down, a whine leaving you as he pops each button off of your blouse with a flick of his blade. the buttons scatter across the floor, clattering, and then he's closer, stretching your thighs apart, pencil skirt riding up as he slides those gloved hands up your legs until it scrunches around your wide hips.

"i know wot y'r doin'," ghost mutters. his forehead presses to yours, and you lift your knees, trapping him between your legs as you lock your ankles behind him. "think i haven't seen ya?"

"mmm..."

"oooohhh, now y'wanna play stupid, tha' 'ow it's gonna be, yeah?"

you'll play dumb and dumber until the day you die if he fucks you like this every time. the items on his desk scatter as he lays you over it, arms knocking pens and papers over as his mouth fits against yours and your little (compared to his own) hands fumble with the zipper of his jeans to get him just naked enough. he's eating you, stealing your breath, tongue laving over your teeth and around your mouth until there's spit gathering under your chin. he'd be a good kisser if he wasn't so fucking nasty about it, but it means you taste the ash that clings to him, and somehow it's good—so fucking good, take it out, take it out, take it out—

"knew you'd be big," you babble, soft hand cupping under his cock. he cradles the back of your head, tip catching between your folds, and you can do nothing but arch your back as he puts two thumbs against your pussy and fits himself inside.

he is big, in a nasty, terrible way. he's big in the way that must've turned other girls off. he's big in the way that must've made them gag, made them hurt, made them decide it was all too much and left before they could get his cock properly wet, and for that, you're taking this as a challenge.

when he presses a gloved hand over your belly and feels for the tip of his cock, you know you have him.

locked and fucking loaded.

he lets your fingers under the mask. your nails scratch over his buzzed hair under the fabric, and you hum into his mouth as he grips the outside of your thigh and pulls you even closer to him.

it'll never be the same again. you'll never be normal, not with this thing hiding you under their shadow. you'll never want another man, you'll never look at him the same way, you'll never feel as full as you at this very moment underneath him with his cock rearranging your insides and forcing your toes to curl in the heels you're still wearing.

your eyes water just as much as your pussy. you're leaking from everywhere—tears on your cheeks, slick along his cock, sweat at the base of your spine, drool in his mouth. you take it like the clumsy girl you really must be. your legs are dangling around his hips, body following his lead because you don't know what to do with yourself with how good he makes you feel.

you bare your throat as he grinds his hips. as your head tips back, his teeth catch your jaw, and when his cock punches somewhere soft, you push your hips up against his to meet him halfway. your body react on autopilot, but ghost forces you where he wants you with a stiff hand and a condescending huff.

"tha' good, innit?"

yes. yes, it's that fucking good, yes, it's the best you'll ever have, yes, you're going to make an excuse every single night so you can end up right here, underneath him, anchored against him for nothing but your pleasure. you'll do anything to come back.

you come just before him. your legs are shaking, hanging off his arms, and he buries his face into your neck when you feel his cum hot inside of you.

he pulls out slowly, chin against his thick chest as he watches the knickers he never took off of you soaked through now. he pinches the fabric between his gloved hands, sliding them off of you. he's a nasty man, and you expect him to pocket them, but what you didn't expect was his tongue to fall out, and you definitely didn't expect to see him wad up the fabric and stick it right into his mouth.

he grins, maniacal, as he sucks with a fervor before spitting it back out into his waiting hand. when your legs start to close, your thighs rubbing together for stimulation, ghost grits his teeth and shakes his head.

"oi," he pushes your legs apart, stepping between them again. "not done with you."

no, maybe ghost isn't like other men.

he's hungrier. it'll take much more than that to feed him right.

[stargirlygirl]

caleb as the new graduate your workplace just hired, and he's only got eyes for you.

the only day in your four years with the company, and you're late. when you show up, your boss is showing this hunk of man around your open office. your boss doesn't even question why you're late (the fry pan accidentally slid off the stove while you were cooking breakfast, leaving a scorch mark on your kitchen floor). instead, he calls your name and waves you over.

sunset eyes watch you curiously as you rush over, all nervous and giddy from your tardiness. your boss introduces the latest addition to your team: caleb xia.

since hearing your sweet voice and seeing your gorgeous smile, the rookie's been enchanted by you. all it took was one run down to the local café, and now he brings you your usual coffee every weekday at the same time.

and of course, with your morning coffee comes a check-in. he'll ask how you slept, if you ate, how your pet is. in the afternoon, he'll come around and remind you to take a break from your work emails. almost every time you leave the office to head home, he's by your side, walking you to your car because he says it's dangerous for a woman to be out at night (it's 5pm).

any time you stay back after hours, he stays back with you.

"what could you possibly have to catch up on, caleb? i saw your reports. they looked perfect to me," you ask him while looking up from your monitor. he's leaning against your door frame, burly arms crossed over his chest and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. those veiny forearms flex deliciously as he stands upright. you return your gaze to the spreadsheet, a blush threatening to spread across your cheeks.

"you looked like you could use some help," he replies cheerily, like it's just natural for him, your junior, to assist you with your work that's way above his pay grade. you try to protest, but caleb's not having it. and with the way he effortlessly advises you on calculations and proposal ideas, you're wondering if the roles should be reversed.

soon enough, your relationship isn't strictly related to work. it starts when you call him over to your place to help with your leaky tap. he seems like he knows this kinda stuff, right? and he said you could always turn to him for help, no matter what.

within 20 minutes of showing up, he's already fixed your tap and is now replacing your ancient light bulbs. you offer to buy him lunch, your treat to repay him for his hard labour. caleb reassures you that you don't need to, that he'd do anything for you, no compensation required. but you insist, and well, he's not going to push it.

as you drive to your fav noodle place to pick up your takeout, caleb takes this opportunity to install little cameras all over your house. for protection purposes, of course. safety comes first, and a woman living alone in this neighbourhood isn't safe. that's definitely the reason. not like he's obsessed with you or anything.

by the time you return, he's lounging on the couch, playing with your pet who seems to like him even more than you. after sharing your takeout, he heads off.

not much else changes, except for the occasional out-of-office-hours call you make to caleb when something somehow goes wrong at your place. every morning, he still asks what you had for breakfast and if you slept well, even though he was watching you for most of the night.

when you find out he has trouble sleeping, you—the good colleague you are—offer to help him in any way possible, seeing how he always helps you. but you never thought that would lead you to his bed.

your smaller body is beneath his huge one as he sucks cruel hickeys on your neck that no amount of makeup can conceal. you push at his chest, chanting his name instead of calling it.

he murmurs into your neck, "promised you would help me, pips. need to burn some energy before bed. think you can lie here n' take it?"

"caleb, we can't—"

"you've been so stressed lately. let's help each relax, hmm?" he coos against your ear.

"please." his voice is strained, near the breaking point, like he'll get on his knees and beg for you if that's what you want.

it's not coercion when you've been needing him for months now, when you've been touching yourself far too often and moaning his name into your pillow (the cameras have no microphone, so caleb can only imagine the sounds you're making).

you permit yourself one night to your relinquish control and hand it over to the sweet puppy staring at you all pouty. and you know you made the right choice when he fucks you like no else has ever before. beyond his years. beyond your wildest dreams. the way he makes you feel is heavenly and oh-so-sinful at the same time.

pulling on your hair while kissing your forehead and rasping out the sweetest praises against it. choking you on his length while wiping your tears and caressing your cheek.

caleb xia programs your body to need him and only him.

the next morning is filled with groans from you about how wrong last night was, how you shouldn't have given in to temptation and ruined your working relationship. but caleb reminds you (physically) how good it felt, how right you two feel together. and that's more than sufficient evidence to suggest that being colleagues simply isn't enough for the both of you anymore.

[inkskinned]

it took me 964 applications. i've been counting, but not well. i don't always add every quick-apply to the spreadsheet. this one was five rounds of interviews. saying my elevator pitch like a parrot, peppy and happy. for a long time, i didn't hear anything from them. i thought it was the same as always - they say where did we find you, seem excited, then ghost me. i had sent three follow-up emails hi, just checking in! excited for this opportunity!

i have a master's degree and over 10 years of work in the industry. i've worked 5 jobs at once. i have worked hard and i tried hard my entire life, no matter how burnt out i got or whatever else happened to me. i am the representation of the american dream.

but i'm not a good fit for an entry-level job, i guess, so i get told a lot we just don't think you're be happy. but they fill other positions internally, instead saying - well, there was another candidate who had 6 more days of experience. if i'm lucky, i get this sad little email back from the recruiter, all saying the same thing: we liked you, but we went with another option, good luck job hunting. that is - if i'm lucky, and they even communicate at all with me.

what a waste of fucking time. i've been counting interviews - i am a fucking master total of 42 fucking hours. can you fucking believe. i would have made rent if they'd fucking paid me.

and now nobody does remote, even though this is a job that for the last five years has been remote-completely. now they are paying 14 an hour for a job that used to be 33.50. now they are saying we are looking for rockstars and mean we don't give you health insurance. "we need someone motivated and a little crazy" translates to you will have one day of PTO annually. every job board filled with the same AI-generated bullshit of "our values/join our family/Make Waves With Us". they need to be constantly growing. who knows if they're genuinely hiring.

sometimes i want to write did you know i saved a life once into the cover letter. sometimes i want to put a little secret in there, a little short story about how when i was a kid i used to dream of speaking to my plants. i have the same six conversations with people and answer the same eight questions. sometimes at the end they'll throw something in there that's completely irrelevant. what is my go-to belting song (and yes, they say, there is a wrong answer). what animal would i turn into. what's the most reactive element i've had direct contact with. do i know how to lift an elephant.

964 feels like a nice number, somehow round and pleasing. sometimes i have nightmares where the spreadsheet grows arms and strangles me to death. i saw an old friend in one of these recently; he said the earth will end and you'll still be applying until you run out of breath. 964 is a lot of time to spend filling out an application on a site that doesn't load properly and just steals my information.

one time in desperation i applied for a supermarket position. just anything to make the ends meet, good lord, i'd take anything. i was rejected from it. i'm not, like, proud. i'd take anything so i can afford to live again. and meanwhile, god! our fucking president!

i can't think about it without shaking. i had to beg for help. i paid my own way through college - i have been working (under the table) since i was 12.

nine hundred and sixty-four. and finally! something! and here's the fucking thing: i had to turn it down because it's in your city. how pathetic to think that 2 months ago, i would have agreed to move out to DC, my hands in your hair. my life splashed on your sheets. how pathetic that 2 months ago, you said you wanted me. 964 fucking jobs later, and how pathetic! i can't say yes because my life is entirely different. holy shit.

it's just hell. because god fucking protect you if you have a breakup or a mental breakdown or health issues or need your meds. you can try for a year and still hear fucking nothing from the job market. i have no idea how many times i've said i give up and i still fucking kept doing it. every moment like sandpaper against a raw wound. lowering and lowering my expectations. watching my savings dwindle to nothing. thank you for submitting your application!

back into the frying pan. over and over again.

[rotagnus]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᭄᭡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ general + next phase pick-a-pile.

hiii guys!! i hope you're all doing well. this pick-a-pile will go into depth about the next phase of your life, as well as general things you may want to know. if it does not resonate, don't force it to. i may not be the reader for you.

pile 1.

shadow card: the hierophant.

cards pulled: the hermit. 10 of pentacles. 8 of cups. knight of swords.

a lot of you seem to be tired of always having to be the strong one, the smart one. because of this, you tend to feel isolated from everybody else. being highly aware, spiritually and also just simply by itself, is no easy job. during this phase, you're probably yearning so badly for someone (could be a general figure - could be a specific person) to just hold you and let you be vulnerable. you feel as if things would fall apart without you; which is partially ego, and partially the truth. but i think you have to turn back from bringing so much wealth to everybody else. of course, some of you may deem this to be a cowardly thing to do. it does not matter what untender souls see your actions as. those who truly are meant for you will see your actions as realistic, not as unfair. i think many of you are currently fulfilled in one sector of your life, but with the rest, you're feeling very hungry for something else. many of you may have more-or-less stable jobs, or maybe a stable figure in your life; a friend, a parent, a coworker, someone who fulfills their certain aspect, but that's not what you're craving right now, and it's completely eating you alive. i think a lot of you daydream about being able to just let go and not do anything anymore, just so you can stop caring so much about holding everything together no matter what. what i'm understanding is that a lot of you really do need this period of life, no matter how tasteless it is. a lot of you refuse to actually think about yourself when it comes to a period of isolation, and instead, you're waiting for it to end. take a deep breath, take a journal, and see to it that you write down all you want for the next phase of your life. this isn't moving quickly for a reason. the universe has not betrayed you. just because others have connections that are flourishing before yours doesn't mean anything. you are damn successful, damn talented, and the reason you feel so lonely isn't because you're the person you are. maybe the people coming into your life are unready themselves. don't rush timing that is divine. i know it makes some of you furious and angry, despite your love for the spiritual and the universe, but you guys have to reign that in and channel it to something good. i don't think it's a wise idea for you to keep stressing so much about things you know won't move on until you finish that certain lesson. and i'm sorry for disappointing those of you who were hoping for some new romance, or something that's more reassuring than this, but perhaps the next pick-a-pile you pick up will have that in it, after you've recovered this lesson. don't try to rush through phases. others will disappear just as quickly if you shoo this one away. much love, pile 1.

pile 2.

shadow card: the devil.

cards pulled: queen of pentacles.* 5 of cups. 10 of cups. 2 of wands.

hello to my passionate, fiery people. i see you and i hear you. you guys want a lot but you will work hard for it, and you understand that to get good things, you must work in a good manner. many of you are struggling with having faith in the universe right now. things don't seem to be giving you reassurance and you may be binging tarot readings and asking for signs left to right. so. relax. listen. one sign is enough. and you need to actually rest instead of panicking. i know it's hard, but the end outcome is good. but you can't destroy yourself over worries all the time. take a deep breath and relax. write down why you're worrying. i think a lot of you are recovering from a time period where it seemed to you that you have it all, and it disappeared. you're not recognizing that good things are coming for you, albeit slowly. you're self-sabotaging and self-isolating, and maybe some of you fell into bad habits again. sure, you have some things you want. people may be calling you pretty. they may be wanting you. just not in the soul-deep way you crave. you guys feel desperate and heartbroken and it seems like life is just not for you. here's a big hug from me to you, pile 2.

some of you may wanna cling onto the past that actually hurt you way more, because you're scared that the next part of your life won't work out. maybe you're not sure if you should leave your current, draining job because you're not certain when you can get the next one. maybe you wanna transfer homes. maybe you wanna end a bad relationship. the answer to this (and listen, with big decisions...make sure you don't entirely trust tarot readers. trust your gut first) is to LEAVEEEE. no matter how scared you are. i mentioned you were hardworking. this will do you good in the long run. you guys know you're fully capable of fixing situations, you're just scared because from your viewpoint, it all seems a little murky and terrifying right now. but you know you can't stay as you are, so you should go before you're pushed to. i think that the outcome you want is entirely possible, entirely realistic. but you were not meant to have an easy life. you as a soul crave difficulties because you wanna grow. and not everyone wants to. so that's a good thing, and i know how tired you are, babe, but you got this. baby steps. some of you may be getting a new job or financial opportunity soon. i think that many of you may take it. also, there are some things coming up that i can sense, however they are not meant for you to know right now, my dear. much love, pile 2.

*(pile 3 also had that card pulled so maybe some things from there will resonate with you! don't judge i didn't do the readings in order 😭)

pile 3.

shadow card: temperance.

cards pulled: ace of swords. page of wands. queen of pentacles. four of pentacles.

i think most of you have a pretty stable phase of your life, currently. it's not exactly good, but it's not exactly bad, so you're just going with the flow. i feel like you guys are able to find beauty in everything, in the slight moments of today, even if it's literally one of the most painful, terrible days you've went through. many of you may resonate with the saying 'this too, shall pass'. as people, many of you can come off as somber and quiet, very guarded, but once someone gets to know you, you're very loving, doting, maybe even obsessive to a certain degree. you hold yourself to a high bar and you cannot disappoint yourself by rejecting someone in need of help, which has led you to be used and abused. your inability to say no hindered a large part of your life. anyways, that was channeled, so take it as you do. but i think the most important thing for you to do right now is to let go. let go of the outcomes you're so strongly expecting, especially the bad. let yourself dream. that's the beauty of life. everyone experiences miracles, and yet people do not often speak of them. that is why everyone is so convinced nothing good happens. let yourself think about the things you want that seem unreachable. stop trying to force yourself to settle for something realistic; but don't shy away from what you immediately deem as that, either. things change once you get to know them. people, too. this is a new beginning that will be serving justice for each and every figure in your life; mainly yourself. so think about the past. realize that one cannot be entirely bad, nor entirely good. we are all memories melded together into a structure made of several different things. many of you try to force a certain experience or certain people to be entirely angelic or entirely devilish, and this quality will not serve you during this phase of your life. also, some of you seem to deal with insecurity. chin up, honey. you're all that and more. stop worrying about trying to be smaller so some stupid shitheads can accept you for less than what you are. let all that love and authenticity pour out of you, don't just hold it for yourself. the truth is that you shouldn't care about the opinions of others as heavily as you do. people come and go. the insecure ones put confident, beautiful ones down. you don't need certain qualities to be confident, you just are. so stop being so sad. you're absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous, smart, and just have that spark within you. so no more of that, honey. people will pour love into you once you break through all these phases, in the next part of your life. start to try to let yourself be a bit more free. this cage is one you built, therefore one you can get out of. much love, pile 3.

[my-beloved-idol]

K-POP DEMON HUNTERS HEADCANONS ✦ WHEN THEY REALISE THEY ARE IN LOVE WITH YOU

includes: saja boys & huntrix.

✦ JINU

He’s trying to explain something —probably messing it up— and you’re just sitting there with that patient smile, nodding like he’s not an absolute disaster. And when you gently correct him, or make a little joke to ease his embarrassment, he just stares. For longer than usual. Something weird flips in his chest. You’re so you. So much brighter than he ever expected someone could be in his life. And he realizes, all at once, that you could break his heart with one sentence —and he’d let you. That’s when he knows.

✦ ABBY

He’s flirting with you—obviously. Abby’s always been a tease: leaning against doorframes like he’s posing for a photoshoot, saying stuff like “You miss me, babe?” even when you’ve only been apart for an hour. It’s a game to him. A sport. He’s good at keeping it cool. Until one day, you laugh at one of his dumb little lines —not the flirty ones, but something dorky he said under his breath. And you look at him like he matters. That’s what breaks him. For a second, he forgets to smile. His eyes just soften, and something in his chest clenches painfully. He tries to play it off, ruffling your hair and smirking, but inside? He’s spiraling. Shit. I think I actually... like them. No. Worse. I think I’m already theirs.

✦ ROMANCE

He thinks it’s just a crush. A little thing. Something harmless and sweet. But then you do something dumb and domestic—like hand him a napkin before he even realizes his food’s messy, or fix his necklace because it’s slightly off—and his brain just melts. You treat him like he’s yours without even realizing it. Like it’s natural. Like he belongs by your side. And that’s when it clicks: he doesn’t want anyone else doing that for him. He doesn’t want you doing it for anyone else. His heart stutters. His smile falters. And for the first time, he’s not sure if he’s ready to fall this hard. But too late. He already did.

✦ MYSTERY

It happens so quietly he almost misses it. You're sitting beside him, close but not touching, just existing in the same soft silence he’s always found so comforting. And then your head drops on his shoulder. No words. No dramatic moment. Just... trust. And warmth. And peace. He doesn't flinch. He doesn’t breathe. He just closes his eyes and lets it settle in his chest: this heavy, aching feeling that he never wants this to end. Not the silence. Not your presence. Not this quiet kind of love that crept up on him like fog. And he thinks, If this is love, I want it. Just like this.

✦ BABY SAJA

It hits him when you sass him back. Most people either get flustered or annoyed by his constant sarcasm, but not you. You throw it right back, sharper, funnier, better. One night you both end up laughing so hard over something stupid that you’re in tears, and he pauses. Just stares. There’s this slow, creeping warmth crawling up his spine, and for once he can’t think of a single comeback. Is this what it feels like? he wonders. Is this... me catching feelings? Ew. He rolls his eyes at himself, groaning dramatically, but deep down he knows —he’s absolutely, hopelessly gone for you. And worst of all? He kinda loves it.

✦ ZOEY

She’s the one who falls first. Fast and hard. But she doesn’t realize she’s in love until you show up to her dancing session with snacks and a little note that says “don’t forget to eat, champ.” It’s stupid. Small. But it hits her like a freight train. Her cheeks turn pink, her hands shake, and she has to bite her lip to stop the stupid smile. Is this what it feels like to be taken care of? she wonders. To be truly seen? From that moment on, she can’t look at you without her heart doing flips. And even though she’s bubbly and cheerful on the outside, inside she’s screaming: I’m so screwed. I’m in love.

✦ MIRA

Mira doesn’t do feelings. Or at least, that’s what she tells herself. She likes things she can control —routines, plans, strategies. You? You’re chaos. You make her laugh when she’s mad, bring her flowers just because, and hug her like it’s the most normal thing in the world. It infuriates her. Until one day, you say something simple like, “I’m proud of you.” And it breaks her. She swallows hard, looks away, and pretends it didn’t just become the most important thing anyone’s ever said to her. That night, she stares at the ceiling and thinks: Oh. No. I love them. God help me, I really do.

✦ RUMI

She’s chill. Always has been. But being with you brings out this softness she didn’t know she had. One afternoon, you're both lying in the sun, sharing headphones, not saying much. You doze off beside her, completely relaxed, trusting her completely. And she looks at you like you hung the stars. That’s when it hits. Not like a jolt, but like waves against the shore—slow, steady, inevitable. Her fingers hover over yours. She doesn’t even have to say it out loud to know. You’re it. You’re her person. She exhales, slow and quiet, and lets the feeling settle into her bones. She’s never felt more certain.

[stonesense]

I've been meaning to ask you about this and what do you think. Zevran tells us that he took the contract to kill Warden because he wanted to die. But then after we defeat him, he really tries to convince us that we should spare him, that he would be useful for us and just tries his best to not get himself killed. Why? Did he realized that actually he doesn't wanna die? Got scared?

some assorted thoughts on this

1. there’s a lot we don’t know for sure about zevran’s mindset going into that ambush. if him wanting to die was simple clear-cut intention, i think we can all agree there are easier ways to get that done than bidding for a contract to assassinate a warden and then hiring several people to set up an elaborate high effort ambush for that warden and then dodging lethal blows enough to get knocked out instead. so his goal isn’t just directly to die as early as possible. if nothing else, he wanted the “excuse” of having done as much as he could, the merit of having died fighting. and we should keep in mind that it’s even possible that while zevran is able to identify months later that what he wanted by chasing extremely dangerous contracts was to die, he wasn’t necessarily fully aware or fully admitting that to himself at the time

2. in my humble opinion, one of the first things you have to know to understand zevran is that surviving was, for much of his life, the core foundational pillar of his entire self-image, self-worth, and identity. the logic he was taught works like this: “crow training is brutal and many recruits die -> you survived it -> you are more than the weaklings who gave up or failed, and you are more than the cheaply-bought child you once were, because you have survived, and that makes you a Real Crow, a legend, Someone Who Matters.” he was proud to be a crow once. then comes rinna’s death, which is tragic because he killed someone he loved, but what actually makes it catastrophic to his worldview is that it proves this core logic false. rinna was a Real Crow who passed all the tests, too, but her life still didn’t matter, she died horribly for no reason and the crows simply didn’t care. he realises how expendable she was and therefore how expendable he is, still worth no more to his masters than the handful of sovereigns they originally spent on him. ANYWAY, my point is, as much as parts of this worldview have been torn down, it’s not going to completely go away overnight. the fight to survive is still so integral to the way his head works, and when you wake up in front of an enemy after being knocked out cold, you’re going to go with what’s instinct, what’s habit, what’s muscle memory. for zevran, that’s staying alive. it’s likely to me that he thought fast, acted on impulse, and didn’t feel anything until later

3. even if zevran was clear with himself that he wanted to die, the circumstances he woke up to were very poor ones in which to die. one might call a man of his profession an expert on different circumstances in which to die and he’s developed some standards, okay. i suspect that in his worldview, dying fighting might be acceptable, but being slaughtered as a forgettable helpless prisoner who just lay down and accepted it is a whole other thing. he still dreads the purposelessness of simply giving up; he wants badly for it to mean something. and naturally it was unbearable to do the “true crow” thing here and die before revealing any information under torture. like there’s a very specific course of action he was trained to take here. earlier in his life, he has been tortured, has willingly accepted that as a chance to prove himself, in the expectation that it would prepare him for strength in this moment. which is why for this new resentful post-rinna zevran, his first priority on being captured is to immediately cheerfully spill all information to the warden before they can even attempt to torture him, an incredible act of spite for which i love him so dearly. i think he very much thought this would be the last thing he would do before he died and it’s like as he’s talking through this (one of his toolset notes when talking out why he might join the warden is even like “this is occurring to him as he speaks”) that he first realises he is now holding a polite conversation with the target and may have a shot at something and hey in for a penny in for a pound, let’s throw a wild proposal out there and go all in and at least he’ll know he did as much as he could

[symbio-ratio]

Something that's been on my mind about this is that people seem to forget not every dog is a pet. Working dogs exist.

If you needed a livestock guardian, would you go to a shelter and get one? No. You don't know that dog's genetics. You don't know that dog's prey drive. You don't know their bad habits. Sometimes you need a specific breed to match your environment and your wildlife. You wouldn't want to get a big fluffy Great Pyrenees for your farm in the middle of Texas after all. Some of these breeds are rarely sold as pets because they are working dogs through and through. You will not find them in your local shelter.

If you needed a sheep herding dog, would you go get one from a shelter? No. Sure, purebred Border Collies aren't the only sheep herding dogs, but you know what you're getting when you get that herding dog from an ethical and reputable breeder. You will know that dog's prey drive. You will know that dog's genetics. You will know that dog's bad habits because you'll be getting a clean slate. Do you think a farmer would risk their livestock on some unknown dog?

Something I didn't know about until a couple years ago is that the purebred American Pitbull Terrier is sometimes used as a hunting dog. Those dogs are bred to have a high prey drive, human friendliness, and the ability to work with other dogs during moments of high excitement. I don't think I need to explain why that last bit is important. Do you think a hunter that hunts with multiple dogs is gonna risk his pack with a shelter mutt of unknown origins?

For me, I know I want to get a purebred dog from a good ethical breeder in the future because the dog I want is a Cane Corso. You will not catch me dead getting a Corso out of a shelter. Have you seen the shit people in America are doing with this breed? Fuck no.

I want to get a Corso I know the origins of for my safety and everyone else's. I want one where I can ask the breeder about the parents to see if anyone has a prey drive or a stubborn streak to look out for. I don't want a dog bred for size or for color; I want one bred for temperament and structure. I don't care what color they are so long as it's something on standard because I don't want a mix. I want a dog whose parents had hip testing done so their puppies don't fall apart by the time they turn 3. I want to be able to talk to the breeder and get advised on what pup fits my life the best, and I want to be able to give that dog back to that breeder if something were to go wrong.

I cannot get that from a shelter.

(Last thing of note: Sometimes these working dogs get adopted out to pet homes because they don't have the drive they need for their line of work. You cannot go into a shelter or rescue and expect to get exactly what you need. It doesn't matter if they have a Border Collie or Jack Russell for you there. That Border Collie or Jack Russell might not have the right drive, and now you've got a dog you have to take back to the shelter.)

Every now and then I start seeing a rise of anti-breeder sentiment in notes on posts I reblog written by people who are (presumably) my followers. This is one of those weeks, so a friendly reminder:

I wholly support responsible cat and dog breeders

Purebred animals are NOT the cause of overburdened shelters or increased stray populations

Stray cat & shelter populations are almost exclusively made of domestic shorthairs/longhairs, not purebred cats

Major factors for increased stray populations are irresponsible pet ownership and management (ie. allowing cats to have kittens rather than fixing them, letting cats roam freely outside, dumping cats that are no longer wanted)— things that a responsible breeder is incentivized to avoid

Buying a purebred animal is not “stealing” a home from a shelter animal

Shelters and responsible breeders are not enemies, and both ultimately work toward the same goals of animal welfare, public education, and putting pets in homes where they will thrive

I literally have a purebred bengal cat why do anti breeder people follow me

Look at him. Your comments make him sad.

[pigeons4brains]

Telamon x Reader Headcanons !!!

💫🗡️

And some general ones too hehe

Cw// some suggestive ones, mentions and descriptions of masochism (along with mentions of SH and violence) , one about his biology n stuff, but nothing too descriptive or spicy (I might make a separate one for that but no promises). Mentions of Pregnancy and childbirth. I wouldn't say it's mpreg but like..WHAT DO I CALL IT DAWG..😭

let me know if I forgot to tag anything!!! I appreciate it!! :33

reader isn't mentioned much so feel free to insert whomever I ship Telamon with here too, so I will refer to the reader as s/I (significant other) and partner, so erm yeahh

There's also some general Headcanons in here too, because why not kill two birds with two stones? (Haha get it)

Some of these were suggested by my friend, but most are mine, the ones by my friend will be a different color hehe (thanks oomf, I KNOW YOU'RE READING THIS...)

Will be working on the Jane Doe x Fem!Reader Headcanons next

N e wayyyss not beta read at all so have fun hehe

• Holds his s/o like they're glass, he gets paranoid about his talons sometimes, but his s/o has told him it's alright.

• Nuzzles his face in his s/o's neck, it's not entirely a scent/claiming thing, he just enjoys touch in general, despite him denying it. He also has a staring problem (more on that later)

• Uses his wings as an extra blanket!!! You know how those fancy male birds are in the wild? Like they display their feathers and stuff? Did that with his s/o. He acts more like a pigeon if anything however, he coos like one (don't tease him about it, he WILL pout about it.)

• As much as I like to imagine how much of a pathetic wet sopping pigeon he is, he can be *very* intimidating, who's shocked? He knows how to use his power to put people in their place, however this doesn't apply to his s/o, he immediately melts. Leaning into his s/o's palms. Leaning his entire weight onto his s/o. The whole nine yards.

• This isn't really an x reader hc but just a general one? Okay? Okay ;3. I like to think he can change his sex / gender based off of whatever he feels like being that day (I usually use he/him on Telamon but I actually like to hc that Telamon can change his gender/appearance). Yes, his appearance CAN change off of this, but he mainly looks the same no matter the gender he decides to take that day.

• Yeah this one's just hear I fw it heavily LMFAOO, he's also like, usually completely smooth down there, he doesn't necessarily need to perform bodily functions, aside from some urges which I will not get into here🥶

• yes you theoretically COULD get him pregnant, would he let his partner do that? Probably, hell even if his partner is fem he'd do it jus so his lovely lovely partner wouldn't have to 'go through the pain of giving birth', in his words. Yeah that went well for him. Unless his partner directly says they WANT to be the one having said kid. If his partner is masc then ignore everything I said about fem I fear he's the one getting pregnant here lmfaooo

• . No I will not say anything else I just know my oomf is gonna ask that...I know what you are. In oomfs words 'it doesn't have to theoretically with me around' & 'im gonna get that bird pregnant'. FREAK.

• Makes a nest for his partner, depending on where his partner is, in the bedroom? Blankets pillows, plushies, ect are used, at HIS place? Sticks, silks and blankets are used. Yes he uses stick. No his partner cannot change his mind about using them.

• here comes a mildly suggestive one, he bites his partner in places where people can DEFINITELY see but gets unbelievably mad when his partner covers them up. FREAK ALERT FREAK ALERT.

• one from oomf wahoooo ; loves the adrenaline he gets during battle, and loved it whenever he got cut and Injured and bled, so often times he'll scratch himself with his talons, use Illumina to cut himself (maybe even impail himself if he wants that extra rush), so his bare body is LITERED with scars. His partner isn't even able to differentiate which are self inflicted lacerations or where actually gained in battle.

• adding onto this, his partner kisses the scars whenever they are bare in bed together, nothing spicy or anything, just some kisses and soft words, since his actions worry his partner, which Telamon thinks his partners worrying is useless, since he's completely fine, but it doesn't soothe his partner at all.

• Telamon has some sort of night vision (sort of like an owl), and has extremely WIDE pupils, tilts his head like one whenever he thinks about something or is intrigued

• his pupils also widen even more when he sees two things; his partner, and swords.

• Preen and take care of his feathers. Do it. He loves it. He sees it as a bonding activity...cuz he's a bird...stinky guy.

• Enjoys eating whatever his partner makes, again he technically doesn't need to eat, but he loves his partners cooking...or whatever concoction they make, whether it's microwaved, a disaster in the kitchen, ect. He isn't picky at all. (Though does prefer meals with meat in it, preferably chicken. Greedy fella)

• has a STUPIDLY good memory, will remember every single detail in a 3 hour conversation no matter how long it's been since then. His hearing is good yes, but his memory is scarily accurate, his senses in general are heightened.

• If his partner has memory issues, he'll gladly help them, he infact, enjoys helping his partner in his own ways (but will often mess with them when doing it. He's not convincing. At all, terrible poker face when it comes to his partner.)

[redwinelewis]

SPORTS CAR | LH44

type one shot (no part 2 requests pls)

pairing lewis hamilton x southeast asian!reader

summary you and lewis take a ride in his sports car, one way or another

warnings 18+. set during singapore gp (it hasn't happened yet but idgaf). reader is southeast asian. smut. car sex. sub!lewis bcs the world needs it (also #i tried). unprotected sex (use condoms, kids). masturbation. eye contact. idk man just listen to that one tate mcrae song like that's the whole warning lol. english is not my first language.

author's note unedited. i got tired and my phone battery was about to die just as they are about to bone so i'm sorry if this feels messy (bcs it is 😭😭)

gif credit | masterlist

lewis knew you could come today. just like every other time when he called, nevermind the nasty words thrown before he walked out of your apartment months ago. doesn't matter what the status of your relationship was with him.

"i'm sorry" "let me make it up to you"

and attached below would be a plane ticket to melbourne. he was static the moment he saw you in front of his hotel suite, as if unable to believe that you were really here after the names you threw at each other. he was not sure what to do. afraid to talk, to touch you.

but you stepped inside like you owned the place. touch his face as if you were able to recognize how fragile he was after the race. then dropped to your knees on your own like he was a celestial being to worship. like you instantly knew what he needed was the heaven that is your mouth to take him deep, to make him forget about all the things that went wrong during the race.

you let him grab your hair. pull you up to bite your lip, desperate to draw blood darker than the ferrari he drove. he spanked your ass red like he was punishing himself for every car he couldn't overtake, for every time a strategy went wrong. and he'd fucked you stupid every time.

don't get it twisted. you and lewis loved each other, as every couple do. you loved him sincerely, not for the seven times champion of the world that he is, but for who he is beneath that glamourous persona. you loved him for lewis who doesn't like the smell of onions. who would ignore his nutritioner's advice and hide a sweet treat in his house every once in a while. who likes to tangle up his cold feet to yours every night under the cover. he bared himself to you more than he ever did with anyone else. but it was never a proper relationship. blame it on distance, blame it on commitment. maybe his name. perhaps you couldn't keep up with his fame. but lewis let the frustration of his work got to him even after he promised you that it wouldn't.

you love him, but you were not about to babysit his emotions. just like every othe ticking bomb, when the time's up, it exploded.

the first time he ghosted you and sent a break up text the next day, you weren't phased.

you've always known.

maybe some part of you expected this to happen. being with him was already a dream. perhaps when he walked out of your door without any word, it was time for you to wake up.

but he came back. and you still let him crawl back to bed with you. whispered apologies about things that he will most definitely do again. fucked you slow like you're still his.

because you are.

and the cycle continues.

singapore isn't any different.

the heat of the country doesn't compare to the one in this vintage ferrari, even after putting the air-conditioner to the highest setting and lowering the windows just enough to let the cold night air inside. lewis is next to you, one hand controlling the steering steadily with ease, the other on his lap with his eyes on the road. he has changed into a more comfortable clothes post-race, ditching his race suit to a plain white shirt that hugged every curve of his muscles deliciously alongside a cap paired with a luxurious dior jeans. he gave his jacket to you in the garage before the light went out, in which you tied around your hips before getting inside his car.

the vehicle is silent save it for the low hum of his playlist playing the weeknd on the radio. it's almost two in the morning, and the roads are quiet with almost no other car in sight except for a black mpv behind, driven by lewis' bodyguard.

when the car stops at red light, the british man finally speaks.

"i didn't think you'd come." he says, his voice a low but audible mumble without looking at you.

"i would always come." you avoid his eyes as well as you reply calmly, save it for the storm currently brewing in your heart.

"you didn't have to."

"i want to." your reply is quicker this time

"why?"

"because you need me."

pause.

you answered fast but confident. you did not stutter. like it was a no brainer to you. you catch how his grip on the steering wheel tightens slightly. his jaw flexes like he's restraining himself from speaking.

he doesn't like that you're right, doesn't like how you immediately read his text when he asked you to come to the grand prix here. without hesitation, no thinking about it twice.

"i keep treating you like you were replaceable." the way he said it was as if he was afraid of admitting the truth but knew that it had to come out eventually.

"no. if that were the case, you would have cheated. it's the expectations that got to you. the weight to perform, and i understand." pause. "it's the radio silence i don't like. that you don't trust me enough to share your world with me. you never talked, you just fucked me and disappeared. and you came back when you feel that things are about to crumble again."

the light finally changes to green, signalling him to drive again but he doesn't, letting the car mingle in the middle of the empty road.

when he finally turns to look at you, you see through the corner of your eyes that his are dark and intense with hidden emotions that he never showed before. and then finally he utters the million dollar question, quiet, like the answer will wreck him. "then why do you let me come back?"

you meet his eyes and answer like you've been waiting your whole life for this moment.

"because i love you." the words just slip out like they're instinct, and you have to bite your lower lip to keep yourself together. "because i know that under all the bravado and insecurities, you're actually a good man who cares. and i know you love me too. i'm just waiting for the time where you finally trust me."

lewis looks away. he exhales, and it's a strangled and choked up sound that seems like it was ripped out of his throat as the car moves again.

you could see the muscles in his jaw working, clenching and unclenching. his veins popping like they're trying to escape his skin. he's a known man of control. of composure. and right now he's trying to keep everything down. his thoughts, his feelings. fighting the guilt and shame that's overwhelming him with a force that never seemed to break.

for a moment, you want to reach for him. touch his skin. caress his face. comfort him. the same way you've always did when he walks into your space in vulnerability. when he feels like the sky is coming down on him. like he's the force that keeps this world together.

but you're exhausted too. of loving him so blindly to the point where you don't care if your feelings and your body are being discarded easily like they meant nothing to him after you gave him everything.

so you stay quiet. resting your hand on the handbrake, fingers wrapped around the cylinder, thumb absentmindedly brushing back and forth across the tip.

lewis almost choked on his breath when he saw.

he doesn't know if you did it on purpose to taunt him or not. the gesture makes him remember all the ways you touched him before. familiar and practiced. undoubted and confident. every touch seems to be made for him. that thumb of yours that's lazily brushing over the head of the handbrake was on his skin just a couple of weeks ago. your lips near his ears, whispering sweet nothings to distract him from the disasterous race in baku.

and then the shame and guilt flood back, like they always do. how dare he, being this greedy for you, while knowing damn well that he has done nothing to deserve it. to deserve you. your touch, your attention, your love.

but does lewis care?

no.

and so he speaks. "do you trust me?"

you jerk back to reality after your mind wandered somewhere else. your hand stops moving on the handbrake, now back to your lap, completely unaware of the effect that your previous action had on him.

you stare at lewis, taking in his sudden question. he's keeping his eyes on the road, but you could sense that something has shifted in the last couple of seconds.

"depends on what for." you say warily.

"i'm about to do something reckless."

an alarm bell starts blaring inside your head as soon as the answer leaves his mouth. reckless? the word "reckless" with lewis hamilton doesn't mix well. because lewis hamilton is not a man of chaos. or randomness or doing anything in a spur of the moment. he plans his outfits a week prior, arranges his instagram feed to match, schedules his errands for the whole month.

the difference tonight is having you next to him and you make him behaves the way he never thought he would.

you shift slight in your seat, asking carefully. "what do you mean?"

lewis doesn't answer. instead, he changes his gear, moves to a different lane and turns left without warning. both the speed of the car and your heartbeat accelerate, and you almost scream, grabbing your seatbelt and his thigh simultaneously to steady yourself in your seat.

"lewis!"

he pays no mind. flooring the pedal, his gaze switches back and forth between the back mirror and the road, trying to lose his bodyguards behind.

the car takes a several unexpected and random turns. and when lewis is sure that the sight of the mpv is gone, he slows down and parks his ferrari in an alley dark and quiet enough.

"you're fucking insane." you say, taking a harsh tone but without any malice. just a fact.

lewis doesn't comment, because you're right.

and you're the cause.

"where are we? what is this?" you demand.

lewis turns off the engine before glancing at you, unbuckling his seatbelt without looking away.

"you know what this is."

oh.

you shiver. swallowing. you recognize the dark look in his eyes. the way eay his pupils are blown in an undoubted lust. the low register of his voice is familiar, making you almost clench your thighs together.

"tell me to stop and i will. i'll send you home. i'll leave you alone. we can break up for good if you want to. i swear." his hand is still on the steering wheel. knuckles pale, restraining himself from acting until he hears your explicit consent.

you bite the inside of your cheek. he's giving your the window. and you should have taken it. you should have left. save yourself from more disappointment and hurt. break up with him for real.

but instead you scoff in bitterness.

"you're giving me a choice. how noble." how easy for him to just "end this". to leave, to run like he always did, but permanently this time. leaving you in an endless agony.

"i've hurt you enough. treated you like you were just a body not the woman i'm in love with. please. if you don't want to go, then use me instead."

your lips parted in disbelief at his request. it is unlike him to be like this, to ask of this. the great lewis hamilton is used to have things under control, commanding an entire room with his presence alone.

but now he wants to flip the script. instead of taking you for himself, he wants to be at your mercy. to feel the things that he made you feel previously. because after what he put you through, he knows that he deserves it.

"i'm going to ruin you." you say like it's a promise.

it is.

"please." and he wants it.

you seal it with a kiss.

it's not sweet, it's not soft. it's hard and messy. a revenge of those nights where he made you feel like you were just a piece of meat.

"you fucking love this, don't you?" you say, and lewis confirms it with a moan.

he does. he loves the way you grab his chin, claiming his mouth like he never tasted any other woman in his life. loves the way you bite his lip, sucking on his tongue like you want to destroy him. the groan that left your own mouth is music to his ears.

love the way you claw at his clothes, grinding your legs together because you still couldn't get enough of him.

"backseat." you say and he nods hungrily. both of you scramble to the backseat.

"touch yourself."

lewis pauses, still trying to catch his breath. "wh-what?"

despite the darkness, you see his eyes widen. but you didn't stutter. he wants you to wreck him, and you will.

"i want you to touch yourself while you're looking at me."

his cock twitches at the order. he's so used to being in charge, on and off the track, having and taking control over everything. he realizes that this is s what he asked for. but the idea of submission is still so foreign but not unwelcome.

his expensive dior jeans are barely off, just enough to free his hard cock, already leaks with pre-cum, demanding attention. his fingers wrapped around it, giving a few light stroke. a moan manages to leave his gritted teeth. he looks like he doesn't know where to start at first, but his gaze is locked at you, determined.

you swallow, desire spreading throughout your body as you watch how he's trying to put on a little show for you. your eyes roam over his body. the hardness of his cock, the goosebumps on his exposed skin. how his shoulders and arms tremble and ragged breath going in and out of his lips.

"you're hard already." you say, an almost casual statement that betrays the heat on your skin. "you're that desperate for me?"

he manages to let out a small breathless laugh, tilting his head back in a way that reveals his throat while keeping eye contact with you.

"o-only for you, sweetie— fuck...." he gasps, voice low and heavy with desire.

his jaw clenches as his hand starts to move, up and down on his hard length at a much more demanding pace. his eyes never leave you, watching as you drink in the way he's falling apart for your entertainment.

you bite your lip, your own pussy throbbing, calling his dick home. you're getting desperate yourself, wanting to undress him. running your nails across his broad body, biting into his flesh. you want to feel and touch every inch of him, on your own accord.

you force yourself to wait. it's not everyday you get to see lewis like this. it's not everyday he would let himself being controlled like this. the view is intoxicating, as if you are witnessing the secrets that he keeps behind closed doors. what he looks like when he's desperate for a release, when you weren't there to take care of him.

lewis is about to come. you can tell. you recognize his tells. the whine that fall from his quivering mouth. the way his breathing getting more ragged. his muscles tensing.

you crawl to him, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. his hand pauses as he moans, exhaling deeply into your mouth. his sounds then turn into a series of whimpers as your hand takes its turn on his cock, stroking him as you did with the handbrake earlier. pumping him in that perfect pace that has him ready to fall apart any minute now.

but not yet. you stop. lewis doesn't even get to react as you already bunch up your skirt, pushing your soaked panties to the side before you straddle his hips. breaking the kiss, you hold on to his shoulders as he does on your hips as if his life depends on it.

you don't sink down. not yet. just positioning your entrance above his cock, rolling your hips to tease his tip in a circle that drives him mad the longer he's not inside you.

your hands go up to remove the band that tied his braids together, grabbing a handful of them before pulling his head back, exposing his throat further. other hand gripping on his white calvin klein shirt, not giving a fuck if it's wrinkled or ruined.

"look at me." you almost growl. "beg."

you want him to feel what you feel. when he makes you beg and cry for his joy. you want him to get a taste of it.

every string of curses and hisses that are drawn from his tongue feels like a confession of his wrongdoings. a way to redeem himself and show how much of himself he's willing to give. he never had to do this, yet here he is. because he wants to. for you.

"please. oh god, please. i love you. i fucking love you. let me be inside you. please, sweetie."

he looks desperate. he sounds helpless. his fingers digging into you like he's afraid you'll take away the relief he's about to get.

and the love confession, the nickname, the praises... how many times have you heard them before? uttered whenever he's at his peak only to never be heard again in any other occasion.

still, you let yourself be a fool once more for him.

"fuck, sweetie." lewis moans as you sink down on his length, sharing a seat on his lap. he throws his head back, eyes shut tight like heaven is your pussy that he just enters. "f-fuck.... it's so tight."

you whimper, biting a purple mark into his skin as you let yourself adjust to his size. every single time, it feels like you're being split open on him. no matter how many times you've done it, that stretch that follows as you take him in feels so good that it almost hurts.

"you feel that? what it feels like to be good to me?" you purr, gripping his chin, forcing his eyes to meet yours as you move your hips, ruining his sanity.

what follows after are a song of pleasure and lust, your moans mixed with his whimpers and the music of your skin slapping against his. you didn't even know that he could sound like that. you have almost forgotten the way his jaw would gone slack, rendered speechless by the way your roll your hips like a goddess taking her needs from a mortal.

the windows are fogged up from the heat in the car. none of you care about what's happening outside. the thoughts of lewis' bodyguards or somebody else passing by failed to cross as both of you are getting lost in the heaven you two created in this vehicle.

you and lewis are all over each other. his tattooed hands on your back, his lips kissing whatever spot on your skin he could reach. your own fingers tightening on his braids as you feel it. that knot in your belly getting tighter and tighter. he can feel it too, knowing your little tells all too well.

"come for me. come for me, please. let me feel you, sweetie."

that does it for you. his pleads, how his voice cracked slightly as he begs for you to fall apart.

you scream in silent as you come, your hips slowing down but lewis doesnt. he takes over, fucking you through your orgasm to reach his own before spilling his seed inside you.

"back to my suite?" he murmurs, thick lips finding the sweet spots on your neck.

"i'm not done with you." you say, trying to sound threatening but your exhaustion is apparent. you feel lewis chuckling in the junction of your neck.

"sweetie, i could go again like three, four times. can you?"

[bananapurincore]

depollute me, gentle angel ☄. *. ⋆

It doesn’t matter when, where, or why: The truth always unravels in your hands. It burns like hot coals, but your fingers curl around them all the same. It doesn’t matter when, where, or why: He’ll always choose devotion over all else. Bright. Gentle. Just out of reach. When the memory of him fades, the cold eats deeper at you than before; and you’d be a fool not to chase even dying embers.

WC: 16k

╰┈➤ slow burn, drabble collection and sequence (there is an overarching plot, but it's not mentioned heavily here), lots of fluff because I said so, slice of life (for the most part), hurt/comfort (a smidge), mutual pining, fem mc, most of this was written and planned before 3.4, childhood friends ish (they meet in Okhema)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Cont.

A/n: This was originally posted on my AO3 as 5 different chapters of varying length, like 1-5k words per chapter. But I didn't want to post each chapter individually on here because I didn't want to make it seem like I was spamming the tag lol. Anyway... I've always had 3 distinct points in the story in mind, so when I'm done updating the next portion on my AO3, I'll come back here and make another long post for everyone's viewing pleasure.

That being said, I hope it's not formatted too weirdly like this. We'll see.

"What're you writing down?" Cyrene’s little nuisance asks at least once a day—usually paired with a tug on her sleeve. Sometimes, if he’s feeling particularly desperate, a bite to her shoulder or a jab to her ribs. For someone so small, he has an exorbitant amount of energy.

"Mhm, not a lot. Why?" She teases, preemptively deflating him with a ruffle through his already-mussed hair. Bedhead clings to him like a second shadow; his eyes still glazed with sleep. "You're so nosy."

"It's always fun! Now you have to tell me." He swats her hand away, clamping down on her wrist before she can wriggle her fingers into his sides (her favorite pastime).

A futile effort. She yanks it away without any remorse.

"Like I told you, it's not a lot," she hums, scribbling the rest of what she was thinking of before his sabotage. "But if you must know... It's a cautionary tale."

He tilts his head. Bright eyes narrow, trying to mirror her knowing gaze. Most of Cyrene's stories have been tales of whimsy and good deeds. Cautionary seems like it'll be something full of something undone.

"Don’t hurt yourself thinking." She dabs the quill’s tip to his nose, leaving a smudge of ink behind. He scrambles to wipe it off, only to smear it across his cheek and fingertips.

"Looks like you got something there." She giggles, silly and soft and full of heart. His only response is a long-winded groan.

"You're so mean!" His pout is theatrical, lip quivering just enough to almost make her apologize. Almost.

"You did that to yourself!" She waves, dismissive. She flips the next page over, all her ambitions and dreams left in the chapter before, stuck between the margins. "You know for stars to be born, what they're made out of has to fall apart first... to put it simply."

"They come collapsed, and fragmented..." With a delicate hand, she scribbles a crude demonstration down, a lopsided star collapsing into fragments, the cracks all but keeping it together. "Before it eventually turns into something brilliant."

After a few moments of her distant look into the wordless page, she continues. "Don't be discouraged when you get hurt." Her voice is quiet, but it speaks with resolve that doesn't reach the young boys ears. "Keep chasing. Your future is already decided."

The quill runs dry, yet clings to her final words like a child to a promise:

"At the end of the journey, you'll find all the strength you lost along the way."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You're not sure where you came from before you were found, you don't quite remember, not even when the kind lady prods you with questions, her voice soft but persistent.

Her silky blond tresses bounce slightly as she moves back and forth to get things, meticulously washing you off and scrubbing away dirt and grime until the water runs murky. All the filth would make you look like you went through a violent storm, and you were spat out of it in the aftermath.

You're left wondering why someone of her stature was delegating time to helping you like this. Just by looking, you would assume she would think this was beneath her.

She picks a twig from your hair, clicking her tongue, as she runs your scalp through the water again. It's freezing, but it evaporates upon touching your skin, and the steam curls around you like breath in winter. The woman who found you frowns, confusion settling into her distant eyes once more.

"How are you doing this?" Poor child, she mutters, so low you almost miss it.

You shrug as she turns the water off, she holds a hand to your head in an attempt to read your temperature again, as if hoping for a different answer. It’s still hot to the touch—unnaturally so.

"If you feel fine..." Her voice grows quieter as she trails off, casting a sideways glance to seemingly nowhere. She grabs the towel she had stowed away, wrapping it around you with an efficiency of someone who's done this many times before. She told you earlier that she likes them preheated, straight from the hearth. But with you, she said, a cold one would have to do.

"You'll be safe here." The noblewoman speaks to you, her voice as gentle as her eyes. Somehow, and perhaps paradoxical, the empty look they have makes them feel fuller.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Agy said you're super warm," you meet a girl, barely a third of your size, not too long after your transformation the seamstress had put you through. Her wide, mischievous eyes gleam as she makes grabby hands at you. "We need to know for ourselves!"

"Teacher," Agy sighs, knowing her words fall on deaf ears (Why does she call this child "Teacher"? You file the question away for later). "Try not to overwhelm her."

You comply with the redhead's request of being cuddled, gently hoisting her up by her waist. She’s lighter than expected, all sunshine and infectious grins. You found yourself smiling back when she wraps her arms around you and nuzzles into your chest, Her "evaluation" lasts all of two seconds before she melts against you, clearly settling in for the long haul.

"So toasty..." Her whisper is drowsy with contentment. She's enjoying herself quite a bit, and you're hardly one to avoid indulging. Across the room, you notice Aglaea’s usual steel-edged gaze soften, just a flicker of something unguarded. Longing? Curiosity? It’s not too hard to read. Maybe she wants a hug too.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Aglaea has already been nothing short of kind to you since you've gotten here, but she manages to outdo herself every time. The Goldweaver is easily the busiest woman in Okhema, her days a tapestry of politics, needlework, and murmured secrets, how she manages to have time for you at least once a day is beyond you.

Her headless garmentmaker (they sometimes scare you, they're surprisingly quiet) presents a row of garments on polished hangers. The clothes themselves aren't much, at least to her standards, but you appreciate the gesture of her going out of her way to make them for you. When did she measure you? When did she choose these muted blues and grays, as if she already knew you’d shy away from anything too bright?

"I'm a bit... out of practice, as it stands," She looks at the assortment of clothing, a brief moment of grief flashes over her as she runs her hand through a sleeve, "But I hope at least one of these is to your liking."

She composes quickly before you have a chance to ask how she feels, and in a rare occurrence, the smile does reach her eyes.

"In the future, I promise to make you something that's truly your own." She assures, a vow threaded with something unspoken.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

When you had first met Tribbie, you didn't expect her to multiply. But this must be the "we" she kept referring to - three small demigods where there should be one. It doesn't take much time for you to be endeared by them all, and one in particular loves your room because it's always "quiet."

"...What're you doing?" Trinnon tentatively asks, rising from her place beside you. She was working on something, but never looked over to see exactly what it was. The little one gets on her tiptoes to hopefully see what you're doing.

"It's a journal of everything I've seen in the city so far." Your thumb brushes a corner where the pages have started to curl. "I don't remember anything before this, so I thought this would be helpful." You reply simply, holding it up to her like a teacher narrating a picture book. "Do you like it?"

The journal speaks in a language of objects rather than words, anything written you do have are little scribbles or just the date of the day. She can tell the flowers are from the terrace of the palace, a receipt from when Aglaea gave you money to get ice cream, even a piece of tile from the rooftops aren't safe (you don't explain how you acquired this, and Trinnon doesn't ask).

"Oh..." The quietest of the three traces a finger over a dried blossom, her touch surprisingly sure for someone who shouldn't be able to see it. You suddenly realize the absurdity of showing a picture book to a blindfolded child, until she nods with solemn certainty. "Trinnon really likes it."

Even after spending some time here, you're not sure how the three of them work.

"I want to give it to someone, someday, when I know I don't need it anymore. Maybe to a stranger."

The demigod of passage tilts her head, as if listening to echoes of your words in some corridor you can't perceive just yet. For a child, you carry an ancient sort of patience.

"When you're done, we can deliver it, if you want..." She offers, even though even she seems uncertain of the destination.

"It's alright," you swiftly respond, but you shoot a smile regardless of the emotions you're currently hung up on. "I have it figured out."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

If Trinnon was quiet contemplation, Trianne was chaos incarnate.

    You quickly learned two truths about her:

    1.     She adored you solely for your height (convenient for cookie theft)

    2.    Your existence was 90% free labor

"Trianne usually gets the others to help with getting them, but the others aren't here now and Agy is busy!" Her exasperation weighs heavy on you, you truly feel her desperation for a sweet treat deep in her soul. "Can you grab them, pleaseee?"

You don't want her to beg any further. The cookies are yanked off the shelf like you're a prudent thief. This is how it starts, you think grimly. First stolen pastries, then wanted posters with your face plastered across the city. Even Zagreus would be jealous of your heists.

--

Her second favorite thing to do when spending time with you: recruiting you for "projects" (read: impossible tasks).

"We can't get the piece to fit!" She thrusts a bizarre metal contraption at you, some hybrid of needle, wire, and probable torture device. Her typical brave face is betrayed by a jutted lip and an intense furrow of her brows. How many hours did they waste before surrendering to your superior finger length?

But you're determined, and the process itself didn't seem too hard. You squint at the mechanism. Is it for sewing? Lock picking? Summoning Janus? Your pondering costs you, and the needle jabs your fingertip with vindictive precision.

Somehow, Trianne notices immediately, likely even before even you did.

"Trianne told you to be more careful!" She doesn't hesitate to chastise you, pulling at your hand towards her to make certain she's not seeing things when your blood is in fact not red, but gold.

"... Maybe Trianne needs to speak for herself." You grumble, ignoring that she's looking at your hand like it just grew 10 more fingers.

"You're a Hier!" She announces rather loudly at first. Immediate regret floods her features as she slaps a gloved hand over her mouth. The last thing this chrysos heir wanted was to draw a crowd... especially from some especially unwanted. Thankfully, it seems it's only you two. At least she hopes.

But how long should this be held a secret? Any heirs that came were few and far between, and none wanted anything to do with the Flame Chase. It was just them and Aglaea. Even if you did, in the future, want to help with the prophecy, you'd be safe under their protection...

"We have to tell everyone!" She yanks at your hand, still bleeding, and seemingly without any regard that she's further irritating the wound. "Well, just Agy and the others."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Aglaea hadn’t warned you about visitors, but then, you suspect she hadn’t expected having any, either.

Atop the bathhouse, available only to the heirs, very rarely did anyone besides she or Tribbie and her sisters came by. At the least, not to your knowledge.

You can imagine your own surprise when you're lounging about in the baths, thoroughly enjoying the peace and lack of interruptions today, and something quietly creeps up behind you at the seat you were dozing off meditating on. You don't notice you're being watched over until you hear someone make a soft tsk behind you—male, decidedly not Aglaea. Your spine stiffens. No one breaches these baths without consequence. Whipping your head around to ascertain who could only have snuck up here, you're met with—

 A boy.

Just a boy.

Your first instinct is to vanish. You duck out of the way to hide behind the cushions of the submerged seats, trying to ignore that you're being perceived at all.

"I already saw you." He chimes tepidly, leaning over from the other side to get a better view of you. "... Can I sit next to you?"

Up close, he’s… unremarkable. The wisps of his white hair remain tousled even though most of the fluff has been tamed, and in spite of your original thoughts that he must've snuck up here to steal something, he looks rather taken care of. His clothes appear fresh, his hair looks like it's been freshly washed...

But his eyes, blue as the tile work, are devoid of any of the cunning you’d expect from someone who’d slipped past the bathhouse wards.

You somehow see so much in a matter of moments, yet so little all at once. Eyes are the windows to the soul, you've been told, his seem completely shuttered.  

When you don't respond immediately, his face contorts to a frown, and you finally see something pull through; Not annoyance, something heavier.

"I-I'm sorry," you can tell he's ran through apologizes multiple times today, "I'll leave, if it helps."

He rises from the space behind you before you even have a chance to say anything, but you don't hesitate to get up and grab him by his shoulders. He freezes, skin startlingly cool against your palms.

"No! It's fine. You can sit here." You pat at the plenty of open space next to you. You're not used to sitting out in the baths by yourself, anyway.

"I do have to warn you. The water is really hot." Lowering your voice, you whisper, as if this was the city's biggest secret.

A flicker of something crosses his face, almost a smile. You’ll take it. Any friend of Aglaea’s would surely be yours in time.

"Nothing's biting."

"Have some patience," Cyrene doesn’t glance up from her rod. The hook drifts lazily in the sun-warmed water, undisturbed. "It's barely been an hour, and you're already bored?"

She's only met with an inpatient groan from her fishing partner, winding the rod up despite not catching anything.

"I've only caught two." The younger of them scowls at the untouched bait wriggling mockingly on the hook. "There's nothing!"

Cyrene tuts, finding his estrangement somewhat amusing. With her free hand, she reaches over and flicks his forehead.

"Hey—!" He swats at her, nearly fumbling his rod into the water. Much to his chagrin, he hears her laugh from his side.

Bringing her hand back to where it was, she carefully measures the lapping waves. "There's always something waiting on the other side."

As if summoned, her line jerks. A heartbeat later, she reels in a glistening silver catch, its scales flashing in the sunlight. She sizes it up with a practiced eye—supper secured.

"Mhm..." She reels it in fully, eyeing the size of it. It'll definitely be good for later. "That makes seven."

Across from her, his sulk deepens.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You've quickly grown fond of Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.

You don't have a lot filled in your little journal, albeit only as you haven't had a lot of opportunities to leave Okhema (at least, not supervised), and you think you've run through every piece of life in the city to fill it up thus far. You figured you peaked when Aglaea gave you the tiniest piece of her elusive golden thread; you're not sure if you can top that anytime soon.

Shoulder to shoulder, the two of you are set squarely against a wall in your room, speaking hushly to each other for far longer than either of you care to count. But even in the midst of all your ramblings, going on about what you've collected and done so far, the way he's concentrated on your words, even with how mundane they are, you would assume that he's memorizing the cadence of your voice.

"Can I add something?" Phainon asks like it’s a fragile thing. You’ve never been good at saying no.

Without a moment of hesitation after your slight nod, he rummages through one of his few pockets, and reveals to you a small pink and purple quill. Its plumage glimmered slightly from the light that filtered into your room. Something from a dead world, you think, tracing the vanes with your gaze.

“It’s from home,” he murmurs. The words are rough, as if dragged through his throat. “Now you’ve been there. Even if…” Even if the sky there is ash now. Even if the birds no longer sing.

You're beginning to wonder if you should be taking this. Beyond the initial sentimentality and nostalgia, it brings him from even seeing it in his hands. The gift is too heavy, you see it in the way his thumb brushes the shaft, in the ghost of a grip he can’t loosen. While he's offering it to you, the look of longing he has as he twirls it between his fingers would indicate he's not quite ready to part with it.

"Are you sure?..."

"I'm sure." He smiles, without missing a beat, to answer you. Lately, they come easier—for you. If one day the Dawn Device would fail, you think it alone would be sufficient to brighten the city in its place.

He lines it down where he wants it on the blank page, splayed like a final breath. "I think she would've wanted you to have it."

She. The name hangs between you, unspoken. You press your palm to the page, as if to keep it from floating away.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Aglaea had much later apologized to you for not being there when the two of you had first met in the bathhouse. You don't hold it against her at all, but it seems to be an oversight she won't easily get over.

"I had not meant to sneak past you," She reveals during one of your trips to the bathhouse, her fingers are weaving some sort of tapestry that she'll likely discard later. "But our meeting was... unconventional."

She doesn't say much after that, refusing to elaborate on what exactly unconventional means to her.

After a few minutes of silence, the only sound breaking through being the sloshing of water as you wade through the tiny bath, you notice her hands come to a slow.

"... This isn't working." The words hold no real frustration—just the quiet resignation of an artist who knows when to surrender. She extends the half-woven flower toward you, its petals frozen mid-bloom. "You'll appreciate it more than I ever could."

Accepting the rejected work, you take it in your hands and feel the texture of it between your fingertips, soft and delicate. Had you not known better, you'd think it's real.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The demigod of romance paces the length of her golden loom, fingers trailing frayed threads of destiny. Two heirs. Two children curled together in sunlit corners like paired commas in a sentence half-written. It would be so simple to begin the work now—to weave their threads into the grand tapestry of the Flamechase.

But a larger part of her nags; you don't remember a single thing about yourself.

No face. No home. Just a name floating in the hollow of your skull like a boat unmoored. Aglaea’s nails bite her palms. The Black Tide has taken much, perhaps your memories are simply collateral, washed away in its wake like Phainon’s village. A village she’d missed. A village that burned while she measured silk for a gown she'd soon toss off.   

But unlike Phainon—whose ashes she knows no one sifts through—you might still have someone searching. A mother pressing a lantern to a window. A father carving your initials into bark. If they found you years from now, your hands calloused from grasping at prophecies instead of climbing trees, would they see her as savior or thief?

The side that refutes that the two of you are more than capable of learning now doesn't really want to dwell on it longer than necessary.

Aglaea exhales. Through the walls, she feels it—the soft synchronicity of your breathing where you nap against Phainon’s shoulder, his white hair tickling your cheek. Again. As inevitable as tides.

Let the Flamechase wait. Let them have this ordinary miracle of growing up. There is nothing for you two to prove, at least for now.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Most of Phainon’s days now involve loitering around the city bathed in sunlight, and slow as they may be, he is thankful. Meandering walks where nothing happens, and that’s the gift of it. And although Okhema is far from quiet, he figures one day he'll come around to enjoying it.

Dreams are sacred, even when they aren't fun, he remembers you reciting something Tribbie told you after he woke up from a particularly bad one, though they are not few and far between. Do you wanna talk about it?   

In the dreams that he does enjoy, they include everyone he's ever loved being down here with him too, feeling the heat beat down on their face, enjoying it all the same. He wakes with an apology already dissolving on his tongue.

Simpler times he knows he will never get back, but with you, it feels it's as close as he'll get.

The walks he has with you are almost always the same, you frequently pay respects to the mural on the wall that features Kephale.

The titan who bears the world upon their shoulders—better than he ever could. The painted figure looms, eyeless yet watchful. Phainon swears the air thickens here, charged with something between judgment and guardianship. Protective. Strong. Capable.

You often stop in front of the mural with the titan's image, and although Kephale does not bear eyes, he can't help but feel scrutinized through presence alone. But it is also something careful and vulnerable that he can't seem to put his feelings on.

After you're done staring at yourself in the water of the fountain the mural overlooks like you do every day, you leave something for the titan at the ledge. It's different most of the time; sometimes it's fruit, bread, or even flowers. Today, you leave a slice of cake you managed not to eat on the way over here.

"I think they get hungry sometimes," you explain yourself one day. "Since I can’t reach the real thing up there… this’ll have to do."

Phainon bites back a smile. He finds it amusing, if not a little confusing.

"I didn't think you'd be so devoted."

"Well, they have to remember me when they descend one day and we get married. They'll know I'm the one who left all this yummy food for them here, and fall in love with me." He sees he can't help yourself, you take a corner of the piece of cake, anyway. "It's foolproof, I know."

Sounds normal enough. He'll root for you the day that happens.

He nods absently—then freezes.

"Wedding?...like, marriage?" He turns his head to the cake, now with this... new context. "You want to get married to Kephale? The titan?"

"Uhm, yeah," You say it so simply, like he's in the wrong for not recognizing your delusions earlier. "Who wouldn't?"

You start listing off reasons. Protective, strong, capable. Your list of virtues is disturbingly earnest.

"I'm at least two of those..." Maybe. It's nothing more than a murmur. He brushes his feelings aside, trying to get a better understanding of you, making sure you know what you're saying. And to say this right where everyone could hear you—is this not... sacrilegious?

"Aren't they technically our great, great, great... something grandpa?"

"Maybe yours," You waggle a conspicuous finger before beginning to walk off like nothing happened. "But that's my future spouse."

He speeds up to start catching up with you. You have dreams, too. He supposes. Dreams of being held and loved.   

... Nothing he can really argue against.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"But if I had to pick, I'd say she's the nicest person I've met so far. You're really nice, too, Mr. Theodoros. She was actually supposed to be here today so you could meet her, but she told me she was tired and wanted to sleep in. She's been here longer than me, so maybe you've already met her? Her name is—"

The humble shopkeeper becomes another one of his victims of the young heir's endless yapping. If he didn't know your name now, he would certainly remember after the next 10 times he brings it up.

"She gives the best hugs, and she's super warm. But when she's mad at something she gets hot, which I think is still fine, but when we're in the baths she makes the water boil and my skin can't handle it, so I end up leaving...'"

Theodoros tunes him out for a bit and forages through his desk to find something to pacify him. Surely something that he thinks you'll enjoy, based on all he's heard, exists in this little space.

"Here, why don't you take this back to her?"

It's a rather ordinary box, save for the various pieces of shells attached to it. It was also rather small, it fit easily in the palm of Phainon's hand, but not entirely useless once you open it.

"It's from Styxia, or so I believe. You can decide for yourself."

Phainon blinks. "For free?"

Theodoros’ chuckle is dry, deserted and ran through. "Call it an investment." One that might buy him ten minutes of silence.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The nymphs that were scattered around Okhema brought you misery than joy, more often than not.

They're always so frustrating to catch; every time you thought you caught one, it would somehow wiggle out of your fingers and fly off. You've heard that they speak, but you've had no such experience. You're not sure that you'd want to know what they're saying—You're convinced they'd be taunting you.

The red butterfly you've spent 10 minutes running after suddenly disappears without a trace, finding great joy in leading you on, probably.

"Look, I caught one!"

Phainon calls after you, his hands cusped around on what must be the nymph he caught. You're so annoyed at the last one, though, you don't think you'll want to see another one for at least a month.

It's yet again a butterfly, the bane of your existence, but it's purple this time instead of red. At the very least, it didn't turn around and fly over to your friend to further mock you.

He slowly unveils his hands, not opening up too much lest the bug fly out from his hold.

"This one's pretty." He smiles, the blue of his eyes shine like the sun reflecting in the fountains. At least one of us is enjoying this.

But this does not last long. His eyes narrow, and there's a matching blush all over his face and the tips of his ears. He looks... embarrassed?

"I didn't say that! Don't put words in my mouth!" His hair puffs up like an offended cat’s tail, glaring at the nymph as if it’s personally betrayed him. "Whatever it told you, it’s lying—"

"I can't even hear anything, remember?" You try prodding his fingers open. "What'd it say?"

He sighs in relief for whatever reason, scratching right beneath his ear as the lets the nymph fly off.

"... Nothing important."

(The nymph loops twice around his head before vanishing. You swear it winks)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"How long have you had that?"

Your fingertip traces the sun-mark on his neck. Warm, but not as warm as he is.

"How long have you had that?" He mimics you by dragging his own along the side of your neck, until it reaches right underneath your jaw; to your pulse.

But it does not beat, or commit to its namesake: pulse. Instead, a shallow, hollow buzz emits through your soft skin. Like static caught under his finger.

Your carefree smile slowly gives way to the weight that a frown brings, drawing your hand back like the mark of his suddenly burns.

When did he notice?   

You're horrible when it comes to keeping your thoughts where they belong, safely tucked in your head. Phainon takes advantage of this, and with a squint of his eyes, you can tell he's trying his best to think.

"When we were napping earlier, I didn't hear it." His line of reasoning he was putting in his head looked to be confusing even him. "It freaked me out, since it sounded like something completely different instead. I was wondering what it was."

His tongue pokes against the inside of his cheek as the gears in his head continue churning. "But if you were dead...you'd be cold." His hand slides down to your wrist, searching for what he knows won’t be there. "But you're still warm, so... you're not dead yet?"

You pinch his cheek hard enough to make him yelp.

"Thanks, genius," you deadpan. "Did it take all three of your brain cells to—"

"I'm just saying!" He retaliates by tugging your earlobe, but his laughter falters. "It's still weird!"

After a pause, you let go of your hold on his face.

"You're the only one that's noticed." Your thumb presses where his had been, the absence of a pulse as familiar as your own breath. "Lets keep that our secret, okay?"

"You've been quiet." In this place, where the breeze is soft and inviting, you're safely tucked away in the confines of his arms. In this time, with your back to his chest, the beat of his heart echoes into your own. The breeze toys with his hair; his fingers trace idle patterns on your wrist. For a stolen moment, you let yourself believe. 

"... What're you thinking about?" You tilt your head, your temple brushing his jaw upon realizing that he either ignored you, or didn't hear you on your first observation. You hope it's the latter. It's far too soon for anything else. 

He responds to you with a small sigh, and for a moment his grip on your hand tightened just a little. His thoughts were clearly far away, but he tried to maintain his usual lightheartedness, the way he knows best.   

"Nothing."   

Liar. The retort coils behind your teeth (Like usual?) but dies unspoken. The words rest heavy on your tongue, but cannot bring themselves to be said verbally. In the end, nothing comes out.   

He goes back to being silent for a moment, his free hand having his thumb brushing against your face. Then his hand moved lower, tracing a line from your cheek to the base of your throat, pausing there as if to feel the pulse of your life under his touch.   

Even when he claims nothing is on his mind, you've known him long enough to know when that's truly the case or not.   

The silence remains for a moment longer, and your head finds purchase on the side of his neck again. If he has nothing to say, so be it.   

"This isn't real, is it?"   

Your breathing comes to a slow. So be it may, that was the last thing you wanted to hear.   

"Why wouldn't it be?" The answer is quick, potentially too much so, and as soon as you say it, you know everything else will fall apart short after.   

"Because," he presses his thumb deeper into your neck, his fingers gently resting around the base of it, "I can feel your heart beating." 

It's foreign, where the faint hum should be.   

You fall silent. This doesn't count, does it?   

"I can make it real." The absence of anything else in your voice reveals this all to be untrue. You can't do that. You desperately wish you can. You’d tear the stars from the sky if it meant you could.   

"Mhm..." His laughter is weak, frayed like the threads that hang off his cape and wrap around you even now. "You had me convinced for a minute." He says, that sad smile on his face that only seems to be saved for you. "It's not your fault."   

Yes, it is. You raise a hand to your chest to feel for it yourself. A functioning, beating heart.   

"It's a promise." You drag your nails across any of the exposed skin you have, the lack of heat betraying you further than you anticipated. "Something will change."   

His lips brush the back of your head—a kiss of resignation, not farewell. 

"Next time, then..." 

But dreams don’t take root here. This world was never yours to keep.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You’re a legend in the Plaza’s underground scammer circles—their favorite little goldmine.

Aglaea’s allowance burns a hole in your pocket, and the merchants’ eyes gleam like vultures spotting easy prey. They peddle wonders: tales of worlds beyond Amphoreus. Even stories of kingdoms that may or may not have existed are told here, ones that Tribbie has not told you about (for one reason or another). Cracked compasses that "point to lost kingdoms," maps to cities that don’t exist, and—your latest treasure—a book so ancient its cover has faded into oblivion, its pages brittle and charred at the edges like the Black Tide itself had nibbled on them.

It’s perfect.

You’re sprawled on your bed, squinting at the half-legible text, convinced you’ve uncovered some cosmic secret. You figured you'll be in your room all day trying to decipher it—

"You've been stuck in here all day!"

So you were. 

It takes you too long to realize you're the target of an unforgiving tackle, your small bed dipping at the newfound weight as you're greeted with the same silvery hair tickling your nose that you've gotten so used to. Through impact alone, you fully believed you were going to fly off; and while you didn't, your book certainly did.

You don't even have time to react in any way other than oof! And any reprimand you did have dies like ashes in your throat at the sound of his laugh. Phainon's arms make their way across your torso as they always do when he says he's cold and needs to hold onto you, lest you put up with the chattering of his teeth and the rubbing of his arms in a poor attempt to keep himself warm, whining quietly every time he has to do so (Never mind that he says this even on days when Okhema’s sun could melt stone). His laughter settles down into something gentle and reserved, whispering into your shirt a short, I missed you.   

And you fall for it all, because how would you know better?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It doesn’t take long for you to share the contents of your new obsession with him. You've been avoiding telling Aglaea and Tribbie simply because you don't think they'll support your delusions like he does.

"Where did you even get this?" Phainon flips over the pages and the cover flips back over, seeing his eyes narrow in bewilderment. "I hope you didn't get it from that one guy. It's probably fake."

"What one guy?"

His eyes roll at your obtuse act. It's somehow never convinced anymore, and you also can't bring yourself to lie. You always feel sick at the thought of it.

"... Oh, maybe?" You have no sense of nonchalance, shrugging your shoulders as if the tone of your voice didn't give yourself away. "Even if I did, how would you know it's fake?"

"Because I have eyes," he flips the book over on its back, eyeing it from there, "I've also been learning a lot about recognizing these kinds of things, I'll have you know."

"I'd much rather believe in this than nothing at all," you take it back from him to keep him from judging it any further, there's been enough hits on your pride, "You can't tell me you don't think it's interesting!"

"A little. At best."

In truth, he doesn't want to admit it because the idea of there being something beyond this, something greater than the titans that pierce the sky and quell the waves... It doesn't bode well on his mind.

You huff at his nonchalance, unconvinced. Stretching out a pinkie like you've done quite a bit with the demigods now, but somehow never with him, you initiate a promise, "I know there's something out there, and one day, we're both going to see it."

He reciprocates with little hesitation, wrapping your pinkie around his own. A wordless exchange, but one that means the world to you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Phainon dreams in fire and fractured memories. You don’t dream at all.

At the least, you assume you forget them as soon as you wake up. His follow him like an incessant shadow on an unending day.

When he tells you he had a particularly bad one shortly after going to bed, you comfort him the same way you always do; He collapses into you with the full weight of a dog who’s outgrown their owner's lap but still tries to fit there.

He cries silently in your arms—it's eerie, how little noise he seems to make when he does. You feel the hot tears seeping through your shirt, each one a brand on your skin. But you don't hear them fall, and you hardly hear him breathe, sometimes.

None of this is new to you, but he typically prefaces what happened in these dreams of his. He also doesn't take this long to recover from the muted sobs, gathering himself up within minutes. This one was different.   

"Can you tell me what happened?" You tentatively ask, your hand running up and down his back, trembling beneath your touch. "If that's alright." Your voice doesn't feel like yours. Had you even said anything at all?

It takes some time, but his head does pivot on your shoulder so that you could hear him, eyes refusing to meet yours.

"We were just...fighting." Your friend reaches to wipe his nose and his eyes, but it doesn't stop how small his voice sounds. You feel it in the cracks of your soul. Where your heart would be. "... That's it."

You frown. This was not the result of just some fight in a dream.

"You don't have to lie," the hand that rested on his back makes its way to his hair, tousled and a mess, as always, "So please don't."

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry—" He apologizes, his voice becomes unclear, your attempt at coaxing him out only resulted in him crying more. His apologies bleed together, forehead grinding into your collarbone, until he says enough to satisfy himself.

"You hated me," he murmurs, "And I didn't know why."

It still feels like this village boy is keeping something from you, but you refuse to press further. For both of your sakes.

"It's just a dream. It's not real." If he wasn't flushed against you before, he was after you pulled him closer, feeling his erratic heartbeat for yourself. Even when it sputtered like this, it felt nice. "I could never hate you."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Aglaea would soon regret giving you your own teleslate to use at any time. For now, the weaver is glad you have a means of communicating besides barging in on her at random hours of the day.

Your use for it is exclusively for two things: Seeking knowledge and sharing knowledge.

Whether this knowledge was real or not was not up for you to discern. Most of the time.

You: Biggest lake in Amphoreus     > This looks fun     > I want to go

Ms. Agy: I'm not certain if this place still exists now, but if it does, I will take you when this is all over.     > On another note, please do not stray too far from the city outskirts again     Transcribed from voice memo

--

You: Biggest volcano in Amphoreus     > Does this really exist     > Is it really that hot?

Silly 1: We might have seen it before!

Silly 2: Trianne thinks she remembers flying past it a long time ago, it was scary but no match for her!

Silly 3: Trinnon thinks she almost died there. 

--

Sunshine ☀️: Send this to someone shorter than you You: You're barely taller     > Like an inch     > That shouldn't count

Sunshine ☀️: Still one taller than you >:P     > Also look     > Heartwarming: Chimera wrestling compilation     > Us     > I'm the one that's winning hehe

You: Yeah ok     > Ziplining through the Grove (not clickbait)(speedrun)     > We should do this

Sunshine ☀️: I don't think Aglaea would allow that     You: Don't be boring     > Tribbie would

Sunshine ☀️: I'm sure

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── 

The rooftop garden had become your unofficial sanctuary - a fact Phainon exploited whenever you slipped from his sight. He always found you the same way: sprawled across sun-warmed grass with a book tented over your face, chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of midday slumber.

He folds his legs into the grass, reaching to your level and prying the book (something more sensible this time, from the look of it) from your shut eyes, allowing the light to filter through them. Your breathing was light, and while you didn't flinch from the loss of contact on your face, you do wrinkle your nose after a few seconds.

Beautiful. The word came unbidden, startling in its simplicity.

He's very tempted to simply lie next to you and take a nap then and there. But the memory of untouched breakfast trays in your chambers steeled his resolve.

The young heir pokes your cheek, ever so slightly, certainly not enough to rouse you from your sleep. A little part of him wanted to keep seeing you like this, calm and at ease without a care in the world. He's the last person to ever want to take that away from you.

As if you could mentally hear the conflict inside his head, you reluctantly flutter your eyes open, blinking slowly as you adjust to the light, instinctively bringing a hand above your eyes as you do. On impulse, he caught your wrist, replacing the glare with his own grinning face.    

"Ah—!" Your startled blink softened into recognition, sleep-rough voice mumbling. "I fell asleep...again."

"Why didn't you say anything?" You sound annoyed, but your hand that he waved off makes its way to his hair, fiddling with the strands on the back of his head.

Despite looking like he was about to melt in your hold, he pulls himself together with the familiar look of confusion.

"I just got here." He pouts, pulling the book from your side. "Were you reading something fun this time?"

"My reading is always fun," You retort, mirroring his pout as you sit up, "but this one I think you'd enjoy." Opening up where you left off, you glance over the words. "I can give it to you once I'm done. I heard it has a happy ending."

Phainon found himself staring not at the proffered book, but at the sunlight catching in your eyes - brighter than any story's promise.

"So, do you like it?"   

"It's nice." 

He chuckles, the sound more of a huff of air than anything else. "Nice? Come on, you can do better than that." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. "It's 'magnificent', 'breathtaking,' 'the most beautiful thing you've ever seen'."   

"Are you sure you're still talking about the sunset?" You lean further back into his chest, head resting on his shoulder, as you've done many times before. It's comfortable. It's perfect. You've taken a nap on it so many times, you're sure it has your name on it stamped somewhere.   

"I know this...isn't exactly right." Your words draw out with a loom of regret, like a personal hit to your pride. Just a glance towards the trees shows it all; the leafs are red–not at all the golden hue he's told you about, and the ocean wasn't as vast, with the end of it much closer than expected. It felt claustrophobic. "I couldn't remember it all, I'm sorry."   

"It's fine." He breathes, the lowly cadence you've gotten used to breaking through, his snow-white hair fanning the side of your face. "This is more for you than it is for me."    You're not sure how to respond to that. "... Do you like it?"    

He inhales sharply, eyes trailed on the setting sun, but it seemed like he wasn't really seeing it.   

"It's not the same." He tells you, you hear something hitch in his voice - Not the same as in my heart - "But if this is the only way you can see it, I don't mind."   

A stray kiss to your face. Another behind your ear.   

What a shame that you cannot stop time, and cannot have this exist outside this tiny moment.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"I can't believe how much the both of you have grown," Aglaea chimes softly, the garmentmaker making short work of measuring you, "It feels like just yesterday I made something you could be seen wearing outside, Phainon."

"... My clothes weren't that bad..." The other garmentmaker in charge of getting Phainon's measurements pulled the tape taut against his waist. It's more than yours, you observe, he really is getting bigger. Once it's finished, its free hand moves to playfully cup his face, squishing his cheeks together. "Ee—Hey!"

You never got to see these clothes that Aglaea so feared. By the time you met him, she had already changed him out into something more suitable, to her standards. You've asked him before what it was when he had on that day, but he's always been embarrassed, just saying that the next few days afterward included a lot of studying on his part. Poor Goldweaver must've really traumatized him that day.

Not too far off from Aglaea's workstation, the 3 sisters were cooped up into a hammock that must've been installed a long while ago, the wear and tear evident, but proof that it was thoroughly loved.

"Trianne remembers when Snowy was just this big!" She holds out her arms a modest length, which was not much considering her tiny stature. The other remains of Tribios were still fast asleep, Tribbie and Trinnon tangled atop each other.

"I was never that short!"

"Snowy will always be that short to Trianne," She yawns into her hand, lying back down. One of Aglaea's rare laughs resonates in your ears before turning her attention back towards you, eyes softening even further.

"I trust you've been eating well?"

"I, uh... I think so?" Phainon responds before you do.

"I know so," Your fingers deftly pinch his stomach through his clothes, "All that bread you keep baking goes right to your tummy."

"Only if I'm lucky and you don't eat it all first!" He gripes, drawing your hand away, "And as long as I'm a healthy weight, does it really matter?"

"What's the reason behind your bottomless stomach?" You sigh into your palm once you loosen from his grip, "There's currently no explanation for this Phainomena." Mayhaps one day you'll get to the bottom of it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────   

Lucky for the merchants at the Marmoreal Plaza, and unlucky for her, you were not the only child given a near unlimited allowance from Lady Goldweaver herself.

"Oh my," Aglaea utters quietly, clearly beside herself, "Phainon, this is about the fifth time you've asked me this week for money. At some point, I have to ask where it's all going." She can only hope it's all spent on something and not taken by her dear cat that continues to elusively evade her.

"It's not all his fault, Ms. Aglaea. He tries really hard not to buy useless stuff!" You cross your arms over your chest, "He swears they're really convincing." Phainon nods along at first, but shoots a sideways glance in light of the fact you were not defending him, to his dismay.

"Why are you acting like you don't buy a bunch of random things from places that don't exist? If you wanna go there, you're no better than me."

"At least I have a job," You grumble in response, your nose scrunching in meager annoyance, "And I know how to save money, so I'm not bothering her all the time." To seemingly make matters worse, you stick your tongue out to further instigate him. Another thing to add onto her infinite list of worries; were you going to be like this forever?

The normally chipper boy mimics your posture, down to your vague disgruntled expression (It's really now that she grasps exactly how much taller he is compared to you). "Right, since running around and playing with chimera's all day is such an important job. I could do that, if I had to."

"But you don't, and that's why you keep getting scammed—"

The demigod, for her best interest, tunes this nonsensical bickering out, mentally preparing to hand over another bag of coins to placate the needs of two growing children.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Why doesn't the garmentmaker do the laundry?" You groan into your blanket that you don't quite remember the last time you washed. Surely it hasn't been that long to warrant an intervention...

"You live here. You'll obey my rules." Aglaea chides, voice unwavering but eyes unsure. At least you think. They seem more unfocused than usual. "You should do this at least a few times so that you understand responsibility."

Her finger curls to beckon forth the faceless garmentmaker, materializing with unsettling eagerness, depositing a willow basket at your feet. Its contents stare up at you accusingly: Yes, even the socks you've been "losing" under the bed for weeks. The basket is not filled to the brim but sufficiently full. Just enough space for your sheets and blankets.

"Fiiiiine," you drawl, biting back commentary about divine beings and their sadistic love of domestic torture.

Aglaea's eyes gleam with victory. This expression you know well.

--

To your shock, the chore isn't entirely terrible. There's something meditative about watching linens swirl in soapy water, about the rhythmic slap of wet fabric against stone. By the time you're hauling the warm, sun-dried load back to your chambers, your mind floats in that blissful space between thought and sleep. You're more than ready to fold everything up.

... You would be ready were it not for the unexpected guest on your unmade bed.

"What're you doing?" You readjust your hold on the basket, not exactly phased since this was far from the first time he's ever done this, "My bed isn't even made."

Phainon lifts his head up at the sound of your voice, blinking like you're the intruder. "Waiting for you," he mumbles into your pillow. "Your bed's way comfier." (He says this every time, as if all the beds in the palace aren't identical). He shifts over to get a better look at your basket of newly dried clothes. "Does Aglaea have you doing chores? Why didn't you tell me earlier? I could've helped."

"You still can." Before he asks how, you flip over the contents of the basket on his head, everything tumbling out. You stifle a laugh once you can't see him anymore.

"Whyyy." Comes the muffled complaint, followed by a pale hand emerging like a survivor from a fabric avalanche. His head follows suite, followed by a pause. "Actually... this isn't that bad, it's cozy. It's like there's five of you, and they're all hugging me." His temperament changes, now content with his untimely fate of being surrounded by your blanket amongst everything else.

"Great, now you can help me fold everything." You climb into bed next to him, or where he would be if not covered by the mountain of clothes. "After my nap."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"That's when I had to tell him it's nothing, but then he licked the wall still, and I was like... why would you do that. So I say that—"

Phainon, ever the observant, continues listening to your babbling while carefully eyeing the children playing nearby. They were mostly passing around a ball between their feet, nothing particularly dangerous, but they did come close to kicking it near where you two were sitting in the garden. They were rather reckless, too, there were a couple of times now where the ball flew completely over people trying to take a walk. An open eye was necessary for now.

He nods in acknowledgment to let you know that he's capable of multitasking.

"... And then I thought it was over. I was like, how could it have gotten any worse? I know that's what you're thinking right now, so I'll answer it. Basically..."

(To be honest, he had no idea what you were talking to him about anymore. The more you laughed at yourself recounting the story, the more distracted he got)

It was rather easy to drown out all the noise from within the garden when it comes to focusing on your words, so much so that he doesn't hear the whirring sound draw closer to his ear and feeling something sharp hit his head. Next he knows, he doesn't hear anything at all!

--

Phainon dreams during the small window of time he has. In it, he rests in the patch of wheat he'd always hide in, where no time ever passed at all. He doesn't open his eyes just yet. Today, the dream is peaceful.   

"Why do I always catch you asleep now!" A familiar voice makes its way into his ears, nothing short of a silly scold. His lashes flutter open to confirm his thoughts, the eyes that greet him as blue as his.

"I've just been really tired," he murmurs, reaching to tuck a windblown strand behind her ear. His fingers pass through her like mist. Always like this. "Please forgive me, Cyrene."

"Hm. Apology accepted." She flops onto the grass beside him, close enough that her hair fans across his shoulder—a ghost of contact. "Though, I thought you've been sleeping well. You've been ignoring all my warnings, huh? I told you, you'll stop growing if you keep sleeping late!"

"I know, you've told me. You don't have to nag," A falling leaf threatens to tickle his nose, "I...wish I didn't only get to see you while I'm dreaming."

"I wish you weren't so sad all the time, but we can't have everything, right?" She giggles beside him, running her thumb across his head. "It gets better when you wake up, I promise."

"I'm not sad."

"Mhmm... you're right, I guess you have been happier recently. You've had this dopey smile on your face lately, but you kinda always look like that, so I wasn't sure."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing! I'm just glad you have things to smile about now." Cyrene withdraws her hand, holding it over her mouth to catch the yawn, "All this talk about sleeping makes me sleepy... I'll see you when I wake up."

Phainon feels his eyelids get heavy, her words prompting them to fall back. As soon as it happened, the dream was over.

--

"... Ah... please wake up. I really don't want to have to tell Aglaea that you fell unconscious, it'd be really embarrassing."

His vision is still dark, he feels something pounding in the back of his head, and ringing in his ears, but even with all the possible handicaps to his senses, that worried voice is still yours. Whether he was able to make out anything you just said was a different story.

"She'll never let us outside again." He feels something else now; your hands carding through his hair. "I'll get so bored." Something soft...and warm. "And then you'll be bored because you never have anything better to do without me..."

Phainon flits open his eyes for what feels like the umpteenth time today. How fortunate that he did not die from traumatic head injury, but is still blessed enough to see one of Mnestia's angels greet him.

"There you are! Phainon, are okay?"

He nods slowly, adjusting his vision more. He expected the grass to be a little rougher against his sensitive skin, but no such irritation happens. Your face is just close enough to block the light of the sun directly into his face.

Oh, this must be... your lap.

Your fingers leave the expanse of his hair to pull over someone from the side, he's not really looking.

"Apologize!"

Two nearly identical voices sound out their apologizes. "We're soooo sorry!"

No... He moves his head slightly in your lap, closer to your stomach. No need to apologize.

Your tone softens. "Please be more careful next time, alright?"

"Yes ma'am..." The sound of shuffling in the grass hopefully means they're gone. He still wasn't looking. At you. Your face. The pout of concern, the cascade of your lashes, the normal mischief in your eyes giving way to something else.

"You're so pretty." The heir says without thinking.

You tilt your head cutely. "... How hard did they hit your head?"

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You'll never forget the day of your first (and, gods willing, last) trip to the Vortex of Genesis. You'll never forget how humiliating it was.

It wasn't enough when Tribbie had offered to resonate with Janus's coreflame, and you felt nothing in return. It wasn't enough when you went down with the demigods yourself to entertain the possibility that you could still be wanted among the divine. Never mind that the golden blood that seared your veins with heat and dribbled across your skin when cut, to prove that you're theirs before you're yourself means nothing when they ignore you at any chance. Look, look how I bleed for you. And the Vortex—oh, the Vortex—a cruel parody of beauty. Stars swirl within arm’s reach, close enough to sear your fingerprints should you dare touch. The very air scalds your lungs, each breath a reminder: You do not belong here.

You try to ignore the itch of your flesh when you're first brought here. You've always been warm, you know this. Your skin gets hotter when you grow upset, but at this moment, you felt as though your flesh and bone would melt by just stepping your foot here.

Phagousa, the drunkard, does not offer you any of their intoxicated murmuring that Tribbie claims to hear regularly. No, it's something else instead, something far more befitting of your rejected status. Leave, it chants, leave, leave, leave.    "... I think that's enough." Dejected, you turn to Aglaea. This is likely the most conflicted you've ever seen her look.

"How... unexpected. Teacher, this has never happened before. Correct?"

"Not that we know of," Tribbie clasps her hands in front of her, you can tell she's biting the inside of her cheek. The worry in her gaze is worse than pity. "Are you...okay?"

"Never better." You respond hastily, giving one last angry swipe at the water in the "chalice" before turning away from it completely. The voice of Phagousa howls in pain, and you bite back a similar noise when a sting lances up your arm—the Titan’s fury or your own, you can’t tell.

You'll likely get scolded for belittling a titan like that. You can't bring yourself to care.

Let the gods reject you. Okhema’s streets still remember your footsteps.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You've been much more distant these past few days.

Phainon first notices it around the same time Aglaea told him that he was more than fitting to be our Deliverer. In fact, she had said, I believe you were made for it.   

But, why? He had asked. Was the fate of that card that he had drawn so long ago true? Something real and feasible?

Later that day, he held it gingerly in his hands, the way he remembers doing when everyone would gather around and see what he had gotten this time. The same every time.

He did not have much when he left Aedes Elysiae. But it felt that there was even less with this burning a hole in his pocket.

The practice sword she gives him is nothing like the one his dad had made him back at home. An unfamiliar material, the wood that was used to carve this was not the same as the one he knew. No notches in the hilt to represent every year it grew with him. It did not bear his name. Nothing was right; the weight of the Deliverer was not his.

Even if you do not believe it now, the demigod responded, you will grow into it in time. (He wonders if growing into destiny feels like swallowing a stone)

So, when he passes quietly in your room during parting hour to comfort you, he tries to extinguish the part of him that needs it, too.

Phainon doesn't fall into your bed without care like usual—he folds himself onto the floor instead, forehead pressed to the bedside as his fingers pluck at your sleeve.

"You haven't talked to me all day." His whisper frays at the edges. Or the day before. Or the day before that. He inches closer. "Are you... mad at me?" You rustle under the blanket, your face emerging from the cocoon.

You look tired for someone who's always sleeping. Ah.

"What're you talking about?" You mumble, your voice doesn't waver, but it does pitch in that way Tribbie does when she's holding back tears because she scratched her knee up after falling over.

"I don't know," he reaches out for your hand, "But if you are, I'm really sorry. I can make it up to you—"

"No, I'm not mad at you." You blink several times, composing your thoughts, your hand staying intertwined with his, "... Stop looking at me like that."

He unintentionally mimics your blinking, his lashes fluttering. "Like what?"

"Like a kicked puppy." You yank the covers aside with your free hand. "Just—get up here."

The newly proclaimed Deliverer's doesn't spend another moment sitting down, climbing right next to you. As always, the spot next to you exudes warmth.

"So if it's not me, what is it?"

"It's nothing important."

"You don't have to lie to me, just tell me whatever it is you're thinking about." This gets a rise from you.

"I didn't lie, I told you, it's not important. I—" A momentary pause, he brushes his thumb over your knuckles in the midst of the silence. "Just... am I... am I going to bring you down or... hold you back?" He knows where this line of thinking is going. It's all too familiar.

"Don't say that." A little too charged–he reels himself back in. "I don't know what's making you think that, because now I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Right." You murmur, resigned. "I don't know."

You're very strong, he thinks. He's never seen you cry. Not even once in a slip of frustration you may have. He needs to be more like you. Stop wasting so much time on tears. You don't agree. He doesn't know better.

"... But I do know something," Your voice picks up, rotating over to lie closer against his chest, "If anyone's capable of taking care of the wholeeee world, it's you." Your laugh is weak, but the words that came before it were sincere.

You should doubt him more. Tell everyone they're over their heads.

Phainon's world was small. It was once just the people in a remote village out by the sea. Now, he could count all the people in it on one hand. But for you? He’ll learn to shoulder the sky.

In a scarce and abnormal move, you do not initiate a kiss this time.

He, who has never once settled his lips upon yours without intention, began to grow careless with every draw of his breath, impatient, even. Every movement of his hand against your neck only serves to pull you closer to him, to make you truly one and the same—fit each other and leave tender traces on your skin that will later sear into an aching madness that you will feel with every passing moment he is not there to leave more.

He kisses you like he has millions of times before, and somehow, in those numerous instances lost to time, he has never forgotten. Never forgotten what makes you the happiest, what makes you feel the most, something you know you'd feel in your heart.

When he finally pulls away, for more than just a few seconds, he starts. "I could do that forever," he murmurs, his voice soft and a little hoarse with emotion. It's entirely true, he says it with the same weight as one of the many promises he's told you. The ones he intends to keep. 

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, as if he was trying to imprint this moment in his memory, to hold on to the feeling of you in his arms.

"Then we... should try." You offer, impossible warmth rising to your face from all the previous affection. "I mean, you can try... who knows, maybe it'll change something this time."

He chuckled softly at your words. He could tell what you were trying to do... and he was more than happy to indulge you.

"You always have the worst excuses." He teasingly poked your nose, his gaze full of sincerity and adoration. "Well, I suppose I can't deny that it's an... interesting prospect." He pulled you even closer, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed a trail of soft kisses along your jaw.

"There's a secret stipulation in the prophecy that states you have to kiss me at least a hundred times for there to be deviation," You try to pull yourself together, but ultimately fall apart in his hold, giggling as you hold him tighter. "Personally, I remember it distinctly."

He couldn't help but chuckle again at your attempt to justify your reasoning. "Ah, of course, that must be it." He played along, his voice slightly teasing. "If that's the case, I guess we'd better get started." 

He captured your lips in another kiss, this one a little more intense, a little more demanding. "Just to be safe." He mumbled against your mouth, his grip on you tightening slightly.   

(The two of you go for far longer than a hundred).

It was only during times like this where he had you exactly where he wanted, you utterly and unapologetically at his mercy, that nothing else weighed heavy on his heart. Not even the world.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Phainon did not like going off on missions to clear out the waves of the monsters alone—He would much prefer at least one other warm body to keep him company when he does so, there's absolutely no one to talk to in the forgotten outskirts of Okhema, save for the few lost and in need of refuge. In most desperate situations, he at least has the sanctity to ease their nerves in their otherwise hopeless situation. 

But he cannot have everything, he has learned, and is often delegated to his companionless state.

When Aglaea refuses to leave her post within the holy city, it's something he can agree with. For all intents and purposes, she is the city's last line of defense, her golden threads lining every corner and edge of Okhema to keep potential pests out. Understandable.

When Tribbie couldn't make it with him, Trianne would go in her place. When Tribbie and Trianne couldn't go, Trinnon doesn't hesitate to offer herself. There's a clear, definitive system that they run by that rarely fails and in the rare event that it does, he doesn't mind all that they have to stay back; the Deliverer prefers that the 3 last standing pieces of Tribios do not put themselves in harms way, more than what was necessary.

So, what exactly was your excuse for not joining him during the long, toiling days he spends outside protecting Okhema?

"Mh...tired...from yesterday." You whined, head buried into one of the many stuffed chimeras you've amassed over the years. "If only there was someone stronger, uh... more capable... and responsible than me... to go instead." You snored softly without a moment to spare after your last word, no hint of remorse whatsoever.

"Please?" Phainon knows his pleas fall on deaf, sleepy ears, but he tries anyway when he tugs at your arm slightly. "C'monnn, the least you can do for me is come up with better excuses. I don't even try getting hits in on you anymore because you say the same thing every time."

You tugged his arm back with similar energy, peering a single, droopy eye at him. "Can't you just skip today... and lie down?"

"Tempting." A tantalizing offer, even. When was he ever in the position to turn down, lying next to you? (The only exception being the one he was in now, of course). "I'll have to decline for now. But when I return from my lonesome today, I expect a clear spot for me to join you. Or will that be too hard for you?"

Your breathing deepens—that telltale hitch you get when fighting sleep during late-night storytelling. How long since you’ve shared those? He’ll pester you about it later.

"Mm. ‘Kay." The words dissolve into pillow. "Don’t… be late."

"Wouldn’t dream of it." Phainon swipes your knuckles with his thumb. "I'll be back before you know it."

He didn't spend any second longer than required in the outskirts of the city that day, after clearing everything out. Much like any of the other times, you said you were waiting for him back in your room.

--

"Welcome back. You're here earlier than I expected." Aglaea greets from her spot in the baths, the golden thread loosening around the palm, "All went smoothly?"

 "Surprisingly! You should've seen the pile I made of all of them before they disappeared, it was about..." Phainon holds a hand flat out to his face raising it higher to the wisps of hair atop his head, recalling his feat that no one had the fortune to bear witness to, "A little taller than me." 

While he's unable to showcase the spoils of his hunt to anyone, it does remind him of the little promise you made. "Is she still asleep?"

Aglaea hums, the thread moving to tighten around the pad of her finger. "I believe it'd be best for you to see for yourself." 

Cryptic, but not unexpected of his understanding of the demigod. Regardless of her lack of being able to give straightforward answers from moment to moment, he makes short work of getting over to your room. But instead of having the space that was promised to him mere hours ago, the Deliverer is greeted with you in the same spot on your bed, the only difference now was that you were surrounded by the triplets this time. 

"You should be ashamed of yourself." He shakes his head, disappointed, leaning against your door frame, "I gave you one job."

"In my defense," your eyes are downturned, likely full of the shame he just willed on to you, "They all were already here when I got back from running errands, and when I tried to kick them out, they all climbed on me and held me down." You pull Tribbie closer to you as you say this, comforting your supposed captor, "It was the scariest thing I had to live through—they kept tickling me, I felt hopeless. You should've been here to help me, I might've had a real chance to survive." 

"Real traumatizing stuff," He responds, like he didn't nearly get his limbs cut off multiple times from his fights earlier, "Sounds like you'll be out for days."

"I will," You affirm, absolutely serious. You shift slightly, reaching out the arm that wasn't supporting Tribbie on your side, "Join me?"

Trianne drools onto your clothes, completely unaware of any outside influence and far off into the cycles of a restful dream to notice anything happening in reality. Trinnon remains tucked in a smaller corner of your bed, content with the same plush you were latched onto before he left. There's, at most, a sliver of space left on your bed, but he'll try his best.

Cautiously, he nudges Trianne closer to you to make room, in which the red-head elicits a loud snore, but otherwise stays asleep. He settles closer to you (At least, as much as he can with you surrounded), relaxing instantly once his head meets with one of your many soft, fluffy pillows, laced with the sweet, faint scent of vanilla that you insist helps you fall asleep faster.

"How much longer you think they'll be sleeping for?"

"Entirely too long," You mutter, a hand moving to stroke Tribbie's hair, "Don't expect to go anywhere anytime soon."

 Phainon finds your hand that you used to reach out to him moments ago, his own ghosts around your fingers, and carefully traces the length of each individual one before settling his fingers in between yours. It's hardly enough to qualify as holding hands, but when you reciprocate, it seemingly becomes just that. I didn't plan on it, remains unsaid.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You did have a good excuse for not coming with Phainon this time to help out outside—you had woken up with a cold that morning (or, something adjacent to it, you weren't so sure). Curse your weak immune system, you really wanted to come with him.

Trinnon tends to you throughout the majority of the day, swapping out the ice packs on your forehead every 2 to 3 minutes since they kept melting, much to the demigod's concern, and to your misfortune and agony. Trinnon is beside herself with none of the medicine working well enough for you, but you're sure you've felt worse; like that one time the Phainon bludgeoned his practice sword into your temple, and you were positive you were feeling your soul slip away as he carried you back to the palace, apologizing profusely along the way. Sparring between the two of you has become more infrequent, on an unrelated note.

Eventually, Trinnon grows so discouraged that you tell her you'll be fine by yourself, and in all honesty, you don't feel... terrible. Your mind feels distant, and you feel heat flashing through your body from time to time, but you wouldn't exactly say you feel sick. It's nothing you figure you can't take care of, and after much convincing, you manage to shoo her off so she can do something genuinely productive with her time.

For the remainder, you keep your energy threshold to a minimum, eating when you need to and resting, in hopes your delirium will subside. Once it gets late enough, the amount of visitors you get dwindles, and you're just about ready to call it a day, until you hear a soft knock from the other side of your door. You don't get the chance to give a response before it opens on its own, revealing your sparing partner that never seems to have any concept of his own strength.

He's shed off all his outerwear for the day, but even with all he does wear on a day-to-day basis, there are noticeable tears on the shirt that immediately catch your eye, making you wonder how bad whatever attacked him must've been if it went through all the layers of his clothes. The Deliverer, yet again, does nor give you the option to speak, when he strides to your room and presents you a simple bouquet of flowers.

You can quickly tell they're not from any of the stores at the market, with what it lacks in quantity, it makes up with quality—no two flower are the same, some of which you recognize and some you're thoroughly surprised you've never seen before. You would know, you spend most of your days searching to put in your journal, and you'd confidently call yourself an expert. But now? You'll have to reconsider. 

The flowers are wrapped all together in a small, blue bow, and they're beautiful, in their effortlessness. You're rendered speechless, and Phainon pushes them wordlessly into your eager hands. 

"I hope you feel better soon," he starts, uncharacteristically quiet, "They're pretty, right? I had to get them the moment I saw them. You've been missing some of these too, I think. I wasn't able to get all the ones you mentioned you were missing, but I hope this is a good start." He coughs faintly into his hand, catching his breath. "Do you have any water? I'm really dehydrated after all that, barely had the time to drink anything."

"Uh..." You snap from your daze, muscle memory reaching for where you typically keep it. "Y-yeah, of course. Are you alright? You look rough."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Phainon takes the bottle from your hand, swigging it all down in one breath. "If anything, I feel better already. But, that's besides what's important, do you like them?"

"They're stunning! I don't even know where you found all of these. When did you even have time today?"

"In between." The young man shrugs, not expanding on when that could've been. He palms mindlessly on the side of his chest, he's been doing that since he gave you the flowers. "I'm glad you like them. I was worrying the whole time you'd be disappointed—" 

"Phainon," you frown, grasping the flowers tighter in your hands, "I can get up if you need me to."

"What? No need for that, you're the sick one, not me." He laughs, the soft one he does when he thinks you did something funny, "Stay nice and warm in bed, I'll come by to see how you're doing later. Don't move much, you'll overwork yourself." 

When he checks your temperature, hand dragging across your face to see if your temperature was still irregular (for your standards), you come to the conclusion that you share a roof with one of the biggest hypocrites in all of Amphoreous.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After one of Phainon's weekly outings with the herd of children today, he signs off to them as he always does, with a hearty smile and a reminder to listen to your elders and make responsible choices—also known colloquially amongst them as the part where they all tune him out because they have much better things to do with their time than to listen to their play date friend go off on tangents about doing homework. 

Important things such as: Clinging to his leg as he makes his way back to the palace, and him somehow not noticing because the child is merely three apples tall and weighs just as much.

It isn't until his little "passenger" starts giggling at herself with every passing and unassuming swing of his leg, that the chrysos heir registers there's something clinging to him like a bug. Phainon doesn't hold off any time trying to find a safe place to dislodge the girl at, or else leave her trampled on the crowded streets today.

"I didn't notice you here at all!" Phainon beams, despite the initial shock. He scoops the young girl in his arms, no older than 4 or 5, "How long were you planning to hitch a ride for?"

"Uhm..." she taps at her chin, "Until you got to my house..."

"And where is your house, exactly?" He ruffles her scalp, amused by her excuse, "Is it not in the opposite direction of here? Or...that's funny... I thought it around here..." The heir kicks around at the dirt with his boot.

"No mister! I don't live in the dirt!"

"Really? Could've sworn I heard you mention the other day you lived with a bunch of moles. Aren't those underground?"

"Noooo! Because my brothers are always telling on me! They're moles!"

"Oh! Sorry, you'll have to forgive me for the huge misunderstanding." 

"That's not even important! Look," the girl shoves her small hand into her satchel, shoveling out a treat in bag that had a little smily face etched in with frosting, "I made this for you! Alllll by myself." 

"You made this?" As a chrysos heir, he gets gifts and surprises more often than not from people by virtue of being him, but whenever it's from someone so young, it never fails to make his heart swell, even if it's just a little. He takes the pouch from her hand, observing it the contents further. If what she said was true, for someone as young as her, the treat passes could potentially pass as edible (He'll make sure you get a bite of it first before he does, just to be safe). "Has anyone told you how talented you are? You're really something."

She giggles, face flushing slightly from the compliment. "No one but you."

"But I know..." She starts, "I don't stand a chance against Ms. Chrysos Heir, huh?" She sighs, pulling on her braid, her cheek pressed against his shoulder as she refuses to peel off from. "Y-you like her wayyy more than me, right?" 

She was just smiling minutes ago, so how was it that she was already on the verge of tears??

"Woahhh there, where'd you hear something that from?"

"Everyone says it, mister! They just do‐don't say it in front of you, 'cause it's a big secret, and they don't wanna tell you they know yet!" She keeps babbling, holding tighter against him. At this rate, he wasn't sure how he'd be able to put her down when given the chance.

The children, in all their splendor, could not resist saying things just for the sake of saying things. And, while he doesn't think about it, you do manage to give them content when you're visiting them with him. It's on rare occasions like today where you don't join him in visiting. Still, though, there wasn't even a rumor or anything that could've started this. More than that—what big secret?? You and him??

"Shh. They're just saying things." Please stop crying. This is so awkward. "I don't have anything like that with her, you should tell everyone else they're spending too much time making things up and not enough time studying." He coos, rocking her back and forth in his arms. He's going to have a hard time explaining this all to you, isn't he?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Owwww..."

The groan slithers into your space before Phainon does—a half-collapsed heap of exhaustion, draping himself over the couch frame. He’s shed his armor and jacket like a molting insect, leaving only a sweat-damp shirt clinging to his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" You move from your seat slightly to face towards him, fingers moving to pick at the ends of his hair. "Are you tired?"

"Yeah... super..." He sinks further next to you, almost collapsing over to the other side but holding his balance just enough so he doesn't land face-first into the cushions. "Mhhh... I can barely stand. Everything hurts. I think I'm dying."

"Stop being dramatic." You chide, but your focus on him as you hold his face does little to help in your reprimand, contorted in concentration. He'd feel bad with how much you were fretting over him, had he not liked the attention you always give. "I have to leave soon, just draw yourself a bath, and I'm sure you'll feel better."

"Ughh... but, my neck... it's really sore.... when's the last time I got a massage? And my shoulders..." The man child inches closer to you, enough to where your shoulders meet, and he nuzzles further into your palm, all wounded-puppy eyes. "But since you're so busy, I'll do everything myself, I guess. I love suffering alone." Phainon sighs, and it really, really takes everything out of him to not try to crawl into your lap to hopefully convince you to stay. What other commitments could you possibly have? Ones more important than this?

Your shoulders go slack as you concede, your eyes crinkle as you offer a defeated smile. He'd feel bad, were that not the exact face he was waiting for you to make.

"Okay! Okay—I got you. You seriously need to start being more careful out there!" Your hands descend onto his shoulders, kneading the tension there. "How many times do you expect me to do everything for you? I won't be here forever!"

"I knew I could count on you! This is why you're the best." His hair tickles your neck when he moves even closer to hug you from behind on the seat. "You know you'll have to feed me, since my arms hurt too much, I can barely even lift a spoon. And you'll have to tuck me into bed. I can't feel my bones at all—"

"What can you do?!"

He'd feel bad if he ever made you worry like this when it was something worth worrying about. He prefers it when the stakes are low, and where nothing matters at all.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"You've done well over these last few spars," Aglaea, hand over her chest as to calm her breathing, divulges. "I'm beyond impressed with how much you've grown since you first started. I'm starting to reach a point where I can hardly keep up with you. But perhaps... is it because my age is catching up to me?"

Phainon does not respond at first, distracted from the blood rushing to his head, the throbbing pain of the aftermath of their "little" fight. So be it that the demigod does not participate in battle often, to say that she's harmless like some people may say is both disingenuous and cruel.

After collecting himself, he recognizes that this was Aglaea's attempt at a joke. He's supposed to laugh here.

"Haaa... I wouldn't say that." He counters, running a sleeve across his forehead. "You're no less capable than how you were hundreds of years ago, Lady Aglaea."

"𝓐 𝓶𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓮, 𝓶𝔂 𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓭..." The garmentmaker floats over towards him, patting a damp towel against his flushed neck. It clears its nonexistent throat. "My lady is not getting any younger."

Phainon takes the cloth away from its hands, muttering, thank you. Aglaea takes this opportunity of vulnerability to settle a hand on his shoulder, catching him off guard and nearly causing him to jump.

"Your sweet words have no effect on me, I'm afraid."

"Just... being honest," He laughs awkwardly, straightening up, "You always jump at the chance to say that, but nothing's changed. You'restill the person everyone counts on."

Aglaea hums, drawing a thread between her fingers where her hand is on the Deliverer's shoulder. "Some things are designed with the intent to never change. But things like the responsibility you will have one day, do—I feel it every time I close my eyes to rest. I believe when this happens... regardless of original intention, these things will change whether any of us like it or not." 

Not even the golden threads could attempt to weave the relevance of this conversation together, but the Goldweaver has never been above saying inklings of ideas that don't quite make sense. He tilts his head, his hair still damp and refusing to move along with him.

"May you never change, Phainon." She gazes wistfully at the thread, the demigod's eyes growing heavy from exhaustion. "Thank you for proving to me, time and time again, that my trust is not misplaced."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Your day at the market was, for the first time in a while, actually productive and did not consist of random impulse shopping and splurging!

This time, you got everything that was on the list exactly; no more, no less. This should be a wildly celebrated milestone with everyone praising you, but you're only able to get the attention of the one who convinced you to adopt the detested list in the first place.

"Atta girl," Phainon cheered, checking to be sure random items didn't grow legs and fall into your bags at the last minute, "Glad to see you didn't relapse at the first sight of something you've never seen before. The true Deliverer of Amphoreous is the one who brings me groceries."

"I'm not a child, I don't get distracted by jingling keys or whatever."

"Progress!" His pinch to your cheek is equal parts teasing and proud. "Can’t you just take the compliment?"

"No." You grumble, swatting his big hand away, "Anyway, what're you making tonight? Can I help?" Although your relationship with shopping has changed, your relationship with the kitchen was a different story entirely.

"Help..." He pretends to think, and in one fluid motion, hoists you onto the counter, "You can help by staying right here. You do a wonderful job at giving moral support when you sit here."

You scoff, first, at his audacity to put you on the counter jail so early on—you haven't started cooking yet!

Second, your past occurrences in here haven't been... that bad. You just get often distracted, that wasn't a crime, was it??

"Seriously?! You're still acting like I burned the whole place down and that was months ago!" (While you did not burn the kitchen down, to say you were nowhere close in doing so would be a gross understatement). "How can I get better if you won't let me try?" You attempt to slide off to reach the floor again, but you're effectively trapped by him when he plants his arms on each side of you.

"I'm not letting you revise history like this, I did let you help me out a couple of weeks ago, and you stared at the pot for 20 minutes wondering why it wasn't boiling until you realized you never turned the stove on." His nose crinkles in amusement at the memory, you roll your eyes (That wasn't your fault, you were under the impression he had turned everything on ahead of time!). "Or how you insist on going on 'vibes' for the measurements and then end up wondering why it ends up tasting like dromas feed, or that time when you—"

You don't have any proper defense for yourself in the cases he'll try to bring up, so you cease this discussion before it gets worse.

"Sorry! You don't have to remind me, I know you hold grudges against me." Grumbling, you tap your fingers together out of growing impatience. "Is there anything you'll let me do?"

Phainon digs into the produce bag and produces an apple. With a crisp snap, he cleaves it in half bare-handed, offering a piece to you. His half happily makes its way into his mouth. At least you won't have to worry about slicing them all up later.

"Mh, just hold still for me, 'k?" He takes another big bite, some of the juice messily dribbles down to his chin.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You tried to ignore it at first. How it seems like his days no longer start with you and end with you. Just a few years ago, he would have refused to wake up and leave to do anything without promptly going to your room to wake you and ask if you wanted to come with him, then spending more time begging you to go even if you said no, simply because he hated doing things by himself.

This endless cycle of being dragged out from bed ended some time ago, instead replaced with texts in the morning, saying he had to get up early to attend something with Aglaea, or sent out with Tribbie to find any of the lost outside Okhema.

 > I'll see you soon. Don't miss me too much! d(＞ω＜｡)

 But you did, you always did.

Even on days when you would go together, once you touch base back in Okhema again, he's swept up in different situations that you're never involved in, and you quickly learn to stop asking why.

You're not saved from these explanations come the evening, when the city transforms into a quiet place, winding down into a peaceful thing. When this happens, you're either told that he has to sleep early for something big tomorrow or sleep late because he ran out of time during the day to something, and Phainon never puts things off for tomorrow when he can do them today. He tries to impart this onto you, but as someone who chooses to sleep in at every chance possible, your day is ruined before it can even start.

The days of sitting under the covers and reading silly stories from the random books you buy to each other until Tribbie found you and scolded you two for not being asleep, only to join after a few seconds of chiding, began to dwindle, until they didn't happen at all.

You are not adverse to change, quite the opposite. You like when things are proven to be real, like when a fallen leaf drifts into your hand, and you crush it in your palm, hearing it crunch in your fingers, an indication of the changing season. Proof that everything around you existed not just to serve and bring you joy, but everyone else, like the children who gather a pile of soft leaves to fall into, trusting nature with their life. And one day, those children will change, too. 

The change he was going through did not appear to involve you. Which begs the question, will it not involve you in more ways than one?

Trianne tells you that you're lucky that you're not as involved with Okhema's inner workings and conflicts as they are, that there's no reason to be jealous of being wanted by as many people as they are, that it's exhausting.

"It's way more stressful than you think, Snoozy, being in charge of running a city is no fun at all! Think on the bright side, you get to spend a lot more time doing stuff you like doing, like hanging out with us!"

But what if you don't want to do it because you feel it's your duty to do so, or feel some obligation towards the people of the holy city—what if the things you like doing is being with him for the sake of being with him? What does it matter if you have all the time in the world and none of it to spend with the person who makes you feel like no time passes at all?

It doesn't help to have your own responsibilities when you are given them, you still feel like a bystander even though you'd bleed all the same golden ichor were someone to strike each of you down, one by one (At least, you think you do).

So, when you say something along the lines of It has to do with that thing I bought the other day... did I not tell you?

No. You never told me that. How come? Why didn't you? I love hearing you. I love talking to you

You've been busy these past few days, I didn't want to bother you. When did that happen? I want to talk to you, but sometimes I feel like I don't know how to, anymore

I'm never too busy for you. I mean that. You used to tell me everything. Every thought in that head of yours, I cherish it. Because you told me. No matter how much time passes, I'm still yours.

You're right, I'm sorry. If this is proof of my existence, may it remain stagnant in this passage of time. My purpose will not erode in spite of what I go through. You knock on the door to my soul, and when it opens, my heart will say, 'I love you.' It will always answer, and that will never change.

ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʰᶦᵐ ˢᵒ ᵈᵉᵃʳˡʸ ᵍᵘʸˢ… ᶦᵗ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᶠᵘⁿⁿʸ… ᶦ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵗʰᶦⁿᵏ ᶦ'ᵛᵉ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ᵃ ᶜʰᵃʳᵃᶜᵗᵉʳ ᵃˢ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᵃˢ ʰᶦᵐ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ˢᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ ᵃ ᴸᴼᵀ

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Nothing Going

Summary: you are so very bored that bad decisions make good ideas.

Character: Lee Bodecker

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, age gap, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.

Part of the Trailer Park AU

Please leave a comment and reblog. Or send an anon ask! Always happy to hear from y'all. ♥️❤️

Laura's busy. With Michael. And Amira is busy with Colin. And Brandy with Wes. Everyone has something going on but you.

You don't understand why everyone else has someone. Everyone but you. It was easy not to think about it when your friends were around. Now they never are.

You tug back the curtain and look out at the park. The kids are all out chasing each other or kicking around balls. The adults, not like you, the real ones with wives and husbands and children, chatter over barbecues or occupy themselves with trimming the weeds around their lots. There's no one there for you.

How about Hasim? Mm. No. He's into Mal. Ugh. Anyone else, you don't want. Not that you have the pick of the litter.

You flick the curtain back behind your shoulder and stand fully in the window. You watch the neighbourhood. Everything is happening around you as you stand still.

The smell of lemon nestles in your nose and tempts your tongue. The cookies took less than an hour to bake. Not even enough to keep your mind off the painfully obvious.

How is that even your parents are too busy for you? If they're not working, they're off at some neighbours drinking Coors. They're doing what you should be doing.

One of younger kids runs out a sudden woop sounds. The siren cracks through your self-pityibg trance. You glance over at the red and blue lights.

The sheriff stops his car and waits for the kid to clear the road. He rolls down his window and says something. Likely about staying safe.

He steers by, slowly. The kids watch and a few wave at the sheriff. Everyone knows him even though he isn't very friendly.

Hm. Your ma says he's divorced. Twice. Your dad says he's a good man, he must be. He's a cop.

You spin and fall into the sofa. Your leg bounces. It's a bad thought. You shouldn't...

He's old. Older. Not too old. Well, maybe your dad's age. Ugh. What are you thinking?

Well. You're bored. You bend forward and rest your elbows only our knees. You hold your chin in your hands and blow a raspberry.

Could you? No. He wouldn't even be into it. You're too young. And he's the sheriff. He's got more important things.

Ugh. The heat is deadly when there's nothing to distract you. Especially when your baking only added to the haze. You don't even want the cookies.

You get up and walk across the trailer. You go to your room. It's not much but you know some people who don't even have walls of their own.

You look down at your self. Ew. Well. A cute outfit might distract you.

You go through your select. Red shorts and a baby tee with a red heart on the front. That's better.

You go out and stop at the door. You're not going to really do this. Yeah, you are. Well, try, do. You'll see.

You'll probably be laughed back home. You step out as the heat in your cheeks turns to fire in the sunlight. Is it really worth the humiliation? Well, no one will know unless you tell them. The sheriff doesn't talk to anyone.

You just want to be too busy for your friends. Then it won't matter. Then you won't be the loser.

You go to the kitchen and pack up half the batch of cookies. The little dollops of lemon jelly in the shortcake almost look like hearts too. You scoff and snap a lid on the container. Once you manage to find the right one.

You go outside. The kids don't notice you, nearly toppling you as they race by. Their parents smoke and snicker in their fading lawn chairs. The smell of a barbecue gnaws at your appetite.

You cross the roadway and cut up beside the row of trailers, dipping through and empty lot to get to the other side. The park isn't very big but it can feel like it.

You're sweating as you come up to the bumper of the sheriff's squad car. You glance at his trailer. The curtains are drawn, the door firmly shut. You peek around at the neighbours. They don't care about you.

You go up the steps and knock on the door. Your fist reverberates and your nerves swirl. What the heck are you doing? Not think, that's for sure.

Too late to turn back. The door cracks open, just an inch.

"I'm off duty," the sheriff snarls.

"Yes, sir. I... I brought you some cookies." You raise the container in your hands and smile.

The door snaps shut. You wince and stare at it. Well, you didn't expect much different.

You spin slowly on your heels and take a step down. As you get to the bottom, the creak of hinges stops you. You look over your shoulder as the sheriff stands in the frame and leans, arms crossed.

His uniform shirt is unbuttoned, below a ribbed undershirt with patches of sweat. His forearms bulge as he glares at you. You gulp.

"Why?" He asks.

"Um...I made them and no one else is gonna eat them." You eke out. "And I figured... It'd be good to show some appreciation. Since you keep this place safe."

He clucks and tilts his head. He exhales through his nostrils and let's his arms drop straight. He pushes away from the door frame and beckons you to him.

You turn and nearly skip up the steps. You're not too far from him. You hold out the container.

"Lemon drop cookies," you announce proudly.

"You made em." He drawls. You nod.

"Sure did, Sheriff Bodecker." You chime.

He takes the container and lifts the corner of the lid. He looks inside then sniffs. His brows lift and the line between them eases.

"Smell good." He says.

"I hope they are. Hope you like them," you push your hands behind you and twist nervously. His eyes flick over to you. Down to your chest.

"You ain't got other neighbours?" He sniffs.

"I do but they aren't very nice." You shrug.

He clicks his tongue. "What's your name?"

You answer him brightly. "I live just on the other side of that one," you point. "With the weather vane. Me and my parents." You look back to him. "Not much to do, ya know?"

His blue eyes focus on you. He's got a bit extra around his middle and his his cheeks but he's not ugly. There's some strands of silver peeping through his rich brown locks. Your eyes stray to his hands. They're big and thick. You heard things about men with large hands.

"Sweet of ya to bring em by." He backs up but stops himself from turning away. "You want a Pepsi?"

"Pepsi? Sure." You bounce excitedly. "It sure is hot."

"Sure is," he agrees. "You wait out here then. I'll get that soda."

"Yes, sir, sheriff," you beam.

[luvhoyeony]

TXT as AMATEUR PORNSTARS with you ♡

what you two post, how it's recorded, and what it's like having sex with them when the camera's on.

연준 YEONJUN

a natural performer. he knows how to put on a show for not only you, but for the camera. you two thought why not? when deciding to film you two having sex for the first time. then when you two decided to upload it, it went big.

he doesn't play it up or anything because he doesn't have to. as long as you're satisfied, everyone else can wait. and even then, it's hot enough to watch how good he is. everyone gets jealous, wanting him to fuck them like that too, but you don't worry. you have him and you know it.

the camera isn't propped up the entire time somewhere. he also takes it into his own hands while fucking you. if he's fucking you from behind, he's recording your ass and the way your back arches. on your back? he's recording the way your tits move when he fucks you, no matter the size, and where his cock presses into you. he loves the focus being on you, from his perspective, just as much as he loves being on camera too.

"look at that, my pretty fucking girl, look at you," he'd moan as you rode him, recording the way you rose up before quickly sliding back down onto his cock. with every little gasp you'd let out, he gave back a low moan in that nasally tone you loved.

"you gonna show them how i like it? yeah? c'mon." he watches you start a quicker pace, openly moaning as he starts fucking back up into you. the cameras shaky, raw, real. as if you're watching from his perspective.

after that, he props the camera on the nightstand, making sure to show the both of you as he presses you into the bed, ass up. neither of your faces showing—he has an idol image to protect, after all. but he does show him fucking into you until you're gasping and borderline crying into the pillow from how good of a rhythm he has with his hips.

"c'mon, baby, cum with me, touch yourself, need to cum with you..." he leans down to murmur in your ear, voice raspy and breathy, "where do you want it? you want me to cum inside? on your ass? fuck, whatever you want, baby." he groans.

수빈 SOOBIN

it's just one of those things soobin is turned on by the idea of. which goes for a lot of things, it's nothing new for him to have ideas, but this one seemed to stick more than most other things he wanted to try.

people love watching the unique dynamic with you and soobin. in one moment he'll be on his knees, eating you out with wide eyes, the next he's fucking you into the bed as he holds your hands down because of his size. the way he fucked you like he was in charge but obeyed your every word and moaned when you degraded him.

the camera is propped up on the dresser the entire time. it took him a while to get fully comfortable with it, but there was a part of him that really liked being recorded. he was kinky, that's nothing new. remind him you two were on camera while he fucked you and he'd all of a sudden try a little harder, fucking you harder, hiding his face in your neck as he kissed there. fucking to impress.

i can see you two showing your faces on a private paid subscription service—maybe uploading on a free website without it. it'd be risky, though, so maybe save that for when soobin isn't a huge idol with his career on the line. that's for later on, but he loves the idea of it.

your hand is tightly woven in his hair, tugging at his scalp as he fucked into you like a bunny, more so humping into you than anything. you two had been going for a while now, denying his orgasms over and over, switching positions here and there.

"do you wanna cum on my tits? like a slut? wanna cum on my face like those anime girls you like?" you'd tease. he'd both cower and moan at your words, but either way, he got hornier. fucking into you harder as he tried to not cum then and there.

he loved being treated like some kinda slut, leading whatevwr you two were doing everytime you had sex. but you knew a lot of that was loving to get to turn his brain off with you—a level of trust you never took for granted. that and being on camera.

"fuck, can i, baby?" he moaned, gripping your tits in his big hands, "need to make you cum first, though." he'd reply before bringing his big hand down to your pussy, letting his thumb rub quick circles on your clit as he bit his lower lip in focus.

범규 BEOMGYU

lots of duality in the videos you upload. a mix of soft, vanilla sex, of sleepy mornings with you two making out and lots of foreplay and aftercare in the videos, but also you two really fucking going at it. him fucking you in the mornings with his low, sleepy voice in your ear as he'd pound into you relentlessly. beomgyu is the definition of duality of man, and it's the best of both worlds.

you two don't take it as seriously. it's not necessarily a huge turn on for you two, but you two started doing it so you could watch them back. when your storage got too full, he uploaded them on an account just to save them. no one would see them, anyway. right? wrong. they blew up. but you two just kept uploading like an archive.

honestly, it's not a performance or for the views. and that's what brought so many people to it—you showed the intimacy of romantic love while also the passion of it at the same time.

beomgyu totally uses it to tease you when you're in public or alone. but in public, you'd have to shut him up. not that he'd tell anyone you knew in real life under any circumstances, but he'd love to fluster you over the idea of it. he just loves teasing.

"mm..." beomgyu rolled his hips against yours, the blankets covering everything. it was easy to tell what was going on, thought the camera propped up on the nightstand, deciding to record last minute.

his cock twitched inside you as you murmured something to him, the two of you laughing softly together lightheartedly. not directed at the camera, just letting the camera watch you two together. he pressed himself deeper inside of you as he kissed at your neck, cupping your breast under your shirt.

"fuck, i wanna cum inside of you... stupid condom." he murmured, jokingly, rolling his hips again. his voice was always low and sleepy in the mornings. so irresistible.

"just take it off then." you scoff with a small laugh, glancing back at the camera before back at him, "whose stopping you?" you teased back. he loved your reciprocating teases. he just loved you—as he buried himself back inside you with a moan.

태현 TAEHYUN

you have to bring up the idea of recording it, and convince him hard. once you two do it for the first time, though, he gets it. the thrill of a camera being on you two when you're at your most intimate. soon, he's proposing recording when you two were about to have sex more often than not. maybe he got off on it a little–so what?

brings in the audiences who loves being dominated and love to dominate because your dynamic is fairly consistent. he fucks you until you're shaking, and you take it. of course, it changes from time to time. especially when he's recieving. he's not afraid of being whiny or letting you take over, of being seen as submissive for you. he just prefers domming you. softly, albeit, but still.

the camera's most often positioned somewhere on a surface somewhere—he doesn't care where. so long as it doesn't interfere when he's fucking you or make it any harder, he doesn't care about the camera. but as soon as it makes it harder for him to make you feel good, he's moving it. he won't let it inconvenience your pleasure, no matter how good the angle is. you're his priority.

mostly records the longer, more intimate sessions where he's fucking you into the bed and pinning you down with his muscular arms. he just prefers the loving, softer stuff to be kept to you two and you two only. recording is an afterthought when he's making love to you and kissing you like you're an angel under him.

"you always take it so well." taehyun says, one hand on your ass as he fucks into you from behind, keeping you upright. he's surprised you haven't fallen into the bed fully—maybe it was the pillow under your hips that kept you comfortable enough.

the cameras propped up on the pillow in front of you two, but he watches it nearly fall as you try to keep it up all while getting fucked. he takes it from you, pressed flush against you, setting it on the nightstand. he reaches for your hands and takes them in his, before taking your arms to bring your back up to his chest. all while he still had his cock presses deep into you.

"don't worry about the camera, just let me fuck you. you'll look sexy no matter what, don't you know that?" taehyun praises as he pounds into you, feeling the smack of his hips against your ass with every thrust.

"do you need me to remind you of how pretty you are? because you know i will..." he kisses at the nape of your neck, "tell me. use your words, pretty. i can't hear you." he teases when you can't form words because of how hard he's fucking you, just moaning and crying out. the camera can vaguely see what's going on.. he's not focused on them, though.

휴닝카이 HUENINGKAI

you two are definitely known for the sweet relationship you show. that's not to say you don't have good sex—but you two show a lot of the parts of your life. sex is just the main part, but he likes recording little vlogs just to end it with you two fucking, not even waiting to show the after when it's over. just giving a little wave bye to the camera when he ends it abruptly.

definitely loves to interact with the camera more. talking to the camera as if they could hear him in real time, talking about you and how pretty you were as if he were talking to someone else. it was endearing, if anything.

definitely hard for him to be on camera, let alone show his body. he only cares about your opinion, of course.. but it helps for him to hear people thirsting over him here and there, just as reassurance that he really is that hot. you two having a loyal, sweet following helped with that too. you never worried about negativity.

kai records from his perspective, which he loves because he gets to voice his every thought. how pretty you look in dresses, how cute you were, how pretty your body was, how much he wanted to fuck you before he was about to. he thinks all the attention should be on you because you're the star of the show, in his opinion.

"isn't she so pretty? so soft..." kai murmured behind the camera as he held it in his hands, running his hands over your thighs and bare pussy, "i just wanna fuck her so bad. wanna feel her pussy on me so bad." he'd coo, before grinding against you through his boxers. he slips them off after a moment, tapping the head of his cock against your clit as he runs his cock through your slick pussy for a little, babbling praises as he pans the camera to your breasts before back down to your pussy.

when he pushes in, he moans, his voice a little high as he presses in to the hilt, "pretty girl, feeling you squeeze around me. so tight. just wanna fuck you so bad." he slowly rocks in and out, letting you get used to him as he rubs your clit.

he finally sets the camera down to the side so he can grip your waist and tits, moving between the two, while he picked up the pace. he leaned down to kiss you, making out with you while he split you open on his cock.

the videos just proved how his mind was always you, you, you. making you the star of them, recording you when you came like he was in awe, setting the camera down as soon as you needed his full attention. watching them back, but also living it, always made you feel so loved and wanted.

[wosoparedesbonmatirussoarsenal]

A/N: Champions of Europe 🥹🥰🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

Warning: r has adhd and Autism (it can look different for everyone, this Is just Personal experience)

Summary: it's your First day at the Senior Team at your dream club.

You were so excited and nervous when you signed your contract for the Arsenal Senior Team after being in the Academy for quite a few years. You have played football all your Life. You also were the Cousin of Leah. So you knew the Team already on a more Personal Level and they all have given you the Nickname 'Baby Cousin' a few years back. Spoiler alert, the Name stuck to this day. Which you found out as soon as you entered the changing rooms with Leah.

"aww Look it's our newest signing, the Baby Cousin. Our new number 55." Meado stated.

"hey, yeah it's me! But i am 16. So not a Baby at all!" You replied with a soft chuckle.

"you will always be little to me."Leah answered. You looked at her before you looked at the Team.

"you do Sound like my Mom!" You said and laughed softly. Everyone else was laughing as well.

"well auntie isn't wrong. My Mom always says it doesn't matter how old you are to parents their kids always will be their little Babies!" Your Cousin answered.

"that really is such a parent Thing to say." Steph replied.

"so it must be true!" Kyra spoke out. You nodded your head gently.

"yeah must be!" You said softly. You chatted some more with the Team while you put on your cleats and got ready for practice. The First one as a pro. It felt surreal.

All of you walked out together. You were Walking with Katie Reid. Talking about school. Cause she used to have some of the teachers you have now. Renée officially introduced you to everyone. Just cause that's what always happened when a new Player was being signed.

"So let's get going!First some warm ups. Then we are working on Corners and penalties." She stated. You nodded your head softly and started to warm up. Doing some stretches and then some running.

"good Job Girls! Now we work Corners! I have seen that y/n is amazing at those! So would you want to start?" Renée asked. You smiled a bit. Slightly nervous and also blushing a bit.

"yes sure thing!" You answered. Walked to the corner flag with the ball after discussing it with the team what Variation you were gonna try. You placed the ball down onto the grass and held up your right Arm. You then kicked it towards the second Goal Post where Leah was standing. She managed to get the ball past Daphne with a Header. Leah was high fiving Lia & Beth. While Katie gave you a thumbs up.

"so small and so much talent already!" She replied. You chuckled softly at that. You indeed were short. Only 157cm. So you were tiny but mighty.

"great start! I know you are talented with both feet so let's try it from the other side now" Renée said. So you did exactly that. This time Lessi was the one getting it in and into the back of the net. She gave you a thumbs up which you returned and smiled. Katie and Chloe were the next ones to do Corner kicks. The one from Chloe you got into the back of the net. Manu and Daphne were switching every now and then. Naomi was at Physio right now. Cause she had some discomfort in her knee. Otherwise she would have practiced with you as well. Obviously.

"okay now let's do some penalties before we finish up with a little game before lunch. After Lunch we are doing drills!" Renée announced. Which resulted in some people sighing and groaning. You started again when it came to Penalty kicks. Since you could kick with both feet your opponents never knew which one you were going to use.

"damn we need to start calling her Happy feet!" Kyra answered.

"like the Penguin?" You wanted to know. Giggling a bit.

"yes!" Kyra said and laughed softly.

"very fitting that those are your favorite animals!" Leah stated.

"indeed they are!" You replied.

"that's sweet actually." Lessi told you.

"she even has a Penguin plushie called Mr.Peng!" Your Cousin explained. Which had some of the Girls smiling, Others giggled and a few 'aww' could be heard as well. Everyone got their Chance and you all went three Times before it was time for Lunch Break.

You ended up sitting at a table with Lia, Mariona, Leah, Beth and Steph.

"So anything new?" Leah asked casually. You looked at her, suspicious for a moment before it clicked.

"oh my god you talked to my Mom!" You stated. Your Cousin shrugged her shoulders and acted like this wasn't a big deal.

"of course i do Talk to her she is my aunt!" Le answered.

"i know she told you to ask me cause of the girl i am talking to and hang out with!" You said. And by the look on your Cousins face you knew you got that one right.

"i mean yeah, so what's that about?" She asked.

"uh well i went on a few dates with her. Her Name is Molly and she is playing the lead in the school Musical They are performing 'The Prom' and she plays Emma. It happens to be my favorite Musical." You explained.

"aww that's sweet! Young Love!" Steph stated. Smiling softly. Mariona looked a little puzzled cause she didn't understand all of it so you explained it to her in spanish. Simply cause your catalan wasn't good enough yet. You loved learning new languages. At school you have learned french, you knew dutch and German and also some italian and you wanted to learn swedish. So you thought about asking Stina for help.

"Eso es lindo." Mariona answered. ( That's cute. )

"gracias." You replied with a soft smile. Which she happily returned.

"such a little Genius. She is like Lucy and Hannah and just loves languages!" Your Cousin explained.

"I just really love learning new stuff. It's a hyperfixation of Mine!" You admitted. You were autistic and had adhd. Both got diagnosed when you were 8 years old.

"that's pretty cool!" Beth answered. You talked for a little bit longer and ate your food before getting back on the pitch.

You were doing Drills for 45 minutes before ending Things with a little Game of Football. 30 minutes total.

You were in a team with Lessi, Kyra, Katie Reid & Caitlin. And you managed to win 3-2. With you scoring two Goals. Lessi scored the other one. For the other Team Emily and Steph scored.

After practice Leah took you Home and even let you choose the music. So you decided on Linkin Park.

"so are you planning on asking Molly to be your girlfriend or how do you feel about her?" Your Cousin asked. You blushed a bit.

"she is actually coming to our next Game. So i hope Renée let's me Play a few minutes and after that i plan on asking her. Cause we gonna grab Frozen Yogurt." You explained.

"that's very sweet. i hope it goes well. Also when you get together and take the next steps make sure you feel ready." She told you. You nodded your head softly.

"got it Le! Thank you. For everything really. My first Day as a pro was great! I really loved every second of it!" You stated.

Leah went inside with you cause you wanted to celebrate your First day and your Mom has invited her and your aunt over for Dinner. It was a nice time all of you had and you fell asleep with a smile on your face.

[goomyloid]

im sooo glad to see weird route fanart that doesn't just assume the "player" is doing this. it's a cool idea to think there's an entity making kris do all this for incomprehensible reasons but it makes more sense that kris themself is doing it

eehh am i misunderstanding? im still under the notion that kris doesnt want the weird route to happen and we’re literally forcing their hand… (unless if you’re specifically talking about the perceptions from other characters like dess, which i address later in this response)

there is that one bit of dialogue that suggests kris might have Enjoyed what happened in ch2 weird route but to me it comes off as intrusive thoughts-esque more than anything. and like, assuming this is more so in reference to chapter 4 (since that’s all ive been drawing recently lol) i honestly dont think they did any of That by their own volition. it just doesnt line up with my own reading of kris, at least.

you can have whatever perspective of the weird route you want, but if anything i think i make it especially clear in my work that We are the ones behind this and that kris is pretty miserable the whole time. i decided to pull this from my side twt:

and i would say our motives arent always necessarily incomprehensible. they might be to the characters (or anyone who isnt kris) but at least when it comes to kris, and maybe the knight and gaster and whoever freaking else might be In On All This, a lot of it comes down to just curiosity. we all want to see how bad things can possibly get and see if it will affect the story or ending. gaster would probably understand this, and i think kris would be able to comprehend it even if they’d be ultra super pissed about it

anyway, i unfortunately dont really feel the way you described… i think there’d have to be extremely specific conditions for kris to ever consider doing all that on their own, and the scenario in my head is an AU that involves timeloops so you can imagine how much more complicated things might get. if this ask was spurred on by my recent comic, i thought i made it relatively clear that kris was not all that pleased about what transpired despite the fact that the player isn’t really brought up at all in it. a lot of it is like, kris being able to say “it wasnt really me” doesnt matter anymore, not like it did in chapter 2. so much shit has irreversibly hit the fan that it doesnt matter who did it — it’s done, and noelle is kinda fucked in the head as a result, and kris has to face the consequences of our mess now. dess talks to kris as though everything was voluntary, but that doesn’t mean it actually was; because this dess is basically a pure manifestation of all their guilt, they think they no longer deserved to be comforted by being told “it wasnt really you” and instead ought to be punished in some way for letting it all happen (even though it’s not that simple at all). to be treated as if they were completely responsible. do they Really feel this way? no, they know it was us, of course. but that guilt becomes so strong and illogical that it starts to not matter anymore.

uh anyway sorry my comic suggested that (even though you liked it) i wonder if you’re new to my work, in which case i recommend checking out literally any of my other kriselle comics, where it is abundantly clear that its us fucking everything up, lol.

[seewetter]

"recently just the original post and nothing else is going around"

oh, I'm so sorry to hear that.

"this is not about the straight people who are deliberately oppressing us. this is not about the people who hate us. i dont know how any of these people came to that conclusion. this is about straight queers, straight passing queers, and our allies. these sort of jokes, no matter where they are coming from, are making our siblings and allies feel like they don’t matter and don’t belong in our community."

it's tricky being online and having everything be taken out of context. as you can see, even I didn't go check your blog for follow-ups, it's a very easy thing to forget and it leads to a lot of mistakes.

I think people came to that conclusion mostly because they only read your first post, assumed the worst and then responded. Lots of people on edge at the moment.

and as much as we should talk about having each others backs, we also need to learn about resilience. Even now, as you've opened up a bit more about the kind of behaviour you're concerned with, I don't have an exact frame of reference that lets me imagine the situations you've observed.

Just to give you some context, over the years it has often been discussed how marginalized communities behave towards outsiders (real and perceived). In fact, before I even had a Tumblr account, I was exposed to marginalized activists trying to point out things like "anger does not equal hate" and things like that. Forgive my rambling if it seems like a tangent unrelated to your concerns, but that has even been a huge part of how people talk about things like equity, for example. Someone can pass an equal law ("No one should sleep under bridges") that mostly affects one group of people negatively (mostly homeless people, in that example). Discussions around equity or anger vs hate all happened because people have been, over many decades, trying to find the right balance between treating every form of mistreatment the same versus prioritizing the needs of people most affected. And it isn't an easy balance to strike.

One thing queer spaces can end up breaking apart over is finding a fair standard of behaviour and a fair sense of etiquette. I don't mean to be hand-wringing about this, but it is a really difficult conversation you or I wade into when we try to agree with others about expected standards of decency.

When I think to famous queer activists like Sylvia Rivera, I can't imagine her being comfortable or existing in a space that tells her she can't make certain remarks. A lot of people in queer spaces, especially in moments like this one, are not making decisions that are good for other people, they are making decisions that they assume are good for them. This isn't good for solidarity within the group, for fighting together, but their mind is on their current concerns.

That's why I drew the connection in my post to discussions about man-hating and implicitly alluded to the transmisogyny conversations, because both mirror this issue. I don't know how to tell someone like, say, Patricia Taxxon, to not police other people's identities or someone like, say, Plunkitt, to not put so much stock in identity that we overlook that the Terfs are having a field day with her rhetoric. I can only assume that both of them are, to some extent, difficult people who are making the best of their respective situations and probably wouldn't be able to overcome their current blinders even if politely asked. Community has to exist for such people too, we can't simply throw them out or expect "compliance" from them.

What I'm saying is, we can't always have that perfect queer community. We will often find that helping marginalized people doesn't mean helping people who suit our tastes but rather people as they behave, including with unpleasant behaviours we can't change. This doesn't make these folks above criticism, but it means we have to pick our battles, keep our distance if necessary and realize that the diversity of our community isn't just "everyone is a different colour on that flag" but rather it's a variety of concerns, including the concerns of sex workers who do specific things you might not want to know about or people who take drugs that are dangerous to them or people with very colourful personalities, which can end up being less pleasant than the word "colourful" makes it sound.

Just to avoid a misunderstanding: I'm not saying the concerns of difficult "gold star" (BS concept) queers trump the concerns of straight queer people or queers in straight relationships. I mean, under particular circumstances they might (long story), but if you are any flavour of queer, your voice should matter enough that you can find people and communities who will help you. Your appeals should not go unheard.

The Austrian philosopher Robert Pfaller wrote a book which sadly never got an English translation, called Adult Language ("Erwachsenensprache"). In it, he describes that one of the effects of Reaganomics and other political programs that make jobs harder to find and increase poverty in society is that the architects of these policies try to instill a mindset in the general public to "be yourself" and focus on who you are rather than on what you (don't) have. I don't know if this is true, but I certainly think this mindset sometimes pervades all sides of these discussions, everyone wants to make these jokes because that's being yourself or stop these jokes because that hurt you and your just authentically being yourself. If communities glorify self-expression and vulnerability and authenticity past a certain point, we get people who are tempted to demand all that for themselves even in situations where its not equitable, where it hurts others. Being rude is "being yourself", etc. Pfaller actually describes a funny mental image of people who wear torn jeans or various other overt signs of "rebelliousness" but act like complete squares whenever the topic of discussion is something they care about or are touchy about.

That would be my recommendation for something to think about, both for the people telling these jokes and the people hurt by them: you are / your authenticity is always less important than our joint struggle. I, as a trans woman, am not trying to be authentic -- I am trying to be free. Misgendering is something I can survive, but it's also a mechanism intended to keep me from behaving in certain ways, interacting with others in certain ways. It is meant to keep me segregated, meant to force me into a group of people. I am not advocating for my "authentic identity", but for freedom.

"i know that, more than likely, the words i say will not change anyone’s mind. but we are breeding the same hostility that we face. if it persists, nothing will ever change for the better."

You are brave to speak your mind and I'm glad you are talking about the issues you face, rather than bottling that up. Thankfully for you and I and anyone who might read this, the world is a large place. The queer community is a large place and doesn't all follow the same rules. Hostility isn't everywhere and if you are facing a lot of it, perhaps you can find other communities near you that won't welcome that behaviour.

I know the world can change for the better because I've seen it change for the better in my lifetime. Despite the grumbling and cursing and bad taste jokes. And I hope the world will change for the better for you and your friends too. :)

okay people are still online but im gonna say this anyway. the queer community has gotten way too comfortable being awful to straight people and it needs to change and im not kidding

[elephantshoetoo]

Answering Mi!evens' main "arguments" (if you can call them that) against Byler: 

1. "It was the 80's! It wouldn't be realistic. Being gay was illegal."

No, it wasn't. Not in North America, at least. The Stonewall riots were in 1969. The first Pride celebration in Indiana happened in 1987. Out-and-proud gay people existed. 

And so what if it was illegal? That doesn't mean they couldn't secretly be together in private. What do you think is going to happen with Robin and Vickie? They'll say, "Oh well. We like each other but it's illegal so I guess we'll just be gal pals" *shrug*?

And it's a show that has monsters and alternate dimensions and telekinetic powers and kids saving the world. Realism isn't exactly what they're going for.

2. "Mike is straight. He has a girlfriend."

Mike having a girlfriend proves absolutely nothing. It is extremely common for gay people to try to be straight before they have it all figured out, especially if there's outside pressure to do so. This was even moreso the case in the 80's, when information was far more limited and gay role models were scarce. Which is why REPRESENTATION MATTERS! 

Mike's character is drenched in queer coding and has never expressed interest in a girl other than El, who looked like a boy when they met. Even when the other boys (besides Will, of course) discuss attractive girls, Mike doesn't join in. Princess Daphne, Max, Phoebe Cates - nothing. (Even Max and El drooled over Ralph Macchio.) But he does make goo-goo eyes at Eddie and Angela's boyfriend (and Will, of course). He's had queer-coded conversations with his parents and with Will, his room and many of the sets around him are full of "signs" (quite literally), his main wardrobe piece in S4 has a giant triangle over the left pocket (gay symbolism, according to the costume designer and the Holocaust) and he's exhibited many odd behaviours that hint something else is going on beneath the surface. 

And then there's Finn saying Mike is just trying to stick to a "normal" path (read: straight path). Why ya feeling so abnormal, there, Mike? Huh? 

See, straight people... don't need to TRY to be straight. But Mike does. 

3. "El doesn't need to be alone to be happy. You just hate her and don't understand her arc."

Um. No. 

Sure, El doesn't need to be alone to be happy, but the way they've written her character, they've made it clear she is happier when she's independent and learning to be her own person, without some boy telling her what to do. She spent the first dozen years of her life locked up and controlled. What she needs now more than anything is autonomy.

"You just try things on until you find something that feels like you. Not Hopper. Not Mike. You." "There's more to life than stupid boys."

That is her arc - learning what she likes and making her own decisions, learning she is enough just being herself, learning she doesn't need to be popular or a superhero or someone's science experiment to be worthy of love, learning what love really means to her and becoming part of a family and support system who love her for her who she is. 

And so far, she has not been able to learn any of that with Mike. 

4. "The actors (Noah and Finn) would be so uncomfortable having to kiss each other. "

This has to be the dumbest argument I've ever heard. They're ACTORS! It's their job. It's what they signed up for. 

Do you think actors are "comfortable" playing rapists and murderers and bigoted shitbag racist homophobes? Probably not. But they do it if that's the role they took on. It's just part of the job.

Do you think Winona and David are "comfortable" making out when they're both married to other people? What about Joe and Natalia? Sadie and Caleb? Finn and Millie? Those are all fine even though they're not real couples and are probably not attracted to each other? Why, because they're straight? (Your homophobia is showing.) And do you really believe the actors' discomfort plays any part in determining the story the Duffers wish to tell? In 'Beyond Stranger Things' the Duffers laughed at Sadie and Caleb's discomfort and thought it was funny making them kiss at the Snow Ball when they were not expecting it and didn't really want to. So no, that's not going to stop them. 

Besides, Noah is gay and Finn is... well, we don't know, but he's kissed boys before for other roles and doesn't have a problem with it. 

5. "They've been building up Mileven for four seasons. They're not going to suddenly break them up just so Mike can date El's brother."

This one is infuriating. What show have these people been watching?! Mileven was established in season one. There's nothing to build up if it's already built. They've been tearing Mileven down bit by bit every season since - showing how incompatible they are, how poorly they communicate, how little they understand each other, how untruthful, unhealthy and unbalanced their relationship is. Even in areas where they do have common experiences they could bond over, like the bullying, they can't seem to connect. They don't make each other feel good about being themselves. 

But you know who they have been building up for four seasons?

Byler. 

And Will is SO much more to Mike than just "El's brother". That is his best friend since Kindergarten.  His first friend. The person he couldn't bear to lose in season one. Or two (or ever). The person he said Hawkins is not the same without. 

These two boys have been shown over and over to really understand each other, to really listen to each other, to get each other in a way no one else does, to cherish each other, to complement each other and always be what the other person needs. Sure, they fight sometimes, but they always work through it and become even closer as a result. They bring out the best in each other. According to the show itself, asking Will to be his friend is the best thing Mike has ever done, and Mike makes Will feel like he's not a mistake, like he's better for being different. Will is Mike's light, and Mike is Will's heart.*

They are soulmates, pure and simple. 

So, no it wouldn't be sudden or out of nowhere. It wouldn't be fan service or just to be woke and edgy. And it wouldn't need more time to be built up. It's been building up for four seasons already. It's where the show has always been heading and would be the only natural conclusion to the story they've been telling all along. 

💛💚💙

* @a70smatthew I added this line for you. 😊