#this will be the best thing to come out of chaos theory

[annymaght]

My shayla 😫😫😫

[areislol]

being transported into their world 3

►— pairings. honkai star rail men x gn! creator! reader

►— warnings. nothing really, proofread, romantic but you can see it was platonic if you want to! sahau (selfawarehonkaiau)

►— synopsis. their beloved creator, the one who created many worlds, including theirs, had yet to return after thousands of years. but lately, they’ve been experiencing strange things, feeling like a heavenly, divine figure loomed over them. could it possibly be their one and only creator?

►— a/n. i have returned!

►— wordcount. 8.5k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤpart 2

As the grand airships soared through the boundless expanse of the Astral Sea, anticipation and reverence filled the hearts of those aboard. The people of Penacony and the Xianzhou Luofu had poured their devotion into every offering, ensuring that when they stood before their Creator, they would be worthy of Their gaze.

Among the passengers, figures of great renown—leaders, warriors, scholars, and artists—whispered among themselves. Some exchanged theories, others clung to their hopes, but all shared the same longing: to be in the presence of the one who had shaped their existence.

The Vidyadhara of the Xianzhou spoke of celestial ripples, unseen but deeply felt. The Dreamweavers of Penacony murmured about visions more vivid than any illusion—glimpses of a figure bathed in ethereal light, watching over them. It was as if their Creator had never truly left but had merely observed from beyond the veil of reality.

And then, the first sign appeared.

A shimmer in the fabric of space, a fleeting disturbance in the gentle hum of the Astral Sea. The air itself seemed to vibrate with an unfamiliar presence, neither hostile nor kind—simply vast, unfathomable, divine.

Aboard one of the lead airships, a courier from the Xianzhou clutched their chest, eyes widening as a foreign yet familiar warmth settled deep within their soul.

“They are near,” the courier whispered, breath hitching. “The Creator… is watching.”

Gasps and murmurs spread like wildfire. The High Elders of the Luofu exchanged knowing glances, and the Dream Alchemists of Penacony trembled, their own visions now aligning into a singular truth.

Some fell to their knees in silent prayer. Others clutched their offerings closer, as if desperate to prove their devotion.

And then—

A voice.

Distant yet clear, carried by the unseen currents of the universe itself.

A voice that resonated not in their ears but in the depths of their souls.

“You have come far.”

For the first time in millennia, their Creator had spoken.

And the universe itself seemed to hold its breath.

—

The moment your feet touched the ground of the Xianzhou Luofu, the world around you erupted into chaos.

One second, you were merely stepping off the grand airship that had carried you through the Astral Sea, and the next, you were utterly surrounded—crowded by eager citizens, high-ranking officials, and even a few Vidyadhara elders who had abandoned their usual serene composure in favor of absolute devotion.

“Creator! Oh, most divine one! Please, accept this humble offering—”

“These are the finest silks woven by the most skilled artisans of the Luofu! Only the best for Your Holiness!”

“My family has worshiped You for generations, O Creator! Please, take this—no, no, take all of it—”

Hands thrust forward gifts of all kinds: shimmering jade ornaments, scrolls filled with poetry written in your honor, delicately embroidered robes infused with strands of blessed gold, and even towering platters of delicacies so elaborately prepared that you had no idea how one was supposed to eat them without ruining the artistry.

The crowd pressed in, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of praise and desperate pleas. Some people knelt in open worship, while others trembled on the verge of tears, overcome by the mere sight of you. You barely had time to react as more and more hands stretched out, some daring to reach for you—only to quickly withdraw as if touching you would be a sin beyond redemption.

You felt the weight of it all crashing down at once. Their overwhelming adoration, the suffocating attention, the sheer amount of stuff being shoved into your hands—your arms were already full, and yet gifts kept piling up, stacked precariously as people kept insisting, “Please, You must accept this!”

Your mind reeled. How were you supposed to carry all this?

Just as you were about to be buried alive under the sheer number of offerings, a smooth, amused voice cut through the chaos.

“Now, now, everyone, let’s give our dear Creator some space to breathe, shall we?”

A familiar figure approached with a casual, almost lazy gait, his golden eyes glinting with mirth despite the serene smile on his face.

Jing Yuan.

Finally.

The tension in your shoulders immediately lessened at the sight of the Arbiter-General, who effortlessly slipped through the throng of devotees, his mere presence enough to make people step back—reluctantly, of course. His relaxed demeanor only added to the contrast between the fervent crowd and the calm authority he exuded.

In one smooth motion, Jing Yuan plucked several stacked gift boxes from your arms and, with the ease of someone entirely too used to handling excessive burdens, passed them off to a group of hesitant Cloud Knights standing nearby.

“Ah, such generosity from the people of the Luofu,” he mused, resting a hand on his chin. “Truly, your devotion to the Creator is admirable. However, burying them under a mountain of offerings seems a bit… excessive, wouldn’t you agree?”

A few people had the decency to look sheepish, but others still gazed at you with unwavering reverence, eyes shining with the desperate need for approval.

Jing Yuan tilted his head slightly and sighed. “If you all truly wish to show your love and respect, perhaps you should allow the Creator to rest after such a long journey. Don’t you think they deserve at least that much?”

There was a moment of silence—hesitation, perhaps—but then the crowd finally, finally, began to disperse, albeit begrudgingly. The most devoted still lingered at a distance, hands clutched to their chests as they whispered prayers under their breath.

Jing Yuan turned to you then, his smile softening as he regarded your exhausted form. “That was quite the welcome, wasn’t it?”

You let out a breath you didn’t even realise you’d been holding. “I was two seconds away from getting buried alive.”

Jing Yuan chuckled, a rich, warm sound that was oddly comforting. “I noticed. Hence my timely rescue.”

He extended an arm toward you, a silent offer of escape from the still-hovering masses. You didn’t hesitate to step closer, and with that, he effortlessly guided you through the streets, keeping the lingering devotees at a polite yet firm distance.

As you walked, he leaned in slightly and murmured, “I must admit, I almost didn’t intervene. The sight of you balancing all those offerings was rather amusing.”

You shot him a glare, though it lacked any real heat. “I will actually smite you.”

Jing Yuan only grinned. “Oh? That would be quite the divine punishment.”

Despite his teasing, you could feel the protective undertone in his presence. He never once let anyone get too close, subtly positioning himself between you and the most overzealous worshippers. His touch, though light, was grounding—a reminder that you weren’t alone in handling this overwhelming situation.

Somehow, you had no idea how, you were totally not freaking out. I mean seriously, you, the supposed "Creator" of this world was being escorted by the one and only Jing Yuan.

You always found him handsome, gushing over him every time you saw him ingame and in the oh so beautiful edits. Now that you're thinking about it you lowkey miss scrolling through edits...

Finally, after weaving through the grand avenues of the Luofu, Jing Yuan led you to a quiet garden, a place of respite where the gentle murmur of a koi pond replaced the incessant praises and frantic devotion.

You sighed, shoulders sagging as you flopped onto a stone bench. “Thank you. Seriously.”

Jing Yuan sat beside you, stretching lazily. “Think nothing of it, Creator. It is, after all, my duty to ensure your safety.” His golden eyes twinkled with a teasing light. “Even if that means saving you from an avalanche of gifts.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “This is only the first region. How am I supposed to survive the rest of this journey?”

Jing Yuan hummed thoughtfully before leaning back with a smirk. “Well, if you ever feel like you’re drowning in worship, you could always hide behind me.”

You looked at him, deadpan. “So I should use you as a human shield?”

“A most noble purpose,” he said solemnly. “I would be honored.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. A genuine, amused laugh that made the weight of everything seem just a little lighter.

And for now, that was enough.

That evening Jing Yuan made it his speciality (well, there was no other perfect for this role) to help you around and set you up in the finest hotel they have, though he was contemplating whether or not to let you stay in his home.

Oh well, another time.

After a much-needed moment of peace in the secluded garden, Jing Yuan finally stood, stretching with a satisfied sigh.

"As much as I enjoy our quiet escape, we can't keep the officials waiting forever. Besides, there's still one more matter to attend to before you settle in."

You gave him a wary look. "Please tell me it doesn't involve more people throwing things at me."

Jing Yuan chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "No, no, nothing of the sort. This is merely a... welcome gift, of sorts. One befitting your divine status."

With a flick of his wrist, he signaled a Cloud Knight nearby, who quickly bowed and stepped forward, handing him an ornate jade key embossed with golden inlays. Jing Yuan twirled it between his fingers before offering it to you.

"The finest lodging in all of the Luofu awaits you, Creator. We've taken the liberty of preparing the most luxurious accommodations—handcrafted furniture, celestial silk bedding, a private garden, and, of course, an entire team of attendants at your beck and call."

You blinked. "You got me a palace?"

Jing Yuan hummed. "Did you want a palace? I can certainly..."

"No! It's alright!"

Your escort back into the main district of the Luofu was far more controlled this time, thanks to the Arbiter-General’s presence. Though citizens still peered at you with awe, none dared to swarm you again under his watchful eye.

Eventually, you arrived before an exquisite structure that towered above the rest of the district. It was more than just a hotel—it was a masterpiece.

The building gleamed under the warm glow of Xianzhou lanterns, its architecture a perfect blend of ancient artistry and modern refinement. The entrance alone was grander than any palace you had seen, with enormous wooden doors adorned with gold filigree and jade carvings of divine creatures bowing in reverence.

A faint, pleasant floral aroma wafted from within, and even from the threshold, you could tell that the entire establishment exuded luxury.

A team of elegantly dressed attendants stood in perfect formation, their heads bowed respectfully as they awaited your arrival.

The head steward, an elderly but refined man with a neatly tied beard, stepped forward, his expression filled with practiced grace.

"O Most Revered Creator, it is our greatest honor to welcome You to the Celestial Pavilion, the pinnacle of hospitality in the Xianzhou Luofu. Every suite, every meal, every service within these walls has been prepared with Your divine comfort in mind."

The doors swung open, revealing an interior that was almost too stunning to believe.

The floor was made of polished white jade, reflecting the warm glow of floating lanterns that hovered like soft stars above. An artificial river ran through the grand lobby, its waters imbued with luminescent koi fish that swam in mesmerizing patterns. Exquisite tapestries depicting celestial beings hung from the walls, woven with real gold and silver threads.

Jing Yuan leaned down slightly, whispering near your ear, "Too much?"

You turned to him with an incredulous look. "Jing Yuan. This is not a hotel. This is an imperial palace in disguise."

He laughed, clearly entertained by your reaction. "Well, nothing but the best for our dear Creator. Besides, would you really prefer a lesser place after all the trouble of traveling here?"

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I just feel like this is… way too much."

Jing Yuan smirked. "You underestimate how deeply the people of the Luofu revere you. To them, even this is barely enough."

Before you could protest further, the head steward gestured towards an awaiting elevator, its interior lined with intricate carvings of constellations.

"Please, allow us to guide You to Your private suite. The entire top floor has been reserved solely for You, ensuring the utmost privacy and security."

Jing Yuan made a teasing gesture towards the elevator. "Shall we, O Divine One?"

You shot him a look but stepped inside regardless, allowing the attendants to lead the way.

When the elevator doors slid open, you were greeted with a sight that made your previous awe seem insignificant.

The suite was enormous—practically a mansion in itself. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking panoramic view of the Luofu, where floating islands drifted lazily against a sea of stars. The decor was luxurious yet tasteful, blending rich Xianzhou aesthetics with divine motifs. Silken drapes billowed gently from the breeze of an open balcony, where a koi pond glowed softly in the moonlight.

The centerpiece of the room, however, was the massive bed—practically a throne of luxury. The sheets were woven from celestial silk, rumored to be softer than clouds, and the pillows looked as though they could swallow you whole.

You turned to Jing Yuan, your voice deadpan. "Did you guys handpick the softest, most luxurious materials in the entire universe for this?"

He hummed. "More or less. The mattress is filled with the down of a rare celestial bird said to bring pleasant dreams. The silk was harvested from dreamweaving moths, whose threads are softer than air itself."

You stared at the impossibly extravagant bed, then back at him. "This bed alone is worth more than my entire existence, isn’t it?"

Jing Yuan grinned, tilting his head. "Perhaps. But as the Creator, what is wealth to You?"

You groaned, flopping onto the bed despite your previous complaints. The moment your body sank into the heavenly softness, a deep sigh escaped your lips. "...Okay, fine. This is actually incredible."

Jing Yuan’s chuckle was smooth, triumphant. "I thought you’d come around."

Just then, an attendant entered with a respectful bow. "Creator, your evening meal has been prepared. Would you like it served in the dining hall, or shall we bring it to you here?"

Her voice trembled ever so slightly, and you noticed.

You were about to answer when Jing Yuan sat down beside you with an easygoing smile. "I can join you, if you’d like. Of course, I’d understand if you prefer to dine alone after such a long day."

You hesitated, then gave him a small smirk. "Stay. I think I need someone to keep me from drowning in luxury."

Jing Yuan let out a laugh, leaning back on his hands. "Very well. Consider it my continued duty to ensure you survive this overwhelming hospitality."

As the attendants set up a feast of delicacies, you allowed yourself a rare moment of relaxation. The overwhelming attention, the endless gifts, the suffocating devotion—it was a lot to handle.

But at least, for now, you had Jing Yuan by your side to make it all a little more bearable.

And with Penacony as your next destination, you were going to need all the support you could get.

—

That night, after a long and overwhelming day, you finally let out a deep sigh as you sank into the impossibly soft mattress. The pearly silk sheets draped over your body like the gentlest of clouds, but even with all the luxury surrounding you, something felt… odd.

Not bad, just unreal.

You had spent the entire day being treated like something divine—worshipped, adored, and overwhelmed with endless gifts and reverence. While you knew the people of Xianzhou Luofu meant well, the sheer intensity of their devotion had left your mind reeling.

Sitting up, you pulled at the silky robe you had been given earlier, rubbing the fabric between your fingers. It was exquisite, made from rare materials woven by expert hands, but it wasn’t what you needed right now.

So, with a decisive nod, you slipped out of bed and padded over to the wardrobe. As expected, it was massive—filled with handpicked garments of the finest quality, likely tailored specifically for you. But you ignored the silken robes and intricate gowns, your eyes searching for something softer, fluffier—something that felt normal.

And, to your relief, you found it.

A set of plush, cozy loungewear—still elegant, but far more comfortable than the regal attire you had been given throughout the day. You wasted no time changing into it, sighing in contentment as the soft fabric hugged your skin.

Much better.

Now properly dressed for relaxation, you returned to the bed, slipping beneath the covers once more. The dim golden glow of the lanterns cast warm shadows across the room, the faint sound of running water from the koi pond outside filling the air with a serene ambiance.

You had a couple of weeks here before moving on to Penacony. That thought alone was enough to make you sigh again—two whole weeks of this level of treatment. It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful, but it was overwhelming. How were you supposed to act when everyone saw you as something so divine?

Just as you were beginning to spiral into your thoughts again, there was a polite knock at the door.

A soft voice spoke from the other side. “Apologies for disturbing you, O Revered One. General Jing Yuan has sent a message regarding tomorrow.”

Curious, you sat up. “Come in.”

The door slid open, revealing a neatly dressed servant who carried a delicate scroll sealed with golden wax. They bowed deeply before presenting it to you.

You accepted it, offering a small nod of thanks. The servant hesitated, as if debating whether to say something, but ultimately decided against it and left as silently as they had arrived.

Breaking the seal, you unrolled the scroll and began reading.

Dearest Creator, I imagine today has been rather… intense. I would say you’ll grow used to it, but I doubt anyone could adjust so quickly to such unrelenting devotion. Fortunately, I have taken it upon myself to provide a reprieve from the overwhelming fanfare. Tomorrow, allow me the honor of showing you the Xianzhou that few ever see. Beyond the grand halls and bustling markets lie hidden wonders—sacred places, untouched beauty, and sights reserved only for those deemed worthy. I assure you, this will not be an ordinary tour. You deserve to witness the true splendor of the Luofu, not just the grandeur they parade before you. Rest well, and anticipate a journey unlike any other. —Jing Yuan

A small, genuine smile tugged at your lips.

For the first time since arriving, you felt something besides pressure—excitement.

The idea of seeing the true beauty of Xianzhou, beyond the formal ceremonies and excessive tributes, sparked something warm in your chest. Jing Yuan wasn’t treating you like some untouchable deity—he was inviting you to experience something.

And you couldn’t wait.

With that thought, you carefully set the scroll aside and curled deeper into the blankets, a quiet sense of anticipation settling over you.

Tomorrow would be different.

Tomorrow, you wouldn’t just be the Creator.

You would be you.

As the warmth of sleep wrapped around you, your thoughts drifted into a haze of anticipation. The soft embrace of the plush blankets, the faint trickle of water outside, and the distant hum of the city lulled you into a peaceful slumber.

And for the first time since arriving, you truly rested.

But something was… different.

The dream came suddenly—so vivid, so distant, yet unbearably familiar. You were surrounded by muffled voices, warped as though you were underwater, their words blurred beyond recognition. Faint beeping echoed somewhere in the background, rhythmic and steady, like the slow, deliberate ticking of time.

A sharp scent filled the air—antiseptic, sterile.

Hospital.

Your fingers twitched. No silk, no embroidery, no luxurious warmth. Instead, there was something stiff beneath you, something thin and uncomfortable. You tried to move, but your limbs felt heavy, weighed down as if submerged in an invisible force keeping you still.

The voices grew clearer.

"—stable for now."

"Still no response?"

"Nothing. But brain activity is... unusual."

There was a pressure on your chest—something tight, restricting. Panic clawed at your throat, and you tried to force your eyes open, but the dream was cruel, keeping you trapped in its grasp.

A shadow moved beyond the blinding hospital lights. Someone leaned over you, their features blurred beyond recognition, but there was an undeniable concern in their presence.

"Come back to us."

The voice sent a chill down your spine, a foreign familiarity creeping in. Come back? Where? To what?

Your heart pounded. The dream was suffocating, pressing against you with a weight that felt far too real. You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be in your flagship, on your way to Penacony, celebrated and revered as the Creator.

So why did it feel like something—someone—was pulling you back?

The beeping quickened, an alarmed voice sounded somewhere beyond the veil of unconsciousness, but before you could grasp onto anything, the dream collapsed in on itself.

You shot up in bed, gasping.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the celestial glow of the stars outside the massive windows of your chambers. Your chest heaved as you struggled to regain your breath, hands trembling slightly as they gripped the silk sheets. The sensation of the dream lingered, the sterile scent, the voices, the weight of something unseen—

But it was gone.

You swallowed hard, pressing a hand against your forehead. It was just a dream.

…Right?

—

A gentle knocking stirred you from your dreams.

At first, you barely registered the sound, your mind still caught between the lingering remnants of sleep and the waking world. The knock came again—soft, patient, yet firm enough to rouse you.

You blinked blearily, shifting beneath the covers as the morning light seeped in through the ornate windows, casting golden rays across the room.

“Good morning, Your Grace.”

The voice was familiar—smooth, rich with amusement, and unmistakably belonging to Jing Yuan.

That woke you up completely.

Still groggy, you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The memory of last night came rushing back—his letter, the promise of an exclusive tour, the excitement that had lulled you into such a deep sleep.

He’s here already?!

Panicked, you glanced down at yourself, relieved to find you hadn’t tangled yourself in the sheets or drooled all over the pillow like some sleep-deprived mess. Your fluffy loungewear was slightly rumpled, but nothing too embarrassing.

Clearing your throat, you called out, “Come in.”

The door slid open smoothly, revealing Jing Yuan.

He stood at the threshold, hands folded neatly behind his back, his usual composed yet knowing smile resting on his lips. The morning light framed him perfectly, highlighting the silver strands of his long, flowing hair and the sharp yet relaxed features of his face. His robes, though still formal, were noticeably lighter than the ones he wore during official duties.

Even his very presence exuded effortless grace, like he had all the time in the world.

“I see you’ve rested well,” he mused, taking in your cozy state with an amused glint in his golden eyes. “It would be a shame if the Creator themselves were sleep-deprived in my care.”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing tone but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “I did, actually. Thanks for asking.”

He nodded approvingly. “Good. You’ll need all your energy for today.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That makes it sound like you’re planning to make me run a marathon.”

Jing Yuan chuckled. “Nothing so drastic, I promise. But I do intend to take you places that require a bit more… mobility than sitting on a grand throne accepting gifts all day.”

That piqued your interest. “You weren’t joking about showing me the real Xianzhou, huh?”

“I would never joke about such a thing,” he said with a smirk. “I value my life too much to deceive the Creator.”

You snorted at that but were already feeling more awake and eager for the day ahead.

“I’ll get dressed,” you said, swinging your legs over the bed. “Give me a few minutes.”

Jing Yuan inclined his head, stepping back toward the door. “Take your time. I’ll be waiting just outside.”

As the door slid shut behind him, you let out a breath and stood up, stretching as you tried to shake off the remnants of sleep.

Today was going to be different.

And you couldn’t wait.

Once you were dressed and ready, you stepped outside, greeted by the soft morning breeze that carried the delicate scent of blooming flora. The Xianzhou Luofu was already stirring with life—merchants setting up their stalls, artisans practicing their craft, and the faint hum of ships soaring above the bustling city.

And, of course, Jing Yuan was waiting for you.

Leaning casually against one of the elegant wooden pillars just outside your quarters, the general looked completely at ease, as if he had all the time in the world. His golden eyes gleamed with quiet amusement as he watched you approach.

“I was beginning to wonder if the Creator was the type to sleep in,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the light outer robe draped over your shoulders. “I think I deserve some extra rest after yesterday.”

Jing Yuan let out a soft chuckle. “That, I can’t argue with. But I did promise you an unforgettable tour, and I intend to deliver.”

You tilted your head. “So, where are we going first?”

He turned slightly, motioning for you to follow. “Somewhere only a select few have the privilege of visiting.”

Intrigued, you walked beside him as he led you through the city. The streets were lined with towering buildings adorned with intricate carvings, the scent of freshly brewed tea and steamed buns wafting through the air as street vendors called out their morning specials. You could feel the weight of countless eyes on you—some reverent, some awestruck, and some barely able to hold back their excitement.

Word had spread, fast.

Whispers followed in your wake. Citizens knelt as you passed, their expressions a mixture of devotion and disbelief, as if they couldn’t believe they were standing in the presence of their revered Creator.

You felt your steps falter, slightly overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of their gazes.

Jing Yuan must have noticed, because without hesitation, he shifted closer to you, his voice low and reassuring. “Ignore the crowd. They mean no harm, but I understand how suffocating such attention can be.”

You exhaled, nodding as you did your best to focus on the path ahead.

Before long, you reached a secluded area near the edge of the city—a vast, hidden garden surrounded by towering cherry blossom trees, their petals fluttering gently in the wind. A sacred place, untouched by the bustling city, where the only sounds were the soft rustling of leaves and the distant chime of wind bells hanging from the eaves of an ancient shrine.

Your breath caught.

The sight before you was breathtaking.

A grand koi pond stretched out before you, its crystal-clear waters reflecting the soft hues of dawn. The koi swam gracefully beneath the surface—some golden, some shimmering like silver, and a few so rare they seemed almost ethereal. Stone pathways curved around the pond, leading to delicate wooden pavilions shaded by vibrant red maples.

Jing Yuan stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back as he observed your reaction. “This place has existed for centuries, long before my time. Few ever set foot here.” He turned to you, a knowing glint in his eyes. “But I thought it was only right for you to see the beauty your world has inspired.”

You swallowed hard, a strange warmth blossoming in your chest.

It wasn’t just the scenery—it was the meaning behind it.

Jing Yuan had personally chosen this place, not as a grand spectacle for the people to see, but as something meant only for you. A place where you weren’t the revered Creator burdened by endless expectations—just you.

Your fingers grazed the petals of a cherry blossom branch as you took a deep breath. “…It’s beautiful.”

Jing Yuan smiled. “I’m glad you think so.”

For a moment, the two of you simply stood there, letting the peace of the garden settle around you.

Then, with a small smirk, he added, “Of course, this is only the beginning. There’s much more to see.”

You turned to him, curiosity sparking in your gaze. “Oh? You have more surprises?”

He chuckled, his golden eyes glinting playfully. “Would I really be a good host if I didn’t?”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Alright, General. Impress me.”

Jing Yuan was nothing if not an exceptional guide. From the moment you left the tranquil garden, he took it upon himself to show you everything—from the grandiose to the humble, from the historical to the modern, ensuring you experienced Xianzhou Luofu not as some untouchable deity, but as someone meant to live within it, even if only for a short while.

The two of you strolled through vast, open courtyards where swordsmen trained with unwavering focus, their movements so precise they almost looked choreographed. Some paused mid-strike when they noticed you, their expressions flickering between awe and disbelief before quickly bowing in reverence. Jing Yuan simply chuckled, assuring them they need not falter in their training.

From there, he led you through the bustling markets, where the scent of incense, fresh herbs, and sizzling skewers filled the air. The shopkeepers, upon realizing who had stepped into their midst, nearly fell over themselves to offer their best wares.

Silken fabrics embroidered with golden threads, delicate porcelain tea sets, and finely crafted accessories were all presented to you with utmost sincerity and a touch of the Xianzhou. But despite their efforts, what truly captivated you was the food.

Jing Yuan, ever the indulgent host, made sure you tasted everything.

Steamed dumplings filled with fragrant broth that burst the moment you bit into them. Crispy duck brushed with a glossy, caramelized glaze. Fluffy lotus seed pastries, subtly sweet and impossibly soft. You were handed skewers of spiced meat, bowls of fresh noodles, and warm cups of floral-infused tea before you even had time to finish what was already in your hands.

"You should pace yourself, Your Grace," Jing Yuan remarked, amused as he handed you yet another delicacy—a delicate mooncake with an intricate design pressed into its golden crust. "I fear the entirety of the Xianzhou’s culinary scene might end up on our table at this rate."

You swallowed a bite of your current dish, shaking your head with a grin. "You're the one accepting everything on my behalf."

He feigned innocence. "I would never refuse a citizen’s heartfelt offering to their beloved Creator."

You gave him a flat look, but there was no real irritation behind it. Truth be told, it was nice—to walk freely among the people, to experience their world through their senses. The energy of the marketplace was vibrant, filled with life and laughter, and for once, you didn’t feel like an unreachable deity. You felt... present.

And Jing Yuan?

He never rushed you, never made you feel overwhelmed. He kept a comfortable pace, his tone always light and teasing but never overbearing. He shared small stories about the vendors—how one particular old man had been selling candied fruits in that very spot for decades, how a certain tea house had once been a hidden meeting place for strategists during past conflicts. Every bit of history he wove into the day made you feel more connected to this world.

After what felt like hours of exploring, the two of you eventually found yourselves in a secluded, open-air pavilion overlooking the sprawling city. The view was breathtaking—elegant rooftops stretching into the horizon, sky-faring ships gliding smoothly between them, the setting sun dipping the entire city in warm hues of orange and gold.

You let out a long sigh, leaning against the railing as the cool breeze caressed your skin. "I think I’ve walked more today than I have in months."

Jing Yuan chuckled, standing beside you with his hands clasped behind his back. "That only means you’ve truly experienced the Xianzhou as it should be—through movement, conversation, and indulgence." He turned his gaze toward you, his golden eyes gleaming with something softer, more genuine.

"You’ve granted us your presence, but I wanted you to see that this world—your world—has flourished because of what you created."

You were quiet for a moment, absorbing the weight of his words.

Despite the reverence, the titles, the endless offerings, this was the first time you truly felt the impact of your presence—not as some untouchable being, but as someone whose influence had shaped the very lives of these people. And the way Jing Yuan presented it… it was less about worship and more about appreciation.

A small smile tugged at your lips. "You’ve done a good job showing me that, General."

He hummed, satisfied. "Then my work is far from over. We still have more to see in the coming days."

You exhaled a small laugh, shaking your head. "So this was only the first course?"

His smirk returned. "Consider it the appetizer."

You rolled your eyes but felt something warm bloom in your chest. For the first time since arriving, you weren’t just thinking about the responsibilities or the expectations placed upon you.

As the day stretched on, you couldn’t help but notice something—Jing Yuan was close. Not in a way that was immediately obvious, but in the quiet, lingering touches, the way his presence seemed to loom over you no matter where you went.

At first, it was subtle. A guiding hand resting on the small of your back when maneuvering through the crowded marketplace. The barely-there brush of his fingers against yours when handing you a small pastry.

The way his arm always seemed to find its way near your shoulder whenever you paused to admire something. You thought little of it at first, assuming it was just his way of ensuring you weren’t overwhelmed, but the more you paid attention, the more you realized—he wasn’t just watching over you.

He was hovering.

Even when he wasn’t touching you, he was there—standing just a little too close, his broad frame shadowing yours, his golden eyes flickering toward you with an almost unreadable expression. It wasn’t suffocating, nor was it entirely unwelcome, but it was… noticeable.

When you stopped to observe the koi fish in a serene garden pond, he stood beside you, leaning in just enough that his shoulder nearly touched yours. When you reached for a delicate silk scarf at one of the stalls, his fingers grazed the fabric just a second after yours did.

When you felt a cool breeze pass through one of the higher balconies, he draped a light shawl over your shoulders before you even had a chance to shiver.

And then there were the moments where his presence felt deliberate.

Like when he reached past you to pick up a small trinket, his chest nearly pressing against your back, voice a low murmur as he commented on the craftsmanship. Or when he guided you through the lantern-lit streets as dusk settled, his hand barely ghosting over your wrist, as if he was waiting for you to take it instead.

You weren’t sure if it was intentional.

Jing Yuan was a man of strategy, after all—calculated, deliberate—but he was also known for his easygoing nature. Maybe this was just how he was with everyone, always exuding warmth and familiarity. Maybe you were reading too much into it.

But then came the moment that shattered any doubts.

As you stood atop a high balcony, gazing at the stars beginning to twinkle in the sky, you sighed contentedly. "It’s beautiful here," you murmured, resting your arms on the cool stone railing. "It almost feels unreal."

Jing Yuan stood beside you, his gaze distant yet thoughtful. "Many things feel unreal when one has been apart from them for too long," he said softly.

You turned to glance at him, and that’s when you realized—he was already looking at you. Not just watching, but studying. His golden eyes held something deeper, something unspoken.

Before you could react, he reached out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. The touch was fleeting, barely more than a whisper against your skin, but it left something in its wake—a slow, creeping awareness that settled deep in your chest.

He withdrew his hand just as quickly, offering a lazy smile, as if the moment hadn’t just sent your thoughts spiraling.

"Shall we continue, Your Grace?" he asked, voice as smooth as ever.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to nod. "Y-yeah."

And as he turned to lead the way, you found yourself gripping the railing for just a second longer, steadying yourself against the sudden, undeniable realization—Jing Yuan wasn’t just being protective.

He was close because he wanted to be.

The days in the Xianzhou Luofu stretched into weeks, each one filled with discovery, leisure, and the constant, undeniable presence of Jing Yuan. True to his word, he showed you the hidden beauties of the region—secluded gardens filled with bioluminescent flora, floating islands where the sky stretched endlessly beneath your feet, and ancient archives containing records that spoke of your existence in reverent detail.

Despite how grand it all was, it was his company that made it truly memorable. You shared countless conversations, indulged in the finest foods, and walked through the streets as if you were simply another traveler—rather than the Creator they all revered. But no matter how relaxed the days seemed, Jing Yuan never strayed far. His presence lingered like an unspoken promise, his touches, though subtle, never accidental.

But tonight… tonight was different.

Jing Yuan had been called away on urgent matters. It was rare for him to leave your side for long, and while his parting words had been gentle—“Don’t wander too far without me, Your Grace.”—you had never been one to follow orders blindly.

And so, under the veil of twilight, you walked alone.

The streets were quiet, the usual bustle of the marketplace replaced with the distant hum of lanterns swaying in the night breeze. The Luofu was beautiful at this hour, bathed in soft, golden light that made the world feel almost suspended in time.

But you weren’t alone.

You felt it before you saw him—a presence, heavy and sharp, like the edge of a blade hovering just close enough to cut.

Instinctively, you stopped, your gaze drifting to the shadows near the entrance of a closed tea house. And then you saw him.

Blade.

He stood partially obscured by the darkness, his crimson eyes gleaming even in the dim light. His posture was relaxed, yet there was an unmistakable intensity to the way he looked at you.

He had been watching.

How long had he been there? How many times had he watched from the shadows, unseen?

Your heart should have pounded in alarm, but it didn’t. Because Blade did not feel like a threat.

He felt like something else—something foreign yet familiar, like a whisper of something long forgotten.

"You shouldn’t be out here alone," his voice was low, carrying easily in the stillness.

You tilted your head slightly, taking a careful step closer. "Are you watching over me?"

Blade didn’t answer immediately. His gaze flickered over you—not in reverence, not in fear, but in something far more unreadable.

"You walk freely," he finally murmured, "yet you are not free."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, but before you could ask what he meant, he moved.

A sudden shift of air, and then—he was closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that you could see every detail of him—the sharp angles of his face, the way his dark hair fell over his eyes, the almost imperceptible tension in his stance.

"Why do you care?" you asked softly.

For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t answer. But then—

"Because you are not theirs," he said, voice quiet yet resolute. "You are not Jing Yuan’s. Not the Xianzhou’s. Not the worshippers’." His eyes met yours, unwavering. "You are your own."

The words settled in your chest, heavy yet oddly comforting.

But before you could respond, a sudden gust of wind stirred the loose strands of your hair—and in the blink of an eye, Blade was gone.

Only the lingering weight of his words remained.

And for the first time since arriving, you realized—you were being watched, not as a deity, but as something far more human.

—

The final night of your stay in the Xianzhou Luofu was nothing short of grand.

A lavish banquet had been arranged in your honor, stretching through the ornate halls of the palace, adorned with glowing lanterns and the soft hum of ancient melodies. The long table was filled with exquisite dishes, each one crafted with painstaking detail—delicate dumplings shaped like blooming flowers, glistening seafood (Xianzhou specialty) drizzled with golden sauces, and rice wines so rich they lingered on the tongue like warm silk.

At the head of the table, you sat in a throne-like chair, a position that left no doubt as to who the night was dedicated to. Across from you, Jing Yuan, dressed in formal robes lined with gold, his usual lazy demeanor softened by something far more sincere.

To your sides, familiar faces—generals, officials, scholars, and even common citizens granted the honor of attending.

The night was filled with laughter, music, and endless toasts to you, to your presence, your existence, your return to their world, no matter how fleeting. Even as the gifts piled before you—intricately woven silks, handcrafted jewelry, rare artifacts from distant planets—you knew it was not the gifts themselves that mattered. It was the devotion.

And yet, as the night stretched on, you found yourself meeting Jing Yuan’s gaze more times than you could count. There was something in his eyes, something different than the adoration the others held. A quiet certainty, a claim he never voiced aloud but one you felt all the same.

You weren’t sure how much of the wine you had actually drunk by the time the night ended, but your body felt warm and exhausted when you finally retreated to the sanctuary of your chambers.

The moment your head hit the plush silk pillows, you felt your limbs grow heavy, your mind already drifting into half-consciousness.

And then there was a knock at your door.

Gentle, but deliberate.

For a moment, you considered ignoring it. But somehow, you already knew who it was.

With a tired sigh, you rose from your bed, pulling a loose robe over your nightclothes before padding toward the door. As it slid open, Jing Yuan stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the corridor lanterns.

Unlike before, he had shed his formal robes for something simpler, though he still looked effortlessly regal.

"Still awake?" his voice was low, carrying the warmth of someone who already knew the answer.

"Not really," you murmured, rubbing at your temple. "Do you need something?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into the folds of his robe and pulled out a small, ornate box. The deep red lacquer gleamed under the soft light, adorned with intricate golden filigree.

"For you," he said simply, offering it to you.

Curious, you took the box and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled against deep velvet, was a necklace—a delicate yet intricately designed pendant, shimmering under the dim lighting. It was clearly no ordinary accessory. The craftsmanship alone spoke of its importance, but beyond that, there was something about it that felt… personal.

"For safety," Jing Yuan murmured, stepping closer. "It’s embedded with a warding charm, one that will protect you even when I am not at your side."

You swallowed, fingers brushing over the pendant’s cool surface. "You could’ve just given this to me at the banquet," you said, voice softer than you intended.

"I could have," he agreed, stepping even closer. His fingers ghosted over yours before gently taking the necklace from your grasp. "May I?"

Your breath hitched slightly. "Go ahead."

He moved with deliberate slowness, stepping behind you as he lifted the necklace. You felt the cool brush of metal against your skin as he draped it around your neck, his fingers barely grazing the sensitive skin at the nape. The warmth of his hands, the quiet closeness of him—it sent an unfamiliar shiver down your spine.

The clasp clicked into place, but Jing Yuan didn’t move away. Instead, his fingers lingered, lightly adjusting the chain, his breath warm against the side of your face.

"Perfect," he murmured, his voice lower now, almost… intimate.

You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of just how close he was. "For safety, huh?" you muttered, touching the pendant lightly.

"Of course," he said smoothly. But when you turned to glance at him, his golden eyes held something that betrayed the simple explanation.

This was not just for safety.

It was a claim. A silent, unspoken tether between you and him, you wondered if you were truly prepared for the implications of it.

—

The morning was bright and bustling with activity as the final preparations for your departure were completed. Servants and attendants moved swiftly, ensuring that every last detail was accounted for—your flagship had been polished to a pristine gleam, your outfits carefully selected and packed, luxurious meals prepared in case Penacony’s cuisine wasn’t to your liking (though you doubted that would be an issue), and of course, the countless gifts you had received were securely stored aboard.

It was as if the entire Xianzhou Luofu had come together for this moment, ensuring that your transition to the next region was nothing short of perfect.

You could feel the excitement thrumming in your veins. Though your time here had been unforgettable, a part of you couldn't wait to see what awaited you in Penacony. The mere thought of their reaction upon your arrival filled you with anticipation. You imagined the vibrant city streets, the glimmering neon lights, and the joy on their faces when they finally laid eyes on you.

The grand port was lined with citizens gathered to bid you farewell. Banners waved in the morning breeze, and the scent of incense and fresh flowers filled the air. As you walked towards the boarding ramp, countless voices called out their well wishes, their adoration evident in every word.

Some had tears in their eyes, others clasped their hands in reverence, and a few even dared to step forward, pressing gifts into your hands until your attendants had to take over.

Jing Yuan, ever composed, stood at the forefront of the officials sending you off. His golden eyes held their usual warmth, but there was something else hidden beneath his lazy expression—something unreadable. As you approached him, he inclined his head slightly, a small yet knowing smile tugging at his lips.

"You will be missed," he said, voice smooth as silk. "Do enjoy your stay in Penacony, but don't forget—there are still places in the Luofu you have yet to see. Perhaps, one day, you’ll return."

Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten slightly. Still, you smiled back, unwilling to linger on the strange feeling. "We’ll see," you teased.

A low chuckle rumbled from his throat, but before he could say anything more, your gaze was drawn elsewhere.

Amidst the sea of people, standing slightly apart from the rest, was a figure draped in dark colors—silent, unmoving, yet unmistakable. Blade.

His crimson eyes watched you, sharp and unreadable as always, but you could tell—he had been there for a while, lurking just beyond the crowd’s reach. He was always watching, always within the shadows, yet never too far.

You hesitated for only a moment before meeting his gaze, offering him a quick, subtle smile. His eyes flickered slightly, something almost imperceptible passing over his face before he looked away, melting back into the crowd.

You knew you would see him again in Penacony.

With one final glance at the people of Xianzhou Luofu—at Jing Yuan, at the devoted citizens, at the hidden figure that had already disappeared—you stepped aboard your flagship.

As the engines roared to life and the grand vessel began its ascent, a sense of exhilaration filled you.

A new journey awaited.

And you couldn’t wait to see what Penacony had in store for you.

—

As you settled into the luxurious chambers of your flagship, attendants fluttered around you, ensuring everything was in perfect order for your departure. The soft hum of the ship's engines filled the air, a gentle reminder that soon, you'd be soaring through the stars toward Penacony.

Draped in the finest clothing prepared for the journey, you admired yourself in the full-length mirror. The intricate embroidery, the shimmering fabrics, the way every piece sat perfectly on your frame—it was clear that nothing had been left to chance when selecting your attire.

You felt regal, effortlessly exuding the presence expected of someone of your status.

And yet, as you reached for your travel cloak, one of the attendants hesitated before stepping forward. “Apologies, Your Grace,” she said, bowing slightly, “but General Jing Yuan has requested that you wear this for the journey.”

She lifted a garment encased in a protective silk wrap. You blinked, curiosity piqued. As she unfolded it, your breath hitched slightly.

It was stunning.

Made of Xianzhou’s most exquisite silk, the fabric was impossibly smooth, flowing like liquid in the light. Intricate embroidery of golden threads adorned the sleeves and hem, depicting celestial motifs reminiscent of the Luofu’s heritage.

The colours—deep blues and shimmering silvers—reflected the elegance and authority befitting someone of your position.

But what struck you the most was how perfectly tailored it was. The moment the attendants helped you into it, the fabric molded to your body like a second skin, highlighting your form in a way that was neither restrictive nor excessive.

Every detail, from the precise fit of the collar to the effortless drape of the sleeves, felt as though it had been measured with exact precision.

And yet… you didn’t recall Jing Yuan ever taking your measurements.

Had he arranged this long before your arrival? Had the tailors studied you from afar? Or had he simply known—without needing to ask—what would suit you best?

You turned slightly, admiring the way the silk cascaded with every movement.

Oh well. It was beautiful.

With a soft sigh, you allowed the attendants to fasten the final clasps, running your fingers over the delicate embroidery. If nothing else, Jing Yuan had impeccable taste.

As the flagship made its ascent, you couldn’t help but wonder—had this been merely a gift of fine craftsmanship? Or yet another way for the general to ensure his presence lingered with you, even as you left his domain?

note: hi..hey.....well this is a bit awkward considering i haven't posted part 3 in like months...hopefully this was alright for you guys!

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(if the usernames aren’t highlighted that’s because I can’t tag you so I’ll dm you when I post a new chapter! if i forgot to tag you im so sorry!)

for those i’ve taged: if you do not want to tagged for hsr drop a comment or message me.

liking + following + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 5

Chapters 5 and 6 are done! Yippy! Chapter 7 is going to be a slice-of-life type of thing because I don't want to time skip straight to the bats finding out quite yet. Also, did y'all know that Gothamite also means an inhabitant of NYC? Whenever you see me use that just know I mean an inhabitant of Gotham City.

Enjoy!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 5 >>next

NYC was hell on earth and that’s coming from a Gothamite.

Sure- did a rogue attack 3 times a week, maybe more, in Gotham? Yes. But NYC felt lawless and without rhyme or reason. Every day something was happening, every day a building went down if it wasn’t a whole street, every day a hero would almost run you over while you were just trying to chill in the air.

At least on the third Tuesday of every month, there would be no robberies in Gotham, at least if something happened to the city and Batman wasn’t around the rogues would keep the people safe. Here it seemed to be everyone for themselves, and the rent was heinous for the type of bullshit that went down, in Gotham it was pennies compared to NYC. The constant feeling of being watched didn’t help either it irked at the back of your head every time, only stopping in the safety of your home.

The shadows stopped talking to you as well, you could barely hear them anymore, your theory being that NYC was simply too bright compared to G. City. Visiting Midnight City helped keep you connected to them, it felt somewhat like Gotham. But Darkwing felt too much like Batman, making you paranoid, so you never truly lingered for long. You missed them. Missed the rogues, the garden, the kids, the manor. The house really grew on you.

But you liked it. You liked the chaos, the myriads of heroes, the aliens that kept trying to conquer the world, and you enjoyed how the heroes knew that sometimes the best course of action was to kill the threat.

You were still bitter about how Joker took Jason from you, about how Mr. Wayne hid that from you, so seeing Omni-Man, War Woman, Immortal and so many more deal with clearly deadly threats as they should be dealt with felt nice. They would never let Joker live, the clown wouldn’t have millions of kills, and he wouldn’t have gotten Barbara and Jason.

Of course, you’ve heard rumors that while Batman doesn’t go out of his way to kill, he lets others do the dirty work, everyone in Gotham has. You’ve seen Lois Lane cover some of the bigger, worldwide alien attacks that the Justice League helped with. Batman didn’t seem to have a problem with killing or seriously injuring them. He was either a hypocrite or afraid to lose it once he did kill a human, either way, both were bad options.

So, you put up with it, found yourself a studio apartment owned by an old woman, overlooking the fact that the whole building may have been owned by a gang, and kept on doing your online schooling. Kept on making art, donating to charities and shelters, found yourself a nice job pet sitting, and even did some volunteering at local shelters when they needed an extra hand.

You got better at flying, getting so fast you could go around the globe in 5 minutes. It was fun visiting the places you heard Bruce talk about to the others, Algeria, Argentina, Australia, Austria, Bangladesh, Belgium, Brazil, and China. You were planning on visiting every city in every country with this newfound freedom. It was fun, and Bruce didn’t even notice as you used more and more of your allowance.

Sadly, your moments of peace and happiness always seemed to last for a short while. You were happy with just flying, it opened opportunities you didn’t even think were possible, but you’ve never seen a meta whose ability was only flying, not if they didn’t have wings, and maybe paranoia settled in.

Were you just dreaming? Was this just a really long dream? Were you dead? Would you go off the rocket when or if other powers showed up? What will you do when they do show up? You wanted to be an artist, to paint until your heart gave away. But if people needed help you wouldn’t be able to stay on the sidelines knowing you’re more than capable of lending a hand.

You knew you already had some strength power active- you wouldn’t be able to fly that fast without your skin peeling right off. Maybe it just made your skin stronger? Well, that’s how you ended up in a forest, or deep in a park- you weren’t sure, you flew without thinking, your thoughts and theories eating at you until you had to act.

The tree in front of you had an average-sized trunk, maybe on the smaller side compared to the others around you. You’ve been staring at it for a bit, debating if this really was something you wanted to see if you could do. “Ignorance is bliss” flew through your mind, but the full sayings of these quotes always rang at the back of your head. “Where ignorance is bliss, ‘tis folly to be wise”.

Your fist met the trunk with a small thud, you didn’t feel any pain, nothing was happening, so you bit your lip, closed your eyes tight, and punched the trunk harder. You heard the wood splinter before you saw it, your eyes flying wide open at the sound. The trunk had a dent in the shape of your fist, not quite all the way through. You still felt nothing.

Maybe you shouldn’t have tested out your strength this much, Ivy would have been quite mad at you for destroying so many trees, each one thicker than the last, but you were simply curious and made sure to clean up after yourself. It was weird. If you hit fast enough your arm could go right through quite cleanly, but there was no pain, none at all… Is this how Superman felt?

In your excitement, you didn’t even notice the figure above you, watching your every move or the flying orb camera doing the same. And while the figure kept watching you grow in your powers for a year, watched you help around in small ways, mostly clean up and small muggings, the orb stopped after a few months.

It took a while for you to be able to lift as much as you could now, for the first half of your newfound power you had to break stuff like big rubble down before you could lift them, you still found it amusing how Red Flash stayed quiet about you, but how could he not when you shushed him the first time he tried to tell the others. The man wasn’t about to fuck with Cecil’s worker, even though he might have said a word or two to the old man’s face about child labor.

Despite all that you truly felt happy, fulfilled even. You were doing art, helping people, and despite still working on having friends during the day part, you were glad you left. You were on cloud nine, well, literally more than figuratively. You were flying above the clouds, basking in the sun. Nothing could cloud your life anymore.

…Where did the sun go? Your eyes opened, blissful expression turning into a frown as your eyes caught a dark figure flying just a few paces over you, its eyes glowing, a wide grin showing a full set of teeth, cape billowing behind it.

What. The. Fuck.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion

hope I didn't forget anyone 😬

[cruel-seduction]

Beyond Fears 

Summary - With the biggest exam of your life coming up, stress is eating you alive—but Mattheo refuses to let it win. He’ll do whatever it takes to pull you out of your own head, even if it means causing a little chaos. But when the truth behind your fear comes out, he’s ready to remind you of one thing—no matter what happens, he’s not going anywhere.

Content Warning - Suggestive theme and Curse words. 

Glimpse - “And as for your stupid little fear that I’ll find someone else—ugh, babe, do you think I’m insane? That my brain is rotting?” His lips twitched into a smirk before softening again. “Do you think I’d willingly trade you—the love of my fucking life, the only person who actually laughs at my dumb jokes, the only one who knows exactly how I like my coffee, the only soul on this godforsaken planet who makes me feel like I belong—for anyone else?” His voice was raw now, honest in a way that made your chest ache.

His forehead pressed against yours, his nose brushing yours as he whispered, “Baby, there is no one else. There never will be.”

a/n -Hello, my certified cutie red flags!! Divider Credit goes to @bernardsbendystraws. And also I wrote this based of on a scene from my fav show. Cause I needed to do crying reader over valid reason and this seem like best. And she does portrays that she is strong. but Mattheo is Mattheo bro.

Requested by @jarjarbinks-har-har

Mattheo could feel the tension rolling off you from a mile away—thick, restless, electric. Anxiety coiled around your frame like an iron grip, tightening with every breath you took. The upcoming exam loomed over you like a storm cloud, its weight pressing down on you with an unbearable force. If you passed, you’d be the youngest woman in history to earn a seat at one of the most prestigious higher education institutions for witches and wizards. The pressure was suffocating, an invisible noose tightening around your throat.

You weren’t the only one feeling it. Mattheo was tense too, but not because of the exam. No, he was wound up because of you—because your stress became his stress, your suffering bled into him like an open wound. He’d tried everything to ease your nerves. He took you to your favorite coffee shop, bought you anything you wanted, even tried distracting you with jokes and stolen kisses—but nothing worked. You were drowning in books, lost in your relentless pursuit of perfection, and no amount of comfort could pull you out.

Eighteen hours. That’s how long you had gone without sleep. Maybe more. You were running purely on caffeine and raw determination, your veins practically humming with exhaustion. Dark circles didn’t just shadow your eyes—they owned your face, carved into your skin like permanent bruises. At night, you sang old traditional songs in a hollow, eerie voice, studying by torchlight like some deranged scholar possessed by ancient magic. Your roommates had given up on you, groaning in frustration as your muttered revisions carried into the early hours. Even when Mattheo convinced you to crash in his dorm, you never truly rested. You just laid there beside him, whispering formulas, theories, and incantations under your breath, your fingers tracing invisible notes on his skin. It was getting out of hand.

Mattheo watched you now, his jaw clenched as he took in the sight before him—you, hunched over a book in the Great Hall, a cup of coffee gripped in one trembling hand, barely picking at your food with the other. Students all around were suffering through exam stress, but Mattheo didn’t give a damn about any of them. You were the only one who mattered. And watching you unravel like this was killing him.

Sitting beside him, Theodore Nott let out a low whistle. “Mate, what the hell is wrong with her?” he muttered, following Mattheo’s gaze.

Mattheo exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That stupid exam is next week. She’s pushing herself too hard. If she doesn’t pass, she won’t be able to retake it for another four years. That would completely screw up her entire life plan.” His voice was tight, frustration laced beneath the concern.

Theodore huffed a laugh, lips curling in amusement. “Please, it can’t be that serious. No one plans their life around one exam.” Mattheo’s eyes darkened as he turned toward his friend. “It’s her wallpaper.” Theodore’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Mattheo ran a hand through his hair. “The life plan. It hangs over her bed.” Theodore’s mouth formed a small ‘O’ of realization, his amusement fading into something more thoughtful.

Mattheo knew this couldn’t go on. He couldn’t just sit back and watch you self-destruct. No, he had to do something.

And he knew exactly what to do.

Later that day, Mattheo found you exactly where he expected—in the library, buried under an avalanche of books, your fingers gripping a quill like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. Without a word, he sank into the chair beside you, drumming his fingers against the wooden surface.

You didn’t even glance up, just exhaled a frustrated sigh before whispering, “Don’t waste my time. Just say what you wanna say.”

Mattheo smirked, leaning back in his chair with that signature arrogance, the kind that both infuriated and charmed you in equal measure. “Babe, don’t worry. You’re gonna crush it. You could take this exam with one eye closed and still beat half these idiots. And most importantly—” he paused, his voice softening slightly, “—even if you don’t, it’s fine. You got this.”

Your eyes snapped to his, narrowing. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” you scoffed. “You’re only saying this because you love me. Love has made you dumber.”

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so. If anything, love has made me smarter. See, I haven’t picked a single fight this whole month.”

Your lips twitched despite yourself, a ghost of a proud smile appearing. “Yes, I am very proud of you for that. But if you don’t get the hell out in ten seconds, I will personally break your nose.”

Mattheo grinned like he’d been waiting for exactly that response. In a single, swift motion, he grabbed your wrist, yanking you to your feet before you could protest.

“What the hell, Mattheo?!” You struggled against his grip, your chair scraping noisily against the floor as he dragged you out of the library. Heads turned. You scowled. “Stop! I swear to Merlin, if this is another one of your—”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down, only coming to a halt when he shoved open the door to an abandoned classroom and pulled you inside.

You shot him a glare as you yanked your arm free. “This better be good, Riddle, or I’m hexing your balls into oblivion.”

Mattheo’s smirk widened as he leaned casually against a desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Since you’re so stressed, I figured—why not give you a test?”

Your eyes darkened, your irritation sharpening into a glare. “Are you serious? You dragged me here for a fake test? These things are useless, Mattheo. They don’t have the same pressure, the same distractions. It’s all too damn quiet and perfect, like the walls themselves are whispering the answers.”

Mattheo tilted his head, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that.” He clapped his hands together once, and suddenly, the door swung open.

In walked Abby and Scully from Ravenclaw, each lugging twenty-five bags of chips. As they sat down, they immediately started munching—loudly. Crunching, smacking, licking their fingers like they were trying to break a world record for obnoxious eating.

Your eye twitched.

But that wasn’t all. Right behind them, a group of students filed in—loud ones. The kind who couldn’t stay quiet if their lives depended on it. They bickered, they whispered, they tapped their quills against the desks, they fidgeted like caffeinated squirrels.

Mattheo leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Better prepare yourself, Y/L/N. This is your battlefield.” Then, with a wicked grin, he added, “And I know you wanna rip my clothes off right now, but you’re gonna have to wait and ace this test first.”

You stepped closer, so close that he sucked in a breath, his smirk faltering just slightly. Your voice dropped to a sultry whisper, just for him.

“I am so fucking turned on by you right now.” You smirked. “Give me five minutes to destroy this test. Then? You.”

Mattheo’s mouth fell open slightly, like he’d just been hit by a Confundus Charm.

You winked, snatching up the test from his hands, and took your seat, utterly unbothered by the chaos around you.

Mattheo, still standing there, watching you with something dark and heated in his gaze, let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered. “I think I just made studying sexy.”

Mattheo sat outside on the Quidditch field, staring up at the darkening sky, the cool breeze doing nothing to temper the frustration simmering in his chest. His fingers fidgeted with a stray blade of grass as he replayed the events of the day over and over in his head. He was about to go find you himself when he noticed Abby and Scully trudging toward him, looking particularly sheepish.

“We’re out of chips,” they said in perfect unison.

Mattheo blinked. Then scowled. “What the hell? I gave you fifty packets. And I told you to stay in that damn room.”

Scully shifted uncomfortably before muttering, “About that… Y/N kinda… vanished.”

Mattheo’s stomach dropped. His jaw clenched. “Vanished?” His voice was eerily calm, but his eyes—oh, his eyes had darkened into something deadly.

Abby nodded. “Yeah, she just—poof. One second she was there, the next, gone. No idea where.”

Mattheo shot to his feet, his entire body thrumming with tension. “I asked you to do one thing,” he snapped, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “One fucking thing—and you couldn’t even do that?” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Move aside.”

It was almost nightfall, and Mattheo, along with his friends, had been searching for you for over an hour. You were nowhere to be found. His mind churned with possibilities—were you upset? Were you hiding? Had something happened? And then, like a punch to the gut, it hit him.

Today’s date.

Mattheo stopped in his tracks, exhaling as realization settled over him. “I know where she is,” he muttered. “Go back to the dorms—I got this.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and headed toward the Potions classroom.

And there you were.

Curled up in a ball, tucked into the shadows, your arms wrapped around your knees as if holding yourself together. The dim candlelight flickered against your face, casting soft, golden hues over your tear-streaked cheeks. His chest tightened at the sight.

Mattheo said nothing as he stepped inside. He didn’t need to. Instead, he lowered himself to the floor beside you, his presence warm and steady.

You glanced up, your voice barely above a whisper. “How did you find me?”

His expression remained neutral, but his eyes—his eyes—were soft as they met yours. “15th of March.”

A humorless laugh escaped your lips, and despite yourself, a small, sad smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Of course.”

Mattheo’s lips curled into one of those rare smiles—the kind he didn’t give just anyone. “A year ago, today, we had detention together.” His tone turned teasing. “You spent the whole night pretending to be annoyed while secretly staring at me like I was the hottest thing you’d ever seen, and by the end of it, you were completely infatuated with me.”

You gave him a side-eye. “Mattheo.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. You flirted with me for fifteen seconds, and I became obsessed.”

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. “Sounds more accurate.”

A comfortable silence settled between you both.

And then, softly, Mattheo asked, “Babe, can you tell me the real reason why you’re scared?”

You hesitated for a moment before shifting closer, resting your head against his shoulder. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you, anchoring you.

“I didn’t even know why I was so tense before,” you admitted. “But when I was in that classroom, giving that practice test… I realized.” Your throat tightened. “Passing this test means going away from you. And I—I don’t know how to handle that.”

Mattheo stayed quiet, letting you speak.

“All these days, I’ve been drowning myself in books, trying to avoid thinking about it. But in that classroom, it hit me.” Your voice cracked. “Everything between us is so good right now. But what if leaving ruins that? What if we can’t make long distance work? What if me being gone changes everything?” A tear slid down your cheek, soaking into Mattheo’s shirt. “And what if—” your voice broke entirely, and you inhaled shakily, “—what if you realize that you deserve better? What if you find someone else, someone closer? Someone who isn’t a whole country away?”

Mattheo was quiet for a beat. Then, with a slow exhale, he shook his head and lifted his hands to your face, cradling your cheeks between his palms. He wiped your tears away gently, then—because he was still Mattheo—he wiped his hands off on your shirt, making you let out a watery laugh.

And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Babe, listen to me—no, actually, shut up and listen, because I know that pretty little overthinking brain of yours is already running marathons.” His thumbs stroked your cheekbones, his touch featherlight. His gaze—intense, unwavering, filled with nothing but love—held you in place, made you feel every word before he even said them.

“Darling, if you don’t go—if you give up your dream for me—I swear I will throw myself into the nearest trash can and live there forever because that’s exactly where I belong if I let you do that.” His voice was steady, firm, convincing. “Baby, I want you to go. I need you to go. Not because I want to be away from you—hell no, I’m already dreading the distance—but because you’ve been dreaming about this since you were a kid, and the only thing worse than missing you would be watching you resent me for holding you back.”

You sniffled, lips trembling.

“And as for your stupid little fear that I’ll find someone else—ugh, babe, do you think I’m insane? That my brain is rotting?” His lips twitched into a smirk before softening again. “Do you think I’d willingly trade you—the love of my fucking life, the only person who actually laughs at my dumb jokes, the only one who knows exactly how I like my coffee, the only soul on this godforsaken planet who makes me feel like I belong—for anyone else?” His voice was raw now, honest in a way that made your chest ache.

His forehead pressed against yours, his nose brushing yours as he whispered, “Baby, there is no one else. There never will be.”

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks.

“So go. Conquer. Be brilliant.” He swallowed thickly. “And when you come back, I’ll be right here, still stupidly in love with you, probably crying into your hoodie and talking to your pictures like a lunatic.” He gave you a small, wry smile. “But I’ll be yours. Always.”

Your lips trembled. Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt.

And then, with no warning, you surged forward, crashing your lips against his in a kiss so deep, so desperate, it stole the breath from both your lungs.

Mattheo exhaled into your mouth, his arms winding around you like he never wanted to let go.

And maybe, just maybe—he never would.

[aastroopheel]

Chaos Theory

summary: you and cook bump into each other on a rainy day after being way for some years. SO YEAH TIMESKIP COOK.

It’s raining in Bristol again.

You don’t have an umbrella, of course. You never do. The weather here is more of a permanent mood than a temporary inconvenience, and today it feels like it’s matching you beat for beat.

You duck into the corner shop mostly for shelter, but also for something sweet—comfort, distraction, whatever. You're rummaging through a pack of Haribos when you hear the door chime behind you and in comes James fucking Cook, loud as ever, soaked to the bone, and grinning like he just won the lottery. He looks older, more miserable,  than the last time you saw him a few months ago. 

"Oi, look who it is," he says, eyes locking on you like he's just spotted the best kind of trouble. His eyes trailing your soaking body as if nothing had happened between you two and things were the same as in college. "Fancy seeing you here. You stalking me, yeah?"

You roll your eyes. "Obviously. Been tailing you for days. Real MI5 shit."

He laughs, that deep, reckless sound that makes people turn their heads and that, sadly, you had missed.  "Knew it. I’m irresistible."

There’s a second of silence before he closes the distance between you two. His jacket smells like wet cotton and smoke, and his energy crackles in the air around him—feral, unfiltered, alive. You look away from him, biting your inner cheek as when you feel something forming in your stomach as memories of you two from a few years ago come to your mind. 

"You alright?" he asks, serious now, which is somehow more disarming than all the bravado. "You look a bit... I dunno. Like the world kicked you in the teeth."

You shrug, trying not to flinch at how accurate that feels. "Guess I'm just tired." Tired of being so fucking alone, you think looking at the new wound on his left eyebrow. 

Cook nods, then grabs a bottle of orange Lucozade and tosses it to you. "Energy boost. On me. Doctor Cook's orders."

You catch it without thinking. He always does that—makes you forget the weight you're carrying for a second.

"What are you even doing here?" you ask, watching him dig through his pockets for loose change. "Shouldn’t you be off causing chaos somewhere?"

He grins again, wolfish this time. "What makes you think I'm not?" And then he adds, lower, almost as an afterthought  "Maybe I’m here ‘cause I knew you would be."

Your chest does something stupid at that. You look away again before he can see it on your face.

But he already knows. Of course he does. He knew you too well. Your words, your expressions, your tears, your moans. Everything. 

You laugh, sharp and short, almost bitter. “Right. You just knew I’d be in this random corner shop at the exact moment you felt like popping in.”

Cook raises an eyebrow. “What, you think I’m lying?”

You shrug, twisting the cap off the Lucozade. “I think you lie for fun. Or maybe just out of habit.” You glared at him.

He doesn’t respond right away. That grin of his falters, just slightly. Enough to make you realize you’ve hit a nerve—which is rare. Cook wears his chaos like armor, but you know the weak points.

“You’ve got that look,” he says quietly.

“What look?”

“That one where you’re building walls in your head. Like you’re pushing me out before I’ve even had the chance to say anything real.”

You meet his gaze. “Maybe I just don’t buy the whole ‘suddenly interested’ act. Not from you. Not after everything with Effy.”

There it is. You said it. Effy and him were something you simply couldn’t ignore. They were one for so long even if they pretended not to, even if Freddie was between them you could see in their eyes everytime the other was in the same room. Even if you were the one holding his hand. His eyes were always on her and her messy blue eyes. 

His eyes flicker—regret, maybe, or just annoyance that the past always finds its way into the present. He exhales, dragging a hand through his wet hair. “That’s what this is about? Effy?”

“No, it’s about me randomly having trust issues with blokes who flirt with everyone and mean it with no one,” you snap. “Of course it’s about her, James. You were obsessed with her. You’d have burned down the world if she asked you to.”

“I wouldn’t’ve needed asking,” he mutters, more to himself than you. Then louder: “But that was different.”

“Was it?” You don’t mean to sound so small when you say it. You hate that you do.

Cook steps closer, voice low. Not cocky this time—raw. “She never looked at me the way you do.”

You look away, not because you don’t believe him, but because part of you does and that’s worse. You remember perfectly her eyes looking at him. The pain and the lust and how she would unconsciously lick her lips. And how then regret would appear as she looked at you, because she was your friend and it hurted her to be such a bad friend to someone so nice and kind as you who had helped her so much. She apologised so many times and you would forgive her every time. You couldn’t stand seeing her sad, you just couldn’t.  But Cook was something different. He could have stopped it. He could have talked to her and told her that he loved you as much as he told you every time he kissed you before falling asleep between your arms. But he never did. 

He leans against the snack rack beside you, his shoulder just brushing yours. “You think I’m still that version of me,” he says. “Maybe I am. Maybe I always will be. But you make me want to be someone else. Someone better.”

You sip the Lucozade to avoid answering. The sugar hits your tongue, but it doesn’t wash anything down.“Don’t say things like that unless you mean them,” you murmur.

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?,” he replies. And for once, there’s no smirk. No bravado. Just Cook—messy, complicated, and maybe… just maybe, telling the truth.

But trust isn’t something you give for free. 

“There’s a party tonight? Will I see you there?” he asks you, his fingers grabbing one lock of your hair. 

You move away. His touch burns and you already spent too much money on ice to calm your burns. “Maybe” He smiles at you before you leave with nothing left to say. 

—----- —

The music is too loud, the lights too dim, and everything smells like cheap vodka and damp clothes. Someone’s already passed out on the stairs, and some couple is snogging hard enough in the kitchen to make you consider sobriety as a permanent lifestyle.

You didn’t come here for fun. You came because it was better than staying in. And maybe of him. 

You're halfway through your drink when you see him. Cook. He’s standing near the back doors, smoke curling from the cigarette tucked between his fingers. His eyes scan the room like he’s not really seeing anyone—until they land on you.

And just like that, you want to run.

You slip into the hallway instead, where the music thumps through the walls like a second heartbeat. A breath. Then another.

And then he’s there, behind you. Like always.

"You’re avoiding me." his accent it’s a little bit raspier because of the alcohol on his throat. 

You don’t turn around. "I didn’t realize I owed you my time."

"Don’t owe me anything," he says, voice low. "But you left without saying anything the other day. Thought we were past that."

You scoff, finally facing him. "Past what, Cook? Past the part where you mess people up and pretend it’s love? Or past the part where I pretend I’m not one of them?" Maybe you shouldn’t have accepted that spliff from a random pretty girl that had her shirt too low for your brain to actually connect two and two. But you did accept it and now your tongue was a little bit too loose. 

His face hardens. "You think I’m pretending?"

“I think you don’t know what you want.”

He takes a step forward, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I do. I know exactly what I want.”

“No,” you say, heart pounding. “You just don’t like being alone.”

That lands like a punch. 

He looks away for a second, jaw clenched. And then, softer, he says, “You think Effy was love?” Silence stretches between you. He steps closer. “That wasn’t love,” he says. “That was me trying to feel something. Anything. And her letting me because she needed someone to break.”

His voice cracks—not much, just a fracture—but it’s enough.

You want to say something. Maybe to soften the blow. Maybe to dig it in deeper. Maybe to just make him stop talking and kiss you hard against the wall like he used to. 

But he keeps going.

“I wake up some mornings and I feel like I’m drowning. Not ‘cause of her. Not anymore. But because I keep thinking about you. And how I’ll fuck it up. Like I fuck up everything.”

You shake your head, eyes stinging.You always cried easily. You were always so fucking sensitive and you fucking hated it.  “You don’t get to dump all this on me like it’s some twisted love letter.”

“I’m not trying to win you,” he says. “I’m just trying to tell you.” And then, quieter: “I don’t want to be that kid anymore. I want to be someone you can trust to not disappear, or lie, or break you down to build myself up.”

You swallow, hard. “And what if I don’t believe you?”

Cook looks at you like you’re the last thing keeping him standing. “Then I’ll keep showing up until you do.”

It’s not romantic. It’s not some sweeping confession that fixes everything. It’s two broken kids in a stranger’s house, trying to find a reason to be better.

And maybe, just maybe, that's enough.

You don’t say anything. For a while, neither of you does.

The silence hangs heavy, the kind that doesn't ask to be filled. Just lived through.

Cook leans back against the wall, sliding down to the floor like the weight of his own words finally hit him. He runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the roots like he’s trying to hold himself together. If you ignore his short beard, he would look just like in college. Broken, mad. 

You stay standing. Because if you sit, you might not be able to get back up.

“I scare myself, you know,” he says eventually, voice barely above the hum of the music, but loud enough for you to hear him.  “I don’t say that out loud. Not to anyone.’’ He laughs, hollow. “I thought if I was loud enough, mad enough, if I did enough stupid shit, then the pain wouldn’t catch me. But it always does. Always bloody does.”

You look down at him. His head is tilted back against the wall, eyes closed, like he’s waiting to be hit.

“I’m not your salvation,” you say quietly. His eyes open. “I’m not here to fix you, James.”

“I know,” he says, and his voice breaks for real this time. “That’s why it hurts more.”

Your throat tightens.

“I wanted to be good for you,” he says. “Still do. But every time I get close to something real, I fuck it. Like I’m hardwired for destruction.”

He looks at you, and there’s no mask left. No bravado. No ‘Oi, babe’ smile. Just James Cook. A boy trying not to drown in himself.

“You make me feel like there’s a version of me I haven’t met yet,” he whispers. “One that’s worth something. One that could actually love someone right.”

You sit. Slowly. Carefully. The floor is cold against your thighs. You sit close, but not touching. He notices. The space between you is bigger than the closeness, abstractly because you can actually feel his baggy trousers against your naked leg. But not his skin, you can’t feel his skin and maybe it's better that way. 

“You know I wanted her,” you say, voice steady. “Not just Effy. Everyone liked her. All the broken girls that boys like you chased ‘cause they were beautiful in a way that didn’t last.”

You look at him now, and he doesn’t look away.

“But I’m not Effy. I won’t burn myself to keep someone warm. And if you come near me, bleeding, expecting me to patch you up, you better know I’ll bleed too. And I don’t know if I have anything left to give.”

He swallows hard. “Then don’t give. Just… stay. Let me do something right for once.”

It’s not a promise. It’s not a vow. It’s a plea.

You’re both just trying not to fall apart, lit by the flicker of bad decisions and better intentions. You want to tell him you believe him.

But instead, you reach out and take his hand.

Not tightly. Just enough.

His fingers twitch like he’s afraid even this will slip through.

But it doesn’t. Not yet.

You don’t know how long you sit there—your hand in his, the music echoing like a heartbeat that belongs to someone else. The hallway smells like damp coats and something spilled long ago. The longer you stay, the more the walls press in.

You stand first.

He follows without a word.

The back garden’s half-dead, rain-soaked and ugly under the yellow glow of a porch light. Someone’s dropped a bottle in the grass. There’s a discarded shoe by the bins. This place was never meant to be pretty. But it’s quieter. Honest.

Cook lights a cigarette with shaking hands. Offers you one. You shake your head. You’ve been trying to quit, you tell him. He laughs. 

You lean against the brick wall, arms crossed, watching your breath fog in the air.

“You’re freezing,” he says, shrugging off his jacket before you can protest.

You let him drape it over your shoulders. It smells like him—smoke, sweat, something wild you can’t name. You hate how much comfort you take from it.

“I keep thinking,” he says between drags, “about how many people I’ve hurt just by being near them.”

You look at him. “And you think being near me is gonna be different?”

He exhales smoke through his nose. “I want it to be.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

He nods. Doesn’t argue. That’s how you know he means it. When he is silent, when he isn’t loud and when he just breathes in and keeps his words inside his mouth. 

You both stand there, the sky spitting rain again, soaking into your hair. And maybe that’s what does it—something in the cold, or the silence, or the fact that you’re both just tired of pretending.

“I’m scared,” you say. The words fall out like teeth.

He turns to you, eyebrows knit. “Of me?”

You laugh, bitter. “Of myself. Of believing you. Of what happens if I do.”

Cook doesn’t answer. He just moves closer, slow and cautious like he’s afraid of breaking the moment.

His hand brushes yours again. Not a grab. A question.

You answer it.

You look at him with your head slightly tilted. He rests his forehead on your shoulder first, and then he kisses it and his kisses climb to your neck and you jaw making you sigh before he kisses your soft wet lips. 

The kiss isn’t soft. It’s hesitant and clumsy, all teeth and tension and the taste of smoke. It’s not romantic, not really. But it’s real. It’s two people trying to meet in the middle of the wreckage.

You pull away first, forehead pressed against his.

“I don’t want to be someone’s second choice,” you whisper. “Not again, Cookie.” He smiles at the nickname.

“You’re not,” he says. “You never were.”

You close your eyes.

You want to believe him. God, you do.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re starting to.

[jubileesstuff]

Ok, imagine Jason wanders in his catatonic state around, and he meets Nico di Angelo. Or more like Nico wanders around, and he finds Jason. Nico immediately knows that something is wrong with Japson. He can sense the death. Nico decides to take the wandering (kind of) zombie with him. I mean, he can't just let this catatonic guy wander around after he escaped the underworld.

Hades or Thanatos never contacts him about a lost soul, so this guy stays with him. He even brings him to camp. When Chiron and Mr. D ask about him, Nico is like, 'Yes, this is my elder brother; he is like a zombie; I found him on the streets.' And that's it. No one questions it. There have been weirder things in Camp Half-Blood. Mr. D doesn't give a fuck; Chiron just accepts it, and the campers are like, 'Ok, cool.'

Slowly Jason regains his consciousness. It starts slow with some talking; he tells Nico his name. Jason recognizes Nico as a little brother, someone he needs to protect, someone who is family, someone who protects him. When they're not at camp, they travel all over the country. Nico and some ghosts train his new brother in sword fighting; Jason learns it fast. In camp, he also learns to fight with a lot of different weapons. Nico has the ongoing theory that before Jason died, he already knew how to fight; he was probably a child soldier or something similar. He was definitely not in the Army, because Jason is too young for that. Soon he becomes one of the best fighters in camp. The Ares kids come up with the theory that Jason was a child of Ares that died and came back to life. The Athena Cabin says the same, since Jason seems to like literature too, so he is smart and he knows how to fight; that means he has to be one of them.

No one can actually prove that. No godly parent claims him; Nico thinks it's because he died and came back

At some point, Nico figures out what happened to him and how he got back. He doesn't want to confront him, but he also knows that Jason has an actual family, and they would probably be thrilled to have him back. But then again, how does someone explain why and how their dead son came back to life? Even if the parent is Batman. (Yes, Nico knows that Bruce Wayne is Batman; ghosts are everywhere, and they love to talk to Nico).

When Jason's mind is completely clear again, Nico talks to him about his family. Jason says he doesn't really want to go back to them because he also sees Nico as his family, and when he can't come along, he doesn't want to go back to his old family. Also, Bruce didn't kill the Joker.

One day Nico and Jason wander around and go to Blüdhaven; some things go south, and they meet Nightwing. Nightwing is like, 'Wait, I know this dude.'. And then he begins to sob. Jason and Nico stand there like, 'This is awkward.'. Now that Nightwing knows, everybody knows. Not too long after they meet Dick (and talk with him), Bruce comes to visit them in New York. Jason and Bruce talk, like actually talk, and not just fight. They come to the agreement that Nico and Jason should move to Gotham with them. Nico is like, 'Didn't Batman have a 'no powers' rule for Gotham?'? Bruce is like, 'Eh, you are my kid now; who cares?'.

This is how Jason and Nico became brothers and chaos gremlins. They love to prank and spy on other people with Nicos powers.

The most unrealistic thing here is probably that Jason and Bruce talk, but Jason learned non-violent coping methods from Will, Sally, and Mr. D. It's a Head canon, this is ment to have plotholes.

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 14 – The One Where They Call It Chaotic but We Call it Predictable

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Yes, I am fully aware my entries have been sparse of late, and, no, I am not planning to stop my general Lukola ramblings any time soon. In fact, once I run out of material, I’ll probably dabble with fan fiction because, meh, why the hell not? Any ways, the reason for my slight absence is that I’ve had a special guest staying at my house – one by the name of “Dad.” Yes, that dapper gentleman has been roosting on my porch for the past few weeks (because that’s the only place I allow him to smoke), drinking an ungodly amount of Coca-Cola and holding my shih tzu like she’s a human baby. He did pry himself away long enough to be my date to see “Wicked” (he loved it, by the way). Oh, and he was obliged to my incessant babblings about Lukola. In fact, he even opened my mind to a few theories of his own and made me laugh hysterically at his reaction to the Jakolas.

It has always been my intention to delve into a certain section of our timeline – the part where Luke seemingly ran off into the Summertime Sunset with his friend group, which included Antonia. That period in time is the cavity of my Lukola table puzzle. The left side isn’t connecting to the right side because there’s this gaping hole in the center called Hot Boy Fucking Summer! Before June 12, things made sense to me. Even with the muck we find ourselves in now, just about everything after July 30 has made sense to me. So, of course, Hot Boy Summer was a topic of discussion with my dad. Actually, it was an “all afternoon” one.

I originally presented the Before, During, and After of Hot Boy Summer in chronological order to my dad only to get blasted with, “Stop doing that shit!” after I mentioned “Bless the Telephone.” His gripe was that – like the Claddagh ring – I had failed to disclose to him information that may alter his opinion about the event for which we were theorizing. Specifically, if I knew that the Claddagh ring preceded June 12 and I knew Nicola’s aptly named “Chaos Week” followed July 30, then disclosing those details to him before asking him to theorize about what happened in between those two dates (i.e., Hot Boy Summer) was necessary and even critical to his final opinion.

I don’t believe there is much explaining to do on the front-end of Hot Boy Summer – at least not to my well-versed Lukolas. We presumably all watched the same World Tour (including that trip over to Galway so Luke could meet Nicola’s mother) and I’ve already discussed the Claddagh ring in Entry 6 of my blog. That leaves us with the tail-end of Luke’s summertime jaunt, which steers us into Chaos Week. For those of you who thought I was going to discuss Hot Boy Summer in this entry, I’m sorry – this one is dedicated to that erratic period of Nicola blowing her war horn, beckoning all Lukolas within a worldwide radius of London to commence at her feet. And, commence we did!

Have you ever heard of “chaos theory?” Broadly speaking, it’s the idea that small changes can result in major changes over time – like cause and effect. That’s kind of how I’ve looked back at Chaos Week. We’d spent most of the summer on one bummer of a vacation, with Luke and Nicola (presumably) spending time apart from one another. Sure, we’d had few fireworks explode here and there with pap pictures, and we saw JVN enter the ring as the fan favorite best friend but, on the surface, Hot Boy Summer was, well, rather static. It had carried on with a monotonous “blip…blip…blip…” until suddenly our radar detected a quiet but distinct “blip-blip,” which didn’t register in any of our minds until we had a torpedo coming straight for us!

I don’t believe we can attribute Chaos Week solely to Nicola. Yes, yes, I know, Nicola’s online presence in early to mid-August was chaotic, hence the name “Chaos Week.” But, I do not believe Nicola started Chaos Week. She sure as shit drove it home but, in my opinion, it wasn’t her actions that set everything in motion. Nicola wasn’t the “blip-blip;” she was the torpedo.

So, what was the “blip-blip?”

Luke returning to London – alone – on August 2, of course.

The friend group, which had included Antonia, was nowhere in sight.

Hot Boy Summer had come to an end (I imagine this to be the reason Nicola started blowing her war horn).

In my opinion, Luke’s return set everything else into motion. He was that second pendulum that caused the first one to spiral out of control.

But, we ate that shit up, didn’t we? Yeah, we sure did, and we loved every day of Chaos Week. What’s funny to me is that everyone remembers bits and pieces of Chaos Week, but they never seem to get it in the right order (how chaotic, right?). This happened, then that happened. No, no, that happened first. No, this happened first. The only way to really look at Chaos Week is to give order to the disorder. And, we’re going to do that via a very generic captain’s log, so…

Welcome aboard!

Mission: Chaos Week

Origin: Somewhere in Mayfair.

Destination: Happily Ever After.

Time of Departure: Fuck, I don’t know. When did you board this ship?

Expected Time of Arrival: Hopefully before we all wither up and die.

Log Entries:

August 2. Luke returned to London alone. Yeah, yeah, I know, I already told you that, but I had to add this:

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August 4. Nicola decided to wake us all up from our somber summer with a plate of French toast. Umm, okay, that’s fucking random. I’m going back to bed – but wait, didn’t Luke say brunch was his “fav meal of the day?” Yeah, I swear I have that polaroid around here somewhere.

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August 7. Luke – after being absent on social media for what seemed like a lifetime – suddenly popped into his Instagram stories to post some delightfully cute Bridgerton Bloopers. The entire fandom rejoiced at Luke’s return to social media! And, let’s be honest, we only cared about the bloopers with Luke and Nicola. Hmm, Luke always has this intriguing, yet subtle way of surprising us. Did you hear that?

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August 7. Shortly after Luke posted his Bridgerton Bloopers, Nicola swooped in and dropped a very loud Wordle anvil on her Instagram stories. <clang!> Was she clocking people for making fake social media accounts using her name? Did she really solve the Wordle in two? Actually, most of us ignored that part of the post entirely and went straight to Mr. Google to ask, “What does ‘anvil’ mean? Okay, how about in the Urban Dictionary?” You know you did, too! In all seriousness, though, when this first dropped, I considered whether she was directing the “anvil” at Luke. After all, let’s face it, Nicola was the one who promoted Bridgerton post-Papsmear while Luke disappeared from the limelight. It’s only natural that she might be a bit peeved at him suddenly promoting Bridgerton. However, in hindsight, I believe this to be nothing more than Nicola calling out the person making fake social media accounts under her name. During this time, there seemed to be an influx of fake social media accounts using Nicola and Luke’s names (Luke would address this same topic on his Instagram stories on August 24). And, as fun as it would be to theorize that the “anvil” was directed at someone (other than Luke, of course), it was, in fact, the Wordle for August 6. That said, I do believe that “Wordle” has become synonymous with “Luke” at this point. So, I’ll give you that.

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August 8. JVN reposted their “[w]hen you catch someone trying to sneak a pic but you were born for these moments” to his Instagram grid. Did you think JVN wasn’t going to be included in Chaos Week?! They produced some of their best shit during this time! Any ways, Nicola liked this grid post, which confirmed my belief that Antonia played some part in the Italy pap pictures (for a full explanation on this, read “Entry 11 – The One About the Heart of the Ocean”). Thanks for the recap, JVN, although most Lukolas probably didn’t need to a reminder as to why they disliked Antonia.

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August 9. Nicola posted the Scrabble board to her Instagram stories. Whoa, hold up, Jakolas! Yeah, we know Jake played Scrabble with Nicola and – guess what – we Lukolas don’t care. I mean, I’ll even throw the Jakolas a small scrap of meat and say that Jake could (emphasis on could) have helpedNicola with the Scrabble board. Why am I being so charitable? Because that just makes me more confident Jake has always supported Lukola. You will not convince me (or probably any Lukola) that this Scrabble board was directed at anyone else but Antonia. In my opinion, there are only two things in this picture that matter – the central word “HEYA,” or “HEY A,” and the Guinness coaster. In fact, if I had been playing on the opposite side of this Scrabble board, I would have challenged this word. That alone says exactly what it needs to say. This is not to dissuade you from theorizing on every other word on that board, though. I’m simply saying I do not need any other evidence to persuade myself into believing the board was directed at Antonia. Now, if you want to take the two corner words and speculate that Nicola was having “SEX” with “DAD,” go right ahead – I won’t argue with you.

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August 10. Nicola posted to her Instagram grid the now-deleted birthday greeting to her friend, Camilla. The caption read, “…Remember the time paparazzi took a picture of us and to protect me you grabbed my face?” If that’s not an indirect jab at Luke’s friend group, I’m not sure what it is because it sure as hell doesn’t scream, “Happy Birthday,” to me.

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August 11. Nicola decided to get out her blow torch and light every beacon fire she could find starting in Bowral and ending in London by posting the “Drink Your Milk” shirt to her Instagram stories. You could practically hear her rallying every last Lukola still standing: “Rise, Lukolas, rise!” In fact, I think some even rose from the dead that day! What was the crisis? Well, only that the “Drink Your Milk” shirt was exactly like the one Luke was seen wearing on or about June 22. Now, now, this was a charity promoted by Jonathan Bailey so it’s entirely possible Nicola was gifted her own shirt. But, guess what? The Lukolas didn’t give a shit! They deep dived into reflections on sunglasses and creases in t-shirt sleeves! And, no, I’m not speculating on that hot mess (if you’re interested in learning more, I promise you there’s plenty of TikToks for that). In truth, it never mattered to me whether the shirt belonged to Luke or not. What mattered was the perception that it was Luke’s shirt. It blew up the Internet and I would stand by my belief that, if the fandom’s perception of something was detrimentally incorrect, Nicola (or Luke) would have corrected it. Nicola did not correct this. And, no, Jakolas, don’t even talk to me about that scrap of green blanket in that picture. I don’t care if Jake played Scrabble with (presumably) Nicola at some point over the summer while sitting outside on a goddamn green blanket. The “Drink Your Milk” post was not a secret coded message to Jake. I would stand on a hill and argue that all afternoon. Why? Because – again – Nicola did not correct the “Luke’s shirt” narrative. She let the fandom run with it. In fact, we all got our own blow torches that day. Mine’s turquoise and engraved with my initials.

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August 12. JVN posted a “Special announcement” to their Instagram grid. Right about now, you might be, like, “What the fuck does this have to do with Chaos Week?” I told you, JVN has this way of slipping shit into to their posts that make you do a double take – usually a day later while you’re daydreaming during your drive to the office. This was one of those posts. The announcement was: “I’ve been waiting for this announcement until after the Paris Olympics had finished, as to not take away from the incredible success of USA Gymnastics…@teamusa has been following my journey and growth as a gymnast and showed up at my house to personally invite me to train to be a potential member of their 2028 team. While I hate taking a slot away from 2028 potentials like @simonebiles & @stephen_nedoroscik (as it appears quite obvious I’ll make whichever team I attempt to)…” What made this post stick out is that it is, in fact, bullshit. As in, it is a completely made-up story. Team USA did not visit JVN at their house; they’re not joining the USA gymnastics team. It’s not even that funny, to be honest. So, what was the point of it? It’s confusing as fuck when you read it at face value; however, when you drop it into the Lukola timeline, I’m convinced it alludes to something bigger. On August 11, we had Nicola posting the “Drink Your Milk” shirt – which sent the fandom into believing Nicola was wearing Luke’s shirt and that Luke’s reflection was in her sunglasses. On August 13, the day after this post, a torpedo was launched at us (warning, warning, anyone got a phone I can use?). When you look at this post as the middle piece connecting Nicola’s August 11 and August 13 posts, I believe it tells a story. Let me rewrite it for you but imagine it now coming from Nicola’s perspective: “I’ve been waiting for this announcement until after the Paris Olympics Hot Boy Summer had finished, as to not take away from the incredible success of USA Gymnastics Luke’s friend group, which included Antonia…Luke @teamusa has been following my journey and growth as a gymnast and showed up at my house to personally invite me to train to be a potential member of their 2028 team [choose your own adventure on this one]. While I hate taking a slot away from 2028 potentials like @simonebiles Antonia & @stephen_nedoroscik Rory (as it appears quite obvious I’ll make whichever team [“girlfriend” or best friend] I attempt to)…” Huh, at the very least, this post is starting to get the side-eye from you, isn’t it?

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August 13. Oh, my God! My hair is on fucking fire!!! Nicola dumped “Bless the [Goddamn] Telephone” on her Instagram stories. Whose voice is nice to hear again? What is she trying to say?! Maybe nothing. No, it’s something. “It’s nice, the way you say my name; not very fast or slow, just soft and low; the same as when you tell me how you feel; I feel the same way, too; I’m very much in love with you. I’m very much in love with you.” I don’t need to elaborate any further on this post. It speaks for itself. Chaos Week had officially launched its massive torpedo (full of firecrackers and pinata candy) and the entire Lukola fandom was hysterical – in the best way possible. However, I will interrupt this happy moment with – Jakolas, please don’t start trying to link this song to Jake because Jack Rooke used it in an episode of “Big Boys.” Yes, we are aware Jake played a minor role in that show as a love interest to the main character, Jack. Again, Nicola did not shut down the fandom’s perception that the song was for Luke. Sorry, not sorry, Jakolas. If any part of Chaos Week was for Jake, I believe Nicola would have shut the entire thing down after realizing the fandom was associating everything with Luke.

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August 15. After giving the fandom 48 hours to process “Bless the Telephone,” Nicola posted to her Instagram grid, “Very demure, very mindful.” In my opinion, Nicola was acknowledging that her recent posts (ahem, “Bless the Telephone”) were intentional, and she was aware of how they were being taken by the fandom (ahem, that they were for Luke).

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August 15. JVN posted to their TikTok account “Slick Back Bun.” Hands down a fan favorite moment with JVN. “Sometimes I just need a very demure slick back bun…I don’t do my slick back bun like all the other girls. Here I’ll show you how to do it…I’m just going to take the hair and twist it around itself, so I just have a little cinnamon roll bun…” Do I need to elaborate on this one? Seriously, do I? Slick back bun – Antonia – yeah, okay, got it, we’re still going knives out on Antonia. If you haven’t watched this, it is still on JVN’s TikTok and Instagram grid. It was clever how “demure” JVN and Nicola were being that day.

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August 16. Nicola posted another song to her Instagram stories. This time it was Clairo’s “Juna.” It was not just a sweet, romantic song; it was full on sexy. “You make me wanna try on feminine; you make me wanna go buy a new dress; you make me wanna slip off a new dress…With you, there’s no pretending.” Alright, alright, enough! Wait – no, no – come back! I didn’t mean it! Please, please bring back your music to Instagram, Nicola!

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At this point, in my opinion, Chaos Week ended; however, I’m going to reference one more log entry mainly because, if I don’t, it will get overlooked in the small gap between Chaos Week and when the Jakolas enter the picture on August 25 (see “Entry 8 – The One About the Adjacent of Convenience” for that side show).

August 22. Nicola posted the picture of Luke and herself from Bridgerton Season 3 to her Instagram grid. And, no, I do not consider this to be a “Polin” picture. The picture appeared to be an alternative version of the polaroid Nicola carried with her throughout the World Tour. She captioned the post, “I thought I’d already shared this but I hadn’t so here you go now it’s all yours.” She also shared this in her stories and captioned that “with the lovliest pal a gal could have” and tagged Luke’s crotch. The story would disappear after 24 hours, but the post itself is still on Nicola’s Instagram grid. This post can be taken in several ways, depending on your mood. Was she friendzoning Luke because she used the word “pal” in her Instagram story? No, I don’t think she was. The “lov[e]liest pal?” That’s about as confusing as their “unique relationship.” Was she telling the fandom to support Luke because she supported Luke (i.e., stop hating on him)? Yeah, probably. Was she telling the fandom that she thought she’d already made it very clear that everything she had been posting was about Luke? Yes, I believe this to be the most reasonable answer, especially when you consider her previous posts. The reality is, that man fills a hefty chunk of her Instagram grid – and not dressed like Colin Bridgerton. But, I also believe that this post may have been a preemptive strike against the narrative that would surface three days later on August 25. It’s entirely possible Nicola knew that the pap pictures of Jake at the festival would be released by DeuxMoi (after all, it took DeuxMois over a week to release them), and Nicola was reminding fans that her narrative involved Luke. Note, that Nicola would repeat this in October when she and Luke simultaneously posted their “Polin” picture to their Instagram stories, which was followed a few days later by DeuxMoi dropping pap pictures of Nicola and Jake.

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Oh, a few honorable mentions post-August 22: (a) Nicola posted a picture from her Stylist Magazine photoshoot – the one from the back seat of a car (i.e., the “modern day carriage”) on August 23; (b) Luke posted about how he only had an Instagram account on August 24; and (c) JVN posted his “two finger” hair straightening demo on TikTok on August 25 (yes, I only listed these honorable mentions to get to JVN’s “two finger” demo because that was some laugh-out-loud funny shit – and it’s literally on the heels of Nicola’s “modern day carriage”).

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August 25. What in the hot fucking kittens is that? Well, thank God, it’s not an iceberg this time. Whoa, they didn’t just pull that Non-Player Character from that group of guys and name a ship after him, did they? Hahaha, dumbasses. Oh, shit! It’s coming straight for us!

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End Log.

Well, how was Chaos Week? Did you have a good time? I’m honestly friggin’ exhausted. Seriously, even just writing all that down was exhausting. Like, my brain is fried. Oh, yeah, feel free to ignore that part at the end of our log. That shit happens every time the Lukolas are given a bit of fun. You’ll get used to it.

I took you on this excursion through Chaos Week today because I believe it is important to develop an opinion about what happened before and after Hot Boy Summer, especially if we’re going to theorize on it at a later point. And, as I mentioned earlier, the before played out in front of our eyes and the after, well, if we have the information available, why not peek in its direction? It’s almost like reading a book from back to front.

There are three things that happened during Chaos Week that have kept my feet firmly planted on the USS Lukola. One, Nicola wearing the “Drink Your Milk” shirt, alluding to the still uncorrected perception that it was Luke’s shirt. Two, “Bless the Telephone.” We started Hot Boy Summer with The Frames singing, “I’m gonna wait for you…” and ended it with Labi Siffre answering, “It’s nice to hear your voice again…” And, three, Nicola posting “Very demure, very mindful,” confirming – in my opinion – that she was very conscious of what her posts were telling the fandom – i.e., that they were for Luke.

But, as I was sitting here typing out my thoughts about Chaos Week, I found myself – oh, no, word vomit! – annoyed.

Yes, annoyed.

It’s not Chaos Week itself that has left me feeling annoyed. That was one hell of a “Bridgerton Ride.” It’s that Chaos Week set in motion this predictable pattern which solidified my opinion that “Lukolas can’t have nice things.” Seriously, we can’t have nice things because something always comes in and fucks it up.

You know how I mentioned at the beginning of this post that Luke’s return to London was the “blip-blip” that led to Chaos Week? Luke was the “cause” and Chaos Week was the “effect.” Well, Chaos Week was the “blip-blip” that led to the current state of the fandom. We now have three ships – the Lukola, the Jakola, and the Lutonia – sailing the Fandom Sea, and every time the Lukola finds itself flying high, it gets hijacked by one or both of those motherfucking side ships.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Somewhere in this hot mess, the chaos that originated from Nicola’s August social media spree found order! In fact, we’ve fallen into such a predictable pattern of events that the ebb and flow of the sideshow antics barely “blip” our radar these days. When bullshit starts bullshitting, I just breathe a deep sigh of unadulterated annoyance and think, “I’m so over this shit.” Honestly, I’m getting the vibe that many of us are over this shit. We’re not playing Scrabble anymore. We’re playing that never-ending game of Risk.

Sometimes I wonder if the fandom would have been better off if Chaos Week had never happened. That Pandora’s Box had never been opened and that the fandom had simply allowed the USS Lukola to sail off into the sunset. But, then I think about the people I have met along the way. The Ones that have made me laugh until my stomach hurts. The Ones with whom I’ve gone so far down a rabbit hole we’ve come out on the other side as different people. The Ones that I’ve rescued from the riptide. And, the Ones that have stopped me from rowing my dinghy to shore (because, yes, I’ve had rough days, too). You all know who you are.

So, I find myself putting up with the day-to-day humdrum of the Life of a Lukola, chatting with the people I now consider my friends, and waiting.

Waiting for something different to happen. A disruption to the current cycle. A new kind of chaos – preferably, the kind that mortally wounds the Jakola and Lutonia love triangles and finally allows the Lukolas to have (and keep) nice things.

But, in the meantime, I am still sitting here – listening for that quiet but distinct sound – but also contemplating knocking the Risk board off the table.

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[happy74827]

Chaos Theory

[Mike Schmidt x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When Mike's crazy schedule finally aligns with one of the so-called "parental meetings" at Abby's school, he decides to see what it's all about. Little did he know he'd come to seriously regret that.

WC: 2,590

Category: Slight Fluff

I failed an exam today, so I wrote this to cheer myself up. I still feel pretty crappy, but this was really fun to write lol.

Also if you see any grammar mistakes, no you didn’t.

『••✎••』

When it came to Abby’s school, Mike was at a disadvantage. He couldn’t go to any of the parental meetings, not because he didn’t want to, but because he was constantly doing something work-related during the time those meetings were scheduled.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t keeping an eye on her grades and school attendance. It just meant he couldn't be there for the day-to-day things. Abby was a good kid, though; she never gave him trouble about the things he missed, and she did a pretty good job of keeping her grades up and attending all her classes.

Her teacher, you, was also very understanding of his schedule and position. He wasn’t sure how many teachers would have been as patient with him as you were. It was part of the reason he had grown fond of you, though it had been a gradual process that happened mostly unbeknownst to him.

At the beginning of the year, he had only been concerned about getting Abby acclimated to her new school. She was a quiet kid, stuck to her drawings, and it was even hard for him to get her to open up sometimes. Runs in the family, apparently. But, somehow, you were able to break down the wall that had been erected around her. Abby still didn't talk all that much, but she would always come back from school with a smile on her face. So, Mike was happy.

Then, like all good things, it came crashing down like a house of cards when his work schedule finally aligned with one of the “upcoming” meetings. This one was apparently a very big deal, and it was strongly implied to show up.

He hated these things despite never going to any before, but he just knew it would be filled with nosey people asking questions about his life. His sister. His “wife.”

God, he was already annoyed. The only saving grace was that it was the last meeting before the holiday break, so once it was over, he would be free for a while. Free to do what, exactly? Work, most likely, but a guy can dream.

The bell rang, signifying the end of the school day and the start of his personal nightmare. The door to the classroom was opened by one of the school's assistants, who held a clipboard in hand and waited for the “parents” to enter the room. He had arrived earlier than the scheduled time so he could speak to the assistant and find out what the meeting would entail, and already he knew it was a bad idea coming in here.

The woman was a nosy old biddy that was all too eager to learn the details of his and Abby's life.

He kept his answers short and clipped, but it did nothing to dissuade the woman. It got worse when he entered the classroom and saw the number of other parents who had shown up. He felt like an animal in a zoo; all the eyes followed his movements as he went to sit closest to the wall and away from the rest of the people.

The surrounding parents looked as though they lived in the next town over. They were clean-cut, hair styled perfectly, and clothes ironed. It was like they were trying to be a picture-perfect family.

He looked down at his own attire. His work boots were scuffed and dusty. His pants had a few grass stains from a recent job. His flannel shirt was buttoned wrong, and the sleeves were pushed up. Even his hair was a mess; he had tried to style it but didn't have much success, so he eventually gave up. The only thing going for him was that he had taken a shower before he left, so at least he didn't smell like sweat and grime.

As the meeting began, Mike had to try his best not to fall asleep. It was the typical teacher stuff. How the kids were doing. What the curriculum was for the following year. What their goals were. Blah, blah, blah.

Mike didn't care. He trusted you, and he knew his little sister was smart. She didn't need someone holding her hand and telling her what she was doing right or wrong. He knew this because he did that, and she didn't need it.

What did interest him, though, was the fact you kept looking his way. You didn't look at the others, and when you spoke, it was usually aimed toward them, but he saw the way you would look at him from the corner of your eye. He figured you were probably in shock that he actually showed up this time.

The meeting dragged on, and he was ready to leave. There were a few moments he had caught himself nodding off as he needed sleep, and this wasn't helping him. But then, like everything else in his life, the universe decided it was his time to suffer.

There was one woman who had sat at the front of the classroom. She wore her hair pulled back tight in a bun, her shirt was pressed, and her face was set in a permanent frown. He hated that lady; she reminded him of his good-for-nothing aunt who only wanted to criticize every choice he made.

The lady was also the mother of the most spoiled, brattiest child in the whole class. That damned kid had made it her life mission to torment Abby. He had come home more than once with her complaining about it, and when Mike had brought it up with you, you had told him that you had spoken with the parent.

That, of course, had done nothing. The child was an annoying pest, and he hated the way she treated Abby, but his sister had learned early on to deal with the bullying on her own. It didn't stop him from wanting to throttle the little shit, though.

The woman, the one who had started all his problems, took the opportunity to start a round of questioning. The first few were innocuous until they weren't.

"You seem to be a very patient woman." The woman had spoken to you, but her eyes were locked on him. "Is it a skill that was learned?"

The question itself was innocent enough, but the inflection and tone she used were meant to cut. He wasn't stupid. He knew she was alluding to something. It was always something, but he had to force himself not to say anything; the woman was a viper, and if he said something, she would attack without hesitation.

"I think anyone can be patient," You had responded diplomatically. "It's just a matter of the situation."

The woman didn't look happy with your answer, but she didn't pursue the line of questioning.

"Well, I couldn’t help but notice a certain someone who decided to finally drop in."

There it was. That was the opening.

Mike could tell you didn’t like the turn of conversation, and you were clearly trying to divert it elsewhere. It was no use, though. Mike could see the glint in the woman's eye as she prepared for the kill. She had a smile on her face, but her eyes were cold. "I was starting to think that Mr. Schmidt had abandoned his responsibilities. Wouldn’t be the first time someone in that family did such a thing."

He couldn’t help but have visions of his accidental mall incident from last year flash in his mind when he processed what the woman had said. He could easily hop over the desk and deck her right in the mouth. He had the muscle for it, and it was very tempting.

However, he would not.

If there was anything Mike had learned over the years, it was how to control his emotions, even if the situation was dire. The last time he had lost his cool, he ended up getting fired, but that was a long time ago… okay, not really, but the point was, he wouldn't make the same mistake again.

He wouldn't give the woman the satisfaction.

Mike leaned forward in his chair, arms crossed over his knees, and looked the woman straight in the eyes. "That's funny. I could say the same thing about your kid."

"Excuse me?!" She hissed, and she seemed offended. Good. He hoped she was offended.

"Okay, okay." You intervened, hands up as if to placate the two of them. "Let's keep this civil, okay? The last thing we want is to be kicked out of the school for brawling. That's not beneficial for any of us." You then looked back at the woman. "Let's not bring personal matters into this."

"Personal matters?" The woman was appalled at your statement, and her voice was so loud in the quiet room. He could tell many of the other parents were looking at them now, and he felt the weight of their gazes on him. It only made his anger spike. "That monkey of his tried to bully mine for three months now, and she's never done anything."

Monkey? Monkey?! Oh, he was going to kill her. It was one thing to talk shit about him; he was used to that, but Abby? No. Absolutely not. His little sister was the best damn thing to come into his life. He wouldn't have it.

But before he could say something, before he could even get out of the chair, you had done something he would never have thought you would. You got up and went to your desk, then you returned, holding a paper. You held it up for all the parents to see.

"This is a drawing my students did a few weeks ago," you started, and he was surprised at the level of calmness you were exuding. "The assignment was for them to draw the thing they loved the most."

Hearing those words, Mike had a feeling what was coming next, but he wasn't going to say anything. It would be like tempting fate. Still, he watched as you grabbed one of the papers, and then you turned it around so he could see it. Abby had done the drawing, and it was not only of him but of everyone else in her class as well. She had even drawn you standing near her with a kind smile. It was the picture she had brought home from that field trip months ago. It was a nice picture. Really nice. He liked it, and he knew Abby was proud of it.

"I made copies of every drawing so the parents could see them," You continued as you held out the picture for everyone to see. "So, tell me, would a bully do this?"

Your voice had a bite to it now, and he could finally see just how angry you were. He was surprised at how much control you were exerting. The other parents, however, were shocked at your sudden display of emotion. Even the woman, who had looked as though she was ready to take you on herself, looked like a deer caught in headlights. She didn't know what to say. No one said anything. Even he was shocked by your sudden outburst.

You were normally such a mellow person. Understanding, even. Always ready to listen, always ready to understand. You were the one who was there to help when something went wrong. You were the person who everyone turned to. You were… nice. You were a kind person. You were—you were just like Abby. That's all he saw in you now. You were just like his sister. You were just like her. You had that same determination and that same look of knowing something that others didn't, but there was also something else. You were a fighter, too. It was just something he hadn't noticed until this very moment.

You weren't the nice teacher everyone thought you were. No, you were more. You were the person he knew his sister was becoming.

"And to answer your question from before," you continued, ignoring the growing outrage from the other parent. "I'm a very patient woman because I understand that not everyone has the same opportunities. Some of us have a responsibility to provide the basic necessities for our family, which can often lead to not being able to attend these types of meetings.”

You looked directly at the woman when you spoke the last part, and you did not look happy. At all. In fact, he was pretty sure that was a little vein on the side of your head.

"Not everyone can be at their best every moment. Not everyone is at their best all the time. Not everyone has the privilege to complain about things not going their way. So, while I am a very patient woman, I will not have any of this derogatory about my students and their guardians." The calmness in your voice was gone, and your voice was rising, and you had started pacing back and forth behind your desk as you spoke. "Because if there is one thing that I cannot stand, it's someone who criticizes others just to make themselves feel better."

You went on to speak about your experience with the woman's daughter, explaining that a meeting needed to be called upon to address the issues with the child. You didn't stop there, though. No, you also spoke about how she should have addressed the situation when it was first brought up and how that, in turn, impacted the rest of your class. You had even pointed out some of the other parent's children who had done the same thing.

Suddenly, this meeting wasn't as bad as he thought it would be.

It took a while, but once you finished your little speech, everyone had finally gotten over their shock and embarrassment. The meeting, as such, continued without incident, and by the time it was all said and done, Mike was ready to go home.

As he stood from his seat and made his way to the door, however, you stopped him. You had your bag in your hand and your coat on as well.

"I just wanted to—"

"You don't need to apologize," Mike cut you off. He didn't want an apology. He knew you weren't at fault here. In fact, he was surprised you took the time even to defend him. That didn't happen often. "I was expecting something like that to happen, but I appreciate you speaking up for Abby. She's got a good teacher."

He thought you would be embarrassed or even annoyed, but instead, your face lit up, and your cheeks turned red. "Oh, uh, well, it's my job. It was what I needed to do."

"Maybe, but you did it anyway. So, I appreciate it." He looked around the room and noticed everyone else had left. Even the nosy assistant had disappeared. He didn't know what to say, so he settled with saying the first thing that came to mind. "And hey, maybe next time you can tell them this is why I don't go to these meetings."

Your laugh was light, and you had a smile on your face. He liked the sound of it. He liked seeing it, too. He also liked the way it lit up your eyes. They had a beautiful color. So bright, so shiny. It was almost hypnotic.

"I'll consider it."

Mike wasn't sure how, but somehow, he knew you were telling the truth.

[jamereadsmanga]

Yuri and Nightfall were both created for somewhat the same purpose. Characters just to add chaos and tension in the Forger's dynamic. For that reason their entire identity was formed around a specific Forger. In a similar sense, Emile and Ewen also existed as auxiliary characters to Damian not much individuality assigned to either.

Normally, these types of characters would be bound to these minor roles and never grow independent of the other characters. Instead, in the last three chapters, we see an intentional effort on Endo's side to continue their growth and development into individuals.

Emile and Ewen started as little echoes for Damian, following him around like tiny mindless goons. Now, although they still exist as a duo and their role is still very tied to Damian, they are shown to have a genuine relationship with him. They're not just in it for the clout, Damian is their friend and they truly care about him and all his flaws.

Nightfall and Yuri are obviously more complicated.

Yuri has a very troubled relationship with his sister. Their shared past resulted in him being very codependent on her and building his entire identity and sense of purpose around her. Now that his sister is married and moved on (i will not expand on that), he is left feeling like an empty shell of himself. He now is a position where he has to find a new sense of purpose while also questioning the choices that he has made throughout his life for the sake of his sister.

The chapter ends with him accepting that his sister is happy and there is nothing more he can do for her, that their lives have forever changed and they cant go back to the way it was. Their home is in the city now and he has to come to terms with what that means for their relationship. In the end, he decides to go out with his coworkers and try to live a little, outside of sister.

Not much is known about Nightfall. Her motives are still ambiguous and defined around Twilight. I have my own personal explanation but the canon still dances around the topic. While her past is still ambiguous, her present circumstances are clear. She is very devoted to Twilight to the point where she routinely risks her health for his sake. She has this idea that for him to love her she needs to be absolutely perfect and should never show any weakness. A moment I found funny was when she needs to cough and blow her nose but refused to do it in front of Twilight. Reminds me of a short story I read for one of my classes, Bride by Cheerie Jones.

So much of what Jones described as the perfect wife is the same things Nightfall tries to do to gain the romantic attention of Twilight. It also shows why she resents Yor because beyond the fact that she has Twilight she doesn't have to be perfect for him. Yor rattles everything that Nightfall believes about herself and again leaves her feeling empty and confused. Again, there is some optimism to her story. Seeing that Twilight still cares for her even when she is not perfect, that his concern for her is not contingent on her being perfect. She is finally able to rest and recover once he leaves her with that simple expression of concern.

I don't know what motivates her or why she specifically craves Twilight's affection but my most optimistic theory is that he represents someone that she wants. Someone who cares for her. Twilight does care for so I am guessing her drive is less to get his care but to preserve it and earn it. She is just seeking his validation the best way she knows how.

[rei-ismyname]

X-Manhunt Chuck Hunt Omega Review

It's been a short and baffling road that's led us here to the finale of Chuck Hunt, but fortunately it's very easy to sum up for anyone coming in blind. Charles Xavier received a distress call from his Shi'Ar daughter Xandra and escaped from prison while affected by a brain tumor. Inconveniencing various X-Men along the way, he resurrected his long dead wife, Lilandra, and brought her up to speed. He's fucking off to space (again) with his imperialist bird wife (again) to heal a sickness (again.) It doesn't make any sense at all, so join me in the absurdity of disconnected action scenes and OOC moments before a big goodbye. Like Game of Thrones season 8, it looks great and makes little sense while blowing stuff up.

Frankly, I've found this event really frustrating. Chuck visited most of the X-books for an issue but the character and relationship payoffs have been slim. Exceptional X-Men handled it best by not having him appear at all, Red Skies Crossover style. Xavier has had a tremendous impact on everyone's life but he's only engaged with them performatively and superficially. It feels like he doesn't really care about the chaos he leaves in his wake, which is nothing new, and the resolution of his mission has been spoiled by solicits. I'm not mad about it, it's so ridiculous that I have to laugh.

In what's becoming a hallmark of From The Ashes, a flashback recontextualises the inter X-Men team dynamics. Scott thinks Xavier should stay in prison; Rogue disagrees and thinks Scott has some scheme requiring his absence, for reasons. Scott's dream speech is hilariously nonsensical while Rogue is just being obnoxious.

Gambit interjects before Scott can finish a sentence and Magik says what I've been thinking - 'what did Scott do?' What's the fucking problem, yo? We've seen in Uncanny that, yes, it is personal. Scott's name has been used as an insult. They relitigate the fall of Krakoa for some reason, with Rogue having an interesting summation. 'Taking out Phoenix' had only the broadest relationship to Krakoa's fall. Xavier surrendered due to ORCHIS sneaking a kill switch into Krakoan drugs, then he forced everyone through the gates. Rogue had the best view of anyone, as she carried Xavier to Krakoa where he broke down over thinking he'd killed everyone. She missed the rest because of Avengers duty.

The characters and the readers are both being gaslit into swallowing this tripe. I don't have room to show it, but Mystique is here to look sad. Mystique hates Chuck, and she should. Melee, Bronze, and the Outliers are here crying over a dude they've never met. Magneto has nothing to say, nor does Juggernaut. X-Manhunt has been a mishmash of discontinuity with motivations changing from page to page, let alone between issues. It's simply unbelievable that anyone would believe the narrative Chuck is selling, but that's what's on the page. There's no resolution here, no nod to history, recent or otherwise. Chuck is leaving and that's that, delusional goodbye speech and all.

I find it helpful to imagine circus music playing in the background of this discussion. Rogue has conspiracy theories, Gambit backs up Rogue, Scott is rendered speechless, and Magik tries to be the adult in the room. The only thing they achieve is a tentative alliance, something they probably had anyway. The best part is that none of this matters even a little bit. By the end they'll all be herded to where Chuck, ringleader of this circus, wants them.

Ilyana has multiple swords now, and Scott powers one up with optic blasts for THE RED SURFER! She could just teleport, but this is looks cooler. Why show tactics when you can go fucking cowabunga dudes! Lilandra is having a yarn to Chuck while giving him brain surgery, lol. It's standard curriculum for all Shi'Ar rulers. Gladiator could do this but he doesn't want to. She talks about her and Chuck feeling pain but it's overwhelmingly his 'children' that suffer. Obviously Yana is blown out of the sky, only to be caught by a demon Kaiju she summoned. Obviously.

Sage appears out of nowhere with John Wraith in tow, who has a robot Kaiju Sage borrowed from Storm. Yeah, Storm has Evangelion shit on her spaceship. Anyway, John speaks entirely in bible verse. They have a Kaiju fight, which wasn't on my Chuck Hunt bingo card, and Magik gets fucked up. SCARLET SCATTERSHOT! No onomatopoeia here - we're naming moves because it's just so 3P1C!!!1! Magik is explicitly said to be bleeding out but nobody takes it very seriously. She'll be fine.

Magik easily teleports Scott onto Mr and Mrs Avian's fleeing ship, so yes they could have done this at any time. In a Hallmark moment, Scott removes his visor with a single tear streaming down his face. That's how we know this is emotional. It's been ten minutes and the brain surgery is nearly done lol, but it's kinda irrelevant because Chuck sends his astral form to just talk to Scott.

Xavier says the most insane shit possible in his speculation as to why he's being pursued. 'I'm trying to bail on all my responsibilities after fucking you all over. Why are you chasing me?' Scott's muzzle is finally removed so he can tell this man how delusional he is. Xavier comes clean about his moronic schemes and then claims that he's sacrificed so much for others. Probably not the best argument for a child soldier whose life you controlled since he was 15. Who's spent his entire life bleeding for your dream, which you're giving up on. Chuck is actually mad that Scott doesn't get it, when he's kept everything a secret. What's more, Scott has zero reaction to this revelation. None. Chuck is leaving and there's no time to payoff even the meagre emotional stakes that were setup. Don't worry, they'll get shit on even further.

Obviously he's yeeted off the ship by an unnamed move. How can we tell what it is? My suggestion would be END OF ACT 2 BEAM! As Scott plummets to his death, the ringleader cracks the whip and X-Men come tumbling out of a clown car. Rogue catches him, in a completely unearned moment of solidarity. It's surprising, yes, in the same way a baby is surprised at peek-a-boo. There's no object permanence here as people just appear where they're needed for the next bombastic moment. Instead of being relieved, Scott feels that he's failed. That they'll be blamed for the mess Chuck left behind. It's a valid position, considering The O*N*E came for them over a lot less than this. He has a panic attack and starts shooting optic blasts everywhere. That's not how they work, but it doesn't matter. Just pretend everyone has a red nose on as the circus music intensifies.

Yep, that's definitely the most appropriate way to handle Scott's very real mental health issues. Stab the motherfucker. Only the homoeroticism of Logan gently penetrating his ex gives it any kind of grace. Circus music clashes with 'intimate violence in the rain' vibes but that's what Chuck Hunt is - disparate scenes that would be powerful with setup and context smashed together to elicit unearned emotional response.

I'm not even going to touch Logan's lengthy Super Saiyan speech. He says some dumb shit then stabs Scott in the gut. Rogue could have stopped this far more safely. The point is that Chuck is gone and they have to make their own way. Scott already knew that, in fact he knew it twenty years ago. Scott's dead and Xavier is in space.

Good news everyone! Scott is totally fine, despite the very lethal gut stabbing. Ilyana too. Xavier's tumor is fixed like the trifle it is and he's back already, having summoned an arbitrary group of mutants for an unearned goodbye. The guard that killed his family and the entire city of San Francisco? Fuck them, somebody else's problem. It takes some gall to make us jump through all these hoops and present dire problems (like Xandra) only to not pay them off at the end. In fact, they never mattered in the first place. Xandra is barely mentioned, just a McGuffin who's probably having her teeth pulled out with pliers.

We also learn that Xavier had some great soup here once. Nice!

Logan doesn't want to fight. Growth! He apologises for the trivial wound he gave Scott, who shrugs it off. I don't care what Brevoort says, this is flirting.

Xavier has the balls to say that mutants are choosing to fight each other, when that's clearly not true. It's also the reason he formed the X-Men - to beat down mutants who weren't behaving themselves. They were fighting because of you, buddy. For some reason nobody challenges this, nor his claim that he never wanted to be a general. Scott didn't either - you made him one. Shit, maybe we're still in Graymalkin and this is all a hallucination. It doesn't look anything like reality. I suppose it's a small price to pay for being rid of Chuck for a few years, but it's an audacious misrepresentation of X-Men history.

It's cost you? YOU? Motherfucker that is a terrible apology. 'Well, it's been tough for me, which I'm sorry for, and that's why I'm leaving. Good luck living in the mess I created. Catch you later when the MCU synergy comes.'

Emma kisses him on the cheek and tells him he deserves it. Why not? It's not like she hates him or anything. 🙄 Kids who have never met him or heard of him are crying but Scott has zero reaction. Nada. Contradicts everything we've been shown, even in this event. If that's what it takes to get rid of Chuck? Sure, see you later dude. Scott should start a school, you say? I know a great place for that, but it's been turned into a ghoulish prison due to someone's actions. Scott is at war with the USA - fortunately DOOM is building schools. Let's go with that. Maybe he's just exhausted with this man and his schemes within schemes. He should have known the chessmaster had a ruse going, one that gave him PTSD and fucked everything up.

There's so many things I could be mad about, but who has the energy? We jumped through flaming hoops to get here and ignored character moments that make any sense in favour of dizzying spectacle. As Gambit does cartwheels, the circus music plays Chuck out, and I choose to clap like a walrus. X-Manhunt wasn't very good - it wasn't trying to be good, but maybe the X-books can figure out a new Chuck-less thesis or identity. Imperial should be fun, and really we're just playing a familiar beat - Chuck bailing to space while the X-Men get on with their lives. Nice to see he's recovered quickly from brain surgery too. Good for him, and nice work Lilandra.

[milunalupin]

hi!! I would like to request older!reader and older!sirius black where reader ends up saving him from bellatrix’s curse.

ty for requesting !! enjoyyy <3 + ty to my lovie for helping :)

— another one bites the dust (but it's definitely not sirius)

post azkaban!sirius x reader ★ 1.5k words

Lily Evans was your best friend. The two of you had been sorted into Gryffindor as muggleborn witches together and assigned the same dorm. The two of you did everything together, from studying in the library to braiding each others hair down by the Black Lake. Of course being that close meant you had to witness all of James Potter's attempts at winning your best friend over. One time you happened to alone on your way to class when James and the other 'Marauders' had stopped you, begging you for any tips on how to successfully ask Lily out.

"You've gotta let this go. She's way out of your league, you toerag." You had rolled your eyes at him, the boy gaping at your remark as you had always seemed pretty docile. Sirius Black — who you now notice was standing beside the bespectacled boy — barked out a laugh and applauded you, causing a warm feeling in your chest that you would never admit was because of him. Moreover, if James ever asked him to, Sirius wouldn't mind hanging out with you to get information on Lily (and not because he thought you were super cute).

Once James had successfully convinced Lily to date him, you and her had blended in well with the Marauders. When Lily and James would have their couple time, you would play chess with Peter and study with Remus in the common room. Sirius even let you join in on planning and performing their famous pranks (which did not jumpstart a crush on him or anything). The six of you had become your own little family, and when James had proposed to Lily after graduation it was no surprise who the groomsmen and maid of honor would be.

Meanwhile you had also fallen in love with Sirius Black during your time at Hogwarts, and the two of you had become attached at the hip. Sirius would walk with you to class, and you'd spend nights in the astronomy tower talking about the future.

You were each other's safe space, and Sirius loved you so deeply, which led to a lot of heartbreak the the night Lily and James were killed and your boyfriend was sent to Azkaban for the rest of his life for being the one who did it. You spent the next twelve years working under the Department of Magical Law enforcement as an investigator, trying to convince the Ministry that Sirius would never in a million years do anything to hurt his friend, much less kill him and his wife. They ignored you, dismissing your claims as a fit of hysteria, weaponizing your grief against you. You had been nonstop trying to figure out what exactly happened that night, regularly exchanging letters with Remus until he sent his final one, asking you to refrain from sending any more, as he felt too betrayed by Sirius to hear any of your theories.

The moment Peter had been revealed as the true murderer, Remus had come by your flat to apologize in person, the two of you reconciling over tea and teary hugs. When Sirius finally came back things were slow to return to "normal", but the two of you were just as in love with each other as you were back at Hogwarts. Because of his current situation with the Ministry, you moved in with him at 12 Grimmauld Place, then agreeing immediately when Dumbledore had come to the two of you about reassembling the Order of the Phoenix.

"You're a cheater Sirius Black, I don't want to play anymore." You huffed, standing up and throwing the playing cards down on the coffee table. The two of you were playing cards on the couch in Grimmauld place, trying to have a relaxing night amidst the recent chaos. Sirius cooed and pulled you down to sit on his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing sweet kisses to your shoulder. "Oh you'll survive, Mrs. Black."

The name alone caused you to melt into him, but the way he was looking at you in that moment made you feel like a teenager again, shy and in love with the boy before you. "Mrs. Black? We're not even engaged, love."

He grabbed your left hand, his thumb running over your ring finger, his voice becoming as soft as his touch. "It's coming, darling, don't you worry."

Your future mother-in-law screeched in horror from her place on the wall. "The most ancient and noble House of Black will not be accepting of a revolting mudblood! Must keep the blood pure, toujous pur!"

"I like to think I've been patient enough." you teased, gesturing to where his mother's portrait hung, the crazy bitch still muttering nonsense to herself.

Sirius sighed and lightly squeezed your hip. "I know m'love, you've been too good to me. Once things blow over a bit, I promise we'll get back to how things used to be, yeah?"

You hummed, brushing the hair out of his face and kissing his forehead. "No need to rush, we've got the rest of our lives, Sirius."

The fireplace suddenly lights up green as Severus comes through, his lip curling on one side as he saw the position you two were in and moved his gaze to somewhere else in the room.

"Severus," Sirius clicked his tongue, cocking his head to the side. "to what do we owe this pleasure?"

"The Dark Lord," his eyes met yours, then shifted to settle on Sirius. "seems to have put an idea in Mr. Potter's head that you were being tortured at the Ministry. He's on his way there to look for you, you are to alert the Order."

You and Sirius stood immediately, thanking Severus as he disappeared again and sending your patronus' to the other Order members. They arrive quickly and the six of you head to the Ministry and apparate down to the lower level chambers, wands at the ready.

Kingsley and Alastor moved towards one group of Death Eaters, with Remus and Tonks on the defense. "Harry, where's Harry?" you were frantic looking for your godson, Sirius right beside you. You find him in combat with Dolohov, rushing to his side just as he hit the dark wizard with a Full Body Bind curse.

"Nice one, Haz!" Sirius praised from a few feet away. Harry beamed at you and you smiled and squeezed his shoulder quickly before heading back over to Sirius.

The chamber was complete chaos, the dark walls lighting up with flashes of all colors, all kinds of hexes and jinxes were being thrown around. You had to admit, Harry and the other students were great at duelling and really kept up with the Order members. Out of the corner of your eye you see your beloved's deranged cousin, her wand locked onto Sirius. Her wand glowed green as she shouted out an unforgivable spell.

You turn around to see him just a few feet from the Veil. "Sirius!" you gasp, immediately casting 'Accio' to pull him out of Bellatrix's way, his hands gripping your waist to steady himself, eyes blown out in shock. You both are staring at each other, eyes watery and chests heaving.

"Too fucking good to me, darling."

Your moment was interrupted by a screeching Bellatrix, sending a 'Confringo' your way. You managed to dodge it but the spell caught the sleeve of Sirius' coat.

"Don't you fucking dare!" you growled, shooting multiple stunning spells at her which she annoyingly kept deflecting. She laughed maniacally as you circled each other, casting spells left and right. The dark witch then shot another spell at Sirius, effectively hitting him in the back then grinning madly at you, "Whoopsie!"

Your heartbeat picked up as you realized where she was standing. You quickly scanned the chamber and it seemed that most of the Death Eaters had fled or been taken down. You'd never killed anyone before, but she was one of Voldemort's strongest followers. Not only that, but she tried to attack your Sirius not just once, not twice, but three times. Your eyes widened as you saw her prepare another curse on him.

"Not my boyfriend, you bitch!"

You cast 'Depulso', throwing her back a few feet into the Veil, immediately sending her into the world of the dead. You stood there frozen, your wand still pointed where Bellatrix once stood. Sirius pulled you back into his arms, whispering "thank you"s and "i love you"s into your ear.

Harry had appeared next as the battle ended, joining in your group hug, the three of you holding each other tight. You kissed the top of your godson's head, no longer unable to hold back your tears.

Harry had come home with you and Sirius that night, having some dinner and then going upstairs to stay in one of the spare rooms. Sirius held you close in bed that night, thanking you once again for saving him. You smiled and squeezed his hand, thanking him for coming back to you all those years ago. You fell asleep that night unaware of the sparkling diamond that was hidden in Sirius' nightstand.

[misspelledwordswizard]

THE COLORS WERE SO CUTE EVEN THOUGH I IMAGINE IT WOULD BE CHAOS IF THEY TRY TO WOO THE READER BECAUSE THEY ALL HAVE DIFFERENT WAYS OF DOING IT AND THEY COLLIDE WITH EACH OTHER JAJSJJSWNSJUAJSJDJW 💚❤️💙💜🖤

Yeay I love writing for the colors, I love chaos! Ok, this was supposed to come out a few days ago, but there are some unforeseen issues. Hope you like it <3

Doing it right

I was finishing getting ready in the morning when I heard a knock on the door of the room in the inn where we was staying, which I found strange, considering the conditions. I had gone to bed very late, as I had spent the entire night reading a book that captivated me, so I woke up only an hour ago, at eleven in the morning. Therefore, I did not expect that any of the boys would still be there. In theory, they should all be spread out across the village we arrived at yesterday, with a lot to explore and search for.  

Even without understanding, I went to the door, bracing myself for the possibility that it might not be any of the heroes either. When I opened it, my gaze naturally went a little lower, that’s when I came across the Blacksmith there, looking at me with a cheerful smile.  

No, that was not Four, but Green, one of his parts. I was surprised to see him separated in broad daylight. I thought he was waiting to tell his brothers about his special ability. If he’s here, it must be important. 

— Good morning, did you sleep well? – He began, before I could say anything. – You must be hungry, you missed breakfast and it’s already lunchtime. I thought maybe you’d like to join me? I found a lovely restaurant nearby. 

— Oh, um... – I am indeed hungry, and it was endearing how confident the boy was, but the fact that he was suddenly separated makes me uneasy. Still, having his company during lunch sounds great and I couldn’t help but smile at the suggestion. – Of course, I’d love to! 

He seemed even happier, and I thought it best to leave my questions for later, I don’t want to ruin this. I finally stepped out of the doorway and closed it behind me, ready to follow the blond to the place he mentioned. I’m excited for this, as much as I love Champion’s food, I miss eating at restaurants every now and then.   

I followed the shorter boy out of the inn, as I thought, none of the other boys were around, not even the other colors, which made me even more intrigued and curious about the whole thing. Every time I had met them so far, they had been together, it was unusual to see them so far apart.  

Finally, at the restaurant mentioned above, I was enchanted by the architecture of the place, which had large glass walls that allowed a beautiful view of the lovely little street and a wooden structure that made the place cozy. This whole village was really very beautiful and peaceful, from what I could see. We sat at a table for two in the center, thanks to this I had a view of the front of the restaurant and one of its sides, while I had my back to the other. Green sat in front of me, he was smiling and excited, he seemed happy to be here. Well, I can understand him, the place was amazing.  

I entertained myself looking at the menu, lost in the many options. The place also offered breakfast, which looked divine, I will have to come back here another day to try it. Looking through the dishes, I came across one that I liked, but that served two people, so I immediately thought about the possibility of sharing it with Green. 

When I turned my attention to him to comment on it, he seemed a little... distracted. He was looking at something behind me, his face didn’t look good at all as he looked with a certain desperation at whatever it was. Combining my curiosity with the sudden noises I heard coming from that same direction, outside the restaurant, I was about to turn around to see, but my attention was once again caught by the blond man in front of me. 

— Hey, look at this dish! – He said, pointing to something on the menu, which when I looked at it was... water? – You know what, you can go ahead and order if you want, I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll be back in a minute! 

He hurriedly left the table, his eyes never leaving whatever was behind me, but by that point I had already lost interest, with my hunger screaming louder for me to order something right away. The noises seemed to get even louder outside, but I was too focused on reading each ingredient of each dish and evaluating my possibilities. 

I only took my eyes off the paper when I saw the blond sit down again in front of me, raising my eyes momentarily to confirm his presence, going back to reading, only to look back at him abruptly when I realized what I saw. 

In front of me was no longer Green, that was Red, with his smile and sweet gaze, looking at me as if nothing had happened, but what really caught my attention was his state.  His beautiful blond locks were disheveled, with dirt, leaves, and even twigs stuck in them, his face was scratched, as if he had gotten into a fight with a skittish cat, his clothes were dirty and wrinkled, his breathing was irregular, and other things that made it look like he had gotten into a fight with a wild boar, run away from it, and then rolled down a hill after tripping over a rock. Come to think of it, that’s quite possible. 

— Oh, hi, my goodness, who would have thought I would find you here! Hey, taking advantage of this coincidence, do you want to go for a walk with me? We could have a picnic! 

— Oh, well, the thing is that Green... 

— Don’t mind him, he must have had a stomach ache and went back to the inn, come on, there’s the perfect place for us to go! 

Red said, looking like a happy child, stood up and took my hand, leading me out of the restaurant. Oh, goodbye, dear food, I’ll be back tomorrow! I followed the blond almost out of the village area, where there was plenty of vegetation and trees, but our objective seemed to be in reality a peak near the limits of the place, which was divinely touched by the sun and had a few trees and bushes on top, which made the place very rewarding to be.  

 When we finally reached the top, I had an incredible view of the entire village, and there, under the shade of the largest tree there, there was a picnic set up, ready for us to enjoy, full of fruits, sweets, and various drinks. Oh, how great! I wouldn’t even have to wait for the food to arrive like at the restaurant. 

Even though I was anxious to eat, I stayed there, standing, enjoying both the beautiful view and the gentle breeze that seemed like a reward after the effort of climbing up here. The hero in red was next to me, doing the same as me. These calm and peaceful moments had become somewhat rare on our long journey, so I began to appreciate them more than ever. 

— I’m so happy to be here with you today... – Red started to speak, I remained attentive, but still focused on the view of the horizon in front of me. – You know, I’ve been thinking- Ahhhh! 

The boy’s voice faded, becoming distant after his cry of surprise, making me turn around at the same moment to know what had happened, and then, once again, in the place where the hero in red should have been, his other part, Blue, was. The same one, with his breathing irregular as if he had run a marathon and a few scratches here and there, looking victoriously at something behind me, which, when following the direction his eyes pointed, I saw a bush further down the hill. 

Finally, he seemed to realize my presence, straightening up, coughing lightly to clear his throat and giving me a confident smile. 

— What a coincidence to see you here, oh, it seems Red was a little busy, you know how that airhead is, right? 

— Good morning to you too, Blue. Let me guess, you have an amazing place to show me? 

— What? Noooo... – He said with a weak smile. – Okay, yes, I do, but it’s way better than anything these idiots prepare! 

I could only laugh, not like I was making fun of them, I’m just finding it intriguing, funny, and even kind of cute how each of the boys were acting today. It makes me wonder what happened to Four. Maybe he was indecisive about what to have for lunch. 

— Okay, let’s go, you can tell me what it is on the way. 

We continued, walking the entire path I had taken earlier to climb the summit, but not before I grabbed a strawberry from the nearby picnic basket, just like the other two had done before. Blue led me by the hand, heading deeper and deeper into the bustling village. It wasn’t long before the sounds of crowds could be heard around us, and I soon realized that we were close to the center. I really wanted to stop by today. I heard the owner of the inn say that this place gets very busy on the weekends, with a lively little market full of activities and different foods to try. 

I soon got excited too. All the excitement of the city was energizing and made a great contrast with the calm environment before. The food stalls immediately caught my attention, the smell of different foods invaded me, making my stomach growl for the fiftieth time today.  There were also several game stalls with prizes to be won, and as interested in eating as I was at the moment, the hero’s interest in winning these games was clear, so I just followed along as he made his way to the archery game. 

— Look, I’ll get that one for you! – He said confidently, pointing to a blue shark plush, very big and cute. I smiled foolishly at that. 

It was a simple game, you paid a small amount and they gave you a bow and three arrows, three attempts to hit the center, and then take the prize. Blue seemed confident, and rightly so, with all the experience accumulated in his adventures, hitting the center of a stationary target would be like child’s play, but even so he seemed very focused while aiming, after all, he would hate to be too confident and miss, even if only one of the arrows. 

The moment he shot the arrow I felt a soft touch on my left shoulder, which made me turn around just in time and end up missing his eventual hit. The blue eyes mixed with violet caught me by surprise, hypnotizing me, while the bearer of them gave me a calm and serene smile. 

— I finally found you, come on, we’re already late, at this rate we won’t have enough time to appreciate this. – Vio’s voice was soft and calm as he led me by the hand, without further explanation, to the goddess knows where. 

— Here, see, I said I would get it for... you? – I could hear Blue’s voice in the distance, turning to try to see him, but he was already lost in the crowd we were leaving behind. 

Without many options, I just kept going, further and further away from all the noise in the center of the village. I sighed, a little tired from all the walking I’d been through. It must be around three in the afternoon now and I still hadn’t eaten anything, I hope Vio is taking me somewhere with food. 

The most surprising thing so far is that I haven’t run into any of the other boys so far, which is lucky, I wouldn’t know how to explain why Four was wearing a single color outfit and acting “strange”. When we finally stopped walking, in front of our destination, I felt a little disappointed. A library. I mean, I love reading, I love books, I love libraries, Vio definitely knows what I like... but I really wish I could eat something right now. 

The hero took steps forward, ready to enter the place, but stopped when he noticed that I had fallen behind, still looking at the place, wondering if I would have time to stop somewhere to get something before we went in. Seemingly reading my mind, Vio laughed softly and approached me again. 

— Don’t worry, there’s a coffee shop inside, you’ll like it. 

A smile has never appeared so quickly on my face. Books and coffee? The combination of gods! I quickly began to walk excitedly towards the place, being followed by the blond who laughed at my childish excitement. 

Finally, with a nice cappuccino and a croissant in hand, I was able to sit at a comfortable table, with a good book and with the pleasant company of Vio by my side, who, not content with just one, had a pile of books on the table, that he intended to read, and a cup of tea. 

I was able to enjoy this moment of peace in the day, with my stomach happy to finally be fed, feeling satisfied, although still somewhat lost in thoughts that blocked my focus on the words on the page. As good as it was to be able to have a moment alone with each of the four colors, I still felt like something was missing. Maybe it was because this competition between them took away precious time that we could have spent together, or maybe it was also because they weren’t together, it felt wrong. 

 Well, this peace didn’t last long, of course. Soon three identical boys burst into the library, causing a commotion that earned them a good scolding from the others who were there to read. But as soon as they saw me and Vio sitting in a corner of the place, they came towards us, not happy at all. 

— Vio, you traitor! How dare you? – Blue was the first to complain, taking care to keep his tone controlled so as not to end up getting another scolding. 

— Well, you’re no saint either. Don’t forget that you pushed me down a hill! – Red retorted. 

— The three of you started a fight outside the restaurant, and when I went to see, you stole she from me, Red! Your saintly face doesn’t fool me. – Green seemed, in fact, upset. 

Of course, by now, I already knew what all this was about; they didn’t even try to hide it, after all. But anyway, I hate seeing them fighting, and I hate even more that I’m the reason for it, it just makes me think about how Four was having this problem because of me. 

— Okay, enough of this, you four! This is all getting ridiculous. I understand that you wanted to do different things, I understand that you wanted some time alone, but that’s no reason for all this fighting. 

I started and they fell silent looking at me, almost embarrassed, but I honestly didn’t even know what to say next, I didn’t want to seem exaggerated or annoying, especially when I can see that there’s something serious bothering them and that’s why they’re acting like this. 

Apparently, there was no need for me to say anything else, the four boys looked at each other, they seemed to have a mutual understanding, which made me wonder if they didn’t have some kind of twin telepathy or something. The moment of silence lasted for a while, but before I could ask what was happening, I saw something I hadn’t witnessed until then. 

I saw Green reach for his sword and then suddenly they all merged, turning back into Four.  In the middle of the library, which may not have been the smartest thing to do, but he didn’t seem to care much, especially since there was no one around at the time. 

Seeing Four in front of me was somewhat of a relief, as it meant he was no longer in internal conflict. I wonder what could have happened for that. 

— I want to apologize for my behavior today. I was so worried and indecisive about how to do this in the best way, that I ended up making you uncomfortable and dragging you around the village. 

I wanted to tell him that it was okay, that I hadn’t really bothered him. I enjoyed spending time with the colors, I always enjoyed spending time with them. But the blacksmith continued before I could do so. 

— The truth is that I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and I finally know that I’m ready now. Spending this day with you, even with all the problems I caused myself, was amazing, being by your side is always wonderful, and I also realized that I don’t need to be as nervous about it as I was. – He paused, looking away shyly before taking a deep breath and looking at me, with those blue eyes that reflected the other colors, with his cheeks and the tips of his ears slightly pink. — Do you want to go out with me? 

I was quiet for a moment, probably looking like an idiot, too surprised to answer. So that’s what this was about? I felt my chest beat faster as a silly smile formed on my lips. 

— Yes, I would love to. 

[omgfangirlland]

I really hate my brain.. It's 1 am and I gotta be up by 4:30am..but this are the current thoughts that I have just when I'm about to sleep.. :

1. Talia al Ghul twin sister but she's the opposite of her sister

2. neglect invincible sister.. Where is is normal but something happen that I can't think of yet that made the other like/love/obsessed of her

3. SCP scientist reader getting transported to another universe

4. Reader with a super power of luck (inspo from Deadpool 2? I think it was the second movie.. I don't remember)

5. Dazai reader? I don't know what to do with a dazai reader yet..

6. Danny phantom reader..

Okay.. I'll stop for real now.. My head is seriously killing me

-🔱

PART TWO

Am I answering more and more asks to avoid writing the next ch of TSTN?... Yes. (I'll go back on it soon-ish- just need a refresher)

I'll take the Talia al Ghul twin sister, AND throw in the Luck Manipulation meta gene Domino has.

So, the "lucky" powers Domino has is actually luck manipulation, meaning she can bring bad luck just as easily as she can bring good luck-

Now- I always found the "Actually- Ra's loves his kids and grandkids"" headcanon funny- because we definitely see a bit of it in "Murder in the family" or the second one about it(can't quite remember) where he is like "I didn't wish for your son to die, wouldn't wish that on anyone" so I'm taking that and turning it to a 100 making Ra's an official girl dad.

I'm starting this during the era when Ra's was mortal, before he lost his wife, pure headcanon, refusing to acknowledge The Dark Knight Rises-

My initial idea was honestly angst- but fluff felt better-

At first, your mother and father don't notice it, taking everything as a coincidence. When you were younger, maybe nothing happened, but during your toddler to kid years, they sure started noticing stuff-

You wanted the mangy cat that honestly kinda scared your mama?? "Maybe when pigs fly, beloved," were Ra's joking words. Cue chaos as two pigs are launched through the air. Talia immediately backs you on the two "flying" pigs.

You got the mangy cat.

Talia looked for too long at a cookie? The baker made too many in the wrong shade and couldn't simply scrape the icing off, and by tomorrow, they won't be good anymore, so he just gives them out for free as he mutters about wasting ingredients.

Your mother broke her shoe? A new shoeshmith comes out of a build offering free repairs to gain some popularity right after your mom complained that they were her favorite pair.

Baba Ra's sad that he can't find the relic of a tome he keeps searching for? The next day, it slams onto his toes and stops his whining.

I think Talia is the first to notice that it's because of you good things keep happening, so she tests her theory. She stops in front of a pomegranate tree, standing five meters tall, points at it, and in a sad tone says she'd love to get one, but it's just too high. She watches as your eyes follow her finger, watches as you pout as you realize that not even an adult would reach it, and she smiles as she hears all the fruits fall to the ground. She keeps at it for a while, until she is sure of her theory, and soon decides you are their lucky charm. The best lucky charm she could have in her life, and she tells you as such.

Soon enough, the luck seems to run out, to you at least. The middle of World War II, your father got busy with his work in that room nobody but him was allowed in, your mother grew more and more worried about Qayin, and then, one dreadful night, little Talia came running to Ra's, who was soothing you because you woke up puking, crying about your nightmare.

A nightmare only confirmed reality by Talia. That's when Ra's found out about your powers. In his mind, everything settles into place, every lucky thing he brushed off as a happy coincidence, every story your mother had about good things happening in the weirdest ways.

He didn't blame you, and neither did Tali, but you did. And it took a while to get rid of the irrational guilt, but the constant reassurance of Talia, who knew there was no way you could have influenced that without being there- she knows because she tested the long-distance luck too, she was thorough- helped. And soon finding out that the man died painfully from a freak accident, did wonders.

Ra's didn't want his girls to mingle with the League of Assassins, but after that night, he insisted on them training to at least know how to protect themselves, and while Talia seemed eager to know more and more, you didn't much care for the League.

Now, Talia didn't want to be the heir, not for a long while, she wanted to be a doctor, and Ra's was happy to hear that her daughter was pursuing something besides his dirty work. And when she left, you decided to do something far closer to home, mostly scared to leave your baba's side. Not like the old man was complaining, he still had his girls in his life, he still had you close.

The more Talia found out about Bruce, the more she thought he'd be a good protector and husband for you. She liked him, really, she did, but you always came first in her mind, it was you who she thought of when Bruce got her flowers, unknowingly, your favorites, when he stumbled over his words, she thought of how cute you'd find him.

So she plotted. She wasn't yet in love with him, she liked the idea of him, sure, but she wanted to see how he'd react to you.

Talia couldn't stop the smirk and mischief in her eyes from appearing as Bruce's breath hitched as he saw you, as he stuttered- almost calling himself by another name-, as his face got red as a tomato as you giggled at him.

Bruce was hooked, line, and sinker- and a bit guilty as he went from flirting with Talia to stumbling over the simplest words when it came to you. He felt embarrassed, honestly. He could make the biggest business deals at 14, but he could barely look at you without feeling his cheeks heat up.

As Bruce jumped at the opportunity to train under the League, just to keep close to you, Ra's glared at Talia, knowing what his daughter had cursed him with- a fool in love.

Bruce, with a threat from Talia to treat you right, and a letter to the school saying he dropped out, he found himself being led to his new room. He shook as you turned and looked at him, words catching in his throat. You were a problem. But he would love to be in your life.

It didn't take long for Bruce to find the truth about Ra's work, and he wasn't happy, but he didn't have it in him to leave- not without you.

When it came to you, he was stupid. Tripping over his feet, choking on air, almost being hit because his eyes caught yours- but somehow- with shaking hands and a shakier bouquet, he found it in him to ask you on a date.

As soon as your door closed, he dropped to his knees, crumpling like a folding chair, sighing in relief, and his hand stuck to his cheek where you kissed him. If Harvey were to see him, he wouldn't be able to live it down.

All the courage and poise he had as Batman, as Brucie Wayne, went out the window when it came to you- he was afraid, he realized. Afraid of being too cool as Batman, too much as Brucie, afraid of not being the right one for you. He didn't know what to do, so he froze, he stuttered, he fell in love deeper and harder like he was a puppy and not a man.

The more he hung out with you, the more at ease he became, and while he put on his Brucie persona with Talia, he was himself with you. Slowly learning to be just Bruce, no need for the cowl.

Ra's hated it- he thought once or twice of just throwing him into the pit, but at the end of the day, he also liked Bruce. Determined and clearly in love with you, and when the little bastard came to him and Talia to ask permission for his hand, Ra's growled a hateful yes between his teeth, while Talia laughed like she hadn't laughed in a long while.

Bruce was confused at the contradicting emotions- but he took the yes and ran.

Ra's didn't cry at the wedding, and he'll kill anyone who says otherwise.

He did bawl as he held Damian, and everyone saw it, though.

Some meme's I couldn't resist thinking of:

Bruce, Alfred, Ra's, Dick, Jason when holding Dami for the first time:

Tim when asked if he wants to hold the baby who just opened his eyes and the first thing he did was glare at him:

Cass with toddler Dami:

[profoundbondfanfic]

Hello I love the work you are doing here. If its possible, can you please recommend a fic where Dean in guilty about the way he treated Cas when he was human in Season 9? Especially where Cas gets better treatment from someone else and Dean is jealous and resentful about it but also guilty because he knows he fucked up. (Like Your Heart is Beating From Me). Even if its not Season 9 divergent, its ok, just a fic where Dean feels guilty

Here are a few we could remember:

Aching in the Absence of You by sobsicles (Explicit, 95k words)

Brittle and battle-worn, Cas looks at him over coffee one morning and says, "I need to go," and Dean instantly knows that he's not coming back.  He's not really sure how he knows it, but he does. It settles into the pit of his stomach, curling hot and tight like something he instinctively wants to tear out with his bare hands. He takes a breath, and it gets stuck in his throat, hitching there. It hurts, hurts, hurts when he finally exhales.  "Yeah," Dean says, "of course you do," and he nods jerkily as he looks down at his phone. He doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't look up from the screen when Cas gets up and leaves the room. He doesn't finish his coffee, or move for a long time.  By nightfall, Cas is gone.

An Act of Humanity by seidenapfel, xfancyfranart (Explicit, 23k words)

Cast out of the bunker, Castiel is lost. Adapting to humanity feels like a punishment for his deeds. When he becomes sick, weakened by cold and hunger, the battery on his phone allows him one last call to say goodbye. Alarmed, Dean rushes to save Cas. He’s right on time. But with Ezekiel threatening to let Sam die if Cas steps back into the bunker, they are forced to share a motel room. Castiel slowly recovers under Dean’s care, when an accidental kiss changes everything. Things might finally turn for the better, if it weren’t for the situation at home.

Beautiful Chaos by anyrei, queerwolf79 (Explicit, 141k words)

When your comprehension of Chaos Theory stems from Jeff Goldblum’s character in Jurassic Park, there’s a distinct possibility that said comprehension is paltry at best. But whether the chaotic events in Dean Winchester’s life are actually an anarchic mathematical probability, or simply a drop of water running down different paths on his hand; Dean was certain of one thing: He was completely and totally fucked. And not in a good way.

Have you ever seen the rain? by zation (Explicit, 81k words)

Thoroughly fed up with Dean’s inability to open up emotionally, Cas walks away only to find comfort in another man’s embrace. Or, The one where Dean realizes his mistakes, but will there be enough time?

If You Get Lost, You Can Always Be Found by WinJennster (Explicit, 25k words)

Days after I’m No Angel, Castiel finds himself exiled from the safety of the bunker. The money Dean gives him runs out all too soon. Luck, or perhaps divine providence, lands him on the Amish farm of Jacob and Lydia Bieler. The Bielers take Cas in. Despite the Amish’s general distrust of outsiders - Englischers - the strange man who can understand their language and isn’t afraid of hard work seems a natural fit amongst them. Castiel thinks he might just go ahead and stay - the farm seems like a good place to heal his broken heart, and maybe forget who broke it. Meanwhile, Dean finds himself so wracked with guilt, he can’t stand to see his own face in the mirror. He doesn't know what's worse; the fact that he threw Cas away or that Sam’s unwillingly - and unwittingly - possessed by an angel. Charlie comes for a visit and decides to stay, and it takes her no time at all to call Dean on his bullshit. With her help and encouragement and a plan to deal with the angel in Sam later, Dean and Charlie set out to find Cas and bring him home. But when they find him, Dean’s surprised that Cas doesn’t want to come home, leaving Dean to face some difficult truths about himself - and how he feels about Castiel.

In the Shadow of your Wings by Enochian Things (Salr323) (Mature, 57k words)

Dean drains his bottle of beer, sets it on the table and gets up, heading for the kitchen. Maybe to fetch another, maybe to leave. But Castiel doesn’t want him to go, doesn’t want to leave this conversation unfinished; he remembers his regret of just a few hours ago, that Dean had never known how he loved him. “Wait,” he says and gets to his feet as Dean passes by. They’re standing close – close enough that Castiel can feel the heat of Dean’s body, the vibrancy of his soul brushing against his grace. “Dean, I have to tell you something...”

Lonely Is The Night by Trenchcoat_Paradigm (Explicit, 50k words)

“Listen, buddy. You can’t stay.” Five little words that had sent Castiel’s whole world crumbling down around him. What would he do? Where would he go? How would he survive now that he was human? That had been nearly 2 years ago. He did what he needed to get by. Had a roof over his head, just about. Minimal food in his belly, enough to keep him alive at least. And money in his pocket. Dirty, filthy money he earned by offering himself up to people that did unspeakable, sinful things to him. Once an angel of the lord, now left to lurking on street corners, hoping someone would give him the time of day just so he could stay alive. Whispers of disappearances had been rife through 5th street. But when familiar faces start vanishing, Castiel isn’t sure if people were leaving out of fear or something worse. Just when everything seemed its bleakest there was a tiny glimmer of hope, pinging brightly off chrome alloys and glossy black paintwork. The rumbling beast cruising through his neighbourhood, by his corner. He never thought he’d see that car again. The Winchester brothers brought to the city on a new case. A new case that sat a little too close to home.

Lost & Found by Castielslostwings (Explicit, 137k words)

After being unceremoniously kicked out of the bunker, Castiel disappears for several months without so much as a breadcrumb trail. Dean searches high and low but comes up empty. Drowning in liquor and guilt, he's starting to lose hope until Garth calls to offer him a strange case. Dean jumps at the chance to get out of the bunker and back on the road, even if it means leaving Sam behind. But what he finds, is so much more than he bargained for. While Dean is more than ready to atone for his mistakes and show a reluctant Castiel just how much he matters, the universe isn't going to make it that easy. Metatron's seen the future, and he's hellbent on changing it so that he finally comes out on top. Castiel and Dean will have to travel to the ends of the Earth, into the bowels of Hell, find their way through Purgatory, and take on Heaven itself to reverse the spell and save the world - again.

Supply Run by TheTwistedWillow (Explicit, 43k words)

It was supposed to be a quick hardware store run to replenish supplies. What Dean didn't count on was for Cas to run into a potential love interest in the form of another man. Through the course of Cas' dating, and a few hunts, Dean comes to many realizations.

Things that Leave Marks by thestoryinsideme (Mature, 23k words)

Once the rogue angel Dean had allowed inside his brother was expelled and Sam was safe, a guilt-ridden Dean searched high and low for his friend and former angel, Castiel. Unable to find him, Dean presumed he was dead. Until, that is, the fateful day he ran into him during a quick stop in a small northwestern town more than three years later.

The Most Holy Thing There Is by outdean (Mature, 49k words)

Cas is head over heels in love with Dean, but he'll never admit it. Especially not when he and Dean can barely go two days without arguing over something new. When Mick Davies gives Cas his number, Cas takes him up on it-- and Dean is less than happy about it.

Twenty Dollars by NorthernSparrow (Explicit, 15k words)

Cas is human and on his own, and he discovers he can turn tricks to make ends meet. But maybe it's not really the life he wants? Set in mid S9, canon divergent from the Gas-n-Sip episode.

You might also want to check our human!castiel and jealous!dean tags.

[cryoculus]

— TRACK 02: ALL YOURS ⟢

the last thing you expect for mydei to do is ask you to help write a song. it could have been out of pity, or a means to distract, but little do you know, those fragmented lyrics will pull you so much closer into each others' orbit.

★ featuring; mydei x f!reader

★ word count; 7.4k words

★ tags; rock band au, found family, hostile acquaintances to friends to lovers, grief/mourning, angst, slow burn, eventual smut

★ notes; i'm cross-posting chapters gradually so i don't end up clogging the tags with my updates LOL 😭 also, i bulldozed through the 3.3 trailblazer quest and was royally pissed off by those 10-second cutscenes lmfao!!!! but i liked the story anyway so here's chapter 2~

★ header art cr; sarhiyu on x & ig

TRACKLIST ✧ READ ON AO3

@TheFlamechasers [📸 Photo Post] “First live charity set with our newest member, #DIANA. Let’s hear it for the cause and the chaos. 🔥” → 🧡 132,940 likes | 💬 View all 9,021 comments

@stagebattles [🎥 Clip: Diana’s solo, crowd screaming in the background] “One show in and she’s already melting faces. Flamechasers just hit reset.” → 🔁 18.2k shares | 💬 “did NOT expect that tone shift. she’s got teeth.”

@lionmouth17 [Tweet] “did she really play Nightingale Static like THAT?? this is why we stan musicians who feel the music.” → 9.2k likes | 2.4k reposts | #Flamechasers #DIANA

@heph_saves_hearts [Fan edit clip of old Hephaestion solos vs. Diana’s live set] 🎧 “i miss him.” 💬 Comments are disabled.

@flamechasers_confessions Anonymous post “I saw Diana once at a show before she joined the band. She was front row, crying during ‘Firestarter.’ I swear it was her.” → 614 likes | 109 comments | 🧊 tagged: “unconfirmed,” “fan theory”

@ cipher [Instagram Story] 🎤🎸 “Our newbie killed it! Whole band was lit tonight. 🔥 #Flamechasers”

@GarmentmakerCH [Photo Post] Image: Diana, still in stagewear, clutching a bouquet Caption: “Operational success.” → 🧡 49.1k likes | 💬 “why do you talk like a cryptid and also make me cry”

Life hasn’t slowed down. If anything, it’s moving faster than ever.

Hyacine keeps your inbox clogged with 4K Ultra HD fancams of every angle of your debut, each one timestamped and over-captioned like she’s running PR. Her support warms your heart, really. But while you do your best to hold on to your tradition of monthly coffee shop catch-ups, even that’s starting to lose its place in your tightly packed schedule. 

Rehearsals blur into fittings, fittings into interviews, interviews into frantic note-taking at midnight when a new riff won’t leave your head.

You should be too busy to feel anything.

And for a while, you are. 

Cipher’s energy barrels through every room, impossible to dodge and secretly comforting. Phainon never forgets your drink order, not even once. Castorice taught you a new tuning last week and gave you a fist bump that landed like quiet approval. Even Anaxa has stopped scowling every time you walk through the door—mostly.

And Mydei… is still Mydei. Distant and watchful, but the silence between you is thinner now. Less like a wall, more like a pause.

It feels like the kind of chaos you used to dream about.

Until it doesn’t.

You only meant to stop by the practice room to pack up your gear, maybe tighten a string or two. Ten minutes. Fifteen, max. Rehearsals finished up late, and you’d rather head back to your apartment before you get caught in the evening rush hour. 

But time slows differently in the quiet.

The rest of the studio is dim, lit only by the soft amber spill from a hallway bulb. Your amp is still warm. The hum of cables left half-wound coils at your feet. Outside, someone laughs, distant and muffled. Inside, it’s just you.

And the space where Erin should be.

Where she would’ve sent a dumb sticker just to make you smile, ask how your songwriting is coming along and offering her own input. She’d probably request a selfie in your stage jacket, too, before cheering you on with You did it. You’re really doing it!

The silence settles too heavily on your shoulders. You sit down, but it doesn’t help.

Your fingers find the pick hanging from your necklace out of habit, but they don’t move. You hold it like a lifeline. Like maybe, if you sit here long enough, your sister will walk through the door. Crack a joke. Roll her eyes. Hug you hard.

But she doesn’t. She never will. 

The ache swells slowly and surely as it drags the air from your chest. Your throat tightens. And then, before you can stop it, the tears come—hot and thick and aching. You don’t sob right away. It’s quieter than that. Breath catching, shoulders curling inward, the sound of something unraveling from the inside out.

You don’t hear the door at first. How the hinges creak softly, and how the air shifts just a bit. You’re too deep in the grief that still curls tightly around your ribs. Your guitar pick is still clenched around your fingers like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground.

Then—

“…Hm? You’re still here.”

For a second, your heart stutters like maybe you imagined it. But you know that voice, even clipped short like that.

Shit. 

You don’t want to look. You really don’t.

But your head turns anyway like it’s not entirely yours.

Mydei’s standing in the doorway, half-shadowed by the hall light behind him. His blonde hair’s still damp from today’s rehearsal—fiery tresses flattened by sweat and motion, and just a little frizzed at the edges. His jacket’s unzipped, slouched carelessly off one shoulder, like he left in a rush and didn’t bother to fix it.

But it’s his face that lands the hardest.

His usual mask of cool, unreadable nonchalance is gone. There’s no aloof arch to his brow, no smug curve to his mouth. Golden eyes catch on yours, and you expect them to flick away like they always do. But strange enough, they stay.

He looks stunned.

As if he wasn’t prepared to see you like this. Red-eyed and trembling and small in a room that was never meant to feel so empty. He says your name—the real one—like it might be enough to ground you or himself. Maybe it’s the only thing he has to offer.

You scrub at your face, clinging to the hope that if you wipe fast enough, you can pull yourself back together before Mydei speaks again.

But you can still feel him looking.

You sit up straighter. You don’t offer an explanation, and you sure as hell don’t ask for comfort. 

“I’m fine,” you say with more bite than intended. You don’t meet his eyes.

He doesn’t call you out on it.

Instead, there’s a beat of silence, then the sound of heavy combat boots shifting against the floor. He glances over his shoulder at one of the cluttered work tables against the far wall—half-covered in scribbled lyrics and old water bottles.

“…Wanna help me write something?” Mydei asks quietly. “Could use another brain for this one. If you’re up for it.”

The question lingers in the air like he’s offering you a cup of tea instead of an outstretched hand. The shift is so gentle that it takes you a moment to register it. You’d braced yourself for indifference. Maybe a clipped nod before he turned and left. 

But this? This quiet pivot, a small gesture toward something normal and shared—it unsettles you in a different way. 

You risk a glance at him. Mydei’s already walking toward the table, grabbing a pen, and dragging over a chair with one foot like he’s not waiting for your answer.

Like he just assumes you’ll come.

And maybe that’s what does it.

You stand slowly, the heaviness in your limbs not quite gone, but a little easier to carry now. The space between you stretches but doesn’t pull apart. You cross it quietly, your steps careful as if the floor might shift underfoot if you make a single misstep.

The pen moves in his hand, tracing idle loops into the margin of the page. Not really in a rush. He allows the moment to breathe.

But the first lines don’t come easy. Mydei starts one, scratches it out, then hesitates. His gaze constantly flickers toward the corner of the page, where a few lines already sit—half-finished, older ink, not his handwriting.

“These lyrics have been sitting like this for a while now,” he says quietly, as if he noticed where you’re looking. “Felt wrong to just leave them this way.”

The strokes are unfamiliar, but the rhythm is there, off-kilter and aching, like someone left mid-thought. You want to ask whose writing it originally was, but you hold your tongue.

Something tells you it’s better not to ask.

He tries again, careful and deliberate with a softer furrow in his brow. The silence doesn't feel as sharp anymore. It rings more warm and worn at the edges, like an old sweatshirt you haven’t had the heart to throw out.

Mydei taps the pen once, twice, then gives you a sidelong glance.

“Is this too vague?” he asks, and nudges the page a little closer in your direction.

You hesitate. The instinct is to deflect—to say it’s fine and stay in your lane—surfaces in your chest. But his tone isn’t guarded. There’s no challenge in it, only a quiet question, maybe even a thread of trust. So, you lean in, eyes scanning the scribbled lines.

“Maybe,” you murmur, voice still hoarse around the edges. “The image is strong, but it feels…detached. Like it’s circling something it doesn’t want to say.”

He hums low in his throat. Then he tries again, crossing out half a line and rewriting it beneath in smaller, tighter script.

“Better?”

You nod. Less hesitant, more curious.

Just like that, it becomes something else, less about grief and the sharp edges still catching in your chest. More about rhythm, phrasing, and two people hunched over a messy page trying to make sense of feelings without naming them outright. You offer a few lines. Mydei adjusts them without comment, or sometimes just nods, tapping his pen as he reads them back. A small, quiet rhythm begins to settle between you—call and response, edit and listen, breathe and try again.

And in the space where your sorrow had curled in tight and silent, something else begins to take its place.

Not peace. Not yet.

But maybe some sort of reprieve.

It’s a windless afternoon. The kind where the sky is washed-out blue, thin clouds stretched like gauze, and the world feels hushed, like it knows not to speak too loudly.

You don’t come here often.

Not exactly out of guilt, or avoidance. The thought of having to tread the winding paths is just difficult on most days. Like turning the knob on a door that’s never stopped creaking, no matter how many times you oil the hinges.

But today, you seem to tolerate the noise a lot more than usual. 

Hyacine walks beside you with her hands tucked deep into her coat sleeves. She doesn’t say much, just matches your pace with the kind of quiet only someone who’s seen you at your worst knows how to keep. You’re grateful for it. Words feel too loud today.

The cemetery gates groan. Grass crunches under your shoes, soft and brittle from the cold. You know exactly where to turn, even if you haven’t been here since the leaves were green.

Erin’s headstone is simple. All that’s there are her name, the dates, and a single line you still can’t read out loud without your throat closing up.

Bright enough for both of us.

The flowers in your hand are plain and store-bought, wrapped in thin paper. You crouch slowly, knees a little stiff as you brush away a few windblown twigs before laying the bouquet down. The pick at your neck presses warm against your skin where it always sits, strung on that old chain. You catch yourself holding it, rubbing over the faded swirl. You don’t even realize you're doing it until Hyacine speaks.

“You doing okay?”

You nod. Or maybe you shake your head. It’s somewhere in between.

“I didn’t think I could do it,” you murmur. “Join the band. Stand on that stage. It felt wrong. Like I was taking something I didn’t earn.”

She doesn’t rush you, shifting closer to let you know she’s there to listen.

“But… The other night, I stayed late at the studio and Mydei showed up. We ended up working on some lyrics together.” You pause. “It didn’t really fix anything, but it kind of made the air feel lighter. I’m not sure how. Or why.”

You glance at the headstone again, heart squeezing as you picture Erin nodding along to what you’re saying. “I think you'd laugh if you saw us. Me acting like I know what I’m doing. Him pretending he doesn’t care. It’s stupid. But it’s something.”

Hyacine smiles gently. “She’d be proud.”

Your throat tightens, but the tears don’t come this time. You simply press your palm flat to the stone for a moment—steadying, not letting go—and then slowly rise. You’ll be back to tell Erin more stories. When you’re ready.

But for now, you turn toward the path again, the pick resting safely over your heart.

The label’s meeting room is too bright.

Fluorescent lights hum softly overhead, sterile and clinical, bouncing light off a polished table that’s longer than most stages you’ve seen. You’re seated near one end, far enough from the center to feel peripheral, but close enough to know you can’t tune out.

Castorice sits to your left, sketching little spirals in the corner of her notepad like she’s done this a thousand times. Phainon’s on your right with his legs crossed at the ankle and a look on his face that says meetings are just another gig with worse acoustics. Cipher’s across from you, half-asleep behind her sunglasses.

Meanwhile, Mydei is situated somewhere farther down, arms folded with that casualness that always seems to come natural to him. You think he’s distracted, half-absorbed in whatever’s glowing on his phone screen until his amber-eyed gaze catches yours. The eye contact startles you, but you hold your ground, giving a small nod in acknowledgement. 

He nods back. 

You’ve never stepped foot in this room before. But after the glowing response to the last show, the label’s CEO, Caenis, called for a mandatory team huddle. Team, of course, being loosely defined because: 1) Anaxa is nowhere in sight, and 2) Aglaea and Tribbios weren’t invited. In fact, they were explicitly told to stay out of it.

Cipher mentioned once that Caenis might have some long-buried beef with the band’s management. At the time, you filed it under company rumors. But now? It’s starting to feel a little too plausible.

Then the door opens.

Caenis enters like she owns the air you all breathe, wrapped in a white suit with gold accents that look less like fashion and more like ceremonial armor.  Her assistant—an automaton named Lygus—trails behind with a tablet and an efficient silence that somehow amplifies hers.

“So,” Caenis begins, noting how the team is lacking one member. “Where’s Anaxagoras?”

Phainon raises his hand lowly. “We haven’t heard from him all morning. He wasn’t answering our calls.”

That earns a pause. “Okay. We’ll proceed anyway. Let’s talk about the Renascentia performance.”

Lygus taps something on his tablet. A screen lights up at the end of the room, projecting a slow loop of stills from the charity show—sweaty hair, bright lights, screaming crowds.

And there you are. Caught mid-riff, stage jacket thrown back, eyes fierce. Diana. 

Caenis doesn’t comment on the image. She gestures toward it with a nod instead.

“The numbers speak for themselves. Donations spiked. Engagement tripled. Public sentiment’s high. Press is calling it a comeback tour waiting to happen.” She glances at Lygus, who pulls up a calendar as well as a projected map that’s already making your head spin with one glance.

Then: “We agree.”

Your stomach flips. You hear a stream of murmurs from your bandmates, but you can’t make out what they’re saying through the roar of your pulse. 

“We’re prepping for a ten-city run by the first quarter of the following year. Local venues first, then we’ll scale up depending on performance metrics.” She turns back toward the table with a sharp grin—like she’s already projected the profit margins and filed them away. “You’ll have support staff. Stylists. Full PR scaffolding. Any questions?”

None of you answer, as if the news is taking its sweet time to settle. 

Unfortunately, Caenis isn’t a fan of idle silence and immediately levels a perfectly manicured finger at you. “Diana, questions?”

You jolt a little at the sound of your name—stage name, technically, but the way Caenis says it leaves no room for distinction. Every gaze at the table shifts your way. You clear your throat, sit a touch straighter.

“None at the moment,” you manage, voice steadier than you feel. “I'm just...looking forward to everything, I guess.”

You risk a glance down the table.

Mydei doesn’t say anything, but his brow lifts. A flicker of amusement, or maybe approval. It’s hard to tell with him.

Caenis seems satisfied. She nods once and moves on. “Good. Phainon, I want you working closely with Lygus on wardrobe scheduling. Cipher, you’re liaising with the media arm on socials. I don’t want another hashtag mishap this time.”

Cipher snorts but doesn’t argue. Phainon salutes, casually earnest.

Her gaze shifts smoothly across the table. “Castorice, you’ll be looped in with the audio techs and logistics—set maintenance, pedal configurations, all of it. I want clean transitions this time. No surprises.”

Castorice blinks once, then gives a polite, “Understood,” like she’d already prepared for this exact assignment.

“And Mydei…” Her voice pauses here, ever so slightly. “You’re still overseeing final track selections. Diana’s assisting, yes?”

You blink.

“She is,” Mydei answers. 

Just two words. Flat and unfussy. But your ears burn anyway.

Caenis’s eyes flick to you. “Then I expect both of you to have the first phase of the setlist locked in by next month. We’re tight on turnarounds. The second phase can wait after you've all discussed the next album with our producers, but do work on it ASAP.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you murmur.

The rest of the meeting devolves into logistics—tour graphics, merchandising approvals, the usual swarm of numbers and timeframes. You try to keep up, taking a few notes out of habit, but your brain’s still hooked on what Mydei just said.

She is.

Like it’s that simple. Like it’s so obvious.

The impulse to hit him flares up, but you tuck it neatly behind your teeth.

The hallway outside the meeting room feels colder somehow, or maybe it’s just the adrenaline crash setting in. Still, you fall into an easy rhythm. Down one elevator. Past some unfamiliar cubicles. Toward the wing of the building that actually feels like it belongs to all of you.

The studio.

Cipher’s the first to punch in the access code. “Bet Aglaea’s fuming,” she mutters, almost cheerfully.

“She was already fuming before we left,” Phainon adds dryly. “Which means we’re walking into something that’s probably evolved.”

The moment you step inside, you catch the sharp sound of Aglaea’s voice—even muffled behind the closed soundproof door to the main room, it cuts through.

“—again! Do they think I’m just here to hold everyone’s coats?!”

Tribbios’s voice follows in gentle, practiced tones. “It’s not personal, Aggy. You know how Caenis is. You know how these meetings go.”

“That’s the problem. They always go like this.”

You exchange a glance with Castorice, who simply nods, then quietly nudge the door open.

Aglaea’s pacing. Blazer off, hair a little more frazzled than usual. She stops mid-step when she sees all of you. Tribbios waves at you with a smile though her eyes are a touch tired. “Hey, good timing. I think I just barely talked her out of emailing Caenis an itemized list of all the things we’re excluded from.”

Phainon sighs. “We’ve got a tour coming,” he announces like he’s reporting the weather. “Ten cities. Local start. No breathing room. Highly hinted that Caenis is expecting a setlist with songs that haven’t even been written yet.”

“She’s already assigned everyone homework,” Cipher adds, dropping into one of the beanbags. “I get to babysit the hashtag situation. Again.”

Tribbios perks up. “Already? That was fast.”

“It’s Caenis,” Mydei says, settling onto the edge of the low couch. “Fast is slow by her standards.”

Aglaea clicks her tongue. “And she didn’t think it was worth telling the management team?” 

“She thinks of you as management-adjacent,” Cipher offers with mock wisdom. “Somewhere between ‘essential personnel’ and ‘miscellaneous staff.’”

Aglaea looks like she might actually throw a clipboard, and you’re not sure whether you should look away or take cover. “That...witch. She can’t keep icing us out of the strategy loop just because I questioned her about rerouting funds during the last tour—”

“Breathe. Please breathe,” Tribbios pleads, placing a calming hand on her arm. 

Castorice, always the mediator, pipes in softly. “You’re not wrong, Aglaea. But we’ve got the details now. Let’s just work with what we have, okay?”

Despite looking like a ticking time bomb personified, she takes a deep breath to loosen the nerves. Once your manager’s got her wits about her, the room hums with overlapping chatter—discussions of setlists, scheduling conflicts, wardrobe speculations, and whether anyone actually knows where half the venues are.

You’re just starting to feel like this might finally settle into something normal when the door opens again.

Anaxa steps in, three hours late, coffee in hand and not a hint of repentance on his face.

“Did I miss roll call?”

Aglaea glares at him like she’s about to combust. “Nice of you to show up.”

He arches a brow before settling on the sofa next to Phainon. “Sorry. Some of us had a rather…demanding night.”

Aglaea doesn’t respond. She just stares at Anaxa like she’s calculating the precise velocity required to launch a pen through his skull. Before you can think about what his words could possibly mean, Tribbios steers everyone back on track.

“Can we move on, please? We've got lots of ground to cover.”

Cipher snickers under her breath but quickly quiets when Castorice elbows her in the ribs. Phainon flips the page in his notebook like it’s just another day in paradise.

“According to the schedule that witch...I mean, Director Caenis handed out,” Aglaea starts, finally back in her element. “We have a week until the first official planning session for the new album. Which means we need everyone clear on deliverables, expectations, and actual attendance.”

That last part hangs in the air like smoke.

Mydei cuts through the silence with a raise of his hand. “I’ve actually started writing something.”

“Since when did you start early?” Cipher asks, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

His gaze shifts briefly before jamming a thumb in your direction. “Since she started helping.”

Every head turns to you.

You manage a thin smile, but your stomach ties itself into knots.

You weren’t expecting him to mention that night—when he’d shown up unannounced, finding you in a moment when grief felt inescapable. When the rest of the band had already gone and it had just been the two of you, creating something quiet and strange and new. You thought it would stay there.

You look down, muttering, “It wasn’t a big deal.” 

But no one really buys that. Especially with how Mydei treated you during the first few weeks since you joined. Not Cipher, who’s already wearing that grin again. Or Aglaea, who’s giving Mydei a slow, narrowed look that could mean a dozen things.

All this time, you thought things would be easier once the ghost of Hephaestion's presence has all but dissipated, but you're not enjoying...whatever this is any better. 

“That's great,” Tribbios replies—either oblivious to the shift in the room or choosing to ignore it. “Let’s flag that for review in the draft session.”

The conversation moves on. Your face still burns.

And the memory refuses to let you go.

r/TheFlamechasers u/bandforbrainz

Diana vs Hephaestion—When Will It End? Her debut was a hit, but I’m seeing so many fans still comparing Diana to Hephaestion. She played her heart out, and it’s clear that she syncs up well with the band. Why can’t y’all just let her be?

⬆️ 635  ⬇️ 45  💬 137 

 

hephforever • 2h WAKE UP! Diana’s not bad, but there’s no replacing Hephaestion. The band isn’t the same without him. Period.

AnalWithAnaxa • 2h Honestly, it’s so weird that people won't let go of him. He's the one who left without a word, why’s the new girl getting all the heat?

bandforbrainz • 2h ^^ so true, user AnalWithAnaxa

justagrrl • 15m sorry, i’m a new fan. but do we really have no clue why heph just packed up and left?

AnalWithAnaxa • 5m all you’ll dig up here are rumors. the most popular being: he and mydei broke up 🤣

myphaestion • 3m Why call it a rumor if it’s true? 

bandforbrainz • 3m @Admin the rabid shippers are here, pls help

myphaestion • 1m KYS 🖕

 

This thread has been locked by the moderators.

You start to suspect that something’s amiss during your first brainstorming session.

The main studio has been converted into songwriting HQ for a better part of the week. Someone brought snacks, someone else forgot cables, and everyone’s half-tuned and vaguely alert, notebooks and stray riffs scattered across the floor. The label’s producers gave you all creative liberty for the next album, and everyone is, miraculously, locked in. 

You’re perched on the sofa, trying to find the words that go with a chord Anaxa dropped earlier, when you hear them.

“…it’s not like he wanted to leave,” Castorice says softly. “He just—he couldn’t stay.”

Cipher hums. “Yeah, but it was Aglaea who—”

Their voices dip lower.

You weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but they’re just behind you, and there’s no mistaking what you hear:

Hephaestion.

The name itself no longer makes your chest tight with an emotion you can’t name. Several months in, and you’ve more or less found your footing as part of The Flamechasers. Caenis wasn’t lying when she said that public reception of you as the new lead guitarist was mostly positive. But hearing his name again, so casually thrown into a conversation, catches you off guard.

It’s the first time you’ve realized that your bandmates have never mentioned him to your face. Not once.

You know it’s not your place to ask. The label made it clear from the start: the matter was buried, swept away as quickly as possible, and that seemed to be the same story for everyone in the band. But from the way Cipher and Castorice spoke, it made you think that they’re in the know.

About what really pushed Hephaestion to leave.

Part of you thinks, if you were the same person you were a year ago, you’d already be down a rabbit hole of conspiracy theories. You would scour old interviews, dive into every scrap of gossip and half-whispered rumor you could find. But now that you’re literally sitting in the same room as the people who once called Hephaestion their brother, you learn that some truths don’t come so easily.

You contemplate about asking. Just a casual curiosity. 

But you never do. 

As the seasons change, the silence around Hephaestion’s name grows deeper. No one speaks of him again, and you’ve mastered the art of pretending you never overheard. You smile for every camera, nail each rehearsal like it’s second nature, and pretend everything is perfectly in place—even when all you want to do is scream.

You think you’re fooling everyone. The band, the fans, the media, everyone who expects nothing less than the polished version of Diana. The confident guitarist who’s got it all together, who fits in seamlessly with The Flamechasers like she’s expected to. 

But one quiet evening, something disrupts the rhythm you’ve so carefully rehearsed.

Mydei finds you again when you least expect him. 

You know he has a habit of staying late at the studio, hovering by the mixers, fine-tuning vocals, obsessing over the way sound meets silence. But the tracklist for the new album was finalized days ago. There’s nothing left to fix. No reason for him to be here this late.

Yet, here he is. 

“You up for a few drinks?” Mydei asks, his voice more casual than you’re used to. “There’s a place nearby. Still open.”

“…Now?”

He shrugs, hands in his pockets, as if he hasn’t just disrupted your entire idea of how tonight would go. “Unless you’ve got a better offer. You don’t strike me as someone with cable TV and a bedtime.”

Hesitation shadows your face. “But why me?”

Mydei glances around the empty studio hallway. “Do you see anyone else here?” Then he turns, keys jingling loosely from his finger. “C’mon. I’ll even drive you back. If anything bad happens, Aglaea will personally make sure I die a slow and painful death.”

You’re not afraid—just mildly weirded out. This isn’t the Mydei you’re used to. Sure, things between you have warmed with time, but he’s never been the type to invite people out on a whim. That’s more Cipher’s territory, or even Castorice on a good day. Mydei is more reserved. More deliberate. Yet, here he is, tossing you an offer like it means nothing.

Except it doesn’t feel like nothing.

It feels like déjà vu.

Like the night he found you unraveling in the studio months ago, when instead of pressing or prying, he’d asked if you wanted to help him write something.

You’d thought it was his way of distracting you.

Now, you can’t help but wonder: is that what this is, too?

You sigh, grabbing your jacket off the back of the chair. “You better not make me pay.”

His mouth twitches, almost a smile. “Fine. Just for tonight though.”

You follow him out into the night, the soft hum of the city settling into your bones like a lullaby you hadn’t realized you missed. A dimly lit bar is tucked between a bookstore and a laundromat, the kind of place you’d never look twice at during the day.

Inside, the lights are low, the music soft, and the bartender doesn’t bother carding you when Mydei raises two fingers in a silent order. You settle into a booth near the back while he disappears to grab your drinks, and for a few moments, you're alone again—with your thoughts, your doubts, your heartbeat loud in your ears.

What is this, really?

When Mydei returns and slides a glass toward you, he doesn’t say anything right away. Just sits across from you like he’s been doing it for years, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“So,” he finally says, raising his glass in a lazy toast. “Here’s to the biggest PR gamble of the year. New album and the tour reveal, both dropping at 7 PM tomorrow. Genius or disaster?”

You snort, clinking your glass to his. “Definitely a disaster.”

He grins, eyes crinkling slightly, and your heart stutters just a bit at the sight of it.

You sip your drink, letting the warmth crawl through your chest. For the first time in a while, you see Mydei, not as the cool, distant frontman, but as someone off-center. A little tired, but a little more human.

And then he says it—casually, but not without weight:

“Remember that song we wrote together a few months back? The one that didn’t make the final cut?”

Your fingers still around your glass.

“Yeah,” you say. “I remember.”

Mydei swirls his drink lazily, gaze fixed on the ice clinking against the glass. “I tried to make it work. We all did. The lyrics were solid—hell, the producers begged me to keep it. But every version we laid down? I don’t know. I just…couldn’t feel it.”

You blink. “You?”

He nods, face unreadable again. “It didn’t groove right. Not with me, anyway. Maybe it was the arrangement. Or maybe it just wasn’t meant for me to sing.” Then, softer, almost like an afterthought: “I’m sorry. I know you put your heart into that one. I meant to bring it up earlier, but couldn’t find the right timing.”

You can tell this wasn’t easy for Mydei to say. He doesn’t apologize often, if at all. You take a sip, the bite of the drink grounding you, so when you answer, your voice is steady.

“Then maybe I’ll cook something up myself.”

That gets his attention. His eyes flick to yours, a hint of surprise breaking through the usual calm.

“I mean, if it’s not working for you, doesn’t mean it can’t work for me.” You lean back, tapping your glass. “The lyrics are already written, so I’ll just tweak the rest. Who knows? Maybe it’ll finally groove with someone.”

A beat passes before Mydei laughs, quiet and genuine. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

“Then here’s to that.” He lifts his glass again, this time in a real toast. “Make it all yours.”

You will. Even if it’s the last thing you did. 

The rest of the night slips past before you know it. Mydei is surprisingly more amicable when he’s got a few glasses in, but he maintains the distance that’s typically there. Not that you mind.

After an hour of exchanging stories and nursing drinks, Mydei pulls up just outside your apartment. You unbuckle your seatbelt, hand already on the door handle, when he says:

“Wait.”

You pause, turning toward him.

He reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out something folded and worn. The corners are already creased, but most of it remains intact.

When Mydei hands it to you, you recognize it instantly: the original lyric sheet. The one the two of you scribbled on months ago, passing it back and forth between verses. Your handwriting all looped and anxious. His, sharp and decisive. Ink smudges where the ideas came too fast to be neat. Even the few lines that some stranger before him wrote still linger in the corner. 

You hadn’t even realized it still existed.

“I almost threw it out,” he admits. “Didn’t see the point in keeping something we weren’t going to use.”

You look down at it, then back at him.

“But you didn’t,” you say.

He shrugs. “It just felt wrong.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the paper. It smells faintly of his car—coffee, freshener, something electric. A memory, or maybe even a beginning.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

“Don’t let it collect dust,” Mydei replies, his tousled, golden hair catching in the reflection of his headlights. “Do something with it.”

You nod and slip out of the car as his gaze weighs on your shoulders. Mydei doesn’t linger any longer, and speeds back into the empty streets without another word. Even so, the cold brushes your skin like a reset, and you’ve never been more determined for a do-over.

The first show of the tour is nothing short of a triumph.

Okhema turns out in droves—old fans, new fans, the curious, the skeptics—and they roar. From the first chord to the final chorus, it’s electricity. You’re so in the zone, it barely registers when the spotlight hits your face just right, or when Castorice drags out a solo longer than usual just so you can go feral on the outro. Even Mydei, usually cool and clipped offstage, breaks character to grin between verses.

It’s one of those shows where everything clicks. No missed cues, no out-of-sync harmonies. Just rhythm, sweat, and fire.

And you? You burn the brightest.

Afterward, the crew buzzes with high-fives and hoarse laughter. Tribbios starts talking about press clippings before the amps are even unplugged. Phainon calls the entire night “a cleanse.” Cipher insists on a group selfie and, for once, Anaxa doesn’t protest. Even Aglaea allows herself a single relieved nod before getting on the phone with someone probably much more powerful than anyone in this room.

Someone suggests an after-party. Everyone’s already halfway out the door.

Well, everyone except you.

“Not coming?” Castorice asks, already halfway into her glittery jacket.

You shake your head. “I’ve got something I need to work on.”

There’s a general chorus of lame, and booo, and we’re telling the fans you ditched us to do taxes. You flip them off with a smile, which just makes Cipher blow you a kiss in return. But as the group files out, you catch Mydei watching you, recognition simmering in his eyes at some sort of shared secret.

He doesn’t say anything, but he spares you a barely perceptible nod.

You nod back.

When you get home, your apartment smells faintly of sweat and stale confetti. You kick your shoes off at the door, hang your jacket on the back of the nearest chair, and make a beeline for your bedroom-slash-studio. The walls still hum with adrenaline. Your ears are ringing a little, but your fingers feel ready.

You slide the lyric sheet out of its folder, smoothing out the creases with a gentle hand. Mydei’s voice lingers in your head, that clipped softness: “Do something with it.”

You plug in your audio interface, boot up your laptop, and open a new session.

The first thirty minutes are great. You mess around with tempo changes, layer a synth you think is moody but not too moody, and even hum a few melody lines that feel promising. There’s a spark. It’s there.

But then it slips.

Nothing fits.

Everything you lay down fights with itself—either too loud or too hollow. It’s like trying to rebuild a house with someone else’s blueprints and none of the original bricks. You get what Mydei meant now. There’s something evasive about the song. Something emotional that doesn’t translate on command.

But you’re not giving up.

You loop the chorus section. You tweak the pre-chorus. You try a half-tempo bridge and hate it. You drink three cups of water and one of bad espresso. You mutter, “What are you even supposed to be?” to your screen at least five times, and it still doesn't feel right. 

You try again, but your hand slips off the mouse. The screen blurs a little. For a moment, you consider closing your eyes. Only for a few minutes. 

But when you open them again, you’re slumped against your desk, the lyric sheet crumpled beneath your cheek, faintly damp with drool.

The screen of your laptop glows in front of you, frozen on a blank measure.

You rub your eyes, annoyed. With the arrangement, with the interface, with yourself. The melody slips every time you think you’ve got it. The lyrics feel empty even if they felt alive when you wrote them. You’re chasing ghosts in someone else’s song, and none of them are showing their faces.

You stare at the interface until your eyes sting.

Then you grab your phone.

 

Me: Ci

Me: Please tell me you're up 

Cipher: duh

Cipher: i’m still in full concert eyeliner and fear no sleep

Me: ??? It's 9 AM

Cipher: so what? 

Me: At least wash your makeup off 😭

Cipher: are u rly texting me just to tell me off 

Me: No

Me: I'm working on a project Mydei handed over

Me: He already warned me that it was difficult

Me: And now it’s been kicking my ass for WEEKS

Cipher: ohhh? is this the one that didn't make the new album 

Me: Yeah, I'm starting to suspect the lyrics are cursed or something

Cipher: no, sweetie. mydei was just being an idiot and gave up on it too early

Cipher: getting ultra-stumped just means you're halfway there

Me: Halfway to setting my laptop on fire?

Cipher: 🔥🔥🔥 creative process 🔥🔥🔥

Cipher: want me to swing by tomorrow? bring snacks? my expertise as the band's synthesizer?

Me: Yeah that would be great

Me: But I need sleep, so do you

Cipher: true

Cipher: i was trying to get aglaea drunk but got my ass handed to me

Cipher: my vision's still spinning, kinda

Me: Good night, Ci 

Cipher: gn, newbie 🖤

On the promised day, you and Cipher work until something cracks.

It’s not polished. It’s not clean. But it moves—twitching and alive in a way that’s too raw to be careful with. Cipher high-fives you so hard it stings, then collapses backwards onto your floor, laughing breathlessly.

“Okay,” she groans. “I’m done. I’m fried. I’m leaving before I fall in love with a chorus we’ll regret in the morning.”

You snort. “Coward.”

She flips you off from the floor, then drags herself up, throws her jacket on backwards, and stumbles out of your apartment with little ceremony.

You're left in the glow of it. Still wired, and riding the high of something shaped like success. You bounce the track—just a rough cut for now. No title yet, so you type something dumb just to save it quick.

You mean to drop it in your local drafts, but in your sleep-deprived fog, you drag it into the band’s shared cloud instead. You don’t even notice. You’re already shutting your laptop without closing the audio interface. Still buzzing. Still hearing the bones of what you and Cipher made echoing in your skull.

You fall asleep face-first into a pillow with your hoodie still on.

Mydei’s at the studio on a designated day-off.

Not for the sake of productivity, exactly. He just doesn’t sleep much during tour season, and the first show’s adrenaline has yet to leave his system. 

His body’s still buzzing from the gig, but not in a good way. It feels more like residual static. Too many people, too much light, and not enough room in his head. So he took a long stroll from his place until he ended up here. Only the soft hum of the monitors and the familiar chill of over-air-conditioned space offer him company. 

Mydei boots up the console in the producers’ lounge, lets muscle memory guide him. He doesn’t think about it much. Just dragging folders, opening sessions, looking for last show’s harmony stems that Tribbios insisted were “absolutely perfect, don’t lose them.”

He scrolls.

Pauses.

Then, near the top of the shared cloud, Mydei spots a file he doesn’t recognize.

It could be Cipher’s. The title’s chaotic enough to fit her. But it could also be some half-finished garbage file Anaxa dumped in as a joke. He did once upload a mix that was just thirty seconds of dolphin noises over a kick drum. Maybe it’s corrupted. The name doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.

But the timestamp stops him from dragging it to the trash bin. Just a few hours ago...

He should be organizing. Or doing literally anything else.

However, curiosity wins, and he plays it anyway.

At first, it’s all wrong. The levels are a mess, the bass clipping, one vocal harmony accidentally doubled and panned entirely left for no reason. It sounds like it was exported in a panic and bounced through a trash compactor.

But then—there.

That melody. His melody. Or at least, it used to be.

Now it’s got teeth. Rougher, louder. It doesn’t tiptoe around its own structure anymore, it kicks straight through the drywall and rebuilds itself mid-bar. Someone dragged this once-desolate song somewhere new, bent it at the joints until it stopped pleading and started fighting.

It’s not just rearranged.

It’s claimed.

The old bones are still there, buried under snarling guitar overlays, flickers of digital grit, and a deliberately broken drum loop that shouldn’t work, but somehow does. At the midpoint, there’s a climb—a sudden rise like a held breath—that breaks into a guitar line so fast and furious it leaves him blinking.

And he knows that hand.

Knows the impulse behind it. That frantic precision. That particular way of saying I’m not sorry with every note.

Yours. 

Mydei leans back, a soft, involuntary laugh escaping before he can stop it. He runs the track again. Eyes closed this time.

Because it isn’t his song anymore. It’s all yours now, stubborn and spit-shined and loud in all the ways he never let it be. And he likes it. More than he thought he would. More than he probably should.

The file ends. The room falls quiet.

He doesn’t move, he simply sits there—slack-jawed and blinking like he’s been hit by a hurricane. The glow of the screen still frames the filename in the corner:

workign title.mp3

God, what a disaster.

Wrong format. No stems, no session file. Just a lumpy, flattened brick of noise. He can’t solo the layers or trace the guitar back to its source. Can’t reverse-engineer the chaos.

All he has is the wreckage, and somehow, it’s perfect.

The quality got decompressed. The reverb's unhinged. The bassline tried to kill itself twice.

But it’s you.

Every note is stained with your persistence, your teeth-gritted drive, your weird timing and weirder decisions. The melody clawed its way out of his hands and into yours, and now it sounds like something that actually wants to live.

Mydei catches himself grinning.

Like a damn idiot.

Then he opens a new folder, drags the file in, and labels it:

workign title (DO NOT DELETE).wav

TRACKLIST ✧ READ ON AO3

© cryoculus | kaientai ✧ all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my work on other platforms.

[ptej1980]

Well…so much for quiet

First of all let me give a round of applause to the Lukola FBI

After yet another event with the 🐜 in attendance, the Lukola FBI was able to piece together through pap pics that Luke arrived by himself and left by himself. It was also discovered that he attended the Netflix party ( no bug ) and arrived late to the GQ/Vogue party staying no more than 1 hour. @fiamat12 has a great post about it with pictures if you want to check it out.

With finding out that Luke arrived and left with out his PR accessory it gives even more fuel to the morsel he posted in the photo dump. He knows we see and dissect everything. During the WT both him and Nic mentioned how clever Polin Stans were at discovering Easter eggs. So he knows that we know that Nic is a massive fan of Love Island, mentioned it when they were discussing their intamacy scenes. So posting a bed full of food with that on the screen and screen shot of a message to Gary! I don’t have to say anything else but IYKYN.

I am not going to go tooo much into 🐜 post. It is the first thing she has posted since early December. Apart from a few random stories. Her page is now it seems strictly professional and yes Luke liked it 🤮. I don’t like being that person to be mean on purpose but even if I had no idea who she was I would look at the campaign and go WTF 😬. But yeah…. Luke likes for her is a nothing. Again we would notice a no like or an unfollow, can you imagine….👏👏👏😂 it would melt the fandom and sub fandoms into chaos.

Now the biggest piece of news of the day is Lukey Newts got papped!! Oh I know, he must be tired or off his game, or he is just now being followed because his fame is rising. It was on the DM grid. But do you know what was nowhere on DM? Any gossip surrounding a launch of A….hmm do you not find that strange? Or is it because they have been briefed like all the other major media outlets? @biancadoes1 has a great theory about DM 👍

There were some on x that were freaking out because he was vaping, but fandom has known this for ages, as there have been pictures of it in Sorrento and Brazil. What is the surprising thing today is it is now being talked about everywhere on the chats about the fact Lukey is not wearing his rings and neither is Nicola. There is a theory going around on the chats that it is because when he eventually does put a ring on it will be noticeable and on a particular finger. 🤭 Thoughts?

February has not stopped…it has been insane with ups and downs. I think the best is yet to come but hey I am an eternal optimist.

Manifesting for SAG joint slay everyday until Sunday