#adding readers to taglist

[selineram3421]

Back for the weekend!

[koiukiy-o]

orphic; (adj.) mysterious and entrancing, beyond ordinary understanding. ─── 006. the phenomenologist.

-> summary: when you, a final-year student at the grove, get assigned to study under anaxagoras—one of the legendary seven sages—you know things are about to get interesting. but as the weeks go by, the line between correlation and causation starts to blur, and the more time you spend with professor anaxagoras, the more drawn to him you become in ways you never expected. the rules of the academy are clear, and the risks are an unfortunate possibility, but curiosity is a dangerous thing. and maybe, just maybe, some risks are worth taking. after all, isn’t every great discovery just a leap of faith? -> pairing: anaxa x gn!reader. -> tropes: professor x student, slow burn, forbidden romance. -> wc: 4.4k -> warnings: potential hsr spoilers from TB mission: "Light Slips the Gate, Shadow Greets the Throne" (3.1 update). main character is written to be 21+ years of age, at the very least. (anaxa is written to be around 26-27 years of age.) swearing, mature themes, suggestive content.

-> a/n: they exchange emails. i repeat. they exchange. emails!!! potential double update because the next part is 80% finished, hehe <3 i also wrote this chapter when i was on painkillers (and i still man) so if i sound like a DUMBASS in some parts i. it was not on purpose i swear. -> prev. || next. -> orphic; the masterlist.

Lunchtime rush has taken over the cafeteria. You sit tucked into a corner with Kira and Ilias, your tray pushed halfway aside, your drink sweating onto the wood between you.

Kira’s been nursing her tea for the past ten minutes, eyes half-closed, listening more than speaking. Her food sits untouched. Ilias, meanwhile, is attacking his fries like they insulted his ancestors. There’s a kind of intensity to it—surgical, almost reverent.

“Did they change the oil in these?” he mutters. “They taste like shit.”

You glance at him. “Then stop eating them?”

“Don’t tell me how to process pain.”

Kira snorts.

A clatter near the door draws your attention—trays, muffled apologies, the scuffle of shoes against tile. You glance over. Mydei and Phainon stand just inside, scanning the crowded room with the mild disappointment of people who’ve made peace with the fact that they’re not going to find a quiet spot.

There are no empty tables left.

Mydei catches your eye first. His gaze holds yours, half a question in it. Before you can think better of it, you lift your hand slightly in a wave and gesture to the open space on the bench beside you.

“There’s space here,” you say.

Phainon perks up like a dog hearing its leash jingle. He nudges Mydei forward with the edge of his tray, clearly done pretending to be patient.

“You’re sure?” Mydei asks, already sliding toward the end of the bench without waiting for a response.

Kira shifts slightly to make room, offering Mydei a small smile. “You’re not usually out here.”

You glance between them. “You guys know each other?”

“We share a class,” Phainon says, almost too quickly. “Philosophy.”

“Oh,” you say. “That sounds… interesting.” 

Kira stifles a laugh, shrugging. “It’s not that bad. Once you get past the dread.”

“We had to spend an entire week arguing whether perception is a primary act or a constructed one,” Mydei adds, glancing up. “Phainon wrote his midterms in poetic verse.”

“He rhymed ‘intentionality’ with ‘banality,’” Kira says.

“And you gave it a B,” he points out.

“She peer-reviewed it,” Mydei says, jerking her chin toward Kira.

You blink. “Wait—students grade each other?”

Kira nods, twirling the packet between her fingers. “Sometimes. It’s part of the methodology. Subjectivity and all that.”

“That sounds fake.”

“No, ontology sounds fake,” Phainon says without missing a beat.

“They sit behind me,” Kira says, “and keep having whispered debates over whether Merleau-Ponty would’ve survived group work.”

“He wouldn’t have,” Phainon says, solemn.

Mydei picks at the corner of his sandwich. “He might’ve thrived.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And you don’t mind them talking behind you?”

Kira shrugs. “I correct them when they’re wrong.”

“He finds it sport,” Mydei murmurs, flicking his straw wrapper at Phainon.

“I would die for neither of them,” Kira adds after a moment, “but I would cite them.”

“High praise,” Phainon murmurs, looking genuinely touched.

There’s a beat of quiet, the kind that usually signals someone’s about to break into a joke—except Ilias doesn’t. He’s staring at Kira like she’s hung up the moon, eyes soft, brow faintly furrowed in something like awe. 

You glance at him, then back at her. She’s busy poking at the ice in her drink, oblivious.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear. “You’re hypnotized.”

“I am not,” he says, way too quickly.

You raise an eyebrow.

“I’m… admiring her academic rigor,” he adds weakly.

“Is that what we’re calling it?” 

Ilias groans and hides behind the menu. Kira, still completely unaware, crunches a piece of ice and asks if anyone wants to split dessert.

You're about to say yes, please, when a shadow falls across the table.

A flicker of awareness down your spine. Some instinctive ripple that tenses your shoulders before your mind even catches up.

You feel it before you see him.

Your head turns—too fast, on reflex. Eyes already landing on the figure passing between tables.

Professor Anaxagoras.

Your heart kicks once, too high in your chest. He’s not in his usual long coat. His sleeves are rolled to the elbow, collar slightly open, and the book in his arm looks worn at the edges. The woman walking beside him—elegant, composed, and unknown to you—matches his stride like they’ve been walking in step for years.

She moves like a dream you only half-remember—gliding by his side, wrapped in soft earth-toned fabric that shimmers faintly when the light catches it, like morning mist through tree branches. Her voice, low and melodic, curls around her shoulders, spilling down her back in lazy waves, pinned with something that’s shaped suspiciously like gold-tipped antlers, and her scent—something like old paper and wildflowers—lingers long after she’s gone. There’s a stillness to her, a gravity that pulls your attention without ever asking for it. She doesn’t need to raise her voice or call for silence—she could just look up, and the room would fall into reverent hush. And when her mouth moves, you almost forget that she—

Ilias lets out a low whistle under his breath, not loud, but pointed. “Damn.” Kira glares at him.

You don’t respond. Can’t, for a moment.

Anaxagoras walks past without pausing, the conversation between him and the woman low and self-contained. You catch a word or two—nothing sharp, nothing you could hold on to. 

“Who was that?” Kira murmurs, eyes still following their backs.

Phainon, who hadn’t seemed particularly alert, straightens faintly. “Cerces,” he says, tone low but certain. “She used to guest lecture. Phenomenology.”

Mydei doesn’t look up. “She was supposed to take a position here last year. Didn’t.”

It starts like a pinprick, something almost too small to name. 

You glance toward the table where they’ve just sat—tucked near the back, partially shielded by a wooden column. 

She’s speaking, but her tone is too quiet, and Anaxagoras doesn’t look like he’s listening, so much as… enduring.

A slight shifting in your chest, a tensing in your jaw. Your gaze drifts—too often, too long—toward the corner table where Anaxagoras sits with her. Cerces.

Kira murmurs. “Are they… friends?”

“Not unless you count hostility as a form of bonding,” Mydei says without looking up.

“They hate each other?” Ilias asks.

“They disagree on principle,” Mydei replies. “She called his lecture on spatial memory ‘a diluted myth disguised as hypothesis’ once.” 

Phainon lifts his head slightly, blinking at the table. “Is that not flirting?”

You give him a look. 

Ilias snorts at your reaction.

Phainon shrugs, resting his head on his arms again. “Just saying.”

Anaxagoras isn’t smiling. Cerces never does, apparently. 

You glance back over to the corner booth, where Anaxagoras and Cerces are still sitting, barely exchanging words but clearly in some sort of intense standoff. She speaks with measured precision, and Anaxagoras listens—almost too intently.

Like he’s hanging on her every word.

For some reason, you can’t stop looking. You’re not sure why, but something about it bothers you. Anaxagoras, as unreachable as he is, sitting with someone else like that—it doesn’t sit well.

(Why doesn’t it sit well?)

You don’t even notice how your gaze hardens until Ilias speaks up.

“I thought you were the only one he bantered with,” he says suggestively, though there’s a sharp edge to his voice. It’s off-hand, but the tone feels pointed.

You snap your attention back to him, eyes flicking to Ilias, then to Kira, and finally to Mydei, who’s still half-focused on his andwich. It’s not what he says—it’s how it feels, like he’s digging his finger into a gaping wound in your chest.

“What?” you say, the word coming out a little more defensive than you’d like. "What do you mean?"

Ilias raises an eyebrow, eyes gleaming with a bit of mischief, but he looks like he’s holding back a comment. “Oh, nothing. Just that—well, I thought it was kind of your thing with him, y’know?”

Logically, of course, it’s not just you. It never was. Anaxagoras is a professor, and a professional one at that. He interacts with plenty of people. You were never the only one. But why does it bother you so much now? Why does seeing him there with Cerces feel like something you were supposed to have? Hell, you’ve only been his student for a couple weeks.

Then, from behind you, Phainon’s voice breaks the silence, casually chiming in. “You know, you and Anaxagoras would be a good match.”

Your head snaps around to him, eyes wide, caught completely off guard. You try to catch your breath, but your heart suddenly seems to be beating a little too fast. What did he mean by that? The words feel heavy in your chest, but you can’t quite explain why. You shake your head, trying to brush it off, but you can’t stop the small pang of unease that bubbles up.

Mydei, sitting beside Phainon, glances at him sharply, narrowing his eyes, but the clueless guy keeps munching on his food, completely unaware. 

Ilias brightens. “That’s what I’ve been saying!” 

Kira, meanwhile, shifts in her seat, a thoughtful smirk pulling at the corners of her lips. “I can see it, actually,” she says, leaning toward you and giving you a look that’s half-encouraging, half-teasing. “You two would have that whole academic rivalry thing going on. Very couple energy.”

Her smirk grows as she watches you react. The comment is light, but you can feel the sting of it.

And of course, Ilias adds to it. His grin is too wide, too knowing. “Late-night debates and discussions on the meaning of the universe... sounds like a dream weekend to me.”

Your pulse picks up speed at the thought, and suddenly, you’re on edge, wondering why this is even a thing now. Your mind races with thoughts that you can’t quiet: why is it bothering you? Why is it bothering you this much?

Is it bothering you? 

You shift in your seat, trying to keep your face neutral, but the flush creeping up your neck betrays you. “It’s not like that,” you mutter, your words defensive, even to your own ears. You don’t know why you feel so worked up.

Ilias notices the shift in your tone, the subtle defensiveness in your voice. His grin widens, and he leans forward, clearly enjoying the discomfort he’s stirred up.

You’re too aware of the heat rising in your face. “I’m not—” you snap, perhaps a little too sharply. “You’re being illogical. We’re students, he’s a professor. Our professor. And he’s not even my type—”

Ilias, clearly enjoying this, leans back in his seat with a dramatic flourish, one hand raised as if making a grand announcement. “You know,” he says, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, “I think I’ve figured it out.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Figured what out?”

“You.” He pauses, letting the words hang in the air for just a moment, before leaning in closer, his grin mischievous. “I don’t think it’s Professor Anaxagoras himself. Oh no, no, no. You’ve fallen victim to something far worse.”

You cross your arms, giving him an exasperated look, but choosing to play along. “And that is?”

“You’ve fallen for his mind,” Ilias says, lowering his voice as if he’s revealing some deep, untold secret. “That black hole of academia. The more you resist, the more it pulls you in. You, my friend, are powerless against the seductive pull of his— of his lectures!” He pauses for dramatic effect, letting the silence linger. “It’s inevitable. You’re already caught in his gravitational field.”

You roll your eyes, trying to keep a straight face, but it’s hard when he looks so pleased with himself. “Ilias, you really need to stop watching sci-fi movies. You’re starting to sound like—”

He ignores you, continuing on in full dramatic flair. “I’m telling you, it’s like you’re destined for this. Like some tragic hero—fated to fall for the untouchable professor.”

You squint at him. “Ilias—”

“Star-crossed lovers, of course that’s what you are.” He raises his hand dramatically, as if making a proclamation. “The one who must suffer in silence, tortured by their own growing attraction while the object of their affection remains completely oblivious!”

You stare at him, half-annoyed, half-amused. “Okay, Romeo, calm down. I’m not falling for anyone, especially not Anaxagoras. He’s our professor.”

“Oh, please,” Ilias scoffs, flipping his fries around on his plate. “That’s the classic denial phase. It’s always like this. First, it’s ‘He’s a professor, this isn’t real,’ and then it’s ‘Oh no, I’m just interested in his intellectual prowess.’ And the next thing you know, you’re writing him anonymous love ;letters about the meaning of life.”

You choke on your drink. “What?!”

Ilias leans back smugly, clearly relishing your reaction. “That’s the part I’m really looking forward to,” he says, completely unbothered by the chaos he’s creating. “The dramatic confessions of forbidden love. You’ll be at the front of the lecture hall, staring at him with those eyes—the ones you don’t even realize you’re doing—until one day, you slip and—bam!—an accidental ‘—Because I love you!’ in the middle of a class discussion.”

You nearly spit your drink out at the absurdity of it all. “Oh my God, Ilias, shut up. That is not—”

“Oh, it will happen,” he says confidently, nodding like he’s just cracked the code of your life. “I can see it now. ‘Professor Anaxagoras, I can’t live without your...philosophical insights...’"

Your face burns even more now, and you throw a napkin at him. “You are insufferable.”

Ilias catches it mid-air and theatrically wipes his brow, pretending to be exhausted by the sheer drama of his own predictions. “Oh, I know. But it’s all part of my genius,” he says smugly. “You’ll thank me when you end up in a tangled, academic love triangle involving forgotten artifacts and ancient texts.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to smile. “Not gonna happen.”

“You say that now,” he says with a smirk. “But I’ll be here when it all goes down. You’ll come crawling to me for advice on how to handle the tension.”

You eyes automatically glance over at the table where Anaxagoras and Cerces are still sitting, and without meaning to, your stomach tightens just a little. 

Ilias notices the shift in your expression immediately, his grin widening again. “Oh! What’s this? A little moment of clarity? I can feel it! Your heart’s racing, isn’t it?”

“No,” you mutter, looking away quickly, but the playful glint in his eyes makes you want to strangle him.

“You can’t hide it forever, my friend,” he says, tapping his finger against the table. “The romance is coming. The fated love between the professor and the student, like something out of a tragic novel. And when it happens? Oh, I’ll be the first to say ‘I told you so.’”

Kira, who’s been quietly listening to the whole exchange, smiles at Ilias in that quiet, amused way she does. For a moment, her eyes are soft, entranced by his antics.

Ilias doesn’t notice, of course. He’s too busy reveling in the thought of his own brilliance. “And when you’re finally ready to confess, I’ll be there. Right behind you, cheering you on. I’ll be your emotional support coach. Don’t worry.”

You groan, slumping forward. “Please stop.”

“Fine, fine.” Ilias leans back, clearly not done but pretending to be. “But you know the truth, deep down.” He lowers his voice to a whisper again. “You’re already halfway there. And when the sparks fly... don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You fight to keep the smile off your face, but it’s impossible. “You’re unbelievable.”

Phainon, who’s been slumped halfway over his tray like a cat napping in a sunbeam, lifts his head at last, amused. He says lazily, “Ilias managed to build an entire three-act tragedy in the time it took me to finish my sandwich. I’m surprised.”

“Don’t encourage him,” you say flatly.

Phainon ignores you. “So what’s the title? Ode to a Lecture Hall Affair? Or A Treatise on Yearning, Featuring Poor Life Choices?”

“I like that second one,” Mydei says, without looking up. “Could be a bestseller if it comes with footnotes.”

Ilias snaps his fingers at both of them. “Finally. Some cultured taste.”

“You’re literally projecting an academic romance onto the person least likely to pursue such a thing.” Mydei deadpans, still not looking up.

“That’s how all the best ones start,” Ilias says with a wink. “Tragic self-denial. Emotional repression. That’s the good stuff. You think I want this story to be healthy?”

Phainon tilts his head at you, tone suddenly a little too calm. “So. Do you like Naxie?”

You nearly choke. “What?! No— …N- Naxie?” 

“Mm,” Phainon hums, as if making a mental note, completely ignoring the question in your tone. “That sounded like a lie.”

You sit up straighter, voice too quick. “It’s not a lie. I don’t have feelings for him.”

Ilias finally looks up with a beaming smile. “You only get that loud when you're trying to convince someone, and in this case, it is yourself!” 

“I am not loud,” you snap. “And I am not trying to convince myself of anything. There is nothing to convince myself of.”

“You’re so flustered right now it’s almost poetic,” Ilias says, grinning ear to ear. “Like watching  tower of logic collapse in real time. It’s beautiful.”

Mydei hums thoughtfully. “I wonder what Anaxagoras would say if he heard this.”

You freeze, throwing your head back to look at his table.

 Kira bites back a laugh. Ilias gasps dramatically.

“Oh please,” he says, clutching his chest like he’s just been shot. “If he heard this? He’d probably just blink in ancient Greek and then spend fifteen minutes dissecting the philosophical implications of desire as a failed mode of cognition.”

Phainon wheezes, practically howls at that, “And- and he’d do the thing,” he adds, his voice breathless, “Where he raises an eyebrow and smirks at you and then pauses for exactly four seconds.”

Kira giggles quietly. Ilias points like he’s struck gold, practically screams— “Exactly! The pause! The man weaponizes silence like it’s part of the syllabus.”

As if on cue, from the other side of the room, Anaxagoras shifts slightly in his seat—one subtle glance cast toward your table, recognizing the voice. Not long. Just a flicker of movement, but it’s enough. His eyes land on Ilias—still half-mid-monologue—then slide to you. 

He nods in acknowledgement. 

You nod back.

He smirks.

 And looks away.

Cerces doesn’t glance over. She sits serene and unaffected, like her presence was never meant to interact with the world around her.

You’re too aware of the sharp prickle under your skin. You feel wrecked, utterly wrecked, even after he looks away.

Ilias notices. Of course he does.

Your eyes widen at his face, and you contemplate dragging his drama-ridden soul into the nearest chalk circle and trapping him there with nothing but an introductory ethics textbook and a looping recording of Anaxagoras’ driest lecture on epistemological drift.

Or maybe you'd just pin him to a whiteboard and force him to define “romantic projection” in front of the class while Kira holds up increasingly incriminating flashcards titled Things You’ve Said Out Loud.

 “You’re not even subtle,” you mutter, eyeing him like you’re mentally selecting a power drill.

Ilias grins, unbothered. “Subtlety is for people who don’t have prophetic insight.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I’m a visionary,” he corrects, reaching for another fry with the smugness of someone who just cast a match into a very flammable bush.

You make a low noise, possibly a groan, possibly the sound of his spirit exiting his body. “If you keep talking,” you say without lifting your head, “I will hex your shoes to squeak every third step.”

“I’ll do it,” Mydei says. 

Ilias throws his hands up. “You’re all just mad because I’m right.”

You glare at him. “I’m mad because you’re loud.”

Ilias points at you like he’s presenting a final thesis. “And yet—flushed cheeks. Shifty glances. Heightened vocal pitch.” He sets his hands down with finality, attitude dripping in his gaze. “The data is there. I’m merely analyzing it.”

Kira sips from her drink with the serene expression of someone watching a documentary on slow-burning disasters. “I think you should be very afraid,” she tells him lightly, smiling. “I think they’re planning your downfall.”

“Please,” Ilias says, waving a hand. “If they wanted me gone, I’d already be framed for something weirdly specific.” He raises his voice for the rest of the table, almost announcing, “Don’t be surprised if I wake up one morning and am suddenly framed for impersonating a tenured professor in order to smuggle a haunted relic into the archives!” 

Before Ilias can spiral into another dramatic reenactment of his imaginary academic crimes, a quiet hush rolls over the table.

You look up.

Professor Anaxagoras.

He stands just behind Ilias, hands folded neatly behind his back, a ghost of amusement curling at the corner of his mouth like he’d been standing there long enough to hear something he shouldn’t have. His gaze flicks briefly over the group, then settles on you—warm, sharp, and startlingly direct.

“I must admit,” he says lightly, voice like dry parchment curling in a fireplace, “that’s disturbingly plausible.”

Kira makes a sound—half choke, half squeak—and Ilias nearly drops his drink. Mydei straightens just slightly. Phainon blinks up at Anaxagoras like he’s not entirely convinced he’s real.

You forget how to breathe.

Anaxagoras raises an eyebrow at you in mild inquiry. “When are you turning in your application?”

Your confusion must show, because his brow lifts just a fraction higher, something unreadable flickering in his expression. He waits.

You blink. “I’m not applying. Professor.”

It’s quiet for a beat too long.

His eyes widen—only slightly, but enough to notice. Then something more subtle shifts in his expression, as if the air around him has rearranged itself. He tilts his head, his gaze narrowing just a fraction. Then—unexpectedly—he smiles.

Not the cold, amused smile he offers to half-baked arguments in lecture, or the small polite one he reserves for administrative nonsense.

This one feels different. Quiet. Introspective. Like you’ve said something that has genuinely surprised him.

“Would you excuse us for a moment?” he says, addressing the table but looking only at you. “A word.”

Kira glances at you, and Ilias makes a dramatic slicing motion across his throat like he’s already composing your eulogy. Phainon props his chin on his hands, watching with all the intensity of a wildlife observer about to witness a rare predator interaction.

Your heart kicks up hard, then stumbles.

 You stand slowly.

“Sure,” you say, not sure at all.

Anaxagoras steps aside, letting you pass, his presence folding into the space beside you with such unassuming weight that the rest of the world suddenly feels quiet.

Behind you, Ilias mutters, “He pulled the ‘a word’ move! I’m going to eat this fry solemnly, in case it’s the last one I ever share with them.”

Kira shushes him with a swat.

You walk just a few paces before he speaks, voice low and deliberate.

“You’re not applying,” he repeats. Not a question. A repetition for clarity. For the sake of confirming it aloud.

“No,” you say softly. “I’m not. I was never going to.”

That gets his attention. His eyes cut back to you, something almost imperceptibly shifting in his posture. “No?”

“Studies on consciousness isn’t my field of study,” you say, level. “And I’m not interested in pretending it is for the sake of a symposium.”

He considers that, expression unreadable. “A reasonable position. If a narrow one.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “I’m not sure being selective with my time is narrow.”

“Selective,” he echoes mildly. “Or avoidant?”

You exhale through your nose. “I just don’t see the value in wasting my time on something I don't care about in a symposium I don’t want to attend.”

He tilts his head. “Cerces is one of the most rigorous thinkers in the field. Even those outside her discipline benefit from her lens.”

You squint at him, not bothering to mask the skepticism in your tone. “I thought you didn’t agree with her methods.”

There’s the briefest pause, the lightest shift in his expression. Then, without missing a beat:  

“Disagreement doesn’t preclude respect.”

“Right,” you say flatly. “That’s what everyone says about their academic rivals.”

His mouth twitches at that—barely. “Have you been reading up on me?”

You blink, caught off guard by the shift in tone. His voice is playful—but there’s a glint of challenge there. You recover fast.

“No,” you say, a little too quickly. “One of her students brought it up. Just now. In passing.” You clear your throat, glance away, and add on awkwardly, “—Professor.”

He doesn’t comment. Just watches you with an amused glint in his eyes.

“You might change your mind,” he pauses, “I’d like you to read a few papers.” He says with a finality.

You cross your arms. “You’re suggesting I read Cerces?”

“I’m suggesting, you examine the argument before rejecting the premise.” He lets the words settle for a beat. “I will send you a couple. You can draw your own conclusions.”

There’s a pause. One breath. Two.

You hesitate. “Fine.”

“I’ll need your email.”

You rattle it off without looking at him, the syllables falling out in practiced order, a thin attempt at professionalism. He offers his phone without a word, calm and unreadable, and you take it before you can think twice.

You type—carefully, trying not to fumble—but your pulse stutters anyway.

When you hand it back, his fingers brush yours.

Barely. A blink. A breath.

But it jolts through you like static, immediate and stupidly vivid. You freeze, absurdly aware of how warm his hand is, how close his attention suddenly feels even though he’s barely moved.

It was nothing. Just skin.

But your brain short-circuits like it’s something else entirely, and now you’re hyper aware of everything—the silence, the distance between you, the way your stomach tightens for no logical reason whatsoever.

You don’t look at him. You refuse to look at him.

He takes the phone back, and his voice is quiet. “I’ll forward them tonight.”

You nod, hoping he doesn’t notice how tense your shoulders are. “Okay,” you say, and your voice comes out a little too soft.

You hate how your face feels warm.

“Thanks.”

He gives you a sharp nod, turning back already.

His eyes flick back to you once—just once—before he returns to the booth, slipping back into the conversation with Cerces like nothing ever happened.

You stay where you are, steadying your breath.

What the hell?

-> next.

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[chain-linked-morons]

Late At Night, Where the Fairy Song Plays

Despite leading a normal life, getting good grades, and working at a flower shop part time, a sixteen year-old, selective mute addled with anxiety, found the resolve to step out of her comfort zone-- only for it to end in tragedy. But in a twist of fate she awakens in another world, sent there by three goddesses in order to pay back a dept inherited by a former incarnation of herself. However, powerful individuals in this world aren't as thrilled to have her there.

As her journey begins, she tries to make the most of her new opportunity while conquering the mystery of her past. And perhaps, one day, she may find the one thing she could not find in her old world-love.

[ Or in which a past versions of yourself creates a mess you have to clean up, and also they haunt the doomed narrative your trapped in.]

[also known as: reincarnation, shadow hunting, and cures braking, memory recovering, with Hylia's chosen hero, as you accidentally reawaken their past trauma.]

Ages

Time: physically->35 years old, mental->45 Years old

-Warriors: 24 years old

-Twilight: 23 years old

-Sky: 20 years old

-Wild: 17 years old (117 years old)

-Hyrule: 17 years old

-Legend: 19 years old

-Four:  18 years old 

-Wind: 12 years old

-You: 16 years old

Rating: T

parings: Wild x reader, Hyrule: x reader, Legend x reader, Four x reader ( the rest platonic parings)

tags: # Where the Fairy Song Plays, #Late At Night Where the Fairy Song Plays, #WTFSP rambles, # WTFSP asks, #WTFSP sneakpeaks

Chapter List

Chapter One: The Fool

Chapter Two: The Magician: part one (wip), part two (wip)

[abyssruler]

THE LOVE GUIDE

— an interactive fic

SUMMARY

He’s hopeless when it comes to people, much less when it has something to do with you. You’re kind and funny and exactly the type of person who would never look his way twice. It’s a fool’s hope to wish you’d notice him at all, but apparently the gods have heard his prayers.

On the night before the beginning of his second year of college, he finds a mysterious phone in his bag programmed for only one purpose. That purpose? A guide on how to win your heart.

CHARACTER BACKGROUNDS

Scaramouche

He’s never been the kind of person who went out of his way to make friends. People are selfish and arrogant and even when he does something remotely nice for them, they scurry about as though he’ll suddenly go insane and beat them within an inch of their life. It’s a reputation that’s followed him since he was young, and it never bothered him—until you came along, with your kind smile and enviable ease with others. You’re exactly the kind of person he should hate, but an unexpected encounter leaves him feeling as though his world has turned on its axis.

Xiao

He’s quiet, reclusive, and soft-spoken, but people misunderstand his silence and general aloofness for dislike. He can count the number of friends he has with one hand and still have some fingers left over. It doesn’t help that he mostly keeps to himself, hardly socializing with others unless forced to. You’re popular, the resident campus celebrity. Everyone knows your name and making friends comes to you as easy as breathing. The two of you were as opposite as they came, but a chance meeting leaves him off-kilter and unable to think of anything else but the reason for your tears.

Lyney

He’s good at putting on a mask to show in front of others. As much as he comes off as an open person, he likes to keep to himself and the few he’s let inside his circle. One too many times, people have made the mistake of putting their trust in him, only for it to backfire in a way that doesn’t implicate him. After all, who would think the nice and dependable Lyney would have it in him to betray someone’s trust? You used to be a distant figure to him, both well-known but not truly operating in similar crowds, but an accidental slip of his mask leads to a strange meeting that leaves him bare for the first time in years.

whoever wins this poll will be the mc of this fic

at the end of every chapter, you get to decide what action he should take. a bit like a reverse otome, but there’s a reason for that :3

reader is gender-neutral

[1-800reki]

You are now playing... Power Up!

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synopsis: in which a boy with no motivation meets his power up! does he gain the power to confess, or will he watch his desired partner drift away from him?

featuring... Kenma, Y/n, Kuroo, Nekoma vb team, Lia, and Karasuno first years!!

pairing: Kenma x gn reader!

links!

accounts pt1 !!

accounts pt 2 !!

masterlist!!

1: Kenma!

2: Animal Crossing!

3: You What?! Pt 1

4: You What?! PT 2

5: Shut up Kuroo!

Christmas Special!

6. Date or not a Date?

7. Who’s Leading This Date, Anyway?

8. Finally you two!!

9. Nekoma vs Karasuno!

10. That was fun!

11. One last time! (Epilogue)

❝Thank you for reading Power Up!

Select a new game from the menu!❞

taglist!: @sugurumybeloved , @frootloopscos, @walllflowerrrsss, @thatgirlsstar,, @abzyissupersleepy , @kodzubaby, @sukido0kie

[wcnderlnds]

sorry’s not good enough | warren lipka

✧ fluff/angstober day six | “sorry doesn’t fix everything” ✧

・❥・warnings: swearing, mentions of weed & alcohol!・❥・ authors note: it’s my first time writing warren so i’m sorry if it’s awful

Warren Lipka. Now that was a name you hadn’t heard in a couple of years. A name you didn’t want to hear but you had the misfortune of your friend telling you that he was on campus looking for you. Warren was looking for you? Was he absolutely out of his mind? You’d made it clear the last time you’d seen him that you wanted nothing to do with him. Yelled it in his face even but apparently, in true Warren style, he didn’t listen. Nothing seemed to stick in that head of his. Unfortunate considering he was one of the smartest people you’d ever met.

That man was nothing but a thorn in your side. He always had been but along the way you’d fallen in love with him. It was hard not to. He was charming, he had a way with words that could make you feel like the most important person in the world. The two of you had dated your last year of high school and it had been going amazing until Warren fucked it up. You’d caught him kissing some other girl. The second you’d seen his lips lock with hers, it was over. The pain in your chest, the feeling of your heart breaking was something you never thought you’d experience. How naive you’d been. You chewed him out in front of everyone letting him know how much you hated him (which was in fact not true) and you never wanted to talk to him again.

That was the last time you’d seen him. Until now.

Eyes caught his brown ones, his hair still the unruly mess it always was as he headed your way. The fight or flight in you was telling you to run but your heart? Well, that was betraying you. No matter what he’d done, no matter how badly he’d hurt your feelings there was always going to be a part of you that still loved him.

“Just the person I was looking for!” He grinned, acting as if nothing had ever happened.

“What do you want?” Arms folded across your chest, you glared at him.

“Need your help with something.”

“And why would I help you?”

“Because there’s money in it and I know you need it to pay college tuition,” he shrugged, the sly smirk on his face was making you want to slap it right off. But, he was right, you needed the money so it wouldn’t hurt to hear him out.

That was how you’d ended up at this stupid party with Warren. After hearing him out and hearing the whole heist plan, you were hesitant but Warren's determination was enough to squeeze through your walls and let your guard crumble a little bit — he was a smooth talker. The party he’d dragged you to was so you could gather more intel, look for more people who could maybe help you out.

The red solo cup in your hand was empty as you stood in the corner, arm wrapped around your midsection. Parties had never been your thing. Maybe once in a while they were good for a distraction but if you had a choice you’d much rather spend the night in your dorm watching a movie. An arm wrapped around your shoulder and Warren’s familiar scent of weed and sandalwood filled your nostrils.

“Been talking to a few people. Think I’ve found someone else that could help us out. Met him a few years back, fell out with him but I’m sure I could sweet talk him,” Warren said into your ear so you could hear him above the music. A shiver ran down your spine at the familiar feeling of having him so close. Your head tilted to look at him, meeting his eyes.

“Cool. Happy for you,” your reply was sarcastic, half assed, really. You were getting lost in those familiar eyes. Before you could register what was happening Warren's lips met yours roughly, his hand tangling in your hair to hold your head in place. His tongue traced along your bottom lip and you parted your mouth easily, tongues tangling together. It was rough, it was messy but, man, had you missed it.

Finally, you pulled away, Warren’s forehead resting on yours, eyes closed as he caught his breath back. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, too.” It wasn’t a lie. You had missed him but you had to step back. “I should go.”

“Call me tomorrow?”

You nodded your head, heading out into the cold air of the night. Your hand reached into your jacket pocket to call a cab but you realised your phone wasn’t there. It must have fallen out of your pocket when you were kissing Warren. It took just a few steps to get back into the house, heading to where you’d just been but the second you got there, you froze in place.

Warren was there with his tongue down some other girl's throat in the exact same spot he’d been kissing you moments ago. His eyes opened and spotted you. Without a care to the other girl, he quickly came over to you. “I thought you’d left.”

Thankfully, your phone was on the floor so without a word you picked it up and ran to get out of there, trying to fight back the tears threatening to fall. How could you have fallen for his charms again? Warren grabbed your arm to prevent you from leaving. His touch was gentle but firm. “Hey, let me explain.”

“Explain what? I can’t believe I let you do this to me again. I'm such an idiot.” You pulled your arm away from him like his touch burned you.

“I’m so fucking sorry, babe. I’m sorry for everything,” he pleaded, reaching out for you again.

“Sorry doesnt fix everything, Warren. I’m out. I’m done. Don’t contact me ever again, I mean it. Get the fuck out of my life.” It was hard to stop the shaking in your voice, your hand coming up to wipe at your eyes. “You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Before Warren could say anything, you finally turned and walked away. He let you go this time watching as you walked out of his life for good.

tag list (ask to be added or removed): @xmidnight-rain @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @honeymoon8 @lemoniiiiiii @evanpetersbf

[lsunncy]

DRESS PRESENTATION!

keigo takami (hawks) x reader smau, model au

an: more of a teaser than a trailer.. sorry. formatting sucks but we deal w it.

tag list (open): @chaoslibra @samm1e13 @seijuroww @personally4runa

dividers from: @saradika-graphics

[ppnuggiexxx]

-> PROLOGUE | CHAPTER ONE

•| you just wanted to buy groceries ,, though it seems you made a contract with the devil instead. strange how things happen, especially when an angel is after your life. maybe god truly has it out for you?

•| taglist :: empty

it wasnt often that his creations could see such beauty. the garden, full of life and everlasting love. visions of creatures that hadn't existed until now. greenery growing from the ground, covering the area in vivid color. beings covered in soft warmth, spotting different colors and roaming free with one another. they had no names, the being unsure what to call any of them.

and then came man. the first of them, made in his own image, adam. his heavenly father had called upon a few of his previous creations to view such beauty. gabriel and satan, two of his favorites. he would have called lucifer, though said archangel was preoccupied with other angels.

" isn't it beautiful?" his father asked, smiling upon the garden. adam had started naming the different creatures, running around freely among the garden's grass as he called it. " look at them all. they live in pure harmony and love, everlasting peace." he said.

" why is he alone?" satan asked, pointing at adam scavenging for berries provided by bushes. plump and sweet, the berries filled adam's stomach. hunger was of no concept to him, yet he enjoyed the purity and sweetness the berries provided him. he thanked the bush, than his heavenly father for such a treat.

his heavenly father hadn't answered satan, thinking amongst himself. he had given the creatures all another of themselves, yet adam remained alone. it wasnt right, how the lions had more of their own, or how the elephants roamed together as one. "i shall make adam another, one of him. as any of my children, he deserves to have another to love," he said.

        gabriel to the side of his heavenly father only glared down at adam in disgust. he wasnt sure why his father decided that having man would be good. he knew father could see all, the whole future lying ahead. gabriel wondered what would happen should man be corrupted, tempted away from his heavenly father. would he look down in disgust like him?

        as the sun in the sky started to settle and the moon rose, gabriel watched as adam scurried away to hide in a burrow. how cowardly, he thought, for a creation of father to hide away from darkness. how man could never see the everlasting light of heaven. maybe man would never see the beauty of heaven. there was no green or vivid flowers. there were no animals, no towering beings other than his heavenly father and the archangels themselves.

        this garden of eden only reminded gabriel of hell. the wretched place itself only soured his mood more.

        " i'll protect mankind," satan spoke. " i'll protect adam and eve. i'll protect garden of eden, father." the large being beside them, taller than that of a mountain, only smiled down at satan. compared to adam and eve, his heavenly father was enormous. satan and gabriel were large in size, that of what would be the chariot his heavenly father rides upon. to them, man was only a tiny creation.

        "thank you satan, but there is no need for protection. the garden is of everlasting love and purity. though, there is knowledge that they don't know of, there is no need for protection. it is their own choosing whether to continue living in purity and love, or to discover knowledge of impurities. it is their own free will," his heavenly father explained. satan only tilted his head to the side, but nonetheless nodded to father's words.

        gabriel only pondered about what father said. knowledge of impurities? would man betray father and fall to corruption? he looked to the largest tree in the garden, towering over all of the land. fruit bright and red grew from it, shining in the glow of dawn. the new man walked around the garden, naked and shaped differently than of adam.

        this must be eve that satan mentioned. what an interesting name for that of man. gabriel watched as adam and eve talked, unsure of what they were saying. he could tell that they loved each other immediately, tending to the garden together. how interesting it would be to see them crawl upon their bellies, wriggling around and limbless. would father love his creation then?

        how strange of father, to create mankind.

________

        "eww, what even is this?" you grumbled out and pinched your nose, pulling a strange and wet clothe from a wooden box. minhyeok only raised an eyebrow at the object before gagging at the stench it gave.

        "im not sure why mom had that, but that is absolutely foul," you quickly put the wet clothe in the trashbag beside you, careful not to touch it with your other fingers. you continued to scrumage through the box, looking for anything of value. you werent sure why minhyeok insisted on spring cleaning today, but you were dreading him for it.

"anything over there by you?" you asked him as your eyes squinted into the box. apart from the cobwebs and spider sacks full of eggs, there wasnt much in there worth anything. or anything interesting for that matter.

minhyeok only sighed and shook his head. "i've only found a small handheld mirror worth keeping. most of the stuff here can be donated." he shrugged before leaning back on his heels. "same here, unless you want to donate spider babies," you raised a brow at the college student with a smirk. "im sure any kid who picks up this box would be thrilled!"

minhyeok only rolled his eyes, "or have a heart attack." he looked around the attic. most of it had already been cleaned out before, donating most the large furniture pieces that wouldn't be of use to either of them.

"hey, what time is it?" he asked. you shrugged your shoulders, "not sure, why?" minhyeok pulled his phone out of his back pocket, opening it up to view the time; 5:24 pm. "i gotta make dinner here soon. how about you go get us ingredients?" the boy rose to his feet, ducking his head as to not hit it on the ceiling.

you quickly stood up too, ready to get out of the attic itself. it was boring having to go through everything, not to mention how dusty everything was. "sure, it'd get me out of this mess."

"you say that like you were dragged here against your will," minhyeok replied, climbing down the ladder. "um, because i was? or do you not remember ripping the covers off of me when i was sleeping?" you remarked. you didnt here a reply from minhyeok, taking the time to look around the attic once more.

you both got a bunch of work up here done fast, but as the hours dragged on it felt like you were there for eternity. you're sure the spiders would appreciate you not ruining their webs. just as you were about to climb down the ladder, a strange paper stuck out from underneath the box you were looking through earlier.

you crouched down, lifting the box up and grabbing the slip of paper. it had intricate markings all over it, in a language unknown to you. it looked like something you'd see on a jiangshi, covering their faces in those old horror movies you'd find at a beatdown dvd shop. "are you coming?" minhyeok yelled from below.

you stuffed the slip of paper in your pocket, hurrying down the ladder before he called for you again.

________

minhyeok placed a $50 bill in your hand, "make sure you just get ingredients for dinner tonight. i'll make whatever you're craving, but don't get anything else." he warned you, his pointer finger up and reprimanding you. you rolled your eyes, smiling at the boy, "dont worry. i'm not gonna bring home a cake again for dinner. i've learned my lesson from last time."

he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at you, as if to say 'really?' "okay okay, i promise i wont," you sighed, "though it would be good for dessert." you murmured under your breath. "what was that?" minhyeok raised an eyebrow at you.

"nothing! im going now, ill be back soon." you waved him goodbye and quickly left, not staying any longer to face what wrath he may have. the last time you brought a cake home for dinner he was outraged and scolded you for a long time. he even went over all the lack of nutrition it would provide and how you need more than just fat and 500 calories. you still wondered how even remembered all the nutrition facts a human being needs.

the sun was starting to set, painting the neighborhood a beautiful gradient of orange to pink. the air was warm but moist, birds chirping softly and flying around. the clouds were streaked across the sky, painting the whole world as though it came from a renaissance painting.

you turned the corner and walked into the small market. memories from when you were younger came to your mind. when your parents had died, minhyeok's were more than happy to take you into their family. most of your own family wasnt alive. your parents were single-children, having no siblings. their parents had died and you had no idea if you had any cousins.

though despite what happened, minhyeok's parents gave you a wonderful childhood. growing up with them allowed you to still have a somewhat normal childhood despite the tragedy of your parents.

________

"thank you!" the lady at the register said as you walked out the door. hopefully minhyeok was okay with having chicken alfredo. after all, there wasnt a whole lot you could get from $50 at the store, even the one cheapest and closest to the house.

even thinking about food alone had you hungry, your stomach already grumbling from how empty it was. it seemed working around in the attic took more energy from you than you had thought.

the sky had turned black, the stars appearing softly in the sky. if you squinted your eyes hard enough you could've made out the big dipper, maybe find the north star if you paid enough attention. though you didnt think you'd spent that much time in the store.

the streetlights weren't on yet either, making the road quite dark and hard to see without any source of light. pulling out your phone and turning the flashlight on, you followed the sidewalk and tried to navigate your way back. it was strange, how often you'd come at night and know the way home like the back of your hand. but all the sudden, it was like you had been here for the first time ever.

your skin was cold, goosebumps forming as you looked around. nothing felt familiar, rather everything was foreign to you. you couldn't recollect where to to turn or how far along the sidewalk to go.

"how unfortunate for you." a voice murmured, making you whip your head around. there was no one standing there, yet it sounded as though it came from right behind you. as though someone had whispered it into your left ear.

"hello?" you called, eyebrows knitting together in confusion yet your heart race increased slightly to the paranoia. were you lost? was someone following you?

"be not afraid, child of our heavenly father. thou hast sought protection, and protection has cometh to thee." the voice said as one streetlight turned on. there was no one underneath it, but it showed how foggy the area had become. the fog was so thick you werent able to see any buildings in sight, not even a shadow or two casted upon or from them.

"be not afraid, for i am one of our heavenly father's servants. i shall provide thou light, as thou see fit. i shall provide protection, as thou shall see fit. i shall provide guidance to thee."

you werent sure what it meant, or what exactly it was saying. something about its tone made you uneasy, your feeling of hunger gone and your blood pumping through your veins. something about the whole situation made you feel weird, your gut telling you to run yet your brain was confused. mixed signals were sent all about your body, confusion evident in your legs as to run or not.

"follow my voice, child of our heavenly father. for i am one to guide you home." something about it made you slowly walk forward, your legs ignoring the warning signals you were getting from your heart. your amygdala was telling you to run, yet your legs continued walking towards the voice unwillingly.

it was like your body wasnt even yours anymore, rather you were a vessel within it.

"yes, come to me my child. for i shall provide what you seek most." it whispered, though this time it was as though it was said in both your ears at different times. like someone said it in your right ear first than repeated it in your left. echoing amongst the street itself, it remained softly as though it was spoken in a cave.

"come closer to me, innocent lamb of mine. fear not of me, for thou hast no need." the voice sounded closer this time, almost embracing you. until a harsh grunt came from it, and soon the fog cleared from your vision.

lied in front of you, wings long and covering the whole street itself, covered in white stained with red was a humanoid figure. their head was bent down, gasping for air as their hands held onto their stomach. behind them stood another being, dressed in white and eyes narrowing at the one on the ground.

"disgusting how you call yourself a servant of god yet destroy his creations." the person sneered. they had a saint peter's cross in their eyes and on their forehead.

their eyes flickered from the one beneath them and towards you, widening upon seeing your form. as though a wave of recognition had hit them, they quickly ran towards you. your body was stuck in place, unable to run anywhere or turn your head away.

"is it really you?" they whispered, dropping the scythe in their hand. it was long and red, yet dripping of a red substance. their hands hovered over your cheeks, yet not touching them before the being dropped to their knees. "child of solomon, his wisest and greatest, i have found you at last."

the being started to laugh, almost crying at the same time. "child of solomon, how happy i am to see you. the key to all success and to hell's future!" they praised, grabbing at your shoes and staring up at your face. "please, child of solomon! theres no time! i need a contract with you, please!" they pleaded.

"gabriel will rise again soon! he can only be stopped for so long! please! make a contract with me, child of solomon, and i shall protect you from him!" they pleaded, hands moving from your shoes to your legs as they nuzzled their face into your stomach.

just as they had said, the being called gabriel had started to breath again without gasping. white scythe beside him, he grabbed at it and started to stand. his wings flexed themselves out and stared at you with fury in his eye.

"fine! fine!" you yelled, taking the person's head in your hands. "how do i make a contract?" the person smiled widely, "you draw a pentagram on my tongue, and i shall receive the strength needed to protect you." he said before opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out.

you wondered if it was a trick, yet it seemed as though gabriel wasnt going to wait around forever. he was already raising his scythe and stumbling over to where you stood. quickly, you made a messy pentagram with your pointer finger on their tongue. the lines started to glow white on their tongue until the full pentagram was painted.

bright light seemed to cover you both, as their body shook and their eyes rolled to the back of their head. their eyes glowed white as they smiled widely. soon the light dissipated and the being before you jumped to their feet. they grabbed the red scythe beside you and rushed at gabriel.

you looked away from the fight, bright white clashing against red as yells and grunts from gabriel rung throughout the air until their was no more sound.

you looked back, only to find that gabriel was no longer there and the being left stood heaving. a burning pain etched into the palm of your left hand. a sigil displayed itself, a pentagram; the mark of satan. your eyes looked back to the person, before asking, "who are you?"

"i am satan, embodiment of wrath one of the seven kings of hell." he smiled, eyes returning to red with black saint peter's crosses for pupils. "there's no time to explain, come to hell with me! i will explain everything there, but hell needs you, child of solomon!" he held out his hand for you to take.

[byshens]

because writing about stepcest is a sensitive subject / a trope lots of people dont enjoy, i wont tag anyone from my perm taglists in those works unless you tell me otherwise. hope thats okay. <3

[imoosgnaj]

(🎵) /// Soomi "Not At All" | [Stray Kids : SKZ-RECORD]

"is it actually nothing at all?"

release date: 060424

lyrics meaning: released on Soomi's birthday, the lyrics for this song describes how she felt after debuting. Being the only female in Stray Kids, she has been facing a lot of pressure ever since she was revealed as a Stray Kids member. With this opportunity she writes down all her thoughts in a song and posted it on her birthday.

reactions: a lot people were able relate to the lyrics. The desperation when you did something wrong, and felt no one loved you.

reactions from other members: The members were honestly shocked of how well Soomi showed her skills in this song, she hit the high notes perfectly and showed her amazing vocals.

Credits:

Lyrics: Soomi

Composing: Soomi, Nickko Young

Arranging: Soomi, Nickko Young, Versachoi

Taglist: @mynameisnotlaura @hyunmikim @xakx @klmllr

[earthry]

Hello love I know your requests are closed, but i have to get it out of my system and tell to you about it (please just ignore me) I can't stop thinking about the idea of papas breaking up with reader to protect them and even telling them 'I never loved you' because this way it will be a faster way for reader to move on and stop asking question to their papa, BUT i think the even more angstiest plot twist would be if it was the exactly same day when reader was ready to tell her papa she's pregnant. A few months/weeks after this whole breaking out thing he could by accident find out about 'the news' (im sorry for taking your time, but this thing is on my mind literally on a loop for days and i think you're angst enjoyer just like me ALSO i hope you have an amazing weekend)

~🐍

Aksjshsh ANON it’s funny cause I literally had something almost exactly like that in my discarded drafts snsbsbsb I don’t really plan on finishing it or writing a full HC for it, but here's a little treat just for you. You can imagine any Papa here <3

tw: pregnancy, slut-shaming, self deprecation, hurt/comfort, angst, breaking up, happy ending! please keep in mind this is mostly unedited and just randomly written out spur of the moment.

After the breakup, everything he does reminds him of you. 

It was a mistake— thinking that breaking up with you would set you on the right path, a better one. You had a whole life ahead of you, he didn’t want you wasting it by waiting for him every time he left for tour or had to cancel plans to attend to his papal duties.

He can see the toll it takes on you, the crestfallen expression you think you hide so well when he has to leave a date night early or when he has to call a rain check. The anxiety vibrating off you when you text him after a new concert video is released of him flirting with the audience, asking if it's okay to get reassurance that it’s just an act.

He needed to let you go.

It broke his heart to, but he in his eyes it was setting you free for your own good. You would never let him go if you knew his reasoning— he knew this so he had to make it seem like he didn’t want you anymore.

You didn’t believe him at first, begging him to open up to you and to stop joking around. You were convinced something or someone must have said something; the Papa you knew loved you, he wouldn’t suddenly fall out of love so quickly or be so cruel. 

So he aims for the heart. He tells you it wasn’t really real, that it was all a game to him to play house for a while because he was curious. Now that his curiosity has been sated and he is bored, he sees no reason to keep you around.

It hurts him to say so, and he will never forgive himself for it, but he tells you that he never loved you in the first place, that you were just another body. That you were so easy to bed, it only took a few sweet words and you had already fallen so hard. He calls you laughable. Pathetic. A whore. He laughs as tears begin to gather, taunting you when you run out crying.

You avoid him after that— and he has his Ghouls deliver anything that you’d left in his room to your old room. 

You toss the positive pregnancy test that you were waiting for the perfect moment to show him— it seems like there would be no perfect moment, there would be no moment at all.

He may not have loved you, but you did. Despite the pain, you can’t imagine a universe that you wouldn’t keep his baby. 

You just don’t know how he’ll react. Once upon a time you had thought he would never ask you to get rid of the baby, that he would ask you what you wanted first and respect that decision. But you had also thought he loved you just as much and you were so very wrong.

You try hiding it as long as you can but eventually your belly gets too round to conceal. 

You can see the realization cross his face in real time and when he tries approaching, you can’t help but look at him with hurt, fearful eyes. All it takes is for you to rest a protective hand on your stomach to tell him what he wanted to know. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, “I’m sorry, please don’t make me—“ you swallow back a soft sob, unable to even finish the sentence.

Of all the things he’s ever done, leading a satanic church, promoting sin and pleasure and corruption, this will forever be what he feels guiltiest for.

He doesn’t even think before reaching for you, trying to pull you into his arms to comfort. Can't think of anything else except that right now he needs to soothe you, needs to fix this.

Before, you would have melted into his embrace straight away. Now, however, you struggle and push him back.

He lets you, not wanting to force anything, not wanting to distress you. It’s bad for you— and the baby.

"Tesoro," He tries, gentling his tone as much as he can, holding his hands out with his palms up in an attempt to show that he means no harm, "Shh, shh— I won't make you, I'm not mad. I promise."

You don't believe him and he can tell from the way you are holding yourself— like a house of cards one blow from caving in. You don't know if you can do this again.

He had made promises before, too. Promises you had foolishly believed with naivety. How could you be so stupid, so gullible? To believe that out of all the people in the ministry, in the world, he would choose you? That Papa Emeritus himself could love you.

You should have seen it from the start but you had been too in love with him, too busy making sure you could be enough for him, only to realize that you never would be. There's a sinking realization that you were never enough in the first place.

You never meant anything, after all. He said it himself.

You wonder how it must have felt for him, to have to deal with your inadequacy and even your desire to learn how to make things feel good for him because you had little experience. He must have found it laughable, he certainly told you so.

You were laughable. Pathetic. Whore.

To want to be good at the one only thing you were good for... you wonder how he was able to stand you that long.

You put distance between you and him, arms wrapped protectively around your waist. He looks pained and you're having trouble figuring out what.

Was it because it would ruin his reputation? To have knocked up someone like you?

"I won't say anything," you rush out, "No one will know it's yours, please. Please let me keep it. Please."

"Amore mio—"

"I'm not your 'amore'. I never was, never will be. It's okay I understand that now. Please let me k-keep it."

"I..." He wants to say more, he wants to comfort you and hold you. But he doesn't really have a right to anymore and he can tell how upset you are, he doesn't want to aggravate you any further. "Yes, yes you can keep it. I won't interfere, you have my word."

You still look doubtful and he adds, "I swear to Lucifer himself."

There's a little more reassurance in that. You know him enough to know he wouldn't say those words lightly, even if he had lied to you and toyed with you the way he did. There's a relief that passes over you and you thank him as quickly as you can before dashing off. You hear him shout your name but you don't stop and he doesn't follow.

---

INSERT PAPA DOING HIS BEST TO MAKE UP AND DO EVERYTHING HE CAN TO MAKE YOU HAPPY. LOTS OF SELF LOATHING FOR PAPA BECAUSE HE DID A FUCKYWUCKY.

Eventually there's a moment where you ask why he's being nice, why he's doing this and he tells you he loves you and you call him a liar. He then admits his mistake and apologizes. He says he'll never do it again and will wait until the end of time for your forgiveness if necessary. Or if you never give it, he will wait forever even after the end of time. He is at your mercy.

You eventually warm up to him with hesitation, but you're cautious and always bracing yourself for the catch, for the bad things to happen again.

Papa continues doing his best to support you and be there for you and when he shows his dedication by being there for the birth of his baby and being there for you the entire time, you finally let him back in and offer him the first olive branch by asking him if he would like to hold his child for the first time.

[1eaf-me-alone]

Header designed by @daosies, thank you!!

Official art by HoYoverse

A Genshin Impact Jekyll & Hyde-inspired AU centring on Albedo, the mysteries of Dragonspine, and a slow-burn epistolary relationship gone strange.

Epistolary · Psychological Mystery · Slow-burn · Angst · ➤ Pairing: Albedo × GN!Explorer!Reader ➤ Genre: T (for themes, implied violence, emotional intensity) ➤ Status: Ongoing — Act I: COMPLETE ✓ ➤ Updates: Sporadic but passionate!

After a chance meeting in the Dragonspine mountains, an explorer and the famed alchemist begin to exchange letters. Their connection deepens, their lives intermingle — as dreams turn enigmatic and the snow begins to whisper. Something stirs beneath the ice.

The Journey ahead... Act I – [In progress] Act II – [In progress] Act III – [to be completed] Act IV –[to be completed]

Estimated word count: ~20,000 words (across all acts)

!!Please comment below to be added to the taglist!!

Reblogs appreciated to help it reach more readers!

 

[mishantics]

hsy pretty please (it’s okay if I didint make it btw.)

- tured

My beloved wife is first <33 HAN SOOYOUNGNGNGNGNGJGJ

Taglist:

@chichikoi, @tiredsleep , @karmawonders , @color-puff-ball , @laireste , @haliyamori , @venusflwers , @aimynx , @mocha-bunbun , @cynoifyy , @kkomaism , @achlysis , @n3r0-1417 , @sleepygamerotaku , @w0rmzfagg0t

(Feel free to send an ask to be added/removed!)

[frantic-fiction]

Taglist!!!

Hey friends, I'm just throwing this out there. If you want to be added to my Astarion fic taglist, please interact with this post, and I'll add you.

Note: I will not be doing separate taglists for my smut posts vs. fluff post, so you'll be tagged in every Astarion fic I make.

[selineram3421]

Guess who's back!

[pankowblues]

so I wrote two Rafe x reader fics in a different format then I usually do and im posting them tonight anyone wanna be on the taglist?